the poem you make of me - cmere - Red White & Royal Blue (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Click.

Alex’s eyes flutter open after he hears the familiar sound of the camera shutter. He shifts his hips slightly.

Click.

“That’s nice, Diaz. Tilt your chin up and show me those lashes.”

Alex blinks, letting his eyelids fall half-closed and peering up seductively through his eyelashes. His hand slides down his chest, thumb catching in the waistband of his Calvin Klein boxer briefs. One side of his mouth curves up in a gentle smirk.

Click.

“That’s it. We’ve got it.”

Rafael Luna looks out from behind the camera with a grin.

“Yeah?” Alex allows himself to grin in return after a tortuous hour trying not to. Luna always cracks him up, then yells at him for ruining the photo with his crooked smile.

“Definitely. That last one was smoking.”

Alex takes a few tentative steps forward, waiting for someone else on set to yell at him to get back in place. When no one does, he strides over to take a look at the photo Luna’s talking about. His thumb in the waistband is caught in the perfect spot, accentuating the V of his hips. His abs and his bulge look amazing. And his gaze is directed right at the camera and smoldering, lips full and mischievous.

“Damn. They’re lucky they hired me.”

“Don’t be so co*cky,” Luna scolds. “You’re lucky your puny ass got this contract.”

“Nice job, Alex.” A young woman who must be an assistant walks by him with swaying hips and a wicked smile. Alex’s eyes widen a little.

“Thanks,” he replies, then looks back at Luna, then back at the woman.

“Go ahead,” Luna says, rolling his eyes, and Alex jogs to catch up with her.

“What’s your name?” Alex places a hand on the small of her back as they walk toward the rear of the studio, stopping at the espresso maker.

“Amber.” Their eyes meet; hers are huge and green and gorgeous. Alex feels a jolt in the general region of his groin.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Amber,” Alex says in his smoothest voice. Amber smirks at him and busies herself making coffee. “Are you free later?”

“No,” she says shortly. Alex experiences momentary panic as he wonders if he completely misread the situation. The espresso finishes and Amber picks up the small cup, turning to face him again after an uncomfortable pause. “I’m free in five minutes if you can meet me in the bathroom.”

“f*ck, yes,” Alex breathes, and his dick gives an anticipatory twitch in his tight boxer briefs. Luckily, Amber misses it as she leans in close to his ear.

“Don’t you dare change,” she murmurs, then walks away with a smack on his ass. Alex runs his hands through his hair and smiles to himself. He f*cking loves being a model.

—

Alex meets his sister, June, and her girlfriend, Nora, at a gay bar in West Hollywood. Dim light washes over the long row of round booths; quiet, jazzy music accompanies the murmur of gentle conversations wafting across the room. Nora and June slide into a booth and send Alex to the bar to get drinks.

They appear deep in conversation about something when Alex returns with their co*cktails, which they suspiciously stop talking about right when Alex gets to the table. He raises his eyebrows as he sets their drinks down, but doesn’t press.

“To my new contract with Calvin Klein,” Alex says smugly as he clinks his drink against theirs.

“May you get us all free jeans for life,” Nora says before taking a sip. June snorts.

“Seriously, I’m proud of you,” she says, meeting Alex’s eyes with a small smile. “You’ve been working really hard. You deserve this.”

“I know,” Alex says dryly. “You deserve it too, with all the styling you’ve been doing for me for Instagram.”

As though on cue, a gaggle of twenty-something women approach their table. The one at the front of the pack has dark hair with bangs and a pretty mouth. Alex feels a grin spread across his face.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt...but are you Alex Diaz?” she says, all sweetness and innocence.

“I am,” Alex declares. The group titters, visibly excited. “Do y’all need directions or something? Because if I get any say in it, I think you’ve reached your final destination.”

The woman’s eyes grow wide and a blush spreads over her cheeks. “We’re huge fans of yours. We’ve followed you on Instagram since...well, since forever practically! Can we take a selfie with you?”

“Of course,” Alex replies, sliding out of the booth. He always has time for fans. “Here, want me to take it?” She hands him her phone wordlessly, and he loops an arm around her as the rest of the women arrange themselves behind them. “One, two, three.”

Alex snaps a few shots and then hands the phone back to her. “Will those work?”

“Yes, I—yes, of course. I just—thank you, so much!” she chirps.

“Anytime. Great to meet you all,” he says with a wink, oozing charm. “Hit me up on Insta and I’ll follow you back.” The women move along with wide eyes and a chorus of “thank you!” and “nice to meet you!” Alex hears, as they walk away, “Oh my god. He touched me. My shoulder smells like his deodorant. I’m never washing this shirt again.”

He slips back into the booth to find June and Nora with equal looks of disgust on their faces. “What? They approached me!”

“You don’t have to be so skeezy,” Nora says, her top lip curled. “The weird pick up line? Come on.”

“They love it. I have to maintain my reputation as the friendliest model. It’s what gets me so many appearances.”

“Friendliest or slu*ttiest?” Nora asks innocently. Alex narrows his eyes at her.

“It’s still weird to me that you dropped the ‘Claremont’,” June says, shaking her head. Alex shrugs.

“‘Claremont-Diaz’ is too much of a mouthful. Plus, my agent thought it would make me seem more exotic and sexy.”

“We’re not exotic, Alex, we’re half-Mexican. This type of thinking only perpetuates stereotypes that serve to fetishize people of color and—”

“And I’m choosing to be fetishized, so it’s fine, okay?”

June looks like she’s ready to argue, but they’re interrupted by a shriek at the bar. A small gaggle of people, mostly men, gathers around someone, voices rising in apparent excitement.

“Who else is here?” Alex wonders out loud, craning his neck to try to see. He catches a glimpse of sandy blonde hair that’s quickly obscured again when more people move in front.

“Someone more famous than you?” Nora says, plucking the cherry out of her co*cktail and sucking it off the stem.

When the crowd starts to disperse, they’re able to see the face belonging to the person Alex glimpsed: high cheekbones, a long, elegant nose, full pink lips, and, Alex notes, huge blue eyes. They’re so blue, he can see them all the way from the booth. He’s waving goodbye with an embarrassed smile, his movements smooth and graceful. June gasps.

“It’s Henry Fox!” she whispers.

“He is a fox,” Nora observes.

“Who is he? New Hollywood up and comer?” Alex asks. His mouth has gone weirdly dry; he takes a long sip of his drink. The guy—Henry—turns back around and appears to be apologizing to the bartender. His neck is absurdly long, Alex notes. “Is he here alone?”

“He’s a poet,” June says, her voice low.

“Sorry?” Alex replies. “I don’t think I heard you right. He’s a what?”

“He’s a poet,” June hisses. “He’s getting a lot of attention right now for a new book he just released. It’s apparently full of steamy gay erotic poetry. We just did a huge feature on him in the Arts section. He’s British, but he’s about to start a book tour around North America.”

June’s job as a reporter for the L.A. Times generally helps her stay much more up to date on anything literary than Alex or Nora, whose pop culture knowledge tends more toward the Hollywood side. Alex snorts judgmentally.

“A poet is getting more attention at a bar than me?” he says, incredulous. “A f*cking poet? Aren’t bookstores all going out of business right now? Do they even make paper books anymore?”

“His dad is Arthur Fox. From the old James Bond movies,” June explains. “So it’s been a little easier for him to attract attention. I mean, look at him. Also, the poetry is supposed to be really boundary-pushing. I heard it’s going to be the next 50 Shades of Grey. You know, soccer moms passing it around in brown paper lunch bags, that kind of thing.”

“Hopefully the writing is better quality than 50 Shades of Grey,” Nora says. “I felt so bad thinking about all those women being exposed to such sh*tty erotica for the first time and thinking it was good.”

“He’s got a reading and book signing at Book Soup on Monday night to kick off the tour. I was planning to go,” June says.

“Ooh, can I join you?” Nora asks.

“I thought you were coming to my appearance on Monday,” Alex inserts before June can reply. “The happy hour one for Absolut.”

“Oh—yeah, I was, but this sounds more fun,” Nora says, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. “I can see you taking shots and flexing any time I want to, but how often do I get to see a shy gay reading erotic poetry out loud?”

“What makes you think he’s shy?” Alex says, peeved. “I bet he’s loving this. He probably came here just to try to attract attention to himself. Why else would he come sit at a bar alone?”

“He looked totally uncomfortable with all those people approaching him,” Nora argues.

“I bet that’s all for show. Make him seem like he’s all new and innocent.”

“Prove it.”

“What do you mean, prove it? How would I—”

“Go introduce yourself. You’ll see how awkward he is. There’s no way to blush on command.”

“Why would he blush?”

“Shy gay. Male model. You do the math.” Nora shrugs. Alex looks back at Henry and notices that he appears to be writing in a small notebook. What would he be writing about at a bar, of all places? Alex shakes his head slowly. This guy is definitely weird.

“Fine,” he says, jumping up, because he can never say no to a challenge. Nora grins; June rolls her eyes.

“Just don’t get us kicked out, okay?” June says. “This co*cktail contains a lot of booze and I’m actually enjoying it.”

Alex walks slowly over to the bar, considering his approach. The walk isn’t very far, though, so he doesn’t have much time to decide and ends up blurting out, “Henry?”

Henry turns to face him, and Alex is struck by how symmetrical his face is. A poet? This guy should be a model. Alex briefly considers offering to introduce him to Zahra, his agent.

“I’m sorry? Can I help you?” Henry says in a posh British accent, looking stiff, and Alex feels a weird fluttering in his chest. He hadn’t expected him to have a British accent, which is weird, since June just said he was British. Not that he cares, anyway. It’s just surprising.

“Alex Diaz,” Alex says, holding out his hand. Henry eyes him for a moment, mouth dropped slightly open, then gives it a quick shake. “You might have heard of me. I’m a model.”

Henry continues to stare at him, and Alex starts to feel uncomfortable. Why isn’t he saying anything? That’s when he notices the flush spreading over Henry’s cheeks. Was Nora right? Is he actually this socially awkward?

“My sister June is a reporter for the L.A. Times, and she said they just did a big feature on you. Thought I’d come and introduce myself.” Alex gestures back at the table where June and Nora are sitting.

“Right,” Henry says slowly. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’m a little busy, so…” He trails off, dragging out the o sound. Alex is taken aback by the rudeness.

“Sure,” he says. Henry doesn’t say anything else, so Alex just spins on his heel and walks back to his table, reeling. Nora and June lean in expectantly as he approaches.

“That guy’s not shy. He’s just a dick,” Alex declares, maybe a little too loudly, maybe on purpose. He notices Henry’s head jerk toward him briefly, then he goes back to writing whatever the hell he’s writing.

“Alex,” June hisses and grabs his wrist, dragging him into the booth. “Shut up. I think he heard you.”

“I don’t care,” Alex says. “He’s an ass.”

“Why, because he didn’t fawn all over you like you’re used to?” June shoots back.

“Maybe you’re not his type,” Nora chimes in.

“Or maybe you’re not that hot after all,” June adds, snickering. Alex elbows her in the side, and she shoves him.

“Seriously, he said he was busy and pretty much demanded I leave him alone. You’re by yourself at a damn bar, how the hell are you busy?”

“Wow, he really didn’t want to talk to you,” Nora says. “He must have good instincts to pick up on how unpleasant you are that fast.”

“He’s a dick,” Alex repeats, draining his glass. He doesn’t know why this random nobody brushing him off is bothering him so much. Probably because he’s the nicest celebrity anyone could ever meet and Henry should be thanking him for making the introduction. “I could have helped him make connections here. He’s just an ungrateful ass.”

“Doesn’t look like he needs a lot of help making connections,” Nora says, nodding in his direction. There’s already another small group of people gathered around him. Alex feels his face turn red.

“I’m over this bar,” he says, standing up quickly. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere else.”

“Alex,” June whines. “Just because you’re not getting as many fans coming over as he is—”

“We’re done here,” Alex says. Nora is chugging her drink. “I’ll meet you outside.” He walks down the length of the bar, brushing past the people gathered around Henry.

“I can’t believe I’m meeting you!” Alex hears. He rolls his eyes and storms out the door.

—

Alex’s loft is a one-bedroom with a huge, open living space on the top floor of the building in Westwood. It’s full of sleek, modern furniture and abstract art to complement the high ceilings and light wood floors. Alex is sprawled on the leather sofa with his laptop open, scrolling through Instagram comments on his phone. An email pops up suddenly from Nora, and he switches back to the laptop to check it. The subject line says: ya boy and there’s a link to an L.A. Times article in the body with only a winky face. Alex clicks on it; it’s the article about Henry Fox. His eyes roll almost involuntarily when he sees the big, stupid picture of Henry looking straight into the camera, his lips parted, hair gently falling over his forehead, eyes fierce. Okay, so he’s the son of James f*cking Bond. He has good genes. That doesn’t make him some kind of international sex symbol. There are plenty of good looking people in the world.

Alex skims over the article. The author fawns over him like he’s some kind of humble genius who’s unaware of his own talent and “the impact he’s making on the poetry scene at the age of 22, which will undoubtedly reverberate for generations to come.” Not to mention the impact on LGBTQ equality. Alex feels like his eyes might get stuck permanently rolled back into his skull. Gay poetry p*rn is suddenly a beacon for LGBTQ equality? Okay.

Fox will be touring North America for the next four months (see his website for details: henryfoxpoetry.com). What will he miss most about home? “My dog, David,” Fox says with a bashful smile, showing me a picture of an adorable beagle on his phone while explaining that his sister will be looking after him during his extended absence.

Fox will read from his collection of poems, a sharply inhaled breath (i feel more than hear), on Monday, January 6th from 6-8pm at Book Soup, 8818 Sunset Blvd in West Hollywood.

Alex almost throws the laptop across the room in disgust. He named his dog David? Who does that? He immediately sends off a text to June: your arts writer is a pathetic mess and should be fired. Then he sends one to Nora: have fun with the beacon for lgbtq equality (ie gay p*rn) tomorrow instead of taking shots with me. Nora immediately sends back a “bye queen” gif of one of the guys from Queer Eye; June doesn’t respond.

Alex spends the next hour hate-reading Henry’s website, then his Wikipedia page, then scrolling through his Instagram. His photos appear to be carefully curated shots, mostly of him looking scholarly and bookish, occasionally with his dog or his friends. His story shows the Hollywood sign, him standing among the stars on the Hollywood walk of fame, all the typical touristy crap. Alex’s lip curls in disgust. How basic.

Alex isn’t sure why anyone would go to a poetry reading, but he finds himself irrationally annoyed that Henry’s event is scheduled at the same time as his. He lays back on the sofa and closes his eyes, throwing an arm up over his forehead. Henry Fox irritates him so much. Alex can’t wait until he and his deep blue eyes are out of L.A. and out of Alex’s life.

—

After Alex’s happy hour promotion for Absolut, his Lyft has actually made it all the way back to his apartment when, in a buzzed, spontaneous decision, he asks the driver to take him to Book Soup.

“I’ve already accepted another ride,” the driver says, blowing a bubble of bright pink chewing gum and popping it as she looks at him in the rearview mirror.

“Can’t you cancel it?”

“Not without losing money. You can order another one.”

Alex takes the hint and gets out of the car. He thinks briefly about just going upstairs to relax like he had originally planned, but some mysterious force outside of his control compels him to open the app on his phone again and enter Book Soup as a destination. By the time he gets there, the reading is over and there’s a line snaking around the store, presumably for the book signing. He finds Nora and June halfway to the front.

“Alex! What are you doing here?” June says. She and Nora are clutching identical copies of what can only be Henry Fox’s book of poems in their arms.

“Just thought I’d drop by and let you know how my event went.” Alex peers around, going up on his tiptoes to try to see toward the front of the line. The bookstore is completely packed with people, and Alex bitterly wonders—not for the first time—how a f*cking poet could draw this much attention.

“So?” Nora says.

“So what?” Alex says.

“So how did it go, dum dum?” June says. “You look shiny.”

Alex had forgotten they’d dusted his shoulders and chest with body glitter. He brushes some off his black tank top. “It went fine.”

“That’s all?” Nora asks.

“Pretty much.”

“So you just urgently had to come here to tell us the event went fine?”

“Yep.” He sees Nora and June exchange a look. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” June says. “Are you going to get a book signed?”

“What? Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re here?” June says.

“It might be worth a lot of money one day,” Nora adds.

Alex pushes his curls off his forehead. “I guess then I can see how exactly this gay p*rn is going to push the LGBTQ movement forward for the next fifty years or whatever.”

“It is saying something that a book that celebrates gay male sexuality is going so mainstream. Most portrayals of queer men in the media currently are sanitized to the point that they barely resemble—”

“Okay, June. I don’t need a lecture.”

“The books are over there,” Nora says, pointing to a table holding a pyramid of copies. “Go get one, and Henry will sign it. Then we pay for it after.”

Alex strides over to grab a book, feeling distracted and jittery. From the table, he looks toward the front of the line and can see Henry there, seated behind a table, wearing a light blue button-down shirt that’s open at the collar and fitted tight across his chest. He’s smiling, full teeth, looking up at a pair of older men in front of him. Alex watches him throw his head back and laugh, then shake both of their hands. What could they possibly be talking about?

“Claremont!” comes a voice from the crowd, and Alex looks around wildly before his eyes land on his oftentime photographer and industry mentor, Rafael Luna.

“Raf!” Alex cries, striding over to him and immediately getting pulled into a half-hug. Luna’s the only one he’ll let get away with calling him Claremont in public. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Same thing as everyone else,” Luna says, gesturing to the crowd with the book in his hand. “I’m surprised to see you here, though.”

“June and Nora wanted to come. I had an appearance for Absolut nearby so I decided to pop over and see what was going on.” Alex neglects to mention the fact that the Lyft had brought him all the way home before he decided to come back, or that he had desperately hoped to find the event a complete flop.

“Where are they?”

“Back there.” Alex points toward the middle of the line. Luna grins, ruffling his hair, and Alex shoves him off. “Hey! I’m not a kid anymore, okay?”

“You’ll always be the sweet-faced baby I discovered on Instagram.”

Alex rolls his eyes. “And you’ll always be the creepy old perv DM’ing a teenager to set up a photoshoot.”

“What? I ended up getting your mom’s permission. Besides, it worked out pretty well for you, did it not? Ungrateful pendejo.”

“So you’re into this guy too, huh?” Alex asks, going for nonchalant. In reality, he respects Rafael Luna’s opinion on literally everything, so the fact that he’s here must mean something about Henry’s poetry.

“Gay rights will never be won through politics. Not really. We need kids like him to test the boundaries and push society forward. Otherwise the law will never catch up.” Luna looks at him seriously. “I hope you can appreciate just how much seeing all these people here means to an old queer like me.”

Alex swallows, shame burning in his gut. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

Luna is getting close to the front of the line. Alex watches the people at the table step away only for Henry to look up and lock eyes on him. An inscrutable expression comes across his annoyingly perfect face briefly before he looks away, smiling at the next person approaching. Alex suddenly feels uncomfortably warm, despite his tank top and shorts. It must be from the crowd.

“Well, I better get back to the girls,” Alex says, shifting on his feet.

“Hey, good to see you, kid. We’ll get brunch soon. I’ll text you.”

Alex follows the line back to June and Nora, who aren’t too far away now.

“Where’d you disappear to?” Nora asks.

“Ran into Luna. I know he’s gay and all, but I wasn’t expecting him to be fawning all over this guy too.”

“Guess you’re the only person who doesn’t understand why this is actually a big deal,” June comments airily. “Must be all that straight, cis male privilege.”

Nora quirks an eyebrow at this, and Alex pouts. Normally, an offhand comment from June wouldn’t bother him, but after Luna calling him out, he feels especially attacked. By the time they get to the front of the line, his buzz is wearing off from the several shots he took at the Absolut event. He’s starting to feel tired and regretful about coming. He could be home right now, body glitter down the drain, watching Great British Bake Off. Why did he find it necessary to see this jerk again?

June and Nora give their fawning compliments and Henry smiles and laughs through it all, asking their names and signing their books with gusto, not the attitude of someone who’s been doing this for an hour already. When Alex steps up, Henry’s blue eyes find his, the corner of his mouth turning up.

“We meet again,” Henry says, holding his hand out for Alex’s book. He hands it over and Henry flips open the cover.

“My sister dragged me to see the next great beacon of hope for the gay community or whatever,” Alex says, suddenly aware of his heart thudding a little too hard in his chest and chalking it up to annoyance. “She’s always been in charge of my ally education. Still not sure how a collection of p*rnographic poems qualifies as progress, but hey.”

Henry’s eyes flash as he hands the book back up to Alex. “What an awful waste of your time. You’ll never get these minutes back. So sad.”

“Believe me, I know,” Alex says, suddenly aware that the signing portion is over and not sure how he’s supposed to end this exchange.

“Next,” Henry calls without another word, effectively ending it for him.

Alex fights back the urge to stick his tongue out and walks away, trailing after Nora and June to the cash register.

“That guy is a dick,” he says, aware that he’s already made this point but feeling the need to make it again. He doesn’t really care if June, or Nora, or Luna like his work, Alex decides; that doesn’t make him a good person.

“He seemed lovely to me,” June replies. “Look, he drew a cute smiley face in my book!”

“Me too! Did you get one?” Nora asks him. Alex flips open the cover. It says,

For Alex.
There is that in me — I do not know what it is — but I know it is in me.
Henry Fox

“What the f*ck is this supposed to mean?” Alex says. “Did he give you some weird line too? Is it like his calling card?”

“I didn’t get that,” Nora says, showing him her book. It says simply For Nora with a hasty, cartoonish smiley face and Henry’s signature.

“Me neither,” June adds.

“What does it even mean?” Alex says, more than a little uncomfortable at his personalized message. He feels sweat prickle at the back of his neck and rubs it away.

“Very mysterious,” Nora says, raising her eyebrows, and she and June look at each other. June snorts, which starts Nora laughing as well.

“What?” Alex insists, but Nora’s too busy leaning her forehead on June’s shoulder and giggling.

“Come on,” June says with a big smile, squeezing Nora’s hip. “Let’s go get food, I’m starved.”

They’re at the door before Alex realizes with a jolt that Henry remembered his name without having to ask. He glances behind him, the line of people still taking up half the store. Henry looks up suddenly, straight at him. Alex whips his head back around and follows June and Nora out the door.

—

Alex tries to get on with his normal life, but all of a sudden it seems like the ghost of Henry Fox is f*cking haunting him. He knows Henry left L.A. the day after the signing—because his acquaintances in San Francisco are posting pictures of Henry and signed copies of the book, complete with smiley face, on their stories. Nora seems to take great pleasure in finding every article or review being written about Henry’s work from across the country and emailing it to him, accompanied by mysterious emojis. For whatever f*cking reason, Instagram keeps trying to force Alex to follow Henry by suggesting his account repeatedly. The mere sight of Henry’s profile picture makes his stomach lurch.

The onslaught gets worse when June shows up at his apartment with a pile of tabloid magazines and TMZ pulled up on her phone. Alex is in the middle of his daily yoga routine, curled backward in King Pigeon pose, when she storms in and shoves her phone in Alex’s face.

“Have you seen this?” June demands. Alex’s head is currently filling with blood as it rests on the bottom of his feet, and he’s in the middle of 30 seconds of deep, steady breathing, so he chooses not to respond. June taps her foot impatiently.

Once Alex has completed the pose, he unfurls and stretches out for a moment before sitting up and taking the phone out of June’s hand. It’s a picture of him at the book signing, standing in front of Henry and smiling, with a giant banner behind him that declares a sharply inhaled breath (i feel more than hear) by Henry Fox. It’s clearly been taken by a cell phone, slightly grainy and cropped weirdly. The headline reads Alex Diaz: Gay Closet Case?

Is Alex Diaz secretly gay? Rumors are flying after he was spotted at the book signing of up-and-coming international gay icon Henry Fox. Reports indicate he received a personalized, signed book from the poet, and that they flirted briefly before Alex left alone. Could they have met up for a late-night rendezvous before Fox flew to San Francisco the following day?

Against his will, anxiety flickers in Alex’s chest. He rolls his eyes as dramatically as possible. “I didn’t leave alone. I left with you.”

“It’s all over the place,” June tells him, throwing the tabloids onto his yoga mat. Sure enough, his appearance at the book signing has somehow made inserts on the cover of Us Weekly, In Touch, and Star. He flips through them; they all contain the same grainy picture and accompanying speculation about his sexuality.

“Why would I go out in public to a gay thing if I was trying to stay closeted?” he asks. “This is ridiculous. Also, I go to gay clubs with you and Nora all the freaking time, and no one’s ever said anything about it.”

“Probably because you spend the entire night trying to find bisexual girls to hit on instead of smiling dreamily at all the hot man meat.”

Alex wrinkles his nose. “Hot man meat? Really, June?”

She collapses on the sofa. “How are you going to respond?”

“Do you really think I need to? I don’t care if people think I’m gay. I’m more offended that anyone would think I’d be interested in that jackass.” Alex glances back down at the picture of him with Henry. Anyone that knows him would know that’s not his real smile, and Henry doesn’t exactly look happy to see him. There’s a glint in his eye, a set to his jaw, as he looks up at Alex from the table.

June snorts. “That hot AF jackass. Are you getting any messages about it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been busy.” Alex gestures to his yoga mat and elliptical machine. “This body doesn’t maintain itself.”

“Where’s your phone?”

“No, just leave it. I don’t care. I need to finish my workout.” Alex moves, slowly settling himself into Split pose, arms reaching up and hands coming together over his head. His thighs and groin burn at the stretch, but it’s a good burn. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breath, slow and deep. The sound of June’s iPhone camera taking a photo utterly pulls him out of the moment. “What the f*ck are you doing?”

“You look good. I’m going to post this on your Instagram.”

“Wait.” Alex mentally curses June, knowing he’s not going to finish his routine tonight. “Let me approve it first.”

He pulls himself carefully out of the split, then gets up and drops himself on the couch next to her. She shows him the photo, already filtered in black and white, the evening light reflecting beautifully off his skin and the pale hardwood floors. He looks strong and graceful. June really knows what she’s doing.

“See?” June smirks.

“Send it to me. I’ll post it later.”

“Fine.” June taps the screen until Alex hears the whoosh of the message sending. “What are we having for dinner?”

“Quinoa kale bowls.” June’s lip curls in disgust and Alex smiles innocently. “Come on. You can help me chop.”

“Can I please get a cheeseburger?”

“Not at this house.”

“Can you get McDonald’s delivered?”

“Bug. That’s disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting.” June ruffles Alex’s hair; he bats her hand away and jumps up from the sofa.

“You’re gonna love it. Come on.”

June ends up staying way too late, and Alex doesn’t even glance at his phone until he’s heading to bed. He had frankly forgotten about the entire gay issue until he sees literally thousands of notifications lighting up his screen from all his social media, emails, text messages, and calls.

f*ck.

Alex chucks his phone on the bed, strips, and goes to brush his teeth. When he comes back and throws himself down on the mattress, he’s weighing whether it’s worth even checking anything tonight, or if he should just let Zahra, his agent, deal with it tomorrow. A new Instagram notification pops up, drawing his eye. It’s a comment on an old photo of him on the runway, modeling swimwear in a tiny Speedo.

What would Henry Fox see in this brainless idiot? Henry is way too good for him.

Alex feels shame and rage rise within him, acidic and unpleasant in his throat. He grabs his phone and starts scrolling through the comments that are pouring in. There are plenty of supportive ones, but there’s also a solid mix of hom*ophobic insults and attacks from Henry’s fans. Of course the people associated with Henry are just like him—elitist assholes. They don’t even know Alex. He’s so sick of being stereotyped, pre-judged before people even try to have a conversation with him. Just like Henry did, when he met Alex at the bar and blew him off.

Alex can’t resist responding. He furiously types up a new post, attaching the photo June took of him doing yoga. He looks balanced, meditative. Like there’s more to him than meets the eye. He hits post before he can second-guess himself.

There’s a lot of comments and accusations going around about me right now, and I need to clear the air. First—I’m not gay. I like women. Second—I went to @henryfox’s poetry reading to pick up my sister only. There’s nothing going on between us. In fact, I’ve had the bad luck to run into him before, and I think he’s an elitist asshole who thinks he’s going to change the world with gay p*rn. No offense, but ew. Third—I’m too busy taking care of myself and living my best life to deal with this sh*t. I hope you all find the same inner peace that I have. Namaste.

The comments start pouring in immediately. Seconds later, he gets a text message from Zahra.

You’re a f*cking idiot and I’m going to rip your balls off.

Alex groans and throws his phone across the room. Zahra will have to wait until tomorrow; he’s not in the mood to deal with this anymore tonight.

—

The fallout is worse than Alex expected.

Zahra’s not the only one who’s mad at him. June, Luna, and even his mom call him individually to ream him out. She doesn’t say much, but it’s enough:

“I thought I raised you better than this, sugar.”

Alex digs in, insisting that he has a right to respond however he wants when people are making salacious accusations about him. He doesn’t yield to June’s appeals to emotion or Luna’s gruff, mocking comments. When Nora calls him, though, she doesn’t yell at him, just gives him numbers on the consequences he’s going to face.

“84% chance you alienate the modeling gays. 61% chance you lose work because of it. 39% chance you get cast out of the industry in shame.”

The numbers give Alex pause. He scratches the back of his neck. “I thought all publicity was good publicity.”

“If you’re interested in getting into, like, truck commercials and American flag print ads, you’re probably heading in the right direction. If you want to keep getting booked by major designers and walking the runway, you’re gonna need the gays on your side. And the gays are obsessed with Henry Fox, and you slung a bunch of insults at him, so you’re public enemy number one.” Nora’s voice is gentle but firm.

“He’s just—” Alex grits out through clenched teeth, picturing Henry’s stupid, perfect face, “such—a f*cking—dickwad—”

“He’s sweet, he’s likeable, he’s hot, he’s single-handedly getting off a large chunk of the population with his poetry right now, and Alex. People like getting off. Don’t try to come between the people and their p*rn. You won’t win.”

Alex exhales, long and frustrated. “So what the f*ck am I supposed to do?”

“Actually listen to Zahra and do what she says. That’s what you pay her for. Ooh, June brought me Chipotle! Gotta go.”

After Nora hangs up, Alex allows himself a brief moment to wallow in self-pity. If Henry had just been a normal f*cking person and hadn’t acted like such a jerk that night at the bar, none of this would have happened. It’s definitely Henry’s fault. Feeling better with the appropriate blame assigned, he’s about to call Zahra when a text comes in from her with nothing but a link to TMZ. Alex opens it up with dread already starting to curdle in his stomach.

Alex Diaz’s hom*ophobic Rant

Model Alex Diaz took to Instagram late Thursday to respond to rumors about his sexuality, and it was not pretty. Many are calling his rambling rant, which attacked gay author Henry Fox, offensive and hom*ophobic. Some close to him are even raising questions about his mental health.

“Honestly, Alex has always been one step away from a mental breakdown. I can’t say I’m surprised that his true feelings about the LGBT community came out this way. I just don’t know how he’s going to come back from this,” a source close to him confided.

Alex feels blood rush to his face, hot and surging. There’s no way anyone who knows him would think he could ever come across as hom*ophobic. Right? Everyone’s pissed at him because it’s a PR nightmare. Not because they think he actually hates gay people. Right?

Alex swallows over the lump in his throat and calls Zahra.

“Look who decided to finally act like a grown ass man,” she says by way of greeting.

“Um, hi?”

“I’ve been working my ass off for the past twenty-four hours to contain this, yet you refuse to take my calls, so I can’t help you, and then sh*t like this comes out, blowing everything the f*ck up.”

“I just thought...it wasn’t that big of a deal.” Alex braces himself for the onslaught.

“Really? You thought pissing off a f*ckton of designers, photographers, and stylists wasn’t that big of a deal? Wow, you must be doing a lot better than I thought. Which is bizarre, because everything having to do with your stupid ass career is supposed to come through me.”

“I’m not hom*ophobic,” Alex says quickly when Zahra stops to take a breath. “Zahra. You know I’m not hom*ophobic. How do we change the narrative?”

“Now he’s interested in changing the goddamn narrative. Now he’s wondering what consequences there might be when he publicly attacks the hottest gay guy on the market right now for no f*cking reason. Of course people are calling you hom*ophobic.”

“But my sister and my best friend are bi. And my mentor is gay! It would literally be impossible for me to be hom*ophobic.” Alex feels a drop of sweat slide down his temple. It’s deeply unpleasant.

“Yet here we are. Because you couldn’t just wait five seconds and let those rumors die down on their own.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Alex hears Zahra’s gum snap on the other end of the line. She pauses for several moments before responding, likely just to torture him.

“Luckily for you, I’ve been in contact with Henry’s agent, and they’re willing to work with us. Emphasis on the work. It’s going to take a lot of work on your end to pull this off.”

“What kind of work?”

“You’re going to put out a statement that your idiotic Instagram post was a bad joke between friends and sincerely apologize to the LGBTQ community for the harms you have caused. You’re going to make a large donation to an LGBTQ rights organization. And you’re going to become actual friends with Henry Fox. He’s hot right now. It can only help you to appear to be on his good side.”

Alex is struck dumb. Friends? With Henry Fox? Those words, Alex thinks, don’t even go together. Like gas station sushi, or socks with sandals.

“Why would Henry agree to this? He hates me too.”

“Henry’s big with the literary crowd right now, and he’s starting to go mainstream. You’re already there, so you’re going to push him over the edge by promoting his damn book—and him—every chance you get. Social media, talking it up at your appearances, mentioning it in your interviews. Your followers are a whole new market for him, and he’s going to ride the publicity to a windfall.”

Alex grimaces. “Does that mean I have to read his stupid book?”

“Can you read? I wasn’t sure. I’ll send more details by email shortly, including the statement you’ll make on social media and a list of approved organizations you can donate to. You can start now by following all of Henry’s socials. Stay close to your phone and answer my f*cking calls.” Zahra hangs up.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

“I have to go to Seattle and pretend to be his friend for an entire day.”

Alex is slouched on the floor of June and Nora’s apartment, not even trying to maintain his posture; he can’t quite bring himself to care. The full details of Zahra’s plan emerged over the weekend, and they include not only making nice with Henry on social media but going to see him in person. Using up practically his entire weekend—a weekend he was actually going to have off, for once. Faking nice with him over dinner, showing up at his reading, and sitting next to him while he signs books. Alex can’t think of a worse punishment for his Instagram outburst.

June and Nora, stretched out on opposite ends of the sofa, look less than sympathetic.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you acted like an actual middle schooler,” June says.

“I’m bored with this topic of conversation,” Nora adds. “At least, the part where all you do is bitch about it. I’m looking forward to hearing about your budding friendship. June, how was work?”

Alex privately seethes. June shrugs. “Fine. How about you?”

Nora looks glum. “f*cking awful. My supervisor asked me out again today. Had three separate jokes made by three separate white boys about how they’d like to mine more than my data. This is not what I thought working at a tech startup was going to be like.”

“That’s f*cked up,” Alex says, suddenly vehemently angry on her behalf. “How long has this been going on?”

June and Nora look at each other, seemingly calculating with their eyes. “Pretty much since you started,” June says.

“Yeah, I had maybe one good week where everyone was too scared to talk to me. So for the last, like, almost two months.”

“Why haven’t you mentioned any of this to me?” Alex demands. Nora purses her lips at him.

“You haven’t really asked. You’ve been caught up in your own sh*t.”

“f*ck,” Alex says, realizing. Nora started an entirely new job and he hadn’t even thought to ask her how it was going. He just assumed she was thriving, like she always does. “I’m an asshole.”

“You are,” June confirms. “You can make up for it by bringing us free shots of Absolut and Calvin Klein underwear.” She starts to give Nora a foot massage; Nora gives her a small smile in return. Alex refrains from shooting a withering glare June’s way, which he thinks is very kind.

“What can I do to help? Do you want me to go in with you and talk to somebody—”

“Alex, no. Your well-meaning offer is just another subtle and insidious form of sexism. But thanks.”

“I’m an asshole,” Alex repeats, and it’s enough to stop him feeling sorry for himself about his ordeal with Henry. Kind of.

Nora shrugs. “Honestly, I think it’s just a sign from the universe that I should go to grad school like I was already thinking about. I didn’t want to pass up the opportunity, but I’m not planning to stick around when it’s this terrible.”

Alex raises his eyebrows. “Yeah? What do you think, UCLA?”

“I won’t make the decision based on location. I’m going to go wherever has the best program.”

Alex’s mouth drops open. “You wouldn’t actually consider leaving me here.”

Nora’s eyes flicker over to June, and June’s the one who responds. “She would, and I would probably try to go with her, if I can.”

Alex’s pulse speeds up at the mere suggestion that he might lose his entire L.A. support system in one fell swoop. It’s unimaginable. What would he do without them?

“I’m just starting to dive into research on schools now,” Nora says, “so no need to freak out. Yet.”

“Okay,” Alex says slowly. “But you better keep me f*cking posted.”

—

The flight to Seattle on Saturday afternoon is turbulent, much like Alex’s mood. He grudgingly drinks two bloody Marys and nips an extra bottle of vodka off the smiling flight attendant, which he then downs in the car to his hotel. Looking down at his phone, he goes over the itinerary Zahra sent him again.

5:00pm - Dinner with Henry at Single Shot Kitchen & Saloon
6:30pm - Arrive at Elliot Bay Book Company; press photos
7:30pm - Book reading and signing
Optional - drinks together after signing

In Alex’s mind, optional definitely means no. He’s not sure how he’s going to survive this many hours of making nice with Henry Fox in person, but he thinks of Zahra’s glare and it scares him enough to fortify him.

Alex has an hour to settle in, so he takes a shower and diffuses his hair, catching a few minutes of House Hunters International before the car that Zahra arranged arrives to bring him to dinner. He has a feeling she only set it up to make sure he would actually get there; he normally just takes Lyfts everywhere. It feels a little bit like a police escort.

Henry has been out at some other appearance, so he meets Alex at the restaurant. He slides into the seat across from him looking irritatingly handsome and windswept, like he could go straight on the cover of some gay romance novel.

“Hello, Alex,” Henry says tentatively.

“Hi,” Alex says back, eyeing him.

“Good flight?” Henry accepts the menu from the server, and Alex notices how long and elegant his fingers are. He tries to hide his disgust. Of course, even this guy’s f*cking fingers look like some beautiful instrument of his craft.

“Pretty rough, actually.” Alex looks down at the menu, not even trying to read anything.

“Bit stormy today, isn’t it?” Henry looks down with as much indifference as Alex is trying to give off.

“Yep,” Alex says, loudly. Henry puts down his menu, then pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

“Look,” he says in a low voice, eyes meeting Alex’s with some kind of urgency Alex can’t quite parse, “this isn’t my idea of a good time, either. I’ve been on the road and I’m exhausted. I would love to have some time to myself before my next event, but instead I’m here with someone who despises me. So can we just make the best of it and at least make it believable? We can talk about clothes or drinking or whatever it is your interests are. I don’t care. I just don’t want to spend the next hour with you and have yet another story pop up about how much you hate me when we’re supposed to be fixing the problem.”

“Clothes and drinking? You must have a really high opinion of me.”

“I’ve never met a model before,” Henry says, pink spreading across his cheeks. “I don’t know what you people do.”

“You people? Really?”

The server interrupts to take their order before Henry can respond. Alex orders a double; he’s going to need it. Once she’s walked away, Henry’s eyes find his again, blue and intense. An extended silence permeates the space between them. Alex is actually considering speaking when a trio of women approach the table.

“I’m so sorry, excuse me, sorry to bother you, but are you Alex Diaz?”

Alex’s chest puffs up with a warm, pleasant sensation at being recognized. “I am! And who are you?”

“I’m Cecilia. I’m—god, I just love you so much! My friends and I were just talking about how you should get into acting. We want to see you on TV!”

“That’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” Alex says, grinning. “I’m loving life as a model right now, though.”

“Can we get a picture with you?”

“Of course,” Alex says, squeezing out between the tables to join them. “Henry, you wouldn’t mind taking it, would you?”

“Henry Fox?” another woman in the group pipes up. “Is that Henry Fox?”

“Erm, hello,” Henry says, waving awkwardly.

“I love your work,” the same woman gushes. “Your poetry inspired me to start writing again.”

“Goodness, thank you,” Henry says, and Alex sees the telltale flush crossing his cheeks.

“Will you both be in the picture?” one of them asks. Henry and Alex look at each other, and Alex shrugs, trying to say, come on.

“Sure,” Henry says, just as awkwardly as his wave. He stands up, trying and failing to fold his long body into the group. They manage to take a few selfies, then Alex gives each woman a hug as Henry sits back down. Awkwardly.

“So nice to meet you,” Alex says, winking. “Take care.” He sits and finds Henry staring at him, dumbstruck. “What?”

Henry shakes his head. “I don’t know how you...never mind. Nothing.” He lets out a long breath. “We were just talking about how we’re going to get through this night. So tell me what’s going on with you. Pretend I’m your friend or something.” He drums his fingers on the table.

“I’m not sure that’s going to work. Can I call you by a different name?”

“You can call me whatever you want.”

Alex raises an eyebrow at this before he can help himself, and Henry’s blush goes from pink to very, very red. Alex can’t help the laugh that escapes him.

“Are you actually getting embarrassed? Don’t you write gay p*rn? That must be mild for what you’re used to.” Their drinks arrive at that moment, and the server’s too-big smile indicates that she overheard what Alex just said. Henry puts his head in his hands until she’s walked away, then looks back up.

“It’s not p*rn, it’s erotic poetry,” he hisses. “And it’s different writing for an audience who wants to read it than saying it out loud to someone who hates me. And the poor server.”

“If her smile is anything to go by, I think she was into it.” Alex grins.

“She’s not my type.” Henry takes a large gulp of cabernet. “Can we change the subject now?”

“We’re finally having a kind of friendly conversation and you want to change the subject?”

Henry just looks at him. “I know that it’s, like, your favorite hobby to antagonize me, for whatever reason, but please.”

“After clothes and drinking.” Henry’s gaze turns pleading. “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”

“Erm…” Henry swills the wine around in his glass. “I saw your, er, Instagram post about me. It was a nice photo, the split and everything. You must be really flexible.”

Alex raises his eyebrow again. “Do you hear the words that come out of your mouth?”

“f*ck,” Henry says. He looks like he’s getting flustered. Good, Alex thinks. “I was just...you’re not giving me a lot to go off of here…”

“So everything you can think of just happens to sound like a come on?”

“I don’t mean it to.” Henry sounds miserable. “Trust me. As a gay man, I know better than to go around hitting on hom*ophobes.”

“I’m not a hom*ophobe,” Alex says quickly. Henry’s the one raising an eyebrow now, and he sits back in his chair.

“Sure,” he replies. Alex feels like there’s something he’s not saying, but he just adds, “So, you say something to start a conversation now.”

Alex pauses for a moment, thinking, then summons every ounce of his self-control to force himself to play nice. “How’s the tour going? Where have you been?” The question sounds normal, he thinks. Natural. As though he hasn’t been reading every word of every article Nora sends him detailing everything Henry’s doing.

“It’s been good,” Henry says, looking relieved. “Really good. I’ve had standing room only and long lines pretty much everywhere I’ve been so far. L.A. was the first stop, then up to San Francisco, Sacramento, Eugene, Portland, and here. Next will be Vancouver. I’ve never been to Canada before.”

“Had you been to the U.S. before?”

“Yeah, loads of times. My dad was an actor and did a lot of filming out here, so he’d bring us out when he could. I actually got to go and see his star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame when I was in L.A.”

“Oh, James Bond, right? Is he retired now?”

“No, he died of cancer when I was 17.”

“Oh. f*ck,” Alex says, suddenly uncomfortably warm. He takes a drink of whiskey. “I’m sorry.”

Henry shrugs but doesn’t say anything. His jaw is set, tensed. Alex thinks about what it would be like to lose a parent at that age. His parents may have gotten divorced, causing his dad to flee the state, but he was still just a FaceTime call away. To have him just gone—Alex can’t even imagine it.

“Nobody ever knows how to move on from the dead parent topic,” Henry says dryly. Alex coughs. “What do your parents do?”

“My mom is the CFO of Whole Foods. Their headquarters is in Austin. Texas,” Alex adds when Henry looks at him quizzically. “That’s where I’m from. My dad is the executive director of a nonprofit that helps immigrants and refugees and asylum seekers. He lives in California, San Diego.”

“What does the nonprofit do, exactly? That sounds amazing.”

The question gives Alex pause. Most people don’t just brush off his mom being the CFO of Whole f*cking Foods to ask about his dad’s nonprofit work. Apparently Henry Fox isn’t most people.

He tells Henry about his grandparents coming from Mexico and the trouble they dealt with all their lives as undocumented immigrants, living in fear of deportation. He talks about his dad’s promise to not only help them, but help as many immigrants as he can. Henry asks a lot of questions, and one thing leads to another, and they manage to get through the meal without any more awkward silences or fumbling searches for another topic of conversation. After he’s done eating, Alex glances at his watch and is surprised to find it’s already 6:15.

“I guess you need to get to the bookstore, right?”

Henry’s eyes widen. “Yes, I do. Are you...are we...riding together?”

“I think so,” Alex says with a small grimace that he immediately regrets. Henry, however, has a faraway look on his face, gazing into the distance at nothing, and doesn’t seem to notice. “Is one of your people driving you?”

“Oh, yes, Shaan will be picking me up. He flew in to make sure everything went well with...this.”

“And is everything going well, in your opinion?” Alex asks. It’s been easier to talk to Henry than he anticipated.

“It’s fine,” Henry says, standing up briskly. “We should go. I’m sure he’s outside waiting for us.”

Back to dick mode, Alex thinks. He grabs his jacket and rushes to catch up to Henry, who’s already halfway across the restaurant. By the time they get into the black SUV waiting out front, Henry has managed to avoid looking at Alex entirely, and Shaan greets Henry as though Alex isn’t even there. Alex’s stomach goes sour. This entire trip is bullsh*t.

“Mr. Diaz,” Shaan says, turning around from the passenger seat and startling Alex out of his moodiness. “Your agent, Ms. Bankston, has asked me to remind you of the expectations of your appearance at the event.” He clears his throat and reads off his phone. “You and Mr. Fox will take promotional photos for social media before the reading, in which you will look at him like the sun shines out of his ass. You will sit in the front row during his reading and hang on his every word. Then, you will sit next to him at the signing and greet his fans as though they are female assistants who have asked you to rendezvous in the bathroom while you’re working.” Shaan’s eyebrows go up as he reads the last part, then he finally looks at Alex. “Is that understood?”

Alex glances at Henry, who’s gazing out the window with a disgusted look on his face.

“Understood,” Alex says, biting back the thousands of insults and curse words he would rather say in reply.

They arrive at the bookstore with plenty of time. Alex ducks away to use the restroom and send furious, complaining messages in his group chat with June and Nora. By the time he gets to the back room where he was directed, Henry is there, looking nervous with a sheen of sweat covering his forehead, his foot tapping. He glances at Alex with disinterest and offers a quiet, “Hello.”

“Hey,” Alex says back, halfway to yelling. Henry’s quietness makes him want to crank up the volume on everything he does. Henry doesn’t say much else, so Alex doesn’t either. Shaan orders them to get ready for photos, and upon closer inspection, Alex gets a little worried that Henry might actually throw up on him. His face is ashen, pale, and he looks miserable.

“Are you okay?” Alex asks in a low voice after the photographer arranges them in a casual greeting pose, Henry’s book featured prominently in the foreground.

“Positively chipper,” Henry replies weakly.

“Are you...sick, or something?”

“What? No. I’m just...nervous. I hate this part. The waiting.” Henry bites his lip until the photographer yells at them to smile.

“You just said they’ve been sellouts all over the country. What do you have to be nervous about?”

“Just because it’s gone well in other cities doesn’t mean it’ll go well here,” Henry mutters.

“Hug, now!” the photographer inserts.

“What kind of photoshoot is this?” Alex says under his breath, and Henry actually cracks a small smile. As he steps up to clasp Henry’s hand and pull him into a one-armed bro hug, he registers his annoyance at how much taller Henry is than him. “You’ll be fine. The entire world is obsessed with you. You could get up there and test out your new stand-up comedy routine and everyone would still be fawning and begging for your autograph.”

“I don’t have a stand-up comedy routine,” Henry says, looking alarmed.

“My point,” Alex says through clenched teeth, “is that everyone loves you. You’re practically guaranteed an audience. Especially since I’m here. What do you have to be nervous about?”

“I have generalized anxiety. I’m nervous all the time, about everything.” Henry steps back from the hug, briefly meeting Alex’s eyes before he looks over at Shaan. “Is there anything else right now?”

“That’s it. We have a seat reserved for Mr. Diaz.”

“Great. Can you take him there? Now?”

Alex narrows his eyes, but Shaan is already whisking him out of the back area and into a seat in the front row. He’s supposed to be here, pretending to be a friend and support to Henry. Time to put on a show.

There’s a half hour until the reading starts, but the seats are already filling up. A few people tentatively approach Alex and ask for selfies, which he happily obliges; at least that feels normal. Alex scrolls through Instagram while waiting, responding to some fans to give them a thrill. The photos they’ve just taken are soon posted on Henry’s account, tagging him. Love having @alex.diaz here to support me in Seattle! The only thing that makes Alex feel better is knowing Henry must be gagging as much as he is.

When Henry finally steps in front of the podium, the room is packed and it’s standing room only in the back. Alex marvels, not for the first time, at how some f*cking gay erotic poetry can garner this big of a crowd.

“Good evening,” Henry greets the audience, and Alex notices that all traces of his anxiety appear to be gone. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are bright, his hands steady on the podium. He looks like he was born to be up in front of a crowd.

Henry starts to tell the story of how he came to write his book, and Alex finds himself hanging on every word. Henry is self-effacing, a little sarcastic, but still manages to exude confidence. He talks about growing up with W.H. Auden, Walt Whitman, Audre Lorde, and Federico Garcia Lorca. He talks about coming to terms with his sexuality in the aftermath of his father’s death from pancreatic cancer. He talks about the pitfalls of being a single gay man in London, mostly the horrors of dating apps. He talks about the way he wanted to celebrate queer sexuality, the ups and the downs of it, in a way that he sees a lot within the community, but not a lot outside of it. And then he starts the reading.

Alex has managed to go this long without actually cracking open his copy of Henry’s book, so he has no idea what to expect. What he’s completed unprepared for, however, is the immediate, physical reaction his body has to hearing Henry’s poem.

The last time we slept, it was only because I left you shaking, so weak it was difficult to roll over, and anyway I asked you not to. You fell asleep first so I studied your hair, curled and damp and pressed to your temples. I pressed my fingers there, too. When we woke I was hard again and you called me insatiable, but is it the same as hunger, to want to be consumed?

Does a word exist for what you’ve made me?

Henry’s posh British accent curls around the vowels, and his voice is low. He reads confidently, slowly, as though he wants to ensure the words soak into the audience bit by bit. Alex feels them like a physical presence settling on his skin, trickling down from the top of his head, over his shoulders, down his arms and chest.

He claps, along with everyone else, but he’s distracted by the betrayal of his body allowing the words to hit him like this. Henry smiles at the applause, briefly glancing at Alex before he turns back to his book. He flips to the next page he has marked with a neon sticky note and takes a deep breath. Then he starts to read again.

I don’t usually, you say, and the lie is ghost-thin but I agree anyway, before you can finish, pretend not to notice the incriminating details. Your hands are steady, I don’t say. Your shirt is pressed. It’s just simpler, and when I put my palm on your leg your sharp breath, at least, is genuine.

I don’t, you say, muffled, into my clavicle. Your mouth is hot and you say it again, against my hipbone now, along the inside of my thigh, next to the bruise you left with your thumb.

Yes, I say, not the answer you’re looking for. There’s a wide space between what I want and what you need, but my body yields easily, and this is simpler, too.

Henry’s voice goes soft, quiet, at the end of this one. Alex finds himself shifting in his chair, assaulted with visuals of everything Henry is saying. It’s only when his mind catches up to his body that he realizes it: he’s getting hard. That is...f*cking weird, is what that is, because Alex has never been into poetry, and Alex has never been into men, and the times he fooled around with his best friend back home, Liam, while they were watching p*rn don’t count. There’s just something about the words—and the way Henry says them—that make Alex feel like he’s the you Henry is referring to, like he can see the tiny purple bloom on a pale thigh as he ghosts over it with his mouth, and when he looks up he sees big blue eyes and sandy blonde hair, and he supposes it makes sense that Henry would be the I in this situation, considering he’s the one who wrote the damn poem, but it really doesn’t make sense that Alex would be getting hard imagining his mouth on Henry’s thigh, because he’s not gay. He’s enjoyed sex with lots of girls—like, really, genuinely enjoyed it. He masturbat*s thinking about women. He’s gotten actual butterflies in his stomach from crushes he’s had, before.

Suddenly, Alex is hot, too hot. His dick is hard and there’s sweat under his collar. He feels like the walls are closing in, and one singular thought overtakes him: get the f*ck out.

Again, his body responds before his mind can catch up. His legs carry him out of the bookstore, and he’s outside in the cool night air before he fully realizes what’s happening. He takes off down the sidewalk, bangs his fist against his thigh. He walks until his erection is gone and his hands are freezing, then he orders a Lyft back to his hotel.

Zahra’s going to kick his ass for running out of the reading before it was over, but he can’t think about that right now. In fact, he doesn’t want to think about f*cking anything. The minibar in his hotel room is well-stocked, and he’s going straight there.

By the time Henry texts him, a simple, to-the-point what the f*ck?, Alex is well on his way to sloshed. The liquor has removed his inhibitions enough that he responds right away, even as some part of his brain tells him to just ignore it, go to sleep, get on a plane tomorrow, and forget this ever happened.

Alex
something came up

Henry
I don’t believe you.

Alex is affronted. He may be kind of conceited, but he’s not a liar. This was an emergency. He thinks suddenly that maybe seeing Henry again in a non-public, non-poetry situation might help him figure out where this all is stemming from. He can also hear Zahra’s voice in his head: “For the love of God, Diaz, don’t f*ck this up.”

Alex
where are you? I’ll meet you

Henry
I’m still at the bookstore. Just finished signing.
I’m going to go back to the hotel and get some sleep.

Alex
no, don’t. let me explain

Alex does a quick search and sends Henry a screenshot of a map location with walking directions from the bookstore. I’ll be there in fifteen.

He asks Henry to meet him at a dive bar, somewhere they’re less likely to get recognized; Alex is not interested in having this conversation in front of either of their fans. When Alex arrives, he spots Henry already holed up in a booth nursing a drink. Alex steps up to the bar to order himself a middle-shelf whiskey and then slides into the booth across from him.

“Hey,” Alex says. He unsuccessfully tries to fight the blush that starts spreading up his neck, flashing back to the way Henry’s voice sounded reading his poems. Annoyingly rich and silky and deep, his stupid accent making every filthy word sound innocent somehow.

“Hey,” Henry replies, eyeing him, hand on his drink. “I’m surprised you showed up.”

Alex pretends not to notice the bitterness in his voice, but it takes him aback. “I said I would, didn’t I?”

“You said you’d be at the reading, too, but you ran out of that quite quickly.”

“I had a personal issue come up,” Alex says, shifting uncomfortably. Henry looks dubious.

“Sure,” he says slowly. “A personal issue.” He shakes his head a little, taking a sip of his drink.

“I did,” Alex says defensively. He’s going to need a lot more drinks if Henry insists on actually getting an explanation out of him. There’s a pause, long and thick with discomfort, as Henry continues to watch him.

“I just have to ask one question,” Henry says finally. Alex motions with his hand to signal for him to continue. “Are you hom*ophobic?”

Alex nearly spits out his drink. He’s never been accused of being bigoted before this whole thing. The thought that he, a dark-skinned half-Mexican who has run up against racism time and time again, would do the same to another marginalized group of people makes him physically ill.

“Of course not. My sister and best friend are bi. And my mentor is gay.”

“You could still be hom*ophobic. I don’t know the strange ways hom*ophobes justify their horridness to themselves. And I don’t know why else you would have gone literally running out of the room when I was reading. I saw you.”

Alex tenses. He feels strangely vulnerable every time he interacts with Henry, like Henry somehow knows more about Alex than he knows about himself, and he’s irritated that it’s taking him so long to figure it out. “I’m not hom*ophobic. And I don’t have to justify anything about anything, to myself or to you.”

“Is there another reason you hate me, then? Because you don’t actually know me that well. Or at all.” Henry’s eyes flash at him: a challenge. He likes that Henry seems like a real person in this moment, full of emotion, anger on display—even if it’s directed at him. He can’t think of a good way to dodge Henry’s question, and he’s tipsy enough not to care, so he takes a sip of his whiskey and decides to go for honesty.

“When I went up and introduced myself to you at the bar, back in L.A. My sister was all excited about your work, and I thought I could help you, introduce you to some industry people or just be a good connection for you there. And you were a total dick to me and pretty much dismissed me entirely.” Alex clears his throat.

He hadn’t quite realized until that moment how much the rejection had stung. He works so hard to be charming, friendly, upbeat—the non-threatening Mexican, usually surrounded by rich white people who pretend to like him but are just waiting for him to slip up, to reinforce all their stereotypes. Henry blowing him off made him feel like he was at his first model party again, trying to connect with the other new models but getting ignored. On the surface, it could have been read as a bunch of snobs sticking with their friends. But Alex had felt deeply, intensely, irreversibly, the undercurrent of racism accompanying it. It had made his skin crawl, like he would never be able to clean up enough to meet their standards.

“Plus,” Alex adds, “you were getting so much attention that night. More than me. You just swooped in to L.A., blonde and blue-eyed and all-American looking, and everyone wanted to meet you. It felt like every time someone like you has been chosen over someone like me for a shoot, or an ad campaign, or whatever. Everyone likes diversity until they have to risk money on it. And I am the diversity, wherever I go.” Alex laughs, more bitterly than he had intended.

Henry does nothing but look at him for a moment, his mouth open slightly, jaw tight. Alex forces himself not to look away. Shadows move over Henry’s face, serious in the dim light, and his eyes flicker downward before he starts to speak.

“I was a prick to you that night, in the bar. I don’t know...that I can do much about the attention I’m getting. I can tell you that it’s not easy for me to be on the receiving end of it. You seem like you thrive in the spotlight, but that’s not me. I’ve never—” Henry cuts himself off, running both hands through his hair. He looks like he’s gathering his thoughts, and Alex pointedly does not say anything to interrupt.

After a moment, Henry continues. “Even though my dad was famous, he made sure we were well sheltered from it. I’ve always had a normal life, as normal as possible, at least. And that night, it was my first night in America, and I came to the bar to write, because I was alone in a new country and I wasn’t going to see my family or my friends or my dog for months. And I was anxious and uncomfortable and the way I deal with things is by putting it into my writing. And people kept coming up to me, interrupting me. I wasn’t expecting it, and I didn’t know how to handle it, so clearly I handled it very poorly. When you came up to me…” Henry takes a breath. Something changes in his expression, but Alex can’t figure out what it is. “I’m sorry. I am.”

Henry’s eyes finally slide back up and lock on Alex. Alex’s chest feels weirdly tight, and he wonders, suddenly, how they started talking about this. He’s not quite sure what to say, so he blurts out, “You went to a bar...to write?”

Henry looks self-conscious. “Sometimes I feel like it’s easiest to get my thoughts out when I’m by myself in a crowd of people. When I’m completely alone, shut up somewhere...I can get really stuck in my head. Can’t shut it off, you know?”

Alex thinks about the way he gets in his apartment, mind whirring until it feels like he’s going to explode. Cleaning for hours just so he has something to focus on. Nights spent at June’s after a particularly exciting or nerve-wracking or awful day, knowing he won’t be able to turn it off without someone to distract him. “I can understand that.”

Henry smiles at him. It’s not the usual smile he’s seen on Henry’s Instagram, or when he’s signing copies of his books. It’s real and infectious and it starts in his eyes, spreading over his high cheekbones, down to the curve of his lips. “I thought you might.”

Alex forgets, momentarily, that it’s his turn to respond, until Henry’s expression goes a bit puzzled and he realizes he’s staring. He coughs and looks down, taking a large drink of whiskey.

So he and Henry have something in common. It would be statistically improbable for them not to. At least, he imagines that’s what Nora will say about all of this when he tells her. The fact that Henry just made him feel more seen and exposed than when he’s practically naked doing an underwear shoot doesn’t mean they’re going to be friends or anything. Henry still doesn’t really know him at all. It’s fine.

“So,” Henry says after a long moment of silence. “Would it be fair to ask if you still hate me?”

“I don’t hate you,” Alex replies, quicker than he had intended. Henry continues to look at him, still smiling a little. Alex tries not to squirm under the intensity of his gaze.

“Good,” Henry says quietly. “I’m still alone here, in a new city every other day. I’m really not trying to make enemies. In fact, it was almost a relief to see you tonight. Just to see someone who looked familiar. Even if I was sure you wouldn’t be happy to see me.”

Alex considers him over the rim of his glass. “You must really be hurting for company if you were looking forward to seeing the guy who trashed you on Instagram.”

Henry laughs suddenly, loud and authentic. “I was. I am. It’s kind of pathetic, I know.”

Alex grins. “It’s not pathetic. Sometimes when I’m doing a long stretch of time away from home, I make my sister fall asleep with me on FaceTime.”

“Now that’s pathetic.”

“Hey!” Alex protests. Henry laughs again; Alex finds that he doesn’t mind the sound of it. He tosses the rest of his drink back and stands up, shaking his glass. “I’m going to grab another one. You want another?”

“Yeah,” Henry replies, laughter still in his eyes. “Yeah, I do.”

It turns out Henry is staying at the same hotel as Alex, so they share a Lyft back after several rounds of drinks. Alex is well past tipsy, and Henry looks loose and comfortable with three large gin and tonics in him, the top couple of buttons on his shirt open. Alex glances over at him and catches a glimpse of his collarbone, which causes his mind to bring up the image of a mouth trailing hotly over it so fast it’s like a Pavlovian response. He knows it’s a line from Henry’s poem, trapped in his brain. He shifts in his seat.

Henry’s head falls back against the seatrest, and he looks over at Alex, a lazy smile on his lips. Alex feels his own curve up in response, even though he’s not sure what they’re smiling about. When they arrive, Alex stumbles out of the Lyft, and Henry mocks him ruthlessly. Alex throws an elbow into his side.

They’re both on the ninth floor. Alex’s drunk brain thinks he should be preparing how to say goodbye as unawkwardly as possible, but that’s as far as he gets. Henry’s room is by the elevator; Alex’s is further down the hall. He stands there dumbly as Henry gets the card out of his wallet.

“So,” Henry says, turning to face him. “This could have been worse.”

“Could have been worse,” Alex echoes. “Yeah, I guess.”

“We probably don’t have to see each other again, if you don’t want to. Lots of people saw us together tonight, got pictures and everything. I bet things will die down soon.”

“Oh,” Alex says. “Okay.”

“So,” Henry says again, slipping the card into the door. “Goodbye, Alex.”

“Bye,” Alex says. Henry flashes him a small, quick smile before stepping inside, and Alex forces himself to keep moving down the hall before he lingers overlong. He enters his own room and collapses on the king bed, arms and legs spread wide open. Everything is spinning a little, so he closes his eyes and takes slow, deep breaths through his mouth. Henry swirls through his thoughts, which isn’t particularly helping.

After a while, he manages to pull off his clothes, brush his teeth, and chug a few glasses of water. He puts on HGTV, hoping he’s drunk enough to actually fall asleep, but he can’t. Instead he watches two episodes of Property Brothers and runs over his conversation with Henry again and again in his head, weird energy humming through his veins. When he reaches a point of physical discomfort, like something inside him is going to burst, he throws on a fluffy robe from the closet and pads down to the ice machine with the fancy leather bucket just for something to do. The loud, clacking noise of ice dropping into the hard plastic interior is strangely soothing. He turns and nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of Henry behind him.

“Jesus f*cking Christ,” Alex shouts. “What the f*ck are you doing, sneaking up on me like that? What are you that your f*cking footsteps don’t even make noise?”

“Sorry!” Henry cries in response, holding his hands up. “I thought you heard me! I even said your name.”

Alex takes a deep breath to try to calm his racing heart and levels a glare at Henry. Now that he’s sure he’s not having a heart attack, he notices that Henry’s barefoot, wearing soft gray pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt, looking rumpled and a little spooked. Alex squints at him, accusatory. “Why the f*ck aren’t you sleeping?”

“I can’t sleep. Usually can’t. Just thought I’d go on an excursion.” Henry holds up the ice bucket. Alex doesn’t say that he can never sleep either, or that he’d had the exact same idea.

“Well, you should get back before you wake up everyone on the floor with your sneaking around.” Alex takes a tentative step around him.

“I’m pretty sure they’re already awake, thanks to your shrieking.” Henry steps up to the ice machine and fills the bucket.

“That was entirely your fault.” Alex raises his voice to be heard over the noise. When Henry’s done, he turns around with an amused look in his eyes.

“Waiting for me?”

“You have to walk me back to my room now. If I turn my back on you, you’ll just grab me when I’m not expecting it.” A flicker of something passes over Henry’s face at Alex’s words, but it’s gone before Alex can figure it out.

“That robe looks comfortable,” Henry comments as they start walking.

“I sleep naked, so I had to make myself presentable to leave the room.” Henry makes a small, choked noise, and Alex looks up at him. “Are you okay?”

“Just...breathed wrong,” Henry says, then coughs a little. They reach Alex’s room, and he stops in front of it.

“I guess it’s your turn to bid me good night at my door now,” he says, smirking.

“I guess so,” Henry says, smiling. “Good night, Alex.”

“Good night, Henry.”

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

When Alex lands in L.A. the next day, he goes straight from the airport to June and Nora’s apartment. June is out covering something for the paper, and Alex is secretly grateful, because he doesn’t think he’s ready to talk to her and her wide, wobbly eyes about this yet. Nora will give him the no-nonsense, no-bullsh*t response that he needs right now.

“Blergh,” Alex says when Nora opens the door.

“You look...ill,” Nora says, eyeing him. “Are you?”

“Hungover,” Alex mumbles. “It’s fine.” He crosses to the couch and drops his bag on the floor, flinging himself down on the sofa and dramatically covering his eyes with his arm.

“So you drank your way through your trip to Seattle?” Nora settles on the squashy armchair across from him, her gaze sharp.

“Pretty much. It was…” Alex tries to decide on a word. Unsettling? Surprising? Torturous? Fun? “Weird.”

Nora’s eyebrow shoots up. “Weird how?”

“I just...had to spend the whole night with him, right? And he’s so, like, bumbling and shy and weird, like a f*cking deer or something. I thought he was going to get spooked and run away at any second. So we had this awkward dinner and whatever, and then we had to go to his reading and do these stupid photos.”

“Oh, I saw.” Nora grins; Alex groans.

“It was bad. But the weirdest thing was during the reading. They made me sit in the front row, so like. I had to actually listen and pay attention, because everyone could see me and how I was reacting. And…” Alex takes a deep breath. Then another. Actually, it feels like he can’t quite get enough air. He tries to breathe deeper, but it’s only making him breathe faster.

“Alex.” Nora is by his side all of a sudden, gripping his arm. “You’re fine. Slow down.” Alex looks into her eyes, serious but gentle, and they help steady him. How the f*ck is he supposed to say this out loud?

“I’m fine.” Nora slides down to the ground and releases her tight grip, but keeps her hand on Alex’s arm. “It’s fine. This is stupid.”

“Did someone say something? Or do something?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. It was just—it was the first time I’ve heard Henry’s poetry.” Alex can’t bring himself to say anything else. Nora’s face goes suddenly, unnaturally neutral.

“You didn’t read it after we all got his book?”

“Of course not.”

“So you heard it. And…”

Alex puts his arm back over his eyes. He can’t look at her anymore. “I don’t know. It was weird.”

“It’s good, right? Also, like, really hot.” Alex feels a rush of relief. He peeks out at her.

“It’s objectively hot, right? Any rational person would find that hot. Right?”

“Any queer person, for sure.”

Alex’s mouth opens and closes like a fish. “I don’t think you have to be queer to recognize that it’s hot.”

Nora’s eyes develop a distinct gleam. “Did it turn you on, Alejandro?”

“It’s not—I didn’t—”

“Did he read the one about rimming? That one really got me.”

Alex’s eyes officially bug out of his head.

“No. He didn’t read that one. I mean, maybe he did. I left after the second one.”

“You left?”

“I felt...weird.”

“You had a boner.”

“Nora.”

“It’s not my first time, Alex. You don’t have to protect my delicate sensibilities.”

“I just…” Alex’s fists clench in frustration. “What do you think it all means?”

Nora’s carefully neutral expression slips into one of extreme judgment. It’s much more familiar. “What do you think it means, Alex?”

“That I’m a horny bastard and I haven’t gotten laid recently enough?” Alex says hopefully.

“Or that you want to f*ck Henry.”

Alex’s groan quickly becomes a roar. “I don’t want to f*ck Henry. That’s ridiculous. He’s literally an overcooked spaghetti noodle. Also, I’m straight.”

“He’s an extremely attractive spaghetti noodle, and...you are?” Nora co*cks her head to the side.

“What do you mean? Of course I am.”

“I thought you had figured out you were bi in high school. With all the Liam stuff.”

“What? That didn’t mean anything.” Alex’s brain jumps into overdrive second-guessing everything he ever thought he knew about himself. “Right?”

“You tell me.”

“We were just, like, horny high school boys. Getting drunk and jacking each other off once in a while.”

“Does that sound very heterosexual to you?”

“I thought it was just...normal. Like probably all guys do it at some point, when they don’t have girlfriends and they want to get laid. Right?”

Nora lets out a loud, belly laugh. “Sorry. I’m not making fun of you. No. I can’t think of many straight guys I know who have touched a dick.”

“But we were drunk. And watching straight p*rn!”

Nora waves her hand around. “Alex. Listen. Maybe you’re straight. I don’t know. Since you got a boner listening to a guy read gay poetry and ran away in fear, have you still been thinking about it?”

Alex swallows. “Yeah. I have this mental image of, like. My mouth? On his thigh? That I can’t get rid of.”

Nora nods, opens her mouth to speak, and then closes it. Alex digs his fingernails into his palms.

“We got a drink after he was done with the reading, and we talked. And it was...different. It felt different. So we got a few more drinks and took a cab back to the hotel, and he kept smiling at me and making fun of me. And we said good night and then, like, I was so wired, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about...everything.” Alex stops himself. He’s already said too much. Nora’s brow is furrowed and her eyes look like they’re on the verge of wobbling. She’s been spending too much time with June. “Stop f*cking looking at me like that.”

“My bad. Alex, do you think you’re bi?” Alex pauses. He thinks about kissing Liam all tangled up in his twin bed. They were drunk and messy and rough. But he has a surprisingly clear memory of the way Liam pulled back and just looked at him, fingertips pressed into his jaw, and the way his stomach twisted up in knots. He thinks about Henry in the car on the way back to the hotel, collar loose, the tantalizing strip of skin underneath practically calling out to him, as Henry smiled at him. And the way his stomach twisted up in knots.

“I think I might not be straight,” Alex says slowly. Nora smiles brilliantly and leans forward to kiss his forehead.

“Welcome to the club, babe,” Nora says. “Even though I thought you were already in it.”

“You’ve always known more about me than I know about myself,” Alex says.

“So what are you going to do about Henry?”

“Why do I have to do anything? The stupid weekend is over. He said it went well enough that we probably won’t have to see each other again. Now I can just forget all about him and all this idiocy.”

Nora pouts. “But it was just starting to get interesting.”

Alex runs a hand through his hair. “I could do with a little less interesting. I should be focusing on work.”

“Are you going to talk to June about this?”

“No. Not yet. Don't you dare say anything to her either.”

“I’ll try.” Alex narrows his eyes at her. “I’ll try hard! I promise. Sometimes, when she really wants something, though, she has this way of—”

Alex cuts her off. “I don’t think I need to hear any more of this.”

“No, it’s just this little thing she does with her tongue—”

“Jesus, Nora, stop,” Alex groans. “That’s my sister.”

Nora grins, all mischief.

—

Alex doesn’t expect to hear from Henry after his trip to Seattle. For some reason, though, he keeps checking his phone with an anticipation he did not consent to, looking to see if Henry’s tagged him in any random social media posts or even sent him a text. A week after he gets home, he does a shoot that has him on location in the desert in swim trunks all day, and he doesn’t get even a second to glance at his phone for a solid six hours. For some reason, he’s one hundred percent certain that this will be the stretch of time in which Henry chooses to contact him.

It’s not. Alex lets out a breath as he flips through his notifications. 47 texts from June and Nora in the group chat. Plenty of comments and likes on his social media. But nothing from Henry Fox.

Why is his stupid heart racing?

“I need water,” Alex calls out to an assistant, who scurries over with a cold bottle. He puts it to his forehead, against the back of his neck. Then he takes a long, slow sip. He’s been shooting in the desert, in the heat of the sun. He had already been dehydrating himself to highlight his muscles. He just needs some liquids and he’ll be fine.

Alex is home that night, cooking dinner, taking an evening off from his usual cardio and yoga routine. He finds a Harry Potter movie marathon on Freeform and lets himself watch, yelling at the TV when they mess something up from the books. He keeps glancing at his phone, but it’s the usual stream of Instagram likes. Nothing out of the ordinary.

On a whim, Alex takes a picture of his TV screen when Draco Malfoy is on it. Before he can second guess himself, he sends it to Henry with the caption Scared, Fox?

At least now he has a stupid reason to keep one eye trained on his phone, waiting for it to light up in response.

Henry doesn’t reply until after midnight: You wish.

Alex’s heart starts pounding. He fumbles with his phone and after three frustrated attempts, manages to unlock it and open the message. Once he has, though, he just stares at it. Should he try to keep up the Harry Potter banter? Should he say something else? Should he ask a question? Should he not reply at all? Even before his mind has finished forming that thought, he knows the last one is not a real option.

Alex hesitates, thinking. Finally, he sends, simply, where are you now? As though he doesn’t already know. Henry responds almost immediately.

Henry
I’m in Toronto.

Alex
never been. how is it?

Henry
Bit cold. Fun bars.

Alex
yeah? you been partying a lot?

Henry
Not a lot. I just had to see all the places where the U.S. Queer as Folk was filmed.

Alex
queer as what now?

Henry
It was an old gay TV show. Really groundbreaking at the time. I watched it in secret when I was a teenager.

Alex
why secret?

Henry
It’s definitely rated 18. Lots of sex.

Alex
is that where you first got inspired to write p*rn?

Henry
I don’t write p*rn.

Alex
didn’t answer the question

Henry
Let’s just say it was formative to my sexual awakening.

Alex reads Henry’s latest message and swallows. He’s not sure why, but the words sexual awakening coming from Henry make him feel...weird. The word tingly comes to mind. Alex quickly tamps down on it.

Alex
is it on netflix?

Henry
Are you hoping to have a sexual awakening?

If only you knew, Alex thinks miserably. The ellipsis bubble pops up, indicating that Henry’s typing more.

I don’t think so.
I watched it on youtube but I doubt it’s still up.

Alex
damn. guess i’ll keep waiting for my sexual awakening.

Henry doesn’t reply. Alex wonders if he went too far. He thinks about how Toronto is three hours ahead, which would make it after 3 A.M. But Henry did say he never sleeps.

What made him decide to spontaneously respond to Alex at three in the morning? Or was he out partying until then? Alex imagines him arriving back to his hotel, a little drunk, falling onto the bed and looking at his phone. Biting his lip as he pulls up Alex’s message. Maybe letting his hand brush against his stomach. Or something. Alex hasn’t really thought about it.

Alex slowly gets ready for bed, waiting to see if any new messages come in. He reads over the exchange again and finds that he’s the one biting his lip. He’s even smiling a little. What the f*ck? He splashes cold water on his face and resolves not to check his phone again; his resolve lasts maybe three minutes. Henry still hasn’t replied. Maybe he actually went to sleep. Alex should, he thinks, do the same.

It takes him a long, long time to get there.

—

It gets a little easier after that. Henry texts him a couple days later: #5...is it true? with a link to a BuzzFeed article titled 26 Sad Male Models Who Could Really Use a Friend. When he opens it up, #5 is a shot of him looking particularly pensive and emo with his hand on his chin and the caption, Did I leave the hair dryer on? Alex lets out a loud, belly laugh and responds with a gif of Han Solo blow drying Chewbacca’s hair with the text, i’ll never tell. Henry replies with the crying laughing emoji, and then Alex feels less weird about messaging Henry with whatever random irrelevant thought is on his mind, or sending him a hilarious meme, or commenting to give him sh*t on his Instagram photos. Henry gives it right back; when Alex posts a sneak peek shot of him in the desert in a tiny Speedo, among the hundreds of comments praising his body is one from @henryfox: did u miss leg day, bro? I can give u my workout if urs isn’t working ;) Alex pointedly does not spend time reflecting on the thought of Henry looking at his legs.

Alex starts to get used to the little thrill in his chest when he has a message waiting from Henry after an appearance, or the feeling of anticipation after he posts a photo and knows Henry will see it. Henry takes to updating Alex whenever he arrives in a new city, sharing his observations on regional Canadian culture. He crosses the border back to Portland, Maine, and asks Alex if he knows the difference between Maine and Canadian lobsters. When Alex says no, he spends several paragraphs detailing what he’s learned from the locals, whether Alex expresses interest or not. Henry documents cultural knowledge like an anthropologist who’s immersed in a new society, exhaustive and careful and as free from judgment as possible. When he gets to Boston, however, he seems unable to hold it in.

Henry
Have you heard a Boston accent before?

Alex
of course. have you not?

Henry
It’s unbelievable. What kind of linguistic mayhem had to take place to allow an accent like this to exist?
And for it to be propagated? Don’t these parents care about their children?

Alex
i know you’re used to feeling superior because your british accent is prized in our global society, but no accent is actually better than the other
they’re all value neutral until we’re socialized to associate british accents with intelligence
southern accents with idiocy
boston accents with crime
etc
dick.

Henry
Have I struck a nerve?

Alex
when i started modeling, my agency forced me to take actual classes to make sure i had no trace left of my chicano accent
changing people’s language is just another form of colonization and you’re perpetuating it right now

Henry
You’re right. I’ve never thought about it that way before.

Alex
you’re lucky you have me to explain these things to you before you go make an ass out of yourself to the entire country

Henry
I am eternally grateful to be on the receiving end of your educational rants about colonisation.
I mean that in all sincerity.

Meanwhile, Alex’s work obligations pick up as the date approaches an upcoming Calvin Klein runway show in New York. His contract requires a lot of marketing on social media, including professional photos, so he’s up early every day for call times and catching up on sleep in the afternoons. At night, he has promotional events at bars and clubs, and he’s trying to balance the need to drink enough to keep up appearances with his desire not to be hungover for photoshoots. One night, he fails spectacularly and comes home drunk off his ass, his phone lighting up with messages as Henry streams in commentary while he watches Rogue One.

Henry
I’m thinking about what you said about accents while I watch this. It’s making me realise how rare it is for a lead to have an accent like this in a movie.
Diego Luna is so fit. The fanboys who complained about him should all be executed.
Forget I just said that. Although if you haven’t seen Y Tu Mamá También, you can put it on the list of films to watch for your sexual awakening.
This is tragic. I don’t know if I can finish. I need a dog to cuddle. Can you send for David?

Alex picks up his phone and calls Henry before he can think about it. “You have to finish. It’s tragic and beautiful. That’s the f*cking point. If they hadn’t gotten the plans to Leia, Luke wouldn’t have left Tatooine and they never would have been able to blow up the Death Star!”

“Alex?” Henry’s voice sounds scratchy and low, like he hasn’t used it in a while—or maybe he’s been using it too much. “Are you drunk?”

“Yes, it’s me. And no. I mean, maybe. I was at an appearance and I had to take a few shots. That’s beside the point. You cannot start this movie and not finish. It’s unacceptable.”

“I’m trying. I just feel like I need something to hold. Like David. Or...someone to hold me.” Alex pauses at this; Henry clears his throat. It sounds like something he wouldn’t normally say.

“Wait a second, are you drunk?”

“I know how the movie ends, Alex. I knew I couldn’t watch it without wine.”

“Look. Tell me what part you’re at. I’ll start it and we can finish together.”

“Really?” Alex assumes this is rhetorical and doesn’t respond, but Henry adds, “You want to watch it with me?”

“Yeah. Of course. Mostly for Diego Luna.”

“He’s hot, right?”

“Totally hot.” Alex opens up his laptop and pulls up the movie. “Okay, what time are you at?”

“Erm, it looks like, one hour, thirty one minutes and twelve seconds.”

Alex cues it up to the right spot. “Okay. Want me to count down?”

“Please do.”

“Three, two, one, go.” Alex hits play on the computer and leans back. “f*ck, this is so sad. Why are you making me watch this?”

“You’re the one who offered!”

“You’re so high-maintenance.” Alex feels himself smile, despite the deaths taking place on screen. Henry scoffs, but doesn’t say anything in reply.

“f*ck. My heart is beating so fast,” Henry says, hushed, as they start blowing up the storm troopers.

“It’ll be okay, sweetheart.” Alex means to say this sarcastically, but it comes out sounding genuine instead. His anxiety ratchets up. How did that happen?

“Are you going to be the one to come put your arms around me when they die?”

“I’ll consider it.” Alex’s heart starts beating faster, too, but he doesn’t think it’s because of the movie. He’s having a hard time paying much attention to it at all.

“Just think about how powerfully this sacrifice impacted what happened in the future. They must have hoped for it, but they didn’t know what was going to happen or if it would come to mean anything. But they were willing to do it anyway, just based on the critical hope they maintained. And it changed everything.”

“Yeah,” Alex says, less focused on the words Henry is saying than the way he’s saying them. He sounds solemn but passionate, like he’s discussing something that really happened, something that changed the world. Alex likes the reverence in his voice, how seriously he’s taking a sacrifice that was totally fictional. They both go quiet. After a couple of minutes, Alex hears a sniffle. “Are you crying?”

“I’m sad, Alex.”

“But you already knew exactly what was going to happen.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can just...feel it. I can’t help it.”

The movie ends. Alex feels like he’s holding his breath, waiting for Henry to speak.

“Well. Thanks for keeping me company through it, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Alex says, and now his voice is the one that sounds rough. “Anytime.”

“I should probably get to bed. Unless there was something else you wanted to talk about.”

“No,” Alex says quickly. “No, you can go to bed. I should too, I have an early call time.”

“Will you be able to fall asleep?”

“Probably not.” Alex laughs and hears Henry’s laugh echo it. “But I should try.”

“Yeah. Well...good night then.”

“Good night.” Alex looks at his phone screen and waits for Henry to hang up. After a minute, he puts the phone back to his ear. “Are you still there?”

“I was waiting for you to hang up.” Henry laughs again; a weird feeling flutters in Alex’s chest.

“I was waiting for you to hang up. Are you secretly plotting to not let me fall asleep? Hoping I have huge bags under my eyes for my photoshoot tomorrow?”

“Oh, damn. You’ve gone and figured it all out. Whatever shall I do now?”

“I think you need to be the one to hang up first. As a gesture of goodwill between our nations.”

Henry keeps laughing. The sound makes Alex smile. “Are we suddenly representatives of our nations?”

“We’re cultural icons. It’s basically the same thing.”

“Okay. Fine. I’ll make the sacrifice and hang up first this time.”

Alex smile grows wider at this time.

“Such a martyr. Good night, Fox.”

“Good night, Diaz.” Alex looks down at his phone screen again. Several seconds pass, and Henry still hasn’t hung up.

“I swear to God—”

“Bye!” Henry squeaks and the line goes dead.

Alex’s smile is stretched so wide his face hurts.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Alex flies to New York for the CK runway show with nervous, excited energy thrumming beneath his skin. He documents the flight on his Instagram story, waxing poetic about everything from the view (a spectacular sunset above the clouds, would be perfect to gaze at on a romantic date) to his thoughts on the Jack Daniels he’s drinking (a solid, enjoyable whiskey for how mainstream and inexpensive it is, and he’ll stand by that). He’ll be in the city for a week with the company taking advantage of models coming in from around the world to do multiple photoshoots and commercials in addition to the show.

Alex loves New York. The beat of the city seems to match the beat of his pulse, steady, loud, marching on constantly no matter what’s going on around it. He’s staying in a posh as f*ck hotel overlooking Central Park with a car service at his disposal to take him anywhere he needs or wants to go. He thinks back to when he was just a kid growing up in Austin, his mom working a sh*tty warehouse job and struggling to get noticed enough to move up, his dad laid off with no job prospects. They never had much money, but they never let him or June know it. All their time and energy went into making sure the kids had what they needed to be happy. They’re all successful in their own ways, now, each of them living out their dreams. Alex’s parents work too hard, but it’s part of who they are, part of the reason they had been attracted to each other in the first place and part of the reason the relationship didn’t work out.

This week in New York feels like more than a business trip; it feels like it represents the fact that finally, after years of work, he’s made it.

Alex has the evening mostly free ahead of him, having arrived a day before anything official was scheduled. He’s planning to meet up with a few other model acquaintances for a late drink, but they won’t get in until after nine. He’s about to go for a walk, stretch his legs, and take in the sights when a direct message pops up on his Instagram. From Henry.

Hey! You’re in the city? I’m here for a week, doing a bunch of events, if you want to grab a drink.

Alex falls back on his ass on the bed.

He hadn’t even thought about the possibility that Henry could be in New York at the same time as him. It makes perfect sense—Henry’s been traveling around the northeast since he finished up the Canadian portion of his tour. He was just complaining about Boston accents. New York would be a huge stop for him. Alex is suddenly aware of his breath coming shaky and quick. He thought he would have time to mentally prepare for it before he saw Henry again. He thought it would be, if anything, another structured dinner and book signing at some point, posed photos for social media and pretending he didn’t get turned on by Henry’s low, silky voice reading his poetry out loud. The memory of it slams into Alex with force and he swiftly determines he will not be attending any of Henry’s events while he’s here.

Knowing Henry can see that Alex already read his message, he decides to reply before he can overthink it, before it gets weird.

You free tonight?

Henry responds immediately.

Yes. Where are you staying?

It turns out they’re staying on the same goddamn block. They make plans to meet up at a swanky bar nearby. When Alex walks in, Henry’s already there, sitting at the bar with his notebook open and a glass of red wine. Alex smiles and shakes his head. Always the same.

“Getting a lot done?” Alex says as he steps up behind him. Henry turns to look up over his shoulder at him, and the smile that takes over his face is bright and brilliant. It knocks the wind out of Alex.

“No, this giant arsehole keeps interrupting me,” Henry says with a laugh, gesturing to the barstool next to him. Alex whacks him on the arm and sits down, trying to steady himself. He quickly motions for the bartender’s attention; he definitely needs a drink.

“How long have you been in town?” Alex asks as Henry closes his notebook. His entire body turns toward Alex when he answers, his knees knocking into Alex’s knees.

“A couple days. I leave on Friday afternoon for Philadelphia. But there’s a lot to do here before then.”

Alex mentally calculates that they’ll be in the same city for five days. He knows after today he’s going to be slammed with both work obligations and work-adjacent social obligations, but he’s already thinking about when he might be able to meet up with Henry again. A late night drink tomorrow? Breakfast on Thursday? Alex forces himself to stop. They haven’t seen each other since Seattle; things might still be totally awkward and weird. One good night at a bar almost a month ago and a bunch of texting since does not equal an actual friendship. Or whatever.

“I’m guessing you’ve continued to have huge flops everywhere you go?”

Henry’s smile turns bashful. “It’s gone well. The crowds in Canada seemed to just get bigger as we went along. I’m getting a lot of press, which is unexpected and amazing. I just hope I can maintain it for the rest of the tour. There’s still a lot of time and a lot of cities left. People might get sick of me.”

Alex thinks about what Nora said. “You’re getting people off. They’re not going to get sick of that.”

The telltale flush spreads across Henry’s cheeks. “That’s not really what I intended to do. But I guess it’s working, for now. We’ll see.”

“Trying to manage your own expectations?”

“Always. How are things with you? You’re here for something related to Calvin Klein?”

“Yeah. We have a huge runway show Friday night, and a bunch of photo and video shoots all week. It’s gonna be a lot of work, but it’ll be good.”

“Are a lot of models here for that, then?” Henry takes a sip of his wine, eyes on Alex the whole time. Alex looks down at his co*cktail, unnerved by his eternal eye contact.

“They will be. A lot are getting in tonight or tomorrow. I’m getting together with a few people I know later.” Alex clears his throat. This is good. That way Henry won’t think they’re spending the whole evening together or something. “You can come if you want.”

The words escape, unbidden, from his mouth. He hadn’t intended to invite Henry along. Hadn’t he just been thinking it would be good for them to have a finite amount of time to hang out? How did that just happen?

The corner of Henry’s mouth turns up, distracting Alex from his runaway train of thought.

“I’ll...see. I should probably get to bed early.”

“You can’t fool me. I already know you don’t sleep.” Henry’s smile grows at this.

“You got me. It’s just that this schedule is kind of running me ragged. And I don’t tend to do so well in large groups of people I don’t know. Especially...models.”

“Are models especially different from other people?” Alex kicks his foot between Henry’s. “Some kind of alien species whose language you don’t share?”

“I don’t know,” Henry says, laughing, and he kicks back. “I don’t know what models talk about. Or what I would talk about with a group of models.”

“You talk to me,” Alex points out. “Aren’t I just like everyone else?”

“Erm...sure. Everyone I know flies everywhere in first class, exercises for hours a day, and has over a million followers on Instagram.”

Alex suddenly realizes Henry hasn’t mentioned any friends in England in the time they’ve been talking. “What are your friends like? From home? What do they do? How do you know them?”

“My best friend is called Pez. Well, his real name’s Percy, but no one calls him that.” Henry wrinkles his nose. “Percy Okonjo. We met in school, it feels like forever ago. He works with international NGOs and he's always going all over the world. But even if he’s been gone for a while, whenever he comes home it’s like no time has passed. He’s funny and loud and he loves to party. So, erm, basically the opposite of me. I have so many stories of times he’s dragged me out in London and the wild sh*te he gets us into.”

Alex raises an eyebrow. “Such as?”

“You’re going to have to get me a lot tipsier to start sharing those stories.”

“That can be arranged,” Alex says, waving over the bartender.

“Alex, I still have half a glass of wine left.”

“That won’t prevent you from taking a shot, will it?” Alex turns to the bartender and orders. Henry grimaces.

“Tequila? Really? With cabernet?”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be smooth. I got us a good one.”

“Alex…” Henry’s looking warily at the shot glasses the bartender has placed in front of them, complete with limes on the rim and a small dish of salt.

“Come on. We’re in New York!”

“I’m going to regret this,” Henry mumbles, pulling the glass closer to him. A wide smile spreads over Alex’s face; he licks his hand and sprinkles salt on it. “Did you just lick your hand?”

“That’s what you’re supposed to do. Come on. Or do you need me to do it for you?”

“I’m good,” Henry squeaks and dutifully licks a stripe across his wrist, putting a pinch of salt over it.

“To our wildly successful careers?” Alex says.

“To finding friends in strange places,” Henry replies. There’s something simmering in his blue eyes that Alex can’t read. He doesn’t know what Henry means by friends in strange places.

They clink glasses and Alex licks the salt from his skin, watching Henry’s pink tongue dart out to do the same. He throws the shot back and bites into the lime. It is a really, really good tequila, Alex thinks, slightly distracted by the way Henry’s lips are pursing around the rind of his lime. He pulls it out of his mouth and tosses it in the glass, laughing, sucking lime juice off his thumb. “You’re right. That wasn’t so bad.”

“I’m always right,” Alex says, grinning.

“I don’t think I have the same confidence in you as you have in yourself.”

“Ouch,” Alex says, grabbing his chest and pretending to be wounded. “Why would I do anything other than what’s best for you?”

“Because you have your own motives,” Henry says, now taking a sip of wine and making a face. “And I’m not always sure what they are.”

“I’m an open book,” Alex says with a smirk.

“My arse,” Henry mutters. Alex kicks between his feet again, and Henry’s lips twist into a small smile.

“So I think you were going to tell me stories about your wild nights out with Pez,” Alex says. “Before we got distracted.”

“I wasn’t distracted. I was just hoping you’d forget.”

“Hey! Come on, you owe me at least one.”

“Fine,” Henry says with a laugh. He looks looser, relaxed, leaning on the bar with his fingers around his wine glass. “For my 21st, Pez dragged me to a gay club for dancing. Never mind that it was my birthday and that’s the last thing I would have chosen to do. He kept convincing blokes to buy me shots. Including this one bartender. I was incredibly drunk by the time I realized that he did it by telling them they’d get to give me a birthday spanking later. So at some point, Pez drags me to the center of the dance floor, and all these guys line up and give me twenty-one birthday spanks in a row. It was mortifying.”

Alex’s mind readily supplies the image of Henry, drunk, maybe falling onto Pez’s shoulder and laughing, while he bends over for a birthday spanking. Too readily.

“I’ve never blushed so hard in my life,” Henry concludes. He’s blushing now, too.

“What is it with you and blushing?” Alex says, leaning in conspiratorially. “You kind of do it a lot.”

Henry leans in too. Their shoulders bump up together. “It’s not like I can control it. I’m just...shy, I guess.”

“How did someone like you end up getting famous for writing gay p*rn?”

“It’s not p*rn,” Henry says, rolling his eyes. “And shy people like sex, too.”

Alex isn’t expecting a comment like that, and nervousness suddenly throbs in his chest and spirals out to his wrists. “Oh, do they?”

“Am I the first shy person you’ve ever met?”

“Um. Maybe,” Alex says. “Actually, my best friend from high school was kind of shy. But we haven’t really kept in contact lately.” Alex thinks guiltily of Liam, who he hasn’t talked to since he moved to L.A. He knew Liam was hurt that he was so excited to leave and start his new life. In fact, that had been the topic of the last conversation they’d had, which ended with Liam angrily slamming the door as he left Alex’s house.

“Did your friend like sex?” Henry threads a hand through his hair, his eyes flitting back over to Alex’s face.

“I mean,” Alex starts, his brain suddenly going at a million miles per hour as he thinks about the two of them, watching p*rn together in Liam’s bedroom. Kissing in Liam’s tiny twin bed for an hour, drunk and achingly hard and pressed up against each other, neither willing to be the one to take it any further. “Yes?”

Henry looks satisfied. “Shy people. Models. We’re not that different, after all.”

Alex takes a long drink of his co*cktail, draining the glass. The conversation is bringing his thoughts into weird, dangerous territory that he doesn’t want to even approach, especially when he’s anywhere near Henry and his f*cking collarbones.

“Most people,” he says, signaling to the bartender for another round, “don’t get famous for publishing their thoughts on sex.”

“Most people,” Henry replies, “also don’t get famous for looking like sex personified.”

Alex’s eyes widen at this, and Henry’s face immediately turns a vibrant shade of red, all the way to the tips of his ears.

“I didn’t mean—” he starts, then puts his head in his hands. “Why does this always happen with you?”

“Guess I just have that effect on you,” Alex says, his mind now going a million miles per hour in a different direction, trying to parse the meaning of what Henry just said. Did that mean—was Henry saying he thought Alex was sexy?

“You know you’re attractive,” Henry says, still avoiding eye contact. The bartender comes back over and he gratefully accepts a full glass of wine. “It’s literally your job to be attractive. You’ve said as much.” He gazes into his glass dolefully, as though willing the wine to come to his defense. Alex is still trying to process the words coming out of Henry’s mouth.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Alex blurts out, then cringes. Why was his own mouth f*cking betraying him at every turn tonight? “I mean, I just...the first time I saw you, I thought maybe you were a model, too. Or an actor. Or that you could be. I thought I could introduce you to my agent, if you wanted.”

Henry looks horrified. “I—I could never—”

“I know, I know,” Alex interrupts, waving his hand. “I know you’d hate every second of it. Don’t worry. It was just the first thing I thought, when I saw you.”

“Well,” Henry says, straightening up and taking a rather large gulp of wine, “thanks. I guess. I mean—thank you. It’s always nice to hear that someone thinks you’re good-looking.”

“Yeah,” Alex says vaguely, desperately trying to remember how this conversation could have even come to exist. “I mean. Thank you. Too. For thinking I’m—sex personified?” He says the last part with an ironic smile. Henry groans and puts his head in his hands again; Alex forces a laugh. He’s saved by his phone dinging with a text message notification.

“My friend Caleb’s plane just landed,” Alex says. “We’re going to meet up in an hour.”

“Cool,” Henry says, his voice a little quieter. “Well, I can let you go whenever, if you need to get somewhere.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Alex says. “I’m telling him to come here. You should stay.”

“I don’t know,” Henry says. Suddenly he’s drinking his wine down faster than is probably comfortable. “You’ll have model stuff to catch up on. Or whatever. I should try to do some writing tonight, anyway.”

“Do you ever take a break from writing?”

“That would be like taking a break from breathing,” Henry says, looking completely scandalized.

“I was just curious!” Alex says, holding up his hands. “Forgive me for suggesting it. I didn’t mean it.”

“Ninety-nine percent of the words I write will never see the light of day,” Henry tells him. “But I need all of them to get the one percent I do want to show people. I never know what’s going to be good enough when it comes out. So I have to write all of it.”

“Do you write in the form of poetry all the time?” Alex asks. He’s suddenly incredibly curious how Henry goes from writing down every thought he ever has to publishing a book of erotic poetry.

“No, of course not.”

“Do you write about sex all the time?”

“Only as often as I think about it.”

“How often do you think about it?” Alex’s voice comes out lower than he intends, and he doesn’t notice he’s leaning forward again until Henry mirrors him.

“All the time.” Henry’s voice sounds like gravel and his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. Alex catches himself staring at Henry’s mouth and forces himself to look up. Henry’s eyes are trained on him, dark and intense. Alex’s heartbeat suddenly feels heavy, full, dragging its way through his chest and slamming against his ribcage. Henry’s gaze holds him in place, magnetic. Alex can’t look away.

“Alex? Alex Diaz?” Someone touches Alex’s elbow and he forcibly jerks away, swallowing over the lump in his throat.

“Yes?” he says too loudly, trying to convince his pulse to get back to normal.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe it’s really you. I’m a huge fan.”

Alex forces his eyes toward the woman who’s talking to him. She’s young and pretty and Alex feels like some distant part of himself should be excited she’s talking to him—should be thinking about how he can flirt with her and get her alone. But all he feels is annoyance as his mind repeats, again and again, the rough sound of Henry’s voice saying all the time.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Alex manages, turning on his Texas charm. “I’m so glad you came over to say hi. What’s your name?”

“Emma,” she says brightly, her lips forming a mischievous smile. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Yes,” Henry cuts in, jumping up out of his barstool. “You can sit here. I was just leaving.”

“Henry—”

“I’ll talk to you later, Alex,” Henry says hurriedly, tossing a fistful of bills on the bar.

“You don’t have to—” Alex tries again, but Henry’s already rushing out behind him and gone. Alex feels a wide cavity open within his chest, empty and tenuous, ready to be filled with words as of yet unspoken, unthought. Emma slides into the seat next to him.

“What are you drinking?”

Alex forces a smile. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

—

Alex throws himself into his work, ignoring the clenching feeling he gets in his chest whenever he has a free second to think about Henry. Alex had proceeded to get drunk off his ass as Caleb and a few other models joined him at the bar, and he made out with Emma at the end of the night, pressed her up against the building outside and tried to find some kind of spark that wouldn’t come. He sent her home in a cab and deleted her number from his phone as he walked back to his hotel.

Alex’s days are taken up with shoots, hours spent in hair and makeup, memorizing lines for commercials and working to perfect his CK pout. He’s constantly surrounded by people, which keeps him chatty and busy and too distracted to check his phone most of the time. At night, there’s dinners and parties and drinks and dancing, and Alex is having a f*cking blast. He knows some of the models better than others, people he’s run into before in the industry or messaged with on Instagram, and he actually feels like he has friends. He makes an effort to talk to the newbies, too, who are trying too hard to hide their fear.

It’s Wednesday before Alex has a free afternoon. He had to get up at the asscrack of dawn for a photoshoot and he’s tired from three days of nonstop activity, so he orders room service for lunch and just lays in bed, texting June and Nora and scrolling Instagram. He wonders idly how Henry’s events are going, even though he knows it’s probably more of the same—packed bookstores and long lines and worshipful followers throwing themselves at him.

Alex pulls up Henry’s website to check his schedule. He’s surprised to find there’s no appearances listed; Henry apparently has the day off. He wonders what Henry’s doing, if he’s out at Times Square doing the tourist thing or walking around Central Park. They haven’t communicated since the night at the bar. Heat crawls up Alex’s neck as he thinks about it. He sends Henry a text.

Alex
what are you up to?

Henry replies immediately.

Henry
Hiding from the world. I have the day off. You?

Alex
hard same. i don’t have anything until tonight
want to hide together?

Alex isn’t sure what compels him to ask the question, but it’s sent on instinct, before he can think too hard about it. Henry doesn’t respond immediately. Alex flicks on the TV and starts scrolling through channels, not really paying attention to what he’s seeing. After a few minutes, his phone dings.

Henry
Your place or mine?

Alex
can you come here?
i don’t want to have to put a shirt on

Henry
Is this when you tell me you’re part of some weird nudist colony and try to get me to join?

Alex
it’s not WEIRD. it’s PERFECTLY NATURAL
i’m at the Plaza, room 1940

Henry
I’ll be there soon.

Alex finds an old season of Top Chef marathoning on Bravo and settles back in bed, anticipation building in the form of a leg jiggling. He doesn’t know why Henry always inspires this mess of feelings inside him, too tangled and uncomfortable to even try to understand. When he thinks back to L.A., to the Henry who blew him off there, to the Instagram fiasco, it feels like he was a different person in a different time. Like he’s been reincarnated and forced to try again, but the baggage from his past life is still hanging off his back, dragging him down, no matter how many times he tries to start over.

A knock at the door interrupts his uncomfortable train of thought. He jumps up to answer it, casting a quick look around the room and shoving a pair of dirty boxers in his suitcase.

Henry appears, pink-cheeked and pink-nosed, a hesitant smile on his face. “It’s cold out there.”

Alex steps back to let him in. “You’re so brave for venturing out.”

Henry unwinds the scarf from around his neck and shrugs out of his jacket, looking for somewhere to hang it. “You weren’t kidding about the shirt.”

“I try to wear as few clothes as I can most of the time.” Alex glances down at his bare chest and black track pants. Henry coughs. He seems to be looking anywhere except at Alex, for once.

“So I was right about the nudist colony.”

“Only partially. I won’t force you to join unless you want to. We’re a very kind and welcoming group.”

“Pez would probably like it,” Henry says with a wry grin.

“Invite him! The more the merrier.” Alex takes Henry’s coat and hangs it in the closet, then leads him into the room. “C’mon,” Alex says, gesturing through the small sitting area to the bedroom, where he’d been watching TV. He sprawls on the bed.

“You don’t want to sit out there?” Henry says, eyes on the sofa. He hovers awkwardly near the edge of the bed, like he’s not sure what to do with his long body.

“We’re hiding, right? I like to hide in bed. It’s more comfortable. Come on.” He pats the spot next to him. Henry sits down gingerly, looking up at the TV.

“What’s this, then?”

“Top Chef. A cooking competition. It’s an old season. We can watch something else, though, if you want.”

“I love cooking shows.” Henry tentatively toes off his shoes and tucks one leg up on the bed beneath him. “Have you ever seen Great British Bake Off?”

“I love Great British Bake Off,” Alex replies, grinning. Henry pulls up his other leg and scoots back so he’s sitting up, resting against the plush headboard. “This show is pretty much the opposite of that.”

“What other series do you like to watch?”

“I watch a lot of HGTV. Do you have that in the U.K.? Home renovations, house hunting, that kind of thing.”

“We don’t have it, but I’ve seen it since I’ve been spending a lot of time in hotels around here. It’s pretty entertaining.”

“What’s your place like? In England? Do you have a house?”

“I grew up in a rowhouse in London, but since I left uni I’ve been living by myself in a small flat. It’s not much, but it’s comfortable, and it’s mine. I’ve got a lot of plants and David always keeps things interesting. The kitchen is tiny and ancient, though. I wouldn’t mind some new appliances.”

Henry goes quiet. A fully-formed image of Henry’s apartment comes into Alex’s mind, complete with creaky old hardwood floors and a comfortable chair by the window for reading. He can see Henry there, curled up with David in his lap, scribbling in his stupid little notebook. It’s a nice thought.

Alex glances over at him. Henry’s starting to slouch down, his eyes on the TV, blinking lazily. He looks as tired as Alex feels. Alex wriggles himself underneath the covers, turning to one side and propping his head up under his arm. At this, Henry seems to relent fully and stretches out on the bed, laying down with his arms behind his head. Normally, the lack of conversation would bother Alex; he hates awkward silences and likes to keep up a stream of commentary when he’s with other people. For some reason, though, with Henry, it feels comfortable for them both to lay there quietly, watching Padma complain about underseasoned meat.

Alex looks over at Henry again. His eyes are closed, breath coming shallowly through parted lips. Alex lets himself look, really look, at the boy next to him, dark eyelashes fluttering over pale skin, high cheekbones and long, straight nose leading down to his soft, pink lips. His expression is relaxed, peaceful. The word beautiful comes to Alex’s mind before he can stop it, and he blinks rapidly several times, as though that will clear it out.

Henry’s eyes open. He turns on his side to face Alex and murmurs, “Watching me?”

“I was just trying to figure out if you were asleep,” Alex says, working to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. “You can get under the covers, you know.”

“Thanks. This bed is dangerously comfortable.” Henry tugs the duvet over himself, and Alex thinks about the fact that they’re in bed together, that Henry apparently trusts him enough to nap in front of him. “Are you sleepy?”

“Yeah. I had a 5 A.M. call time this morning.”

Henry burrows down even further. Alex isn’t sure how it’s possible. His blue eyes meet Alex’s from the pillow.

“You don’t mind if I…”

“Go ahead,” Alex says quietly, then yawns. Henry yawns back, and they both laugh.

Alex lets his eyes drift closed.

He wakes up disoriented. It’s dark except for the glow of the TV washing over the room. Henry is still sleeping, one arm thrown out to the side. Alex feels a jolt as he realizes Henry’s fingers are brushing against his bare stomach under the covers. He tries to stay perfectly still, suddenly terrified that Henry will wake up and notice. Then he wonders if he should just get up and move before Henry does notice. He spends so long debating between the two options that he fails to do anything, including notice Henry blinking awake.

Henry suddenly grabs Alex’s stomach, and Alex shrieks, jumping up into a sitting position. “Jesus Christ! What the f*ck?”

Henry laughs, hard but sleepily, turning his face so the pillow muffles his open mouth.

“Sorry. I sleep like a bloody starfish.”

“Do starfish also grab the people they’re sleeping next to?” Alex says, his voice higher pitched than normal as he attempts to recover from the shock of all five of Henry’s fingers burning into his skin.

“This starfish does,” Henry says, peeking up at Alex from the pillow. “Have to keep you on your toes.”

Alex grabs the pillow out from under his head and gives him a sound whack.

“That was probably deserved,” Henry says. He holds his hand in front of his face defensively as he sits up. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Actually, I’m not really sorry. I’d do it again.”

“Jesus. What is it with you and scaring me?”

“You’re too easy.” Henry smiles wide, his mussed blonde hair falling over his forehead. Alex’s heart, for reasons completely unknown, pangs extra hard in his chest. “What time is it?”

“It’s...f*ck, it’s already six-thirty. I have to be at dinner at seven.” Alex sniffs himself. “I should really take a shower.”

“You definitely need one,” Henry says, dragging his hands through his hair. Alex throws another pillow at him. “All right. I’ll get out of here.”

“Are you doing anything tonight?” Alex stands up and stretches, flicking on the lamp next to the bed. He notices Henry’s eyes lingering on his bare stomach and intentionally looks out the window.

“Just enjoying the night to myself. I don’t get them very often, these days.”

“You leave on Friday, right?”

“That’s right. Friday afternoon. I have one last thing here in the morning.”

“Too bad it’s not Saturday. I’d have put you on the list to come see my show.”

“Oh,” Henry says, pulling himself up. He sits on the edge of the bed and starts putting his shoes back on. “I’ve never...been to a fashion show before.”

“I’m shocked,” Alex says dryly. “Too bad, though. You’re going to miss a lot of hot guys in underwear.”

“That does make it more appealing. What time is it on Friday?”

“Eight,” Alex tells him.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Henry looks over at him again, and Alex’s pulse throbs in his throat. “Anyway. Thanks for hiding with me. And letting me nap in your bed.”

“Anytime.” They walk toward the door. Alex has always been comfortable shirtless, but for some reason he feels more conspicuously naked than before, especially as Henry piles his layers back on. “Enjoy your night off.”

“Enjoy your dinner.” Henry smiles at him; Alex smiles back. He feels like he should do something, but he doesn’t know what. Hug him? That’s absurd. He settles for holding out his fist. Henry looks amused, but bumps knuckles with him before opening the door. “See you, Alex.”

“See you,” Alex echoes, and then Henry is gone.

—

Alex wakes up early with nervous energy and the vague memory of a stress dream quickly slipping away. It’s Friday. The day of the show.

He’s free until a late afternoon interview that will lead into show hair and makeup. With an early flight the next morning, taking advantage of his last day in New York to do some shopping seems like a good idea. He’s in the dressing room at Barneys with a huge pile of clothes when he gets a text.

Can you still get me on the list for the show?

Alex’s stomach twists. He sits down in his boxer briefs and types out a shaky text back.

Of course. You can make it?

Henry replies immediately.

Had to rearrange something, but Shaan worked it out. Just tell me where and when.

Alex had been trying to forget that he invited Henry to his show, not wanting to get his hopes up that Henry might actually come. A fresh burst of anxiety courses through his body and then settles like a rock in his gut. He texts Zahra to put Henry on the list before he replies.

Alex
CK Headquarters, 205 West 39th Street
be there by 7:30 and look good

Henry
I didn’t bring my couture on this trip. What am I supposed to wear???

The three question marks are very extreme for Henry’s usual text-speak. Alex smirks.

Alex
i’m shopping right now
i’ll have something delivered to your hotel

Henry
WHAT? No, Alex, that’s completely unnecessary.

Alex
you’re at the park lane hotel, right?
send me your measurements

Henry
ALEX.

It takes some cajoling, but Henry does send his measurements, and Alex’s nerves are soothed by thumbing through the racks at Burberry and imagining what would look good with Henry’s coloring, his body type. This is something he can do—something he’s actually good at. He finds the perfect outfit, just outrageous enough to please the fashion crowd, but not so wild that Henry won’t actually wear it. He feels a strong sense of relief as the store clerk rings up the purchase.

Alex gets a late lunch with a few other models before they need to head to the studio for interviews. He’s too nervous to eat much; each bite of salad feels like he’s chewing interminably without making any progress. He’s always like this on show days, the anticipation of the lights and the crowd and the adrenaline overwhelming all five of his senses.

In the car on the way to the studio, Alex gets a text.

I cannot believe you expect me to wear this.

He can’t help but grin.

We all make sacrifices for fashion, sweetheart. See you tonight.

Alex doesn’t have time to look at his phone again because all of a sudden he’s at the studio, being whisked into hair and makeup for the interview. The atmosphere is relaxed and fun, artists and models trading stories of the worst industry people they’ve ever worked with and breaking into peals of laughter at the most outrageous ones. The interview goes by in a blur, with Alex’s Texan charm turned up to ten, causing the interviewer to giggle her way through the questions. Then—finally—it’s time to get ready for the show.

Alex’s makeup artist is one he recognizes; they’ve worked together before. His name is Tony and he’s long and lithe, with dark skin and a shaved head. Alex remembers Tony for the sly little comments and brush of his fingers against Alex’s neck that made the short hairs there stand up on end. Alex always brushed him off before, keeping things friendly and professional, but with his newfound understanding of his not entirely straight identity, he tries flirting back a little. Tony’s eyebrows jump way up, but he banters back easily, and Alex bites his cheek to keep from smiling too big. It’s not anything serious, but it’s fun.

The last step involves Tony carefully spreading oil over Alex’s entire body. Then Tony’s hands land on his shoulders as he stares critically at Alex’s done-up face. “Part your lips. Now purse them. Narrow your eyes. Raise one eyebrow. You’re perfect.”

“Thanks, darlin’,” Alex says with a grin, jumping up to switch to hair. The makeup is clean and simple on his face, with some contouring on his chest and abs, and his body is oiled to perfection. Calvin Klein is All-American, minimalistic, but he still needs to show up under the bright lights.

His hairdresser is all business, so he puts his AirPods in and spends the time focusing, preparing himself mentally, visualizing his walks. It’s an underwear-only show with a lot of different looks, and he thinks about the different ways he can best express what the clothes are trying to say with his body.

When he’s done, he’s led into the dressing area, which is an absolute mess of half-naked models and frantic assistants running around looking for tape and sewing needles and scissors. Alex drinks in the sight; he thrives in the unique, chaotic energy of backstage at a show. Then an assistant who quickly introduces herself as Andrea is shoving him next to a rack with his clothes for the evening and unbuttoning his shirt as he slides out of his pants.

“Show in fifteen! I need everyone lined up and ready in ten!” a producer calls out, and Alex realizes with a full-body thrill that Henry must already be here. He wonders if Henry’s nervous, if he had trouble finding a seat, if he’s tugging anxiously at the bright, oversized sweater and leggings Alex put him in. Alex doesn’t have time to wonder much more, because the second he’s pulled on the briefs he’s modeling, Andrea has her hand plunged into them to arrange his junk to her liking. Normally he would make some kind of lewd joke at this, trying to make the situation more comfortable—but he looks at her face, sees the intense concentration there as she just does her job, thinks about Henry somewhere out in the crowd, and he decides to stay silent.

Andrea steps back with a satisfied nod. He only has time to glance in the mirror before a producer is dragging him into the line. Suddenly, close to the stage, he can hear voices on the other side—loud, excited chatter—and his heart gives one enormous thump of anticipation in his chest. There is nothing, Alex thinks, that can compare to this feeling—the incredible energy zinging through his veins, the excitement of the models, the furious anxiety of the staff, the humming suspense of the audience. This is what he really loves about modeling. Not the photoshoots, not the social media following, not the hours spent in hair and makeup and memorizing lines, but this. A group of people working toward a common goal, coming together to show the world what they’ve done. It’s incredible.

“Sixty seconds!” the lead producer shouts. The music is thumping so loud it feels like it’s coming from inside Alex, seeping out of his pores. If he doesn’t get out there soon, he’s going to jump out of his skin.

“And...it’s showtime, people! We’re going! Go—wait. Go—wait. Go—wait.” Alex is fifth in line. By the time he’s up next, his entire body is buzzing, muscles tensed and ready to spring.

“Go!”

Alex bursts out from behind the wall, then tells himself to calm down, slow down, go steady. He falls into rhythm easily, passing the model ahead of him coming back and seizing his moment as the only one on the runway. When he gets to the end and poses, he thinks he might catch a glimpse of familiar blonde hair before the camera flashes erupt all over, blinding him. He soaks it in, parting his lips and letting his brown eyes open wide. Then he turns, making sure he’s just as careful for his return walk, knowing it’s just as important, even as another model strides forward to take the spotlight.

Alex is breathless when he reaches backstage and he’s immediately pulled by Andrea into his changing area. She holds out the boxer briefs he’ll be wearing next while he yanks his briefs down and steps out of them. Then it’s the familiar yet unsettling feeling of his dick getting manhandled before he’s shoved back in line.

Runway shows always go fast, too fast for Alex to fully take them in. The second he’s done walking he’s being bodily handled into his next outfit. There’s never enough time or models, it seems, but that’s part of the charm. The music pounds through his body and adrenaline screams through his veins; it’s the best kind of high. Each walk feels like it takes forever yet passes by in an instant. Suddenly, he’s in his final pair of boxer briefs and getting a slap on the ass as he steps back onto the runway. He tries to drink in every second, every step, his chest pushed out a little farther as he thinks about Henry’s eyes on him. Then it’s over, and they’re walking back out, all clapping as Calvin Klein himself comes out and receives the applause from the audience. And the models are flooding backstage again, falling into hugs and kisses and laughs because it’s over and they killed it, they know they killed it.

The night is already turning into a blur of a memory, adrenaline making quick work of the details. Zahra appears at his side, suddenly, giving him a brisk, “Adequate job,” before stepping away and then Henry’s there, grinning shyly.

“You made it,” Alex says breathlessly. For some reason, he’s not nervous at all, even though he had been before the show, knowing Henry would be there—even though every time he sees Henry, his body turns into a weird, disconnected jumble of limbs and organs that don’t seem to work together anymore.

“You’re—not wearing very much,” Henry says, then laughs, his eyes sliding down Alex’s body in a way that makes Alex burn at his core.

“You’re wearing exactly what I picked out for you,” Alex says, grinning and letting his eyes do the same to Henry. Henry’s legs look endless, and the brightness of the sweater makes his eyes stand out even more than usual. Henry’s gaze snaps back up, then, and Alex smirks, but maybe he shouldn’t have, because Henry’s face falls and he suddenly looks pale. Paler than he normally does, even.

“What did you think of the show?” Alex asks.

“It—it was—you were right, lots of men in their pants,” Henry says, but he still looks uneasy.

“Did you have to move a lot around to make it?” Conversation with Henry isn’t normally this challenging; Alex isn’t sure what, exactly, is going on.

“Erm, no, not too much. I—I do need to get going, though. I have a...they want me to get to Philadelphia…” Henry looks lost. Alex’s mouth drops open to say something, but for once in his life, he doesn’t know what to say. Why is Henry acting so f*cking weird? “So...thanks. For this. And...I’ll speak to you later.” Henry whirls around and strides away before Alex can even respond, leaving Alex completely befuddled and kind of hurt. Did Henry hate it? Did the show somehow confirm every preconceived notion he had about Alex’s work being shallow and meaningless? Did he regret rearranging his stupid schedule to stay?

“You did amazing!” Andrea suddenly appears at his side, smiling for the first time all night. She starts tugging at his boxer briefs, and Alex almost jumps out of his skin.

“What? Oh—thanks,” he replies, still watching Henry’s blonde head until it disappears through the door. He bats her hand away and pushes the underwear down himself, then grabs his regular clothes to get dressed again.

“I’m so glad it’s over,” Andrea says, hanging everything back up with the utmost care. Any other night, Alex would be happy to joke around with her, relax into easy conversation, and try to flirt. Now, though, he feels distracted and restless thinking about Henry, here for one of the biggest nights of his career and apparently completely, utterly unimpressed by it. Alex chews on his lip brutally as he yanks his shirt over his head.

Alex goes out with the models to celebrate—a successful end to a successful week of hard work in New York. He takes several shots in quick succession, trying to get drunk as fast as possible, and he dances with everyone who’s willing to press their body up against his, closing his eyes and losing himself in the music. At the end of the night, they all pile into cabs, drunk and laughing at nothing, leaving no personal space between them. Caleb, who Alex has seen every day this week, squeezes in next to him and leans his head into Alex’s neck, mouth open against his skin as he laughs. Alex feels the touch drip down his spine.

When they get back to the hotel, Caleb eyes him in the elevator. Alex thumbs his lip and looks down. He’s drunk enough and in a weird enough mood to be tempted to follow him back to his room. He already confirmed with Nora that he’s Not Straight. Maybe this can help him figure out what, exactly, he is, instead of just knowing what he’s not.

The elevator stops on floor eighteen. Caleb pauses a moment, watching him. Alex exhales, then shakes his head. “Have a good night, Caleb.”

“I’ll be up for a while,” Caleb says. “You have my number.”

“Yeah,” Alex tells him. He walks out and the elevator doors close, leaving Alex alone. Alex presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, hard. He makes his way back to his room and flings himself down, trying not to think about the fact that Henry was sleeping in the very spot he’s now laying two days ago. He pulls out his phone, already knowing there won’t be anything worth looking at; there’s not. He opens up his messages with Henry and his thumbs hover over the keyboard, ready to let loose on Henry’s elitist attitude toward anything that’s not what he sees as an intellectual pursuit. Some force from deep within stops him, though, and instead he ends up reading through their messages, something like an ache developing in his chest.

He’s not sure what it is about Henry Fox that gets to him so much. He’s still pretentious and a total nerd, but Alex feels like he’s seen there’s so much more to him than that since they spent the weekend together in Seattle. He cries at Star Wars and makes Alex laugh for the stupidest reasons, and he loves his friends and his plants and his dog. Just this week, they’ve taken shots together and f*cking napped together. He thought they were at least sort of becoming something vaguely approaching friends.

But Henry came to his runway show, acted like he had seen a f*cking ghost, and ran away as soon as he could. He didn’t even have the courage to tell Alex how awful he thought it was to his face. Alex is hurt. Admittedly, he’s drunk, but he thinks he’s also hurt.

Alex opens up a new text message and puts Caleb in the To field. He stares at his phone for several minutes before typing: you still up?

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Is he going to do this? Some part of Alex thinks that hooking up with Caleb might help him untangle the mess inside of him, the jumbled up threads that seem to lead everywhere and nowhere, the ones that tug and pull on his tenuous, aching heart. He’s not sure why this would lead him to the answers he needs, but he thinks it might.

Alex’s phone dings and his eyes fly open. It’s a message from Henry. He scrambles to open it without accidentally sending the message to Caleb.

You were amazing tonight.

Alex stares and stares at it, the phone shaking in his hands. So many different thoughts enter his mind at once that everything seems to explode into white-out static. He doesn’t know how to process this message, how to make sense of it in terms of everything he was just thinking. He reads it over and over again, as though maybe he misread it before, or maybe the words will change before his eyes. They don’t.

You were amazing tonight.

Alex shoves his face into his pillow, wanting to scream, but no sound comes out.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

After Alex gets home, things seem to return to normal. He can't figure out how to reply to Henry’s text from the night of the show, but Henry sends him a “Texans be like” meme three days later and Alex laughs and sends a "Brits be like" meme right back. Alex tells himself to stop overthinking everything, and miraculously, it seems to work. Henry is making his way through the northeast, from Baltimore to DC to Pittsburgh. He sends Alex updates from each new city, the random facts he’s learning from his Uber drivers and observations on speech patterns or cultural norms. Alex likes the way Henry approaches everything methodically, researching and cataloguing, but with a genuine curiosity, a desire to learn. He’s gotten used to waking up with some stream-of-consciousness observations Henry sends in the early morning, perpetually awake long before Alex drags himself out of bed, and going to sleep with Henry’s latest creative insult swimming in his mind as he closes his eyes.

Henry is usually quick to respond and easily provoked by Alex’s prodding. One night, Alex is watching a documentary on the history of p*rn and sends Henry a screenshot of Casey Donovan, a gay p*rn star from the 70s with a startling resemblance.

Alex
is this a relative of yours?

Henry
Do I even want to ask?

Alex
he’s, like, your gay p*rn ancestor
you’re probably directly descended from him

Henry
I’m not a p*rn star.

Alex
you’re the biggest p*rn star i know

Henry
I find that hard to believe. Didn’t you say you’d been to parties at the Playboy mansion?

Alex
those women are artists

Henry
But I’m relegated to the p*rn category?? hom*ophobia strikes again.

Alex
I’M NOT hom*oPHOBIC!!!!!

Henry
Have you even read my work?

Alex
i was at your reading
i heard enough

Henry
I know you have a copy of the book. Maybe you should crack it open sometime.

Alex hasn’t thought about actually looking at Henry’s book, or the fact that Henry wrote him a personal message inside it, since the minute he walked out of the bookstore. His heart starts beating a little faster. He jumps up and crosses the room to his bookshelf, pulling out a sharply inhaled breath (i feel more than hear) from between Tyra Banks’ Modelland and Ta-Nehisi Coates’ Between the World and Me, and brings it back to the couch. He opens the cover with slightly trembling fingers.

For Alex.
There is that in me — I do not know what it is — but I know it is in me.
Henry Fox

Alex
speaking of that, what the f*ck is this message supposed to mean?

Henry
Are you looking at it right now?

Alex
maybe

Henry
Once you’re meant to understand it, you will. 😉

Alex almost faints at the sight of the winking emoji. Forget Henry’s inscription—what the f*ck is that supposed to mean? He’s not sure how to respond. He drops his phone on his stomach and runs his hands through his hair. Then he picks up Henry’s book again and turns past the cover page, where Henry signed, for the first time.

The first poem is familiar.

The last time we slept, it was only because I left you shaking, so weak it was difficult to roll over, and anyway I asked you not to. You fell asleep first so I studied your hair, curled and damp and pressed to your temples.

Alex closes the book, because he’s really not interested in repeating the scene from the bookstore in Seattle that left him completely rattled. He throws it on the coffee table and picks his phone back up. Henry has sent another message.

Henry
Or it might be too intellectual for your peanut brain to understand. Time will tell.
🤷🏼

Alex
shut up
i was just perusing your book
where does your, uh, inspiration for these poems come from?

Henry
What do you mean?

Alex
like are they based off of your real life? or are they just made up?

Alex’s phone starts vibrating in his hand; Henry is calling him. Alex picks up.

“Hello?”

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Well, good evening to you, too, Mr. Fox.”

“Seriously. Are you actually interested in my writing process?” Henry sounds highly suspicious. It’s the line: You fell asleep first so I studied your hair, curled and damp and pressed to your temples that’s making Alex curious. It seems so...specific. Alex ruffles his own curls without thinking about it. He doesn’t want to say that to Henry.

“Is that so hard to believe?” Alex tries to sound defensive.

“Yes, actually. You’ve never shown any interest in my writing. You couldn’t even make it through a fifteen minute reading.”

“I told you, that was a personal emergency.” Alex coughs. “I’m interested. Seriously.”

Henry lets a long silence extend between them before responding, as though Alex is going to jump in with a just kidding! But he doesn’t, and Henry eventually starts talking.

“Most of the poems in that book were written over the course of a year or so. I was in a relationship at the time, and he lived with me. It was a pretty open relationship, though, and not really, erm, healthy. So he encouraged me to try a lot of things that maybe I wouldn’t have otherwise, and those things inspired a lot of the work as well. It was...a weird time in my life. I’m in a much better place now. It’s actually...” Henry pauses and clears his throat. Alex is dying to jump in with questions but somehow, miraculously, refrains. “It’s weird for me that so many people find my poetry hot, like...p*rn, like you say. Or that people get off to it, or whatever people are supposedly doing. For me, a lot of it has uncomfortable memories attached to it, and writing was my way of processing what happened. So I guess, to answer your question, yes, a lot of it is inspired by my real life. But that doesn’t mean every poem is a true representation of what really happened. Memories are fallible, first of all, and some of it is more trying to represent an emotion than an actual event. I cannot believe I’m talking this much. Please stop me.”

“No, you don’t need to stop,” Alex rushes to say, trying to stall because he actually has no idea how to respond. “It’s...it sounds like it’s very personal to you, no matter what. How did you get the courage to try to publish and share it with the world? That can’t have been easy. Especially for you.”

“Are you trying to say I’m not courageous?” Henry asks, and Alex is about to protest, but then Henry laughs. “No, you’re right. It is personal, and I’m a fairly private person. I think I just...I’ve always wanted to write. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. And I thought I had something that might resonate with people, whatever their sexuality. And, well. I guess I was right.”

Henry sounds proud of himself, and Alex feels it too, bubbling up within him and threatening to spill over into words. He wants to tell Henry that he’s doing something important, something huge. That the crowds at his events aren’t meaningless, the way they are at Alex’s—that he’s actually making a difference in real people’s lives, that they’ve found something that resonates with them, like Henry said. He thinks about Rafael Luna, about what he said back in January. I hope you can appreciate just how much seeing all these people here means to an old queer like me.

Alex opens his mouth to fill the silence, though he doesn’t know how to put words to what he wants to say. Henry ends up speaking again, first.

“It’s probably the same for you. Knowing how many young people look up to you, as a proud, biracial man living out your dream, shaking up the white establishment of the modeling industry. You’re out there, and you are who you are and proud of it, and you don’t let anyone push you around. You’re just...authentic. It’s...it’s f*cking inspiring, is what it is.”

Alex’s mouth is hanging open stupidly. He closes it to swallow around the lump in his throat.

“I don’t think what I do is anything compared to what you do,” he admits. “I mean, you saw my show. You know it’s just...shallow and stupid.” Alex gives voice to the fears he’s had since Henry fled the runway show in New York.

“No, Alex, no, not at all,” Henry says immediately, and his voice is starting to sound like it usually does when he’s ranting about something important to him—animated and loud. “You know it was my first time at something like that, and I didn’t know what to expect. At all. But when I saw you walking, I felt...I mean, you made me feel so much, like, I could see the power you brought to the stage, and I could see what it meant to have you up there, among those all-American models, as you say. Because you’re showing everybody what it really means to be all-American, and it’s not some blonde, blue-eyed Ken doll. You’re the future of America, and you’re giving hope to millions of people who see themselves represented in you.”

Alex is officially f*cking speechless. He’s never heard anyone, anywhere, articulate so perfectly why he loves what he does—not even himself. There’s a warm, giddy feeling settling in his chest, spreading through his limbs, making him feel tingly and light.

After a moment of silence, he manages to say, “I thought...you ran off after, and I thought…”

“Oh, Alex, no,” Henry interrupts him. “That was...what was it you said? A personal emergency, that’s all. The show was incredible. Honestly, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. The energy, and seeing you like that. I loved it.”

Alex exhales slowly. “That’s...thanks, man, I don’t even know what to say. Thank you. I’m...glad you came.”

“Me too.” There’s a moment of quiet. Alex’s brain is going so fast, it almost feels blissfully blank. “Well. I didn’t mean to take up your whole night. I should go.”

“Okay,” Alex says, stupidly, because he feels stupid, for some reason.

“I’ll speak to you later.”

“Where are you headed next?” Alex asks quickly, before Henry hangs up.

“Erm. Columbus? Cincinnati? Cleveland? Something with a C. I can’t keep all these midwest cities straight.”

“You’re probably the least straight thing around there for miles.”

Henry laughs, loud and long. “You’d be surprised how many queers there are down here. Up here? Where the f*ck am I?”

Alex is the one laughing now. “It’s a mystery. Aside from Texas, anywhere between California and New York is just a f*cking blob of cornfield in my opinion.”

“Somehow, the gays are still finding me.”

“Well, good. They should.”

Henry laughs again. “Okay. I’m going. Good night, Alex.”

“Good night, Fox.”

“It’s your turn to hang up first, for the record.”

“f*cking fine,” Alex says, then disconnects the phone call, even as the helpless grin on his face remains.

He picks up Henry’s book again and, taking a deep breath, turns to page two.

—

“Before we get into what you wanted to talk about, can I tell you something quick?” June looks nervous, which makes Alex suspicious. He’s supposed to be the nervous one, here.

“If I don’t like what you have to say, can I pretend you never said it?”

June rolls her eyes. “No, you dumbass.”

“Fine. What’s up?” Alex takes a drink of his beer.

“Remember how Nora was saying she's going to apply to schools that have the best program she’s looking for, regardless of location?”

Alex narrows his eyes at her. “I’ve been trying to forget.”

June continues as though he hasn't spoken. “Well, she’s finished putting together her list, and it turns out most of them aren’t in California. In fact, only Stanford is. The others are mostly on the east coast.” June says the last part quickly, like that’s somehow going to make it more palatable. Anxiety twists through Alex's chest.

“So you’re just going to leave me here? Alone?” He tries to sound a dramatic as possible.

“I...don’t know for sure, but it seems likely. I wanted to tell you now so you can start emotionally preparing yourself, and like, find other friends.”

“I have other friends.”

June laughs heartily, then cuts off when she sees Alex’s face. “Oh, was that not a joke?”

“Let’s change the subject before I strangle you.”

"Fine. Just...I wanted to tell you because Nora’s going to get pissed if you’re not supportive. So whatever you’re feeling about it, suck it up and tell her you’re excited for her." June eyes Alex over her drink. "Now what did you want to talk about?" She’s the one who looks suspicious, now, and a little worried.

Alex wraps both hands around his own beer in an effort to stop them from shaking. It’s peaceful on June’s balcony, the late afternoon sun filtering through the leaves of all the green plants Nora has hanging around.

“Okay. So. I...sorry, this is f*cking hard to say.” Alex chews his lip briefly before filling his lungs with dry air. June takes a long pull from her beer, still watching him. He knows he’s not making her worry any less with the way he’s going about it and decides to plow forward. “You know I’ve had a lot going on, and I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and reflecting about myself. All the Henry Fox stuff—” An involuntary tremor goes through Alex’s body at saying Henry’s name out loud. “—and all the work I’ve been doing since that big blowup, and you know I’ve gotten to know Henry now and like, he’s...pretty cool, actually. So talking to him has been good—well—for a lot of reasons, but like, there’s one thing in particular that’s important to me personally, so I wanted to tell you that…I know we always joke about me being the cis, straight guy, and I don’t deny that I have a lot of privilege, but I’ve been thinking a lot and I’ve come to realize that I’m not actually...straight...after all. Like, I’m still not sure what I am or what makes sense, and I still like girls, but I’m pretty f*cking sure I’m not like, completely heterosexual, or whatever.”

Alex pauses for breath. June’s expression has gone from curious to confused to encouraging throughout his rambling, and he’s surprised to see now that it’s utterly blank. Realization dawns on him, and he narrows his eyes.

“Nora f*cking told you already, didn’t she?”

“f*ck, was it that obvious?” June says miserably, putting her head in her hands. “I’m sorry! I knew something was up the day you got back from Seattle and I made her tell me. It’s not her fault, really. I wouldn’t leave it alone.”

Alex drinks down half his beer.

“Can I just say...I’m so glad Henry’s helped you unlock this part of yourself. I always kind of suspected there was more to you and Liam than you said, but it seemed like no matter what I said or the example I tried to set, you just weren’t ready to think about it. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt that it’s not, like, a sexist thing that Nora and I apparently weren’t good enough queer role models—”

“It’s not really about Henry being a queer role model,” Alex interrupts her. “It was more about, like...certain, uh, physical reactions that Henry’s poetry...evoked in me that I couldn’t talk myself out of like usual, because the evidence was right there.”

June’s eyebrows shoot up. “No need to go into further detail about that.”

Alex laughs. “Yeah, I know. I just...looking back, it seems obvious that something was up with me, but that’s what it took to make me confront it. That’s all. Even now, I wonder if I’m just making it up in my head.”

June’s eyes go big and wobbly and emotional; Alex has to look away before he gets emotional himself. “Listen. You’re not making it up. It’s not easy, especially for us. You had to navigate through a lot of heteronormative bullsh*t to get to this point, and even with our parents being as good as they were, it’s not like you could get away from the machismo in our neighborhood growing up. You should be f*cking proud of yourself for getting to this point. I’m proud of you.”

Alex doesn’t know what to say, can’t bring himself to find words, so he reaches out, takes June’s hand, and squeezes it, hard. June squeezes back.

“So tell me more about what’s going on with Henry.” June waggles her eyebrows. Alex drops her hand and shoots her a disgusted look.

“Nothing’s going on. We’re friends. I think. It was cool to run into him in New York.”

“It seems like you’ve been talking a lot.” June’s voice is extremely suggestive. Alex squirms.

“Friends talk.”

“All day? Every day?”

“We don’t talk all day. We’re both extremely busy.”

“Pretty amazing you’re able to make so much time for each other, isn’t it?”

“Shut up, June. It’s nothing. He just...gets me. Weirdly. Somehow. I don’t know. We’re friends.”

June’s expression is serene and knowing. Alex ignores it and, closing his eyes, he lets himself exhale, loud and long. He feels June’s arm come around his shoulders and squeeze. Relief washes over him in waves, a whole ocean of feeling at the knowledge that he told June, and she doesn’t think he’s making it up, and she still loves him. It’s going to be okay.

—

Alex
i’m bored
what are you doing?

Henry
I’m at a bar.

Alex
let me guess. writing?

Henry
How’d you know?
I’m workshopping a few lines from a new poem.

Alex
want any help?

…

…

Henry
It’s kind of...inappropriate.

Alex
i know you write gay p*rn
it’s not a secret

Henry
It’s not p*rn.

Alex
send it over

…

Alex stares at his phone. Jesus Christ.

Alex
what are you unsure about

Henry
Is it too...on the nose? Should I go a bit more vague and flowery?

Alex
your style’s not really vague and flowery, right? you get to the point
this certainly paints a picture of how much you love sucking dick
or prick, as you say

Henry
That’s a bit crude, isn’t it?

Alex
YOU’RE LITERALLY FAMOUS FOR WRITING GAY p*rn
just embrace it
like you embrace that sweet sweet co*ck with your mouth

…

…

Henry
I like the idea of using the word embrace in here somewhere. Thanks.

Alex
do you get horny writing this kind of stuff?

Henry
That’s kind of a personal question.

Alex
that’s a yes 🔥
guys must be lining up around the block to get with you

Henry
I’ve had some interest. Haven’t taken anyone up on it.

Alex
why not

Alex waits for the bubble to pop up indicating Henry’s typing in a response, but a few minutes pass, and it doesn’t come. He checks Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter, TikTok. He pulls up CNN, but he’s too distracted to actually take anything in. He keeps flipping back to his text messages, looking for a response that could have come in when he wasn’t paying attention, but he hasn’t missed anything. He opens his messages with Henry and scrolls up, reads the section of poem Henry sent him again.

Henry really paints a picture with his words; Alex can definitely see the visual. To an almost agonizing degree. It makes his dick twitch.

He rubs a hand over his face. Why does Henry’s poetry always have this effect on him?

Alex is in bed, checking one last time to make sure his alarm is set, when he finally gets a response.

Henry
Still holding out hope for something more meaningful, I guess.
Got caught up working. Thanks for the suggestion. Here’s the new line:
That I’ve never dreamt of your embrace, but your co*ck haunts me nightly, a welcome apparition.

And just like that, after all the waiting and anticipation, Alex is getting hard. He drops his phone on the nightstand and throws an arm over his eyes. He thinks about Henry thinking about him while he tries to fit Alex’s word into his poem. He thinks about Henry changing prick to co*ck and wonders if it’s because of him. He thinks about fisting his hand in Henry’s hair and pulling as hard as he can. He thinks about the way Henry’s eyes burn into him every time they see each other. What that would look like coming from him on his knees.

Alex’s hand slides down his stomach and under the waistband of his boxers. He grips himself miserably, trying unsuccessfully to get the image of Henry sucking co*ck out of his mind. He’s such a f*cking mess.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Henry sends Alex a screenshot, with no context, of an airline ticket: Chicago O’Hare to LAX. Landing at 6:40pm on February 28th. It’s only two days away.

Alex
did they cancel the rest of your tour already? utter and complete failure?

Henry
I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.
Pez needed to come to LA for business, so he arranged the trip when I have a few days off. Coming back to see him.

Alex
pez, your friend who you have approximately three zillion wild partying stories about?

Henry
That’s the one.

Alex
WE HAVE TO GO OUT
saturday
i’ll bring june and nora, you bring pez
i want to see you get sh*tfaced and dance

Henry
I don’t dance.

Alex
we are going out
we’ll discuss the dancing part later

Henry
I’m only agreeing to this because I know Pez would drag me out anyway.

Saturday arrives, bright and sunny, and Alex is in a spectacular mood. He goes over to June and Nora’s to watch them get ready. They order pizza—Alex actually eats a slice—and split a couple bottles of wine. Nora is on fire, leaving him and June laughing their asses off as June applies mascara and Alex spritzes cologne. Nora comes at Alex with her eyeliner and Alex is just the right combination of tipsy and happy that he lets her pencil some on his lower lids. Just past midnight, they pile into a Lyft and head for the hottest gay club in L.A., per Pez’s request.

They beat Henry and Pez to the club; Henry texts Alex that they’re on their way. Alex makes sure their names are on the list as his guests before going in. It’s late enough that the dance floor is already packed with writhing bodies. Alex can feel the music reverberating in his chest, making his teeth rattle. Nora motions to the bar and they push through the crowd.

“Shots!” Alex yells in June’s ear, who passes the message up to Nora, who has managed to smile her way in front of several other people waiting to order drinks. Alex grabs June’s hand and pulls her into a quick salsa rhythm. It still takes a while, but Nora soon appears with three shots of amber liquid, limes on the rim and salt on her wrists. She gives them a mischievous grin as she passes the shots over, then offers up her hands. Alex and June each take one and lick the salt from them before tossing back their drinks. Nora follows, whooping with the lime in her mouth.

“Hey,” Alex hears in his ear, and he swivels around to find Henry there, grinning and looking a little embarrassed. Alex feels a smile take over his face and he tamps down on it. Be normal.

“Hey,” he yells back, waving at Pez. Pez is wearing a neon pink tank top that looks like it’s been slashed open by something with giant claws. He’s definitely the coolest person in the club. Henry stands sheepishly at his side in a fitted white t-shirt and jeans. Alex is momentarily distracted by the way the shirt clings to his chest before he remembers introductions. “Pez, Henry, this is June and Nora.”

“We’ve met,” Henry yells, somehow managing to sound dignified even when he’s screaming. Pez draws all three of them in for a kiss on the cheek.

“Drinks?” Pez mouths when he pulls back, motioning with his hand, then drags Henry to the bar without waiting for a response. Nora raises her eyebrows at Alex, who responds with his most withering shut the hell up glare. He can hear her cackle even over the thump of the bass. June takes Nora’s hand and twirls her, and Nora loops her arms around June’s neck, backing them up until she bumps into Alex’s front. He puts his hands on her hips and they all start to dance.

Alex closes his eyes and tries to lose himself in the music. Nora’s body is comfortable and familiar under his hands, against his chest, down to the smell of her shampoo. His heartbeat feels magnified, thudding against his ribcage; it must be from the beat, pounding into him. He can’t fully relax, though, so he opens his eyes to keep a lookout for Henry and Pez.

They return several minutes later, evidently having had a harder time than Nora sneaking to the front of the bar. Pez passes shots to June and Nora while Henry dutifully hands one to Alex. Their fingers brush and Alex’s entire arm suddenly feels electrically charged. Pez tilts his shot toward the middle; they cheers with a yell. Alex tosses back the mystery liquid, which turns out to be white rum. It goes down smoothly. He rounds up the glasses to discard on a nearby high top.

When he turns around, Pez is grabbing Henry’s wrist and pulling him toward the dance floor. Alex grins as he watches Henry plead to be left behind, but Pez is having none of it. He wraps his arm firmly around Henry’s waist and gestures to Alex to join them. Henry gives him an embarrassed look when he catches up, starting to move his hips in time with the music. Henry stands so still it looks unnatural among the sea of movement around him.

Nora and June are grinding next to them, and Pez pulls Henry’s back to his chest, hands on Henry’s hips as he forces them to sway back and forth. Henry looks as though he may die of shame, but he starts moving a little, at least from the waist down. His arms stay frozen at his sides, as though he’s exerting extra effort not to move them. Pez’s body rolls behind him like a wave, and Alex can see the dynamic at play: Henry only dances when Pez forces him to. Alex moves easily, enjoying the way he feels with people pressed in on all sides. Pez yells something in Henry’s ear, and Henry turns his head to yell something back, but Alex can’t make out what they’re saying.

Suddenly, Alex feels Pez’s hand grab his shirt, pulling him closer. He finds himself in front of Henry, then, and Henry’s eyebrows furrow as he mouths sorry, Pez’s hands still directing the movement of his hips. Alex can’t help the grin that spreads across his face, the temptation to see just how far Henry will let him take it. He turns around, throwing his hands up in the air and grinding his ass back against Henry’s front. He feels startled hands grip his waist, an almost involuntary shove, trying to get some space between them, but Alex just bends forward, shaking his ass and then dropping to the ground before popping back up. Pez is keeping Henry firmly in place, so Alex lets his arm drift up over his head, finding the back of Henry’s neck and gripping it, his head falling back against Henry’s shoulder. Henry goes suddenly, torturously still, and Alex thinks he may have found Henry’s limit.

“Excuse me,” Henry yells. He literally ducks to escape Alex and Pez’s arms around him and makes off toward the bar. Alex turns around to see Pez give him a shrug. He shrugs back. They don’t stop dancing; Alex is getting warm now, sweat beading on his forehead and rolling down his back. He keeps an eye to the side of the dance floor, waiting for Henry to reappear. He’s momentarily distracted by a very short, very skinny white guy with lots of piercings bouncing up to him with a grin and shoving a thigh between his legs. Alex laughs and grinds down, letting himself enjoy it, his first time dancing with a strange guy in a gay club knowing he’s not entirely straight. He catches sight of Henry’s blonde hair coming closer, then, and he pulls back apologetically, though he’s not entirely sure why he doesn’t want Henry to see him grinding with some random guy. It just feels wrong.

Nora finds him, dancing up on his back. Henry has made it back to Pez with what looks like a very large co*cktail and is letting himself go a little, swaying his hips and smiling. Pez pulls Henry closer and says something, and Henry throws his head back and laughs, one arm coming up over his head as he dances. He catches Alex’s eye, then, and his smile goes even wider. Something squirms in Alex’s stomach. He wants to be over there. Instead, he smiles back and closes his eyes, relaxing into the feel of Nora behind him. The music flows through him. Bodies press up against him on all sides. The drinks he’s had make everything pleasant and a little hazy, make him feel loose-limbed and comfortable.

When he opens his eyes again, Henry’s right in front of him, still swaying a little, his expression unreadable. He leans in close to Alex’s ear.

“Having fun?”

Alex grins and nods, letting his hands fall to Henry’s waist, letting their hips bump up together. He watches Henry take a deep breath.

“I’m going to get some air,” Henry tells him. Alex senses an unspoken question in the pause after. He puts his mouth to Henry’s ear, so close his lips brush against it.

“I’ll come with you.”

Henry nods, then turns back to Pez and says something. Nora has abandoned him, crushed between June and another girl Alex doesn’t recognize. He gestures vaguely at Henry and then the door, and she and June nod with identical knowing grins on their faces. Alex ignores them and follows Henry off the dance floor, wondering what, exactly, he’s getting himself into.

The cool air of the patio feels like heaven on Alex’s hot, damp skin. The door closes behind them, shutting out the overwhelming noise of the music, just the bassline thrumming at Alex’s pulse points now. There are a few small groups out here, mostly smokers. Henry ducks under the railing, leading Alex around the corner.

“Should I be scared you’re taking me down a dark alley alone?” Alex says, teasing. Henry falls back against the brick wall with a sigh. Alex can practically see the tension bleeding out of him.

“Sorry.” He pushes sweaty hair off his forehead. “I just needed to get away from all that for a moment.”

“That’s okay,” Alex tells him, and he’s surprised by how much he means it. He leans back against the wall next to him, aware of Henry’s shoulder barely an inch away from his.

“Don’t you ever feel like that?” Henry asks. “You must be constantly surrounded by people.”

“I am. I don’t mind, though. I don’t really do well...by myself.”

“Why not?”

“Too easy to start thinking. I’d rather let other people distract me.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” Henry says, shifting a little. His arm presses up against Alex’s as he turns his head to look at him. “I don’t really know how to deal with all the attention and people wanting to meet me, people recognizing me. I feel like I’ll never be able to be alone in public again.”

“Alone in public?”

“Y’know. Just some anonymous person out in the world.”

“Don’t worry. Your fifteen minutes of fame won’t last that long.”

Henry snorts and elbows him. Alex elbows him back.

“Seriously. I need the peace and quiet. The time to think.”

“Well, you better get used to not having it. You’re becoming, like, a total gay sex symbol icon of our generation. Or whatever.” Henry’s looking at him intently, and now it’s Alex who feels self-conscious. He glances down, then back up to meet Henry’s eyes.

“What if I just want to be me?”

“Too late. You shouldn’t have written all that gay p*rn. I mean poetry.”

Henry lets out a surprised laugh, more of a huff. “Did you ever actually read it?”

“I may have skimmed it.”

“And?”

Alex shrugs, ruffling his hair, going for casual even as he burns up inside at the thought of Henry’s poetry—at the memory of that night, alone in his loft, poring feverishly over every page. “It was...poetic.”

Henry laughs again. Alex thinks about how much he likes the sound of it. Henry turns to face him fully, and Alex looks up at him. There’s a beat of silence, then another. Alex tries to think of something stupid to say to fill it, but he’s distracted by Henry’s blue eyes boring into his own. Has Henry been this close to him the entire time, or is he getting closer? Alex sees Henry’s eyes flick down to his lips, then back up.

“You’re definitely not hom*ophobic, right?” Henry murmurs. Alex is taken aback by the question. Weren’t they just dancing together in a gay club? Haven’t they been talking almost every day for weeks now? Shouldn’t Henry know that? Isn’t Henry aware that his own poetry is single-handedly responsible for making Alex question his sexuality? Okay, he hasn’t exactly disclosed that. But still...Alex pouts.

“I can’t believe you’d even—” he starts, but he doesn’t finish. Because Henry’s mouth is on his, and Alex is suddenly overwhelmed by a number of sensations.

Henry’s hands are coming up, long fingers cradling his jaw, stretching back behind his earlobes. Henry is moving into his space. His hip brushes Alex’s hip. Henry is kissing Alex.

And Alex realizes that he’s liking it. A lot.

Alex lets his hands fall on Henry’s waist, and Henry responds by slipping his tongue into Alex’s mouth.

It feels different—so different—from all the girls he’s kissed, but then why does it feel so warm, so comforting, so familiar? Why does Henry’s mouth, Henry’s touch, feel like a well-traversed dirt road, taste like a Shiner in a field of bluebonnets, smell like the gulf waves crashing into the shore?

Alex’s hands slide down Henry’s sides, finding the sharp jut of his hip bones and dragging there as he deepens the kiss. Henry’s mouth presses against him with some hesitation, as though asking a question he’s not sure he wants to know the answer to. Alex opens himself up to give it to him, to let Henry find the answer and take it. Henry pushes Alex against the wall, then, and Alex is equally aware of the rough bricks against his back and the sudden connection of his hips with Henry’s. He lets out a tiny moan, so quiet it disappears into Henry’s mouth. Henry pulls back suddenly, fingers still lingering on his jaw, his neck.

“Alex,” he says. Alex gives him a quick grin.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Because you’re—you’re—straight!”

“Am I?” Alex says. He pushes his hips up against Henry’s. Henry makes an irresistibly adorable noise.

“And we’re—drunk.”

“You’re thinking too much.” This time, he’s the one who leans forward—and this time, Henry doesn’t hesitate for a second. His fingers press into Alex’s neck, his body practically overtaking Alex as he crowds up against him, and his mouth. His mouth. His lips are soft, but they’re confident, his jaw rough with stubble as it brushes Alex’s own. Alex feels consumed, overtaken, as Henry kisses him. He’s never felt that way before.

Alex’s hands drift to Henry’s stomach between them, pull up his shirt a little and find the button of his jeans. He’s just popped it open when Henry makes a soft noise again and pulls back. Alex takes the opportunity to see what the stubble on Henry’s neck feels like on his tongue.

“Alex, wait...please.” Henry’s out of breath. Alex can feel the heave of Henry’s lungs expanding against his chest as he sucks in the cool night air. He moves back reluctantly. Henry’s eyes meet his, huge and earnest, and Alex knows he’s completely done for.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Christ, no. It’s just...I’m just...I want to take you out for dinner.”

“Right now?” Alex says. He traces Henry’s waistband with one finger. “I don’t think anything will be open except fast food. And you know I can’t eat that sh*t.”

Henry laughs. His abdomen shudders under Alex’s touch. “No, not right now. I want to take you on a date. Soon. Before we go any further. I want...” Henry juts out his chin, and he looks so rugged and determined that Alex thinks he might actually f*cking swoon. “I want to do this properly. I don’t want to just shag you in a dark alley.”

“I don’t totally understand British, so does it really count as shagging if it’s just hands?” Alex raises an eyebrow, letting his thumb and forefinger drift to Henry’s zipper again and tugging it down ever so slightly.

“It does,” Henry says firmly, and he finds Alex’s hand between them and twines their fingers together. “So...will you go on a date with me?”

“f*ck. Yes. Of course. Just tell me when and where.”

Henry’s face breaks out into a brilliant smile, and Alex realizes suddenly that Henry had been nervous to ask. The realization makes his heart twinge, a strange, new sensation. He squeezes Henry’s hand and looks up at him, parting his lips to moisten them with his tongue. Henry’s eyes dip down again and linger there.

“Do you even know what you look like?” Henry murmurs. His thumb strokes Alex’s cheek, and Alex gives a small shrug. He does know, but it’s entirely new to look up and see it play out on the smooth, angular lines of Henry’s face. Henry grimaces slightly, like he’s about to do something he’ll regret. Then his lips find Alex’s again and again, over and over, until Alex can feel the heat in his cheeks spreading down his neck, the warmth of their bodies pressed together lighting up the cool evening. Alex loses track of how much time passes; he doesn’t know the last time he’s just kissed someone like this, for this long. It feels like Henry’s mouth, Henry’s fingers are leaving imprints on him that will last into tomorrow. It’s intoxicating.

They kiss until they’re out of breath, and then they kiss some more. After some time, they end up just breathing in each other’s air, lips touching but hanging open, limbs wound, all tangled up in each other.

“So, about that date,” Alex says, interrupting the quiet moment. “You free tomorrow?”

Henry smiles as he pulls back, a little self-conscious. Then his brow furrows. Alex wants to smooth it out with his finger. “I have a business dinner with Shaan tomorrow. What about Monday?”

“I’m pretty sure I have an appearance on Monday. When do you leave L.A.?”

“I fly to Minneapolis to resume the tour on Wednesday. So…Tuesday?”

“Tuesday,” Alex confirms.

“I’ll pick you up,” Henry says. “Seven?”

“How are you going to pick me up? You don’t know how to drive on the right side of the road. Are you even allowed to drive here?”

Henry rolls his eyes. “I’ll get a driver.”

“Do you even know any good places to go?”

“I’m sure I can figure it out. I’m not helpless, you know.”

Alex realizes the stupid grin on Henry’s face is mirrored on his own at the same time he realizes their fingers are still laced together. His heart starts beating faster and he wonders, not for the first time tonight, what he’s getting himself into. Henry kisses him again, soft and sweet, and then Alex hears an unmistakable screech.

“Alex!” It’s Nora. “We’re leaving! Are you out here somewhere? Alex!”

Henry looks at him. Alex grimaces.

“I guess we should go with them,” Alex says. “So they know we’re okay.”

“I guess,” Henry echoes. His fingers loosen in Alex’s grip.

“This was...good,” Alex says, fumbling for the right thing to say and coming up with nothing. “Really good.”

“Yeah?” The expression on Henry’s face is full of something that looks suspiciously like hope. Alex’s heart does that weird twinge thing again and he gives Henry’s fingers one last squeeze before dropping his hand.

“Yeah,” Alex says. He tilts his face up to meet Henry’s lips one more time.

They’re interrupted by another, “Aleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeex!” Henry falls back, laughing.

“Nora!” Alex yells, and he hears her shriek. “Coming!”

He leads Henry out of the alley and around the corner, back toward the entrance of the club. Nora sees them first, and the look on her face is, as usual, insufferably all-knowing. Pez and June are close behind her, huddled together.

“Where’d you two go off to?” Nora says immediately.

“Had to get some air,” Alex tells her.

“Yeah, we were just having a chat,” Henry adds. Pez snorts.

“We’re going home,” June says, falling against Pez a little and then straightening herself up. “Right, Nora?”

“You sure you don’t want to come for the afterparty at our hotel?” Pez asks.

“I need some sleep,” Henry interjects, and June nods.

“Sleep,” she says, moving to Nora as her support.

“Can I stay over at your place?” Alex asks her, suddenly imagining himself alone in his loft overthinking everything that just happened.

“Of course,” Nora says with a saucy grin.

“So, we’ll see you later,” Pez says. “Right? Before I go home?”

“Definitely,” June replies.

“I’ll see you soon,” Alex says to Henry, quietly. Henry gives him a small, private smile. Alex bites the inside of his cheek.

“Soon,” Henry echoes. He and Pez insist the three of them take the first cab, so they all pile in, Henry’s fingers lingering on Alex’s back as he ducks into the car. Alex can’t take his eyes off him as they drive away.

The cab driver is chatty, which saves Alex from having to answer any questions on the way home. As soon as they get inside June and Nora’s apartment, though, they round on him.

“What?” Alex says, holding up his hands. “I’m innocent, your honor.”

“Innocent of what, exactly?” June asks. Nora nods vigorously and drunkenly at her side.

“Whatever it is you’re accusing me of.”

“What did you and Henry talk about outside?” Nora says.

“Normal stuff. Being famous. Whatever.”

“For over an hour?”

“What did you two and Pez do while we were gone?” Alex smirks.

June and Nora have identical glares on their faces. Since they started dating, Alex has grown increasingly concerned that they’re merging into one person. He pushes past them and goes to the kitchen to get water, only stumbling a little bit on the way. June and Nora follow him and box him in against the kitchen counter by the sink.

“Spill,” June demands. Alex looks from her face to Nora’s and determines there’s no way he’s getting out of this.

“Fine,” he says, then takes a long drink of water, drawing it out. “He kissed me, okay?”

Nora squeaks. June replies, “And?”

“And I kissed him back and we’re going on a date, okay?”

“Oh my god,” Nora says, and she stretches her arms out and forcibly pulls Alex’s head to her chest. “Alex. I’m so proud of you. Alex. I can’t believe this is really happening.”

“f*ck off,” Alex says, dislodging himself from her arms and escaping to the living room sofa. Nora trails after him, giggling, while June fills up two more glasses with water.

“Tell us everything. Start at the beginning. Wait, start at now. How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling like I don’t want to talk about this right now. I came here to be distracted, not to overthink every detail about what happened. If I wanted to do that, I would have just gone home.” Even as he says it, his pulse speeds up. What was Henry thinking about right now? Was he regretting everything that just happened?

“At least give us the dirty part,” Nora whines.

“Nothing dirty happened. We made out in an alley and he stopped me from jacking him off. That’s it.”

“Why did he stop you?” June asks, handing a glass of water to Nora, who starts chugging.

“He said—” Alex tries to remember exactly what Henry had said about it; he mostly remembers that it sounded astoundingly British. “He said he wanted to take me out and he didn’t want to just shag me in a dark alley.” Alex’s fingers form air quotes around the last part.

“Shag, that’s so cute,” Nora squeals.

“So we’re going out on Tuesday. That’s all.” The words cause a wave of panic to rise up within him, accompanied by nausea.

“Are you okay?” June looks concerned. Alex doesn’t reply because if he opens his mouth, he might puke. He waves her off and closes his eyes, breathing slowly through his nose. After a minute, the nausea passes, but the panic remains.

“I’m...fine,” Alex manages to say. “Do you think...is this a terrible idea?”

“What?” Nora says, and at the same time, June exclaims, “Why?”

“I don’t know, I just...this is kind of new territory for me, and what if I’m seen in public on a date with a guy? With Henry? I’ve barely...dated anyone seriously, and now all of a sudden I’m dating a f*cking man? And like...what is he expecting to come of this? Are we dating now, or is this just one date? Jesus.” Alex can hear his voice getting louder but can’t seem to stop it from happening. “I almost touched a dick tonight.”

“Alex,” June says, and she’s smiling but her eyes look wobbly. “Alex. It’s fine. You’re fine. This is a good thing.”

“How do you know that?” Alex is close to screaming.

“Because you like him.”

“Do I? What if I’m confusing friend feelings with more than friend feelings? I don’t f*cking know anything about feelings.” Alex’s palms are sweaty. He wipes them on the throw cushion next to him, then grabs it and hugs it against his chest. “This is the line of thought I was trying to avoid tonight, you assholes.”

“Did you like kissing him?” Nora asks, as though it’s that simple.

“Yes, but—”

“No buts,” Nora interrupts him. “You liked kissing him. You tried to get in his pants. You said yes to a date. That’s not just friend feelings.”

Alex swallows. Nora sounds logical as always; his alcohol-soaked brain is having trouble coming up with arguments against her.

“And,” June adds, “I saw the look on your face when you said goodbye to him tonight. I’ve never seen you look at someone like that before.”

“Like what?”

“Like...mushy.” June wrinkles her nose.

“It was kind of gross, to be honest,” Nora chimes in helpfully. “But he looked the same way. It was cute-gross.”

“And don’t worry about being seen out with him,” June adds. “The tabloids have already speculated you’re both gay for him and hom*ophobic. Whatever rumors you’re worried about are already out there.”

“I guess,” Alex says, his heart rate slowing.

“Any other concerns?” June leans over to pat him on the arm.

“Only, like, a million,” Alex says. “But it’s...fine. I’ll be fine. If I can keep myself from puking.”

“Lay down. Go to sleep,” June says. “I’ll bring you a blanket and a trash can.”

“Thank you,” Alex says gratefully, tucking his legs up on the couch and stretching himself out. Nora kisses him on the forehead.

“Sweet Henry dreams,” she murmurs, giggling. Alex gives her a half-hearted shove.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

Tuesday evening, Alex’s phone rings with the tone of the downstairs buzzer much too soon. He thought he had more time. How is he supposed to pick out an outfit when he doesn’t even know where they’re going and who might be there?

He answers the phone just in time and doesn’t realize he’s forgotten to say anything until he hears Henry’s voice through the speaker. “Erm. Hello?”

“Hi,” Alex says, distractedly pressing the speakerphone button and throwing his phone on the bed.

“Hi,” Henry says. “I’m here. Are you coming down?”

“I’m going to need a few minutes. Actually, maybe you should just come up. I’ll buzz you in. Elevator to the top floor.”

“Alex—” Alex accidentally cuts Henry off by pressing the buzzer code and hanging up. He looks at his phone for a second, then shrugs, going back to his closet to pull out a few more options.

“Hello?” he hears from the living room after a minute.

“In here,” he calls, holding a peach button down up to his chest in front of the mirror. “How am I supposed to know what to wear for this outing when you won’t even tell me where we’re going? I’m going to need some more information. Or you’re at least going to have to tell me what’s appropriate. I can’t show up somewhere underdressed. They’d never let me live it down.”

Henry’s head appears over Alex’s shoulder in the mirror, grinning. “This is cute.”

“The peach? You’d go with the peach?”

“I meant you having a meltdown.” Henry tugs on Alex’s waist, turning him around. Alex licks his lips as he takes in the sight before him. Henry’s wearing a dark, tight-fitted blazer over a patterned white v-neck shirt and navy chinos. Alex eyes the sliver of bare ankle visible above his Sperrys. He looks hot.

“You look…” Alex says, dragging his gaze up to Henry’s eyes to find them sparkling and mischievous. He forgets what he was going to say, so he presses his mouth to Henry’s instead. Henry smiles into the kiss, and Alex’s arms fall helplessly to his sides as Henry scoops him up. He takes the moment to note the way Henry’s arms feel wrapped around him. His big, strong arms. Alex, somewhat deliriously, questions when his vocabulary got so...caveman.

When Henry releases him, he feels positively bereft.

“Hmm?” Henry says, brushing their noses together. “How do I look?”

“Good.” Alex’s hand falls to Henry’s chest and slides up his neck. “And I’m not having a meltdown.”

“Good,” Henry says. His grin is actually taking over his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Alex wonders how someone can simultaneously be so sexy and so adorable. “Well, we’ve got reservations, so we should get going.”

“What am I supposed to wear?” Alex says helplessly, the peach button-down crumpled in his hand.

“This works,” Henry says. His fingers pinch the v-neck of Alex’s undershirt and then feel the bare skin next to it. Alex bites his lip to prevent any weird, unflattering noises from escaping.

“Um,” he says. “Most restaurants want you to wear a shirt. Not just an undershirt.”

“That’s interesting. Because I’d rather have you in neither.”

Alex is close to asking where this version of Henry Fox came from and how he got into Alex’s apartment, but he gets distracted by the heat of Henry’s eyes on him, by Henry’s fingers pushing under the neck of his shirt, dragging it over so his shoulder is exposed.

“Is this supposed to be getting us to the restaurant faster?”

Henry responds by bending his head down and sucking along the length of Alex’s collarbone. It's like liquid heat on his skin, and Alex’s knees go so weak he thinks he might collapse. He suddenly remembers that despite Henry’s shy and bumbling exterior, he’s single-handedly responsible for getting off millions of gay men across America with his poetry of all things, and it’s all starting to make sense.

Henry’s got game.

And it suddenly occurs to Alex that despite an intensive research session on Google Sunday afternoon (followed by an intensive masturbation session thinking about all the ways he and Henry could touch each other), he has very limited experience in this area.

Anxiety blooms in his chest.

“Sorry,” Henry says. Alex realizes that Henry must have felt him tense up and mentally curses his attentiveness. “Too much?”

“No,” Alex says quickly. “Nope. Not too much. Just the right amount.”

Henry raises an eyebrow at him.

“I’m fine,” Alex insists. “Where were we?”

“We should probably just go,” Henry says, shrinking back. Alex resists the urge to reach out and force him to stay close. He sees a shadow of uncertainty cross Henry’s face.

“Hey,” Alex says, settling for fisting a hand in Henry’s shirt. He casts around for something to say to make Henry feel sure about this, as sure as he feels, but it’s taking too long, and he sees it reflected in Henry’s eyes. Henry pushes a hand through his hair and doesn’t say anything; Alex reaches deep inside himself for courage. “No, like, listen. Yes. That. A lot more of that. I just...am realizing that you are, like, literally a gay sex icon and it’s becoming extremely clear why, and this is all really new to me...” Alex trails off, chewing on his lip and internally screaming at himself for his inability to control his insecurities.

The look that takes over Henry’s face now is so sweet and so tender, Alex actually has to look away.

“Alex.” Henry’s fingers find their way to his chin and tilt it up, forcing Alex to meet his eyes. “I might be weirdly getting a lot of attention for my writing, but that’s what it is. Writing. I’m not some kind of sex god. I’m a gay bloke who’s had some gay experiences who happens to write. I’m just...really attracted to you.” He pauses, visibly swallowing, and Alex bites back a smile. “But we can, and should, take things slow. I think I’m the one who was trying to do that anyway. So, get that shirt on and let’s go to dinner.”

Alex opens his fist and the shirt falls to the floor. Then, he throws his arms around Henry’s neck and kisses him.

The kiss is slow, intentional, deliberate. Henry’s hands find their way around his waist, pulling him in close. Alex winds his fingers in Henry’s hair and it’s so soft to his touch. Henry sucks Alex’s bottom lip into his mouth. Alex turns up into him, and he feels like he fits.

“I don’t want to go to dinner,” Alex whispers, finally, against Henry’s lips.

“I’ll text the driver,” Henry says immediately and pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Should I, er. Should I tell him I’ll be needing a ride home later tonight?” Henry blushes, and Alex’s insides twist with nervousness.

Should Henry spend the night on their first night together? Does that make it too serious, too fast? Would it be better to send him home after so that he doesn’t get the wrong idea about what this is? How can he get the wrong idea when Alex doesn’t even know what it is?

Henry must see Alex’s panic all over his face, because he raises his eyebrows and says, “I’ll just...tell him I may need him later, all right?”

“Yeah,” Alex breathes. He realizes his heart is pounding. “Okay.”

Henry taps out a message on his phone. Alex’s hands are still on Henry’s shoulders, and he follows the line of Henry’s neck with his finger, enjoying the unreadable expression that crosses Henry’s face, the way he seems to shiver into Alex’s touch. After a moment, Henry looks back up to meet Alex’s eyes and chucks his phone onto the bed.

“That’s done,” Henry says. His eyes feel like they’re burning into Alex; he’s never met someone who’s so into eye contact before. Henry fits his arms around Alex’s waist, pulling him back in close. Alex plays with the hairs at the nape of Henry’s neck, tugging slightly.

“Cool,” he says, because he’s not sure if he’s supposed to say something else. The ease with which they fell together a minute ago seems to have evaporated as Alex’s nerves build up in his chest. His hands feel clumsy and awkward, and Henry’s still staring at him.

“How do you want to do this?” Henry asks with a small smile.

“You’re the expert,” Alex blurts out. “I mean. I guess we could just…?”

He tilts his head and turns it up toward Henry’s. Henry leans down and finds his mouth, then pulls Alex in by the small of his back so they’re pressed flush together. Henry’s body feels steadying, his mouth centering, his hands grounding. Alex relaxes into the kiss, and then it’s easy to get swept up in it, to push his hands back into Henry’s thick hair and press his thumb into the base of Henry’s skull, to slip his tongue in Henry’s mouth and feel the way Henry responds, to notice every sparking connection between their bodies. Henry walks forward, guiding Alex until the backs of his legs run into the bed. Alex lets himself fall onto his back, but Henry doesn’t allow it to create space between them. He follows Alex down, climbing on top of him, not breaking the kiss even as it turns messy and disjointed. Alex laughs into Henry’s mouth and he feels the curve of Henry’s smile in response.

Henry’s fingers push under his shirt, then, and the first touch of him against the bare skin of Alex’s stomach feels like fire. Alex scrabbles to push Henry’s jacket off his shoulders; Henry sits up for a second to shrug it back. Alex watches his smooth movements and wonders how he got here—with one of the hottest gay guys on the market right now straddling his thighs in his bed when he’s never even had an intentional sexual experience with another guy before. Henry moves to take off his shirt and then pauses, meeting Alex’s eyes.

“Should I?”

“Um, yes,” Alex says, breathier than he had intended. Henry doesn’t hesitate, and Alex grabs the hem of his own shirt at the same time as he scrabbles backwards to get fully on the bed. Henry follows, climbing over him and settling again astride his lap.

“Let me,” Henry says, brushing Alex’s hands aside. Alex looks up at him and sees skin, skin, skin, and Henry’s pushing his shirt up and letting his hands smooth over Alex’s stomach, over his chest. Alex lifts his arms and wriggles his body to free the fabric stuck underneath him. When the shirt clears his head, Henry’s already right back in front of him, pressing a kiss to his lips as he holds Alex’s wrists up, tangled in the fabric. Alex tests him a little, pushing back, but Henry restrains him easily as he crushes their mouths together. Alex hadn’t realized, hadn’t even thought about how much he might like feeling completely overpowered, and f*ck. Henry is strong.

“The exercise regimen is really working for you,” Alex says when Henry pulls back for air. Henry quirks an eyebrow at him.

“You should talk,” Henry murmurs, letting go of Alex’s wrists with a final tug to release his shirt and running his hands over Alex’s chest. Alex is literally paid to look good, so he knows he has a killer body. But when Alex thinks of a poet, he thinks of a skinny nerd in weird glasses, possibly a beret. Henry is fit as hell, not overly muscular, just the right amount of definition. He trails his fingers over Alex’s abdomen, then gives Alex’s nipple a light pinch. It’s f*cking electric. The girls Alex has been with don’t usually pay any attention to his nipples; they just go straight for his dick. He’s struck again by how different everything feels with Henry, like Henry wants to take his time worshipping Alex’s body before he even gets there.

“I like that,” Alex says suddenly, because he does, and he wants Henry to know.

“Yeah?” Henry replies, smoothing his thumb over the same nipple now, rubbing in slow circles. “What else do you like?” Henry bends his head down and kisses the center of Alex’s chest, then swipes his tongue over Alex’s other nipple. Alex squirms, his hand coming up to cup the back of Henry’s neck. Alex has never had anyone ask him what he likes, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to respond.

“That’s good too,” Alex mumbles. Henry does it again, then catches it on his teeth just barely, and Alex can feel it all the way to his groin. Henry looks up at him, fingers moving lazily over Alex’s stomach, down to his hip.

“Tell me what else,” Henry says, his voice low and husky and demanding. He kisses his way down Alex’s abdomen, hot and open-mouthed. A mix of arousal and anxiety unfurls in Alex’s stomach.

“I don’t know, normal stuff?” he says finally, feeling stupid. Henry moves, then, back up until he’s hovering over Alex face-to-face, a small smile on his lips.

“Have you done anything like this before?” he asks. “With a guy?”

“Um,” Alex says. “Define like this.”

“Kissed? Touched? Had sex?”

“Um,” Alex says again. “Yes, yes, define sex?”

Henry’s eyebrows shoot up. “Anything involving you and someone else trying to give each other an org*sm?”

“Um,” Alex manages, barely. “Yes? If you define it that way? I guess? In high school. With my—my best friend, Liam. It didn’t mean anything. I think. We just used to...get drunk and make out and jack each other off sometimes.”

“Your shy friend?” Henry shifts, coming down to rest on his side, one leg and arm still dangling over Alex.

“Yeah. But we don’t have to talk about it,” Alex adds. “We can just—go back to what we were—”

“I thought you identified as straight,” Henry says, and now his brow is furrowing a little. “Until now.” He spreads his palm wide over Alex’s abdomen.

“I did,” Alex insists. “I told you, it didn’t mean anything. I didn’t think anything of it. Well, I thought everyone did stuff like that with their friends, and I was practically blackout drunk every time it happened, so I just kind of...tried not to think about it.”

“Did you like him?” Henry trails his fingers over Alex’s stomach. Alex feels it shudder, feels the touch shoot to the tips of his toes. “Did he like you?” He finds the button of Alex’s chinos and pops it open, swift and confident, then pulls down the zipper. Alex swallows.

“I don’t know. Is there a reason we’re talking about this?”

Henry presses their lips together, gentle and sweet.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” he says as he starts to move back down. “This time.”

Alex feels a thrill of...nervousness? Excitement? Run through his entire body. Does that mean Henry’s not thinking of this as a one-time thing? That there’s actually going to be a next time?

Henry kisses his stomach as his fingers hook in the belt loops of Alex’s pants. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Alex says, his voice coming out scratchy. Every movement Henry makes that close to his groin causes a jolt of arousal to shoot through him. Henry tugs, and Alex lifts his hips, and Henry pulls everything down in one fell swoop, leaving Alex kicking away fabric until he’s completely naked.

Henry sits up on his knees between Alex’s legs, puts his hands on Alex’s thighs. Alex feels heat rise in his cheeks as Henry’s gaze sweeps over him, just looking. Oh god. He tries to figure out what Henry’s expression means, but his brain promptly short-circuits as Henry licks his lips.

“You are,” Henry says, finally looking up at Alex with darkened eyes, “completely gorgeous.”

Alex tries not to squirm. “Not fair,” he says, reaching for Henry’s belt. Henry grins, letting Alex pull it open and unfasten his pants. Henry finishes the job, wriggling loose from his tight chinos as he falls back to Alex’s side on the bed.

“Happy?” Henry says, eyes bright, hair falling over his forehead.

“Very,” Alex replies, and he’s going to say something else sassy in response, but Henry’s fingers trail up his thigh and he forgets how to talk. Henry bites his lip, still smiling. When his hand closes around Alex’s co*ck, Alex can’t do anything but squeeze his eyes shut and let out a long, shaky breath.

Henry nuzzles up against his cheek and then his lips find Alex’s. Alex is relieved at the touch, comfortable and familiar while a mass of feelings and nerve endings fire all throughout his body. He kisses Henry, open-mouthed with tongue, as Henry’s hand curls over him, slow and intentional. Henry shifts, pulling his face back a little as he moves his body closer, and Alex feels Henry’s erection press up against his hip. Oh, god.

Alex’s breathing is coming fast and shallow, his thighs tensing and untensing as Henry touches him. When Henry whispers, “Alex,” Alex barely hears it over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. “Alex,” Henry repeats, his voice low.

Alex lets his eyes flutter open to find Henry’s face inches away from his, close enough to see but not to touch. Henry’s eyes are trained on him, unflinching. Alex turns his face to the side, biting his lip, unable to take all of Henry’s attention on him. Henry swipes over the head of his co*ck, rubbing in the moisture there with practiced fingers. Alex feels his face scrunch up as a moan escapes him.

“Look at me,” Henry breathes against his cheek. Alex turns his head back, reluctantly meeting Henry’s eyes again. Henry is still rubbing the sensitive head.

“f*ck,” Alex grinds out, his hips jerking. Henry is watching him, unblinking, and pleasure is building up low in Alex’s groin. Henry grips him firmly again, then, and speeds up. Alex’s fingers tighten around the sheets, and he tries to throw his head to the side again.

“Look at me,” Henry repeats, low and commanding, and Alex thinks he would do anything Henry said in that f*cking voice. When Alex holds Henry’s gaze again, Henry says, “I want to see every second of the way you look when I touch you.”

Alex’s skin erupts in gooseflesh. His breath is coming faster now, pleasure reverberating through his body, but he doesn’t want to come like this yet. He reaches down to where Henry’s co*ck is nudged up against him, and he starts to match Henry stroke for stroke.

Henry falters momentarily. Alex takes advantage of it to regain control of himself. He rolls on his side, so he and Henry are facing each other. Henry’s brow furrows, this time in concentration. Alex suddenly understands the appeal of eye contact: Henry’s eyes are blue and bottomless, darkened with desire. His perfect face is flushed, his mouth open as he lets out a little gasp. Alex wants to make him gasp again and again.

Henry resumes his motions over Alex’s co*ck, following Alex’s lead now. Some rational part of Alex’s brain thinks that they’re just jerking each other off, and it shouldn’t be anything especially exciting. But there’s something so erotic, so f*cking sexy, about the way Henry’s lips are swollen from kissing, the way Henry’s hand is moving the same way his is, the way they’re just lying there, naked and vulnerable with the lights still on, a hundred percent sober. Like Henry wants to be here, with him, nowhere and with no one else.

“f*ck,” Henry gasps, and Alex grins.

Henry looks concentrated and determined even as Alex can feel his thighs trembling. Then he does something with his hand that makes Alex moan, and Alex tries to emulate it, and Henry’s panting and letting out a string of curses, and Alex’s hips are thrusting up into him, nudging himself closer until their fists are brushing against each other. Alex is close, way too worked up now to pull back, so he stops trying. He lets every sensation roll through his body, rushing through him until he feels lit up with it inside.

“Sweetheart,” he manages to say, barely, as he reaches the tipping point, and he sees Henry’s entire face soften as he comes, the intense, concentrated pleasure of it spreading through his entire body. Henry’s eyes hold his, and that’s the only thing that keeps him moving, gripping Henry tight. Henry tilts his head forward, mashing his mouth against Alex’s as he continues to rub Alex’s slick, softening co*ck. Alex is sensitive and shuddering, and he’s jerking Henry quick and firm. He can feel Henry’s moans vibrating through his lips, can feel the tension building in Henry’s body, and he pulls back to watch as Henry comes, pulsing into his hand. Henry’s face is contorted in pleasure, intimately close, and he lets out a breathless laugh, and Alex doesn’t think he’s seen or heard anything more f*cking beautiful. He thinks, I want more of this.

Alex works Henry through his org*sm, and before he can even wipe off on the sheet, Henry is pressing his hand into Alex’s back, pulling him close, rolling them over until Alex is on top of him. They kiss messily, half-panting and smiling against each other’s lips. Henry’s tongue thrusts into his mouth, and Alex tongues him back, and Henry’s hands slide down Alex’s sides, coming to rest on the swell of his ass, and Alex doesn’t even care that they’re still slick with come. His soft co*ck is nestled against Henry’s, and it feels like it should all be weird and gross but it’s actually just intimate as f*ck.

“Alex,” Henry murmurs into his mouth, then kisses him deeply again. Alex holds himself up above Henry until his shaky muscles won’t allow it anymore, and then he collapses on Henry’s chest, head falling onto his shoulder. His fingers press into Henry’s hair, and Henry’s arms close around his waist, holding him there. They’re quiet for several moments, just breathing. Alex can feel both of their beating hearts.

“That was,” Alex starts to say, then fails to finish. He rolls off Henry and tentatively cuddles into his side, mouth against Henry’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Henry agrees, sounding dazed. Alex likes the thought that he’s the one who made Henry feel like that, feels a thrill of pride burst open in his chest.

“Are you hungry?” Alex says, his voice rough. “We missed dinner.”

Henry laughs, full and surprisingly loud. “We did. I didn’t realize it until now, but I am hungry. Are you?”

“Yeah. There’s a great Chinese delivery place nearby.”

“Sounds perfect.” Henry smiles; Alex’s stomach flips. He notes with sudden, vivid clarity that he’s in deep. It’s frankly terrifying.

They make out lazily until the food arrives. Alex sprints to the front door, pulling on boxers as he goes, and brings the bags back into the bedroom to find Henry with his boxers on, too, heading toward the door.

“You don’t want to eat...in bed?” Henry says, wrinkling his nose.

“Why not?” Alex drops the food, then flings himself back down. He tears open the bags in search of cream cheese wontons and pops one in his mouth, victorious. Henry is still watching him from the end of the bed.

“You’ll get...crumbs everywhere…” Henry says weakly, gesturing at the mess Alex is already making.

“I’m going to have to change these sheets anyway.” Alex raises an eyebrow pointedly, and Henry laughs.

“I suppose so.” He sits back down, tentative.

“Here.” Alex shoves a carton at him with his mouth full. “Lo mein.”

It turns out they’re both starving. Henry makes fun of Alex for eating greasy food, to which Alex replies that he’s already burned enough calories to cover it, which makes Henry blush. Alex is pleased to find out that Henry is skilled with chopsticks. He lets Henry feed him pieces of sesame chicken and Chinese broccoli, talking about the photoshoots Alex has coming up and the next stops on Henry’s book tour. Henry gets distracted when he checks his phone and finds an early morning text from his mom in London.

“She has trouble sleeping too,” Henry says, frowning at his phone.

“What’s she like?” Alex asks. They’re sprawled on the bed now, cartons of food dotted between them. Henry scratches his forehead, then taps out a reply on his phone before responding.

“She’s clever,” he says finally. “So clever. And determined. No one in her family had gone to uni before, and they wanted her to just get a job, but she went on to get a Ph.D. in English literature. She was a professor at University College London, and her classes always had waiting lists a kilometer long because everyone wanted to take them. Her passion was contagious, y’know? There’s no way I’d be here with a published book if she hadn’t passed her love of literature onto me. Most of what I remember from my childhood is spending days curled up with her, reading.”

“She was a professor?” Alex prompts, gently. Henry looks off, staring at nothing in the distance.

“When my dad got sick,” he says, and Alex can hear a slight tremble in his voice, “she had to take care of him. I mean, we all did. But it was mostly her. It was...it was bad. The medication made him a different person. She protected me from the brunt of it, and Bea and Phillip were at uni so they missed a lot. But that meant it fell on her. By the time he died, when I was 17, I think she hated him. But I think she hated herself more, for it.”

Henry pauses, swallowing. Alex reaches out and finds his hand, tangles their fingers together, squeezing. Henry squeezes back.

“The depression was too much. I tried to help her the best I could, but when I left for uni, she moved in with her mum. She’s never been able to heal. She had to quit her job and she doesn’t get out much now. I used to go by every week and make her dinner, read to her. It’s hard for her to have me out of the country for so long.”

“How is it for you?”

Henry takes a deep breath. “Honestly? It’s...nice, to have a break. Seeing what she’s like now, knowing how she used to be, is really hard for me. I know Bea is checking in on her. My gran’s not much help, but at least she’s there. So I know Mum will be okay.” He rubs a hand over his face and lets out a shaky laugh. “Sorry. This is not my usual first date material. Actually, I don’t usually talk about this much at all.”

“Thank you,” Alex says, utterly sincere. “For telling me. And I’m sorry. But I’m glad you’re getting a break. You deserve it.”

Henry meets his eyes. “Thank you. That’s nice to hear.”

Alex squeezes his hand again. Henry climbs carefully around the half-full takeout boxes to insert himself on top of Alex, knees bracketing Alex’s hips. He leans down and presses a soft, lingering kiss to Alex’s mouth. Alex lets Henry kiss him, lets Henry push him into the mattress, lets Henry touch his face carefully, gently, as though he can’t believe it’s something he gets to do.

Henry shifts, lining up their bodies in a way that makes Alex moan. Henry kisses Alex’s jaw next, slow. Then he yelps and jumps off of Alex at lightning speed.

“The food!” Henry is cringing at a box of rice that tumbled over, spilling onto the bed. Alex bursts out laughing, and Henry starts laughing, too.

“C’mon,” he says, gathering up boxes to bring to the kitchen. Henry follows him, dutifully carrying the rest. They abandon everything on the countertop and return to the bedroom to survey the damage. The sheets are rumpled and stained; white rice dots the dark fabric. “I guess the time to change the sheets is now.”

Alex hates making the bed, but somehow it’s okay with Henry across from him, grinning and calling him a slovenly mess. When they’re done, he jumps back into place, arranging himself on the pillows.

“Where were we?”

Henry climbs on top of him, threading a hand through Alex’s hair. There’s still humor in his eyes as he ducks his head down.

“I think we were here.” Henry tugs Alex’s earlobe between his teeth, sending a shiver skimming over Alex’s skin. Then he kisses Alex again, and Alex rolls their hips together, fingers dipping under the waistband of Henry’s boxers to palm his ass. Henry’s mouth works its way down Alex’s neck, over his chest, his hair trailing along Alex’s skin in the most spine-tingling way possible, until his tongue is running along the waistband of Alex’s boxers.

“I wanted to do this earlier,” Henry murmurs into his hip, then carefully pulls Alex’s boxers down and off, leaving Alex naked and full of want. He’s half-hard and Henry cups his co*ck gently, places chaste kisses along the shaft until Alex can feel himself hardening in Henry’s palm, and isn’t that just the most incredible f*cking feeling? Henry coaxing him to full arousal with his mouth, making little humming noises when Alex reacts the way he wants, teasing the head until Alex is aching but not getting even close to anything satisfying.

Alex f*cking loves it. He threads his fingers through Henry’s hair and closes his eyes, concentrating on how deep the sensations run through him, like they’ve made their way into his bones. He didn’t know it was possible to feel his arousal so intensely; he thinks no one’s ever wanted to take the time to draw it out of him like this. His history mostly consists of drunken hook-ups at clubs and hotels, quick blowj*bs in bathrooms. Nothing like the intentional way Henry is using his hands, his mouth, watching Alex carefully for his every reaction, undoubtedly filing it all away to use again later.

Henry’s thumb presses into the crease between Alex’s thigh and groin, and his relentless kissing moves to Alex’s balls. It’s electrifying, little pulses shooting through Alex’s limbs. He brings his arm up across his face and bites it with a groan, eyes squeezed shut.

“Like that?” Henry murmurs, breath ghosting over him. Alex looks down to find Henry biting his lip with a grin, watching his face. Alex groans again, and Henry laughs. “You can make noise, you know,” he says, then presses his tongue deeper in the loose skin of Alex’s balls, slathers it over the underside of Alex’s co*ck. He stops at the head, tonguing the slit repeatedly like he already f*cking knows that drives Alex crazy.

Alex grinds out, “f*ck.” Henry wraps his long, elegant fingers around the base of Alex’s co*ck and his wet mouth sucks in the tip and Alex whines, “Henry.” Finally, finally, Henry starts to get a rhythm going.

Watching Henry’s blonde head move back and forth between his thighs is almost too much. Henry looks serious, concentrating, like he’s studying for an exam and Alex is the subject. When his eyes flick up and lock on Alex’s, Alex lets his head fall back and his eyes fall closed again, a string of curses tumbling out of his mouth. The intensity of Henry’s gaze combined with the way his mouth stretches to take Alex in, just the way Alex imagined it, is definitely, officially too much.

Alex is swept up in overwhelming feeling, jagged breaths and moans escaping him while pleasure builds up in his groin, curls in his toes, shocks through his entire body in waves. He feels white-hot; static fuzzes through him, crowding out his anxiety and insecurity and endless spiraling thoughts. His only thought is Henry, Henry, Henry.

Henry speeds up, sucking hard, and that’s all it takes. Alex comes with a “Jesus Christ you beautiful f*cking bastard,” the last word turning into an extended groan as Henry carefully draws Alex’s org*sm out of him, his thumb rubbing down Alex’s inner thigh in a way that feels too tender to be real. Alex’s grip finally relaxes on the sheets, and his eyes blink open, and Henry presses a line of soft kisses where his thumb had been, and then rests his head on Alex’s hip, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes with a small, private smile.

Alex reaches for him, grabbing Henry’s arms and pulling him up until he can get Henry’s lips against his. He’s overwhelmed with the heady scent and taste of what Henry was just doing, and he weakly attempts to dig his fingers into Henry’s biceps, trying to tell him just how f*cking incredible he feels. Henry’s smiling into him, eager and happy to return Alex’s kiss, his erection pressing into Alex’s stomach.

“You…” Alex trails off, hand sliding down Henry’s chest, but Henry just takes Alex’s face in his hands and kisses him again, deep and slow.

“There’s no rush,” Henry says back, into his mouth. Alex feels something light and airy fill up in his chest. He relaxes into the mattress, letting Henry kiss him however he wants for however long he wants. It turns out that Henry doesn’t seem to want to stop kissing him. When he finally pulls back, his shuddering breaths echo Alex’s, thumbs gently rubbing Alex’s temples.

“I want to do it too,” Alex says, and he pushes on Henry’s chest until Henry falls back on the bed with a grin.

“You don’t have to,” Henry says. “Really.”

“I want to,” Alex says, then presses a sucking kiss to Henry’s throat. “Really.”

He spends an inordinate amount of time kissing Henry’s collarbone, the soft spot just above it.

I don’t, you say, muffled, into my clavicle.

He kisses down Henry’s side, along his ribs, until he reaches the sharp jut of bone at his hip.

Your mouth is hot and you say it again, against my hipbone now

He lingers there, tracing it with his tongue, before continuing down Henry’s thigh—the outside, then the top, then the soft, tender skin between his legs, just below the juncture where thigh meets groin.

along the inside of my thigh, next to the bruise you left with your thumb.

Henry’s breath is coming rapidly as Alex spreads him open and sucks a mark into his skin, hidden out of sight, for his eyes only. The words of Henry’s poem echo in his mind, the first hint of the attraction it’s taken him so long to acknowledge. It feels inevitable, now, that it would come to this, Henry spread out, naked and hard and wanting on his bed, his lips tracing the skin he’s imagined so many times, in so many different ways. After all the messages they’ve exchanged, all the fumbling conversations, all the intense looks that Alex hasn’t known how to read—of course it’s led them here. Alex doesn’t know how to process it, isn’t thinking about the future, just knows that this is what’s supposed to be happening here, right now.

He takes Henry’s co*ck in hand and presses wet lips to the tip, kisses and soft points of suction. Henry’s hips jerk up as he cries out.

“Sorry,” Henry says, sounding horrified, and he covers his eyes with one arm. “Christ, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Alex tells him, secretly thrilled at Henry’s responsiveness to his touch. He sucks down the underside of Henry’s co*ck, pulsing his tongue against him. Henry’s thighs start to tremble; Alex wonders if it’s from the exertion of trying not to move. He tries to imitate what Henry did to him, then, gripping the base tight and pumping while he sucks him down, taking in as much as he can and then dragging his lips back up. He’s not really sure if he’s doing it right, but Henry is gasping curses and moaning Alex’s name, so it seems like it must be okay.

Henry’s fingers move tentatively to his hair, the touch feather-light. It spurs him on to keep sucking harder, deeper. He looks up and finds Henry staring down at him, swollen lips forming an O. When their eyes lock, Henry groans and says, “Alex—I—”

It’s all the warning he gets before Henry comes in his mouth. Alex momentarily panics, unsure of what to do, but his body seems to take care of it for him, swallowing automatically as he pulls off Henry’s co*ck. Henry’s thumb brushes over his forehead, fingers trailing down his temple, before Henry leans down to grab him and drag him back to eye-level. Henry kisses Alex hard, and Alex smiles into it.

“That takes more coordination than you’d think,” Alex says when Henry leans back to catch his breath. Henry laughs.

“You seemed to get the hang of it pretty fast.” Alex grins cheekily and rests his chin on Henry’s shoulder, looking up at him. Henry groans again and says, “God. You are so sexy. It should be illegal.”

“I remember someone once calling me sex personified at a bar in New York City.”

“Christ, don’t remind me,” Henry says, rubbing his forehead. “Add it to the list of things I was never planning to say out loud to you.”

“What else is on that list?”

Henry’s cheeks take on a darker shade of pink. “You’ll have to go out with me again to find out.”

Alex laughs, surprised at the audacity. “How exactly are we supposed to go out when you’re leaving the state again tomorrow?”

“You can come see me. Or I’ll come back for my next break. I get a few days off, here and there.”

Alex bites his lip. “Yeah? You want to make this...a thing?”

“Yes. I mean...if you do, too.” Henry looks slightly pained; Alex thinks he can actually see him convincing himself to plow forward. “I don’t want this to be a one-night stand. I’ve been wanting this for...a while. I want to see you again.”

“Okay,” Alex says, the word out of his mouth surprising even himself. “I have some work trips coming up too. Maybe we’ll overlap again.”

Henry smiles his breathtaking, genuine one, crinkles now at the corners of his eyes instead of the worried crease on his forehead. Alex reaches up to press a kiss to his jaw, just because he can. It feels good.

They lay there quietly for a while, Alex’s head on Henry’s shoulder, Henry’s arms wrapped tight around him. Alex is starting to feel like he might actually fall asleep when Henry shifts and says, “I should have the car come pick me up. I think the driver is done at midnight.”

“Are you just saying that because you’ll turn into a pumpkin?” Alex teases sleepily. Henry’s laughter makes him feel warm inside.

“I can’t reveal what kind of squash I actually am. It’s top secret.”

“You can stay,” Alex says suddenly. “You should stay.”

“I don’t want to push—things,” Henry says hesitantly.

“Look, I usually make breakfast, even for one-night stands. I think I can do it for you, too.”

“Oh, wow. So I get the one-night stand treatment?”

“Yeah, except normally I roll over, but you’re gonna have to f*cking cuddle me because I’m too comfortable.”

Alex isn’t looking at Henry’s face, but he can hear the smile in his voice when he responds. “What if my arm is falling asleep?”

“Just follow its lead.” Alex burrows into Henry’s neck and presses a kiss there. He clings tight to Henry’s waist. His body feels tired, but in a good way—a way that means he might actually sleep when he’s supposed to. He wonders if Henry feels that way, too.

Alex feels a soft kiss on the top of his head, in his hair, as he’s falling asleep.

The next morning, Alex makes spinach egg white omelettes and they take them to the couch, then pull up their calendars to compare schedules. Henry grabs Alex’s phone out of his hand so fast Alex doesn’t have time to stop him.

“Is your background…” Henry starts, his eyes wide and full of mirth, “a picture of yourself?”

“Shut up.” Alex makes a quick move to get his phone back, but Henry holds it out of reach. “It’s the best shot I’ve ever taken.”

“It is a good one,” Henry agrees, looking at it again, “but to have it as your own phone’s background? Isn’t that a little…”

“A little what?” Alex interrupts him, glaring.

“Erm, self-centered?”

“I just like what it reminds me of, okay?” Alex sets his plate down on the coffee table.

“What does it remind you of?”

“How far I’ve come.” Alex moves suddenly, straddling Henry’s lap and getting two hands around Henry’s wrist. “And how hard I’ve worked to get there.” His fingers scrabble uselessly for his phone; Henry’s arm is just a bit too long. They struggle like that for a moment. Henry laughs as he tries to buck Alex off with his hips, but Alex only tightens his legs’ iron grip around Henry’s thighs. His hands climb up Henry’s arms until he’s got his phone back, and he sits back on Henry’s lap with a satisfied smile.

“I win.”

Henry laughs again, hands coming to rest on Alex’s bare waist. He runs his thumbs over Alex’s ribcage, and Alex tries to ignore the pleasurable sensations washing over him.

“I think I did, actually,” Henry says, reaching up for a kiss. His touch is feather-light on Alex’s skin; Alex feels gooseflesh erupt all over him. He drops his phone to the side and cups Henry’s face in his hands, deepening the kiss. Henry responds with a soft noise and wraps his arms around Alex’s waist, fingers trailing up his spine. Alex tries to remember anyone else’s touch affecting him the way Henry’s does and comes up short.

They make out for an immeasurable amount of time, Henry’s hands wandering all over Alex’s bare skin until he’s worked up and breathing ragged. Finally, Henry pulls back, lips on Alex’s jaw.

“I’ve got a flight,” Henry says, sounding as regretful as he looks. “I’m sure it’s past the time I should have stayed already.”

“But your breakfast,” Alex says with a smirk, glancing back at the abandoned plates on the table.

“I’ve had it,” Henry murmurs and bites gently on Alex’s earlobe. Alex gives his hair a quick tug in response.

“Text me when you’re waiting at the airport. We’ll figure out when I can come see you.”

“All right.” Henry’s still stroking the dip of Alex’s back next to his spine, so Alex grinds down lightly on him until Henry makes a noise. “I should go.”

“Minneapolis, right?” Alex says, reluctantly climbing off him and standing up.

“That’s right,” Henry says, collecting their untouched plates and depositing them in the kitchen before returning to the bedroom for his clothes. Alex trails after him. “Shaan’s messaged that I’m about to experience the coldest weather of my life. Something about a polar vortex. He says people will still come out for my events, though.”

Alex grimaces. “I wouldn’t.”

“Hey,” Henry says, laughing, and tosses a discarded shirt at him. Alex dodges it.

“I thrive in warm weather,” Alex tells him.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Henry grins at him, and Alex grins back.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Alex spends the next several days pointedly not analyzing the fuzziness that takes over his brain whenever he thinks about Henry. Henry has a flurry of events that keep him busy every day and exhausted every night, but Alex still wakes up to a text message or five from him each morning with his colorful cultural commentary, and they message back and forth whenever they have a second throughout the day.

Alex doesn’t have plans to be around the midwest anytime soon, so he books a flight to meet Henry in Louisville the following Saturday, when he has a couple days free. It’s only a week away, but Alex’s fingers are already itching to push back into Henry’s hair, to press into his hips. The weirdest thing, he thinks, is that despite how much he’s getting off to the memory of Henry’s mouth on him, most of the time he’s thinking about the quiet moments that happened between the sex—his head on Henry’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, or the way Henry laughed at him as they changed the rice-covered sheets, or Henry’s bright eyes looking over from the pillow next to him in the morning. Each image makes Alex’s overly busy brain slow down, makes him feel calm, makes him smile stupidly to himself, alone in his apartment.

That worries him a little, but he’s keeping himself too busy to overthink it. He especially makes sure not to think about the time Henry said he was holding out hope for something meaningful, or the way Henry kissed him goodbye, full and deep like Alex’s mouth was the only goddamn thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

Zahra calls with good news: Teen Vogue, Cosmopolitan, and Men’s Health all want to shoot covers of him with full interviews. Alex has had covers before—it’ll be his second for Teen Vogue—but all of them coming up at the same time means magazines are starting to compete over him. As Zahra tells him, this is good. Very good. So good that he’s anxious and overwhelmed just thinking about it.

Alex
you busy?

Henry
Just riding back to my hotel. Exhausted.
These Wisconsin people demand a lot of attention.

Alex
call me when you’re back? if you’re not too tired?

Henry
Is everything okay?

Alex
yes!

Henry
Now I’m nervous.

Alex
i just wanted to talk to you about something
i mean, i have something to tell you
not something bad or anything. it’s good
it’s just a dumb thing i wanted to tell you. forget about it
you should just go to bed. it’s really not a big deal

Alex’s phone rings a minute later. Henry sounds breathless when Alex picks up. “Alex? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Everything’s fine. You didn’t need to call.”

“What’s going on?”

“Zahra called me with some good news today. I’m getting three magazine covers for September. I was just...excited. And I guess...I wanted to talk to you.”

“Alex, that’s amazing,” Henry says, and his voice sounds warm now, dripping into Alex like honey. “This is huge. You’re going to be everywhere.”

“It is amazing. It’s great. I just feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, maybe they accidentally called for me and they meant to get someone else. Or they’re going to figure out that I suck at modeling and I’ve been faking it this whole time and call everything off.”

“Alex. You know none of that is true. You’ve worked so hard, and you deserve this. You should be incredibly proud of yourself.”

Alex exhales slowly. “Maybe.”

“Definitely. I know what you mean, though.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Henry says. He sounds a little embarrassed. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it whenever I see another huge crowd, just wondering if there’s been a mistake and they think I’m someone else and are all going to get horribly disappointed, or something.”

“That’s ridiculous. You’re a genius and everyone knows it.”

“Only as ridiculous as you thinking you don’t deserve those covers.”

“Shut up.”

Henry laughs. “Actually, Bea’s been going through some old boxes at my mom’s house, and she found this poetry I wrote when I was thirteen or fourteen, all written out by hand. She sent me pictures. It was so embarrassing—these tragic, sappy love poems, like I had any idea about anything back then. But that kid was still me, and if I hadn’t been writing like that before, I probably wouldn’t have made it to where I am now. I’ve been wondering...what my dad would say.”

Henry coughs. Alex stays quiet, waiting for him to say more. “I never told him I was gay, but I think he knew even before I did. He took me to the London Pride parade every year when I was a kid. He always made sure I knew I could talk to him about anything. I was just a daft kid, and I was scared. But now...everyone’s saying my poetry could really mean something for the movement, and when I see how many people have been touched by it...it seems like it couldn’t be real. But I think I’m finally starting to believe them. I don’t understand it, but it feels...big.”

“It is big,” Alex tells him. “Probably bigger than we even know, yet. And I think you know what your dad would say.”

“I guess so,” Henry says. Alex thinks he can hear the smile in his voice. “But anyway, this isn’t about me. We should celebrate your news.”

“I thought you were exhausted.”

“I was, but somehow I have more energy, hearing your voice.”

Alex’s heart throbs. “How can we celebrate over the phone?”

“Do you have champagne?”

“Of course. What kind of a household do you think I keep?”

Henry snorts. “Well, I have a minibar here and it looks fully stocked. So I can start with champagne too and we can toast to your exciting news.”

“Okay,” Alex says, smiling. He moves to the wine refrigerator, picks out one of the nicer bottles, and sets it on the counter. “I’m going to put you on speakerphone.”

“Why don’t we FaceTime?” Henry suggests. Alex isn’t sure why the idea makes him equal parts nervous and excited, but he agrees. The second Henry’s stupid, beautiful face fills the screen, Alex feels a bubbly warmth spread through him. They take turns popping their bottles.

“I propose a toast,” Henry says, holding his mini-bottle up, “to Alex Diaz, who has worked his arse off to achieve so much, and still has so much yet to come.” If it were anyone else, Alex would be embarrassed by how big and dopey he’s smiling, but instead he just feels happy. They cheers and drink before Alex responds.

“My last name isn’t actually Diaz,” he admits. It seems like something Henry should know, suddenly. “Well, it is, but that’s just my dad’s last name. My full last name is Claremont-Diaz.”

Henry laughs hard, which isn’t what Alex was expecting.

"That’s funny, because my last name isn’t Fox,” Henry tells him. “Or rather, it is, just my dad’s last name, as you probably know. But my full last name is Fox-Wales. My publisher talked me into shortening it. To make it easier for the public, or something."

"Wales, huh?" Alex likes the way it feels on his tongue. He takes a drink. "That’s what my agent said, too. Said Diaz would make me seem more exotic and sexy, or whatever. June hates it.”

“Well, she has reason to, doesn’t she? Your parents made a conscious choice to give you both last names, and the one that gets eliminated is your mother’s. Not to mention...exotic? Doesn’t that seem a bit…” Henry trails off, and the way he wrinkles his nose makes Alex smile.

“Fetishizing people of color? Yeah. June lectured me about it.”

“She’s not wrong,” Henry says gently. “How does that make you feel?”

Alex pauses, considering. “It’s not a big deal. I mean, it sucks, but it’s fine. It’s my choice.”

“It’s okay to be critical of it, and of the society that puts you in that position, and acknowledge that it’s what you need to do to be successful. It doesn’t make you a hypocrite, you know.”

“It feels like it does,” Alex says, then takes a large gulp of champagne. He’s not sure how Henry somehow compels truths out of him that he’s buried deep and never spoken aloud. “If I’m going to criticize it, I should be more willing to take a stand about it. Otherwise I do feel like a hypocrite.”

“It’s a power imbalance, though. If you took a stand against it before you started your career, would the industry have just shut you out?”

“Yeah. You’re right.” Alex exhales. “Weren’t we supposed to be celebrating?”

“Oh, right. We’re on much too serious a topic for celebrating. Let’s go back to the part where you wanted to tell me all your secrets.”

“I never said that,” Alex argues. He feels his face getting warm.

“Why don’t we play a game? You tell me a secret, and I’ll tell you a secret.”

“Fine,” Alex says, thinking. “My secret is that I’m f*cking excited to see you next weekend.”

Henry’s smile takes over his entire face. “Is that a secret?”

“It would have been if I hadn’t told you. Normally I play hard to get.”

“Hmmm. Didn’t seem too hard for me to get you.”

“Did you forget the part where I hated you?”

Henry laughs. “Was that hate?”

Alex narrows his eyes. “What else would it have been?”

“Oh, nothing.” Henry wraps his lips around his mini-bottle of champagne and Alex tries not to squirm at the imagery that comes to his brain.

“What’s the secret you’re going to tell me?”

“Is it cheating if I say I’m excited to see you next weekend, too?”

“That’s definitely not a secret. You’re so obvious.”

“Am I?”

“You are,” Alex confirms. “Please try again.”

“All right,” Henry says slowly, then takes another drink of champagne. “How’s this? The first time I saw you, I thought you were one of the most attractive men I’d ever seen in my life.”

“You did?” Alex thinks back to Henry brushing him off at the bar and can barely believe it.

“Is that good enough?”

“That’s a pretty good one. I guess.”

Henry soon finishes his champagne and moves on to scotch. Alex gets pretty tipsy as he makes his way through his bottle, and they somehow stay on FaceTime without a lull in the conversation until one in the morning, when Henry groans.

“Alex. I have a nine A.M. appearance.”

“Who the f*ck has an appearance at nine A.M.? That’s ridiculous.”

“I do. And I’m drunk.”

“You only had a little champagne and a little scotch. Oh, and a little whiskey. Did you drink that gin, too?”

Henry turns the bottle upside down to demonstrate its emptiness, catching one last drop on his tongue. “It’s gone.”

“You’ve been teasing me all night with your f*cking mouth,” Alex groans. “Drinking out of this bottle and that bottle and putting your tongue all over the place. It’s not fair.”

“I’ve only been drinking! Same as you.”

“You look so slu*tty when you do it, though.”

Henry’s eyes go wide and he lets out a helpless giggle. “slu*tty?”

“You heard me, Wales.” Alex tips the last of the champagne into his mouth.

“Says the man whose lips I’ve already come up with fifty different words to describe. f*ck. Alex, I’m too drunk. I’m just giving away secrets for free now.”

“Fifty? What are they?”

“Full. Lush. Plush. Kissable. Pert. Slick. Soft. Dewy. Silky. Pouty. Wet. Swollen. Juicylicious. That’s a spinoff of bootylicious.” Henry says this so matter-of-factly that it takes Alex a second to fully process. Before he can interrupt to make fun of him, though, Henry adds, “Dick sucking,” and Alex completely loses his train of thought. His mouth drops open.

“Why, I never.”

“That’s just what I can remember. I have the rest written down.”

“In your little notebook?” Henry nods in affirmation. “You wrote down dick sucking in your little notebook to describe my lips?”

“I don’t mean to objectify you,” Henry says. Alex thinks he can see the flush on Henry’s cheeks, even on the tiny phone screen. “I just can’t believe what they looked like on me.”

“Have you been thinking about that?” Henry nods again. “A lot?” Another nod. Alex’s head is spinning, but it might be from the champagne. “Are you planning to write poems about me?”

Henry pauses before responding. “I can’t help it. You’re really—erm—inspirational.”

Alex chokes out a laugh. “I’ve never had anyone write poetry about me before. That’s pretty f*cking romantic, Wales.”

“S’not romantic. S’just an occupational hazard of dating a poet.”

“Oh, thanks,” Alex says, grinning. “Do I get to see what you’re writing?”

“If you behave.”

“God. How many more days do I have to wait to see you again?”

“In one week,” Henry says, looking at his watch, “and one week exactly, at this time, I promise to have you stretched out on my bed with my mouth on your co*ck.”

Alex rubs a hand over his face. “It’s not fair to say things like that when you’re not here.”

Henry looks a little too pleased with himself. “One week. For now, I should go to sleep.”

“Drink some water first, okay?” Alex says. “Like, a lot of water.”

“I’ll speak to you tomorrow?” Henry ignores Alex’s attempt at caretaking, but he’s smiling all the way to his eyes.

“Yeah. Tomorrow. Good luck at your appearance.”

“Thanks,” Henry says quietly. “Good night, Alex.”

“Good night, Henry.”

—

Henry sends Alex a tired but handsome selfie from his event the next morning along with a photo of scribbled handwriting in a notebook—which Alex assumes is a line of poetry Henry’s working on.

A delicate blossom burgeoning beneath your swollen lips...make me yours.

The feelings this arouses in Alex when he blinks awake are confusing. He normally hates waking up, perpetually tired after not enough REM cycles, and he’s definitely not used to feeling things until after his first cup of coffee. He’s half-hard immediately, which is both frustrating and perplexing, but he’s starting to get used to the way his body responds to Henry’s words. The make me yours is what gives him the most pause, though, what makes his heart leap into his throat.

It’s a lot. Alex closes his eyes again until his partial erection goes away, then heads straight to the coffeemaker.

After that, Henry sends him a line of poetry every morning.

Dark eyelashes curl over your pretty cheeks as your hand curls over me, and twice as erotic.

You trickled out of me, seeping and insistent, seeking vengeance.

Your tongue is soft where your co*ck is rough, soothing the sting.

It quickly becomes clear that they’re not all about Alex—they can’t be, because there’s detailed descriptions of things Alex and Henry haven’t even had the opportunity to do—and that makes him feel a little less twisted up inside. His body still reacts to Henry’s words in ways he has no control over, and he’s never completely sure what emotion Henry is going to evoke in him, but at least it gives him something to think about while he’s drinking his coffee other than his Instagram haters.

The weekend can’t come quickly enough.

—

Alex grudgingly sets his alarm for 5 A.M. on Thursday. It’s Henry’s birthday, and he’s determined to text Henry before Henry texts him for once.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I’m coming to Louisville
So I can blow you

I figured a poet never gets poetry written FOR them, so here you go. Happy birthday, Henry.

Alex sleepily but gleefully imagines Henry’s cheeks burning up as he reads Alex’s message. He falls back asleep with his hand wrapped around his phone and wakes up when it vibrates in his palm.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
When did I share
The date of my birth with you?

Seriously, I’m scratching my head here trying to remember if we ever talked about our birthdays. Did we? When’s yours? How do you know mine?

Alex blinks and grins at his phone. He memorized Henry’s birthday the first time he read Henry’s Wikipedia page, but he’s not about to tell him that.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I’m touching myself
While I think about you

You’re not as mysterious as you think. Mine’s March 27. I’m expecting something amazing now. Don’t disappoint me.

Henry’s reply comes almost instantaneously.

It’s truly absurd
How much I’ve been wanking
Be a good boy
Or I’ll give you a spanking

He doesn’t say anything else. Alex is, suddenly, wide awake. At six A.M. When he didn’t fall asleep until after two.

Roses are red
My poems are corny
God damn you, Wales
For making me horny

Henry
You like the threat of a spanking? Good to know.

Alex
pretty sure you’re the one who’s always bringing up birthday spankings

Henry
You’ve caught me out. Looking forward to Saturday. x

Alex
happy birthday, H.

—

Alex doesn’t feel truly nervous until he’s on the plane to Louisville. He allows himself one bloody Mary to take the edge off but turns down refills, not wanting to be a sloppy mess when he sees Henry again. The plane lands at seven. Henry will be wrapping up a reading, so he’s meeting Alex at the hotel before they get a late dinner.

Alex allows himself to think back to the last time they had plans for dinner—to Henry’s intense flirting and the kisses he laid across Alex’s collarbone. What if he sees Alex again and realizes that this all was a huge mistake? That he’s not actually attracted to Alex at all, and now Alex has flown halfway across the country to spend two full days with him and him alone? Or worse—what if Alex gets there and realizes that he was just confused and lonely and looking for reassurance? What if he’s actually straight?

Alex can practically hear Nora’s voice in his head telling him to breathe. He tries to slow down and focus on that, on the sensation of air filling his chest, all the way to his diaphragm. It helps a little. He thinks about Henry smiling at him on FaceTime and a pleasant warmth builds in his chest. He thinks about Henry’s promise to spread him out on the bed and suck his co*ck that night, and he experiences a familiar tightening in his groin.

Okay, no matter how unsure he is about his sexuality, there’s no way he can be completely heterosexual if that keeps happening.

Alex texts Henry when he lands, even though he knows Henry’s neck-deep in signing people’s books and won’t see it until he’s on the way to the hotel. His imagination supplies the image of hordes of hot guys hitting on Henry as he signs their books, and he briefly succumbs to the mild irritation that comes over him. He checks in, jiggling his leg all the way up the elevator, mostly blind to his surroundings in the haze of anxiety that’s descending upon him. He’s never been to Louisville before, but he’s not particularly expecting to get to know the city this weekend.

Henry finally responds that he’s on his way; Alex texts back his room number and jumps up to change into something nicer. When he hears the firm knock on the door, his heart echoes it with a hard knock inside his ribcage. He fluffs his hair once more in the bathroom mirror before going to open it.

“Hey,” Henry says, grinning. Even after a morning of travel and a day of events, he looks perfect, his button-down crisp and his smile huge and genuine.

“Hey,” Alex says back. He refrains from jumping into Henry’s arms—an urge he’s literally never experienced with anyone until this very moment—and instead grabs his wrist, dragging him inside and slamming the door closed behind them. Alex gets up into his space, pressing him against the door, and just looks at him for a moment: the flush spreading over his cheeks, the straight white teeth, the bright blue eyes. His features have all become familiar sometime along the way, somewhere between Henry brushing him off at a bar in L.A. and pinning him to the bed with his mouth, but Alex can’t pinpoint when. It’s good to see him.

“Are you going to kiss me or what?” Henry says with a laugh. Never one to pass up a challenge, Alex shoves him harder against the door and crushes their mouths together. The anxiety that reached its peak with Henry’s knock on the door slowly starts to dissipate as Henry’s hands find his neck, thumbs rubbing gentle circles behind his earlobes. With just that simple movement, Alex lets Henry take control of the kiss, fisting his hands in Henry’s shirt helplessly as Henry’s tongue slips into his mouth. The fears that Alex had on the plane seem so stupid, now. How could anything about this be a mistake when it feels this perfect?

Henry kisses him slow and deep until Alex breaks off for air. His eyes find Henry’s lips immediately, already red from kissing, and Alex swallows a groan at the sight of them. Henry leans forward to kiss Alex’s temple; Alex just holds on tight to him.

“Hi,” Henry says, lips moving to the shell of Alex’s ear.

“Hi,” Alex says back against his jaw, then presses a slow, sucking kiss into the tender skin just below it. Henry’s grip on him tightens. “How was the reading?”

“Good. Great.” Alex lets his hands relax and smooth out over Henry’s sides, lets them slide to his back, traces fingers up his spine. “How was your flight?”

“Good.”

Henry laughs, small puffs against his hair. “Has our vocabulary suffered since the last time we saw each other?”

“Maybe. Is that a problem?”

“It might be for me. Being a poet and all. I know models aren’t exactly known for their eloquence, so you’ll probably be fine.”

“Go f*ck yourself,” Alex says without any real feeling. Henry just laughs again.

“I’m actually taking you to dinner tonight, all right? You must be starving.”

“No, I’m taking you out! It was your f*cking birthday on Thursday. Don’t even try to fight me on this.” Alex leans back to glare at him in what he hopes is a very intimidating way.

“Fine,” Henry relents. “Are you ready to go? My escort recommended a restaurant, if you’re good with that.” Henry’s thumb trails up and down the side of Alex’s neck, his nail dragging over the skin in the most enticing way, and Alex gets momentarily distracted.

“Um—I—wait, your what?” Alex bites his lip as a shiver runs through his body.

“My escort for Louisville. Sheila.”

“I get that you’re lonely, but an escort? Really? Also, I thought you were gay.”

“Shut up. You know what I mean. She’s basically the person who picks me up from the airport and makes sure I get everywhere I’m supposed to be.”

“If you were that desperate, you could have at least asked me for phone sex first.”

“Shut up,” Henry insists. Before Alex knows what’s happening, Henry has him flipped around and pinned to the door with a knee between his thighs. “Are you ready or what?”

“I’m ready,” Alex says, pitching his voice lower and looking up at Henry through his eyelashes.

“Don’t even f*cking start looking at me like that,” Henry says. He gives Alex a playful shove; Alex pouts.

“Like what?”

Henry shoves him again, leaving his hands fisted in Alex’s shirt.

“Let’s go, Claremont. I’m starving.”

Dinner is a relaxed affair. Alex and Henry order way too much food and the server keeps the co*cktails flowing all night, until Alex is pleasantly drunk and full and his lungs feel stretched out from laughing so hard. Henry keeps grinning at him from across the table and knocking their ankles together underneath it. By the time dessert comes, Alex’s entire body is thrumming with a pent-up energy he can’t name or describe. He’s sure the cheesecake tastes amazing, but all he can think about is getting Henry out of his clothes again.

Alex grabs the bill before Henry can touch it, and they stumble out to their Lyft, clinging to each other for balance.

“Thanks for dinner,” Henry says quietly once they’re tucked into the backseat and on the way back to the hotel.

“Happy birthday,” Alex says, sliding his finger over the back of Henry’s hand on the seat between them. He watches with interest as an unreadable expression crosses Henry’s face.

“How did you know when my birthday was?”

“It’s not like it’s hard to find information about you,” Alex tells him. “You’re kind of famous.”

“I’m not famous,” Henry groans. Alex notices the driver looking in the rearview mirror at them all of a sudden. “Not like you.”

“We might appeal to different crowds, but it doesn’t change the fact that people know who you are.”

Henry bites his lip and doesn’t respond. Alex traces Henry’s knuckles with the pads of his fingers. Henry’s eyes find him, and he doesn’t look away for the rest of the short ride. Alex tries not to crumple under the attention. He loves nothing more than having everyone look at him, but for some reason, when it’s Henry, his insides turn molten in a way that makes him feel too seen.

“Whose room?” Alex breathes out as they make their way through the hotel lobby to the elevators. “Why did I even get my own room?”

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to spend every second with me,” Henry says, a little bashful. “I wanted you to be able to get some space, or whatever you need.”

“I don’t want space.” Alex follows Henry into the elevator and sends him a heated look.

“My room’s on the eighth floor,” Henry says weakly. Alex jabs at the button while pushing Henry up against the wall with his other hand. By the time the doors slide closed, Henry’s mouth is already hot on his.

Henry pulls Alex down the hall by his hand and practically throws him into the hotel room. It looks like it hasn’t been touched; the only evidence of Henry’s presence there is his small suitcase unopened in the corner. Alex sits on the bed to unlace his shoes and tosses them, along with his socks, against the wall.

“Do you want a drink?” Henry asks, peering at the minibar as he kicks off his own shoes.

“Get over here,” Alex says in response. Henry throws a lazy smile in his direction and he walks slowly toward the bed until he’s standing between Alex’s knees. Alex’s hands go to his hips automatically, thumbs catching in the waistband of his dress pants.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since L.A.,” Henry says, low and full of intention. Alex can hear it in his voice, can see it in his face, can feel it in Henry’s hands on his shoulders. It takes his already smoldering core to the next level.

“I wondered if you’d regret it once you saw me again,” Alex admits, drunk and too honest. “Or if I would.”

“Do you?”

“No. Do you?”

“Alex.” Henry bends down until his mouth is next to Alex’s ear. “From the beginning, your richness made my heart burn like a Roman candle.”

“Is that yours?” Alex’s heart is thudding.

“Audre Lorde,” Henry replies and kisses his cheek tenderly.

Alex tugs Henry’s shirt out of the waist of his pants and starts to unbutton it to distract himself from the emotions pulsing through him. Henry nips at Alex’s earlobe, then sucks it between his lips while his hands push up into Alex’s hair. Alex’s head falls to the side automatically, and Henry quickly takes advantage with his mouth.

“So many f*cking buttons,” Alex mutters. Henry chuckles, the sound low and sweet to Alex’s ear. When Alex finally has the shirt undone, he wastes no time in shoving it over Henry’s shoulders. Henry finishes the job, tossing it behind him, left in a white undershirt.

“Get back on the bed,” he says without a hint of hesitation. Alex raises an eyebrow and pushes himself back until he’s lying among the plush pillows. Henry looks at him for a moment, then reaches behind him to pull the shirt over his head before crawling on top of Alex.

Alex’s hands drink in Henry’s bare skin like they’re dying of thirst. He wants the smothering pressure of Henry covering him from head to toe, but Henry stays up on all fours, leaning down to kiss Alex while keeping their bodies frustratingly apart. Alex is hyperaware of the few places Henry’s body is in contact with his—knees pressed up against the outside of Alex’s hips, one thumb barely scraping against the top of Alex’s shoulder, the muscles of his back shifting under Alex’s hands, and Henry’s mouth, slick and warm and intent. He tries to push Henry down on top of him, scratches his nails down Henry’s back to drive the point home, but Henry just smiles against his lips and continues to kiss him. It’s the most tantalizing frustration Alex has ever experienced.

Trying to regain the upper hand, Alex lets his hands slide further down Henry’s back and over his ass, staying on top of the fabric covering it. His fingers wander toward the center and dip down further, curling between Henry’s legs, until Henry cuts off their kiss with a choked noise and collapses on top of him. Alex doesn’t stop, just laughs into the silky strands of Henry’s hair.

“You,” Henry says, his breath hitching, “are a demon.”

“I know what I want, okay?”

“Oh, yeah? And what is that?” Henry pulls aside the collar of Alex’s shirt to trail feather-light kisses along the column of his neck.

“I want you naked and pressing me into the mattress.”

“That can be arranged,” Henry murmurs. His lips curve against Alex’s skin. “And what about you? Are you fully clothed in this scenario? Get off on a little power imbalance?”

“Only until you strip the clothes off my body, one by one,” Alex tells him, fingers squeezing into Henry’s ass. Hard.

Henry sits up and knocks Alex’s hands away. Alex looks up at him, at the way his pale, delicate skin covers the hard muscles of his pecs and abdomen, the promise of power and strength beneath his gentle exterior. Henry’s breath is coming rapid and shallow, an enticing pink flush spreading from his chest up his neck and over his cheeks, all the way to his ears. Alex swallows.

“You seem to have gotten more confident at this since the last time I saw you,” Henry says, his voice light and teasing. His hands go to unfasten his pants, and Alex’s eyes are drawn to the bulge there. “Have you been practicing?”

“Yes, alone in my apartment. Been practicing a lot.” Alex’s hands drop to Henry’s thighs and slide up; he presses one thumb tentatively against the straining fabric covering Henry’s erection and enjoys the way Henry twitches.

“You’re unreasonably sexy,” Henry says, hands pausing in their work as Alex’s thumb moves over him. “Can you do something about that? It’s distracting.”

“You have something else you need to be doing right now?” Alex cups Henry’s bulge in his whole hand, squeezing lightly.

“Ah—not—right now, just every other minute of every day,” Henry groans. His hand covers Alex’s hand and presses it harder against him.

“You want something, Wales?” Alex says, widening his eyes innocently. Henry glares at him, but the effect is somewhat lost by how turned on he looks, teeth sinking into his lower lip.

“You know what I want,” Henry growls. He grinds down into their hands.

“I want you to use your words,” Alex taunts, the playfulness of his voice contrasting the intense desire pooling within him. He’s transfixed by the sight of Henry on top of him, seeking out his own pleasure.

“Touch me,” Henry breathes. He closes his eyes, as though he can’t bear to see if Alex will comply. Alex squeezes one more time, then pulls at the open flaps of Henry’s pants.

“Take these off. Now.”

Henry scrambles to comply, nearly falling over in his haste to remove everything. He climbs back over Alex’s lap and settles in fully naked. Alex can’t stop staring at his co*ck, hard with just the tiniest bead of precome on the tip. Henry clears his throat.

“Eyes up here, Claremont,” he says with a grin, then leans down for a kiss. Alex kisses him back and scrapes his nails up and down the sensitive skin on Henry’s inner thighs. Henry squirms on top of him, his mouth falling open with a gasp as he fits the hard swell in Alex’s pants into the tender spot right behind his balls.

“That good?” Alex whispers, his hands finding Henry’s hips and gripping tight. He pushes down, encouraging Henry to grind on him, and Henry does, clutching Alex’s face between his hands with a moan. Alex likes the easy way Henry vocalizes how good he feels, likes how he asks for what he wants, how every inch of his skin seems so f*cking responsive to Alex’s touch. Alex is ablaze with pleasure at the feel of Henry using him to make himself feel good.

“You’re so hard,” Henry murmurs back, rubbing and rubbing himself on Alex’s erection through his pants. Alex’s hands slide back to knead Henry’s ass, encouraging him to press down as forcefully as he wants. Henry rocks his hips back and forth in small, jerking motions.

“You make me—this way,” Alex groans, the friction and rough scrape of fabric against his sensitive co*ck unreal. Sweat is making Alex damp all over, moisture trapped under his clothes against his skin. “Do you want—?” He snakes his hand back around Henry’s hip and reaches for Henry’s co*ck between them.

“f*ck, yes,” Henry gasps into his mouth, his entire body starting to tremble. Alex kisses him hard, open-mouthed and messy, as he begins to jerk him off. Henry’s hands fist in his hair and tug, sending little spikes of pleasure down Alex’s spine that connect with the electrical pulses emanating from his groin. Alex moans, some corner of his brain that’s still marginally coherent wondering if he’s going to come in his pants like a teenager and deciding that he doesn’t care. “Faster, Alex, please, f*ck,” Henry says roughly, not really kissing him anymore, just pressing their lips together lightly while he pants and groans and rocks his hips.

Alex speeds up his hand, marveling at Henry’s thighs shaking on either side of him, at Henry’s beautiful body jerking helplessly on top of him, and suddenly Henry is coming all over him, choked and desperate. Henry slows the movement of his hips as his org*sm wracks his body; Alex lets out a high-pitched noise of frustration at the pressure receding just when his arousal is ratcheting up. Before he can do anything about it, Henry is tearing his pants open and pulling Alex’s co*ck out of his boxers, sliding down Alex’s legs and swallowing him in one fluid motion. Alex’s hands find Henry’s hair automatically, and all he can do is moan and curse at the sudden intensity of Henry’s wet mouth wrapped around him. He comes after no time at all, hips jerking and toes curling, waves of heat crashing over him.

Henry crawls back up and collapses at Alex’s side, the room silent save for their panting breaths. Alex feels boneless, trapped and muggy in all the fabric still covering him, but too liquified to do anything about it. Henry eyes his torso and grimaces.

“I’m...sorry,” he says. “I’ve made a mess of your shirt.”

Alex mumbles noncommittally and pats Henry’s bare thigh. Henry laughs softly, the sound settling on Alex like a warm summer mist. He blinks lazily, trying and failing to refocus his vision; he pathetically attempts to unbutton his shirt with huge, clumsy fingers.

“Let me,” Henry says, leaning over him. Alex closes his eyes, sinking into the feel of Henry deftly working it open. He moves this way and that as Henry prods at his shoulders until it’s off. Relief finds him in the form of cool air washing over his newly exposed skin. Henry presses sweet, soft kisses over his stomach, his skin still sensitive from the intensity of his arousal. Little tremors of pleasure run through his body; he cracks one eye open and looks down to see Henry’s eyes on him, full of delight.

“Having fun?” Alex tries to drawl sarcastically, but his voice sounds weak and pathetic. Henry laughs again, harder this time, and ignores him in favor of running practiced hands lightly over his bare chest, followed by the tip of his tongue. “Come here, you ass,” Alex mumbles finally, hauling Henry up until he can kiss his smiling lips. Henry kisses him back eagerly, no trace of the exhaustion that’s already seeped into Alex’s limbs. Finally, Alex pushes his face away and sucks in much-needed air. “You’re like the f*cking Energizer bunny.”

“Sometimes getting off gives me energy,” Henry says a little sheepishly, back to skimming his hands all over every inch of Alex’s skin that he can find. “Then once it wears off, I completely pass out.”

“What do you want to do with all your energy?” Alex barely blinks his eyes open to see Henry grinning at him from closeup.

“Didn’t I promise to have you on my bed with my mouth on your co*ck at 1:08 A.M. tonight?”

Alex summons all his strength to look at the clock; it’s 11:34 P.M. “There’s no f*cking way I’m going to make it until then. You fulfilled your promise early.”

“Can I at least clean you up?” Henry nudges at Alex’s throat and presses a soft kiss there.

“Clean me up how?”

“Get you out of these clothes, into the shower, wash you all over, and make sure you’re comfortable for bed?”

“Are you trying to find an excuse to send me back to my room?” Alex’s eyes are open a little wider now, so he can see pretty clearly the dismayed look that takes over Henry’s face.

“Absolutely not. Unless you want to go back.”

“Ask me to stay?” Alex doesn’t know why, but he finds himself eager to hear the words out of Henry’s mouth.

“Alex,” Henry says seriously. “Stay the night here? With me?”

Alex reaches up, fingers grazing Henry’s jaw. “Yes.”

—

The rest of Alex’s time in Louisville is a whirlwind of sex, food, and Henry. Henry has the day off on Sunday, so they decide to go sightseeing. They're no more than forty-five minutes into a morning tour of Churchill Downs when Alex vividly recalls the way Henry’s chest felt pressed against his back while he soaped him up in the shower, his mouth on Alex’s neck. Alex shoots Henry a feverish look, and Henry scurries them away with an apology and an excuse. They barely make it inside the hotel room again before Alex has Henry’s pants around his ankles. The rest of the day is filled with room service and mimosas and making out amongst mountains of fluffy white pillows in between talking quietly and fighting over what channel to watch on TV. Alex quickly finds out that Henry loves nothing more than finding sensitive spots on his body that Alex didn’t even know about half the time—like the soft, tender skin behind his ankle, the backs of his knees, and the dip in between his shoulder blades—and teasing moans out of Alex with his feather-light touch and clever mouth.

Alex accidentally drifts off at one point, tipsy and sated and comfortable, and wakes up to Henry writing in his little notebook with Alex curled into his side. Henry has a pillow propped up to keep his writing arm from jostling Alex in his sleep, and Alex feels a squirm of pleasure at the care Henry’s taking in trying not to disturb him. It all feels easy and safe in a dangerous way—a way Alex can picture himself getting used to, fast. Later, Henry pushes Alex up against the wall of the shower and wraps one hand around both of them while he kisses him with pure liquid heat. The intensity of Henry’s body up against him and the scalding hot water sluicing over his skin leave him trembling and gasping.

They make it out of the hotel for another late dinner. Alex gets recognized by the host and cheerfully takes a selfie with half the restaurant staff, while Henry high-tails it for their table and keeps his gaze down. After they’ve ordered, Henry looks at him seriously for a moment and then asks, “Do you care if we’re seen together?”

“Do I look like I care?” Alex gestures between them and then at the space around them.

“I just mean—” Henry cuts himself off to accept his glass of cabernet and takes a large sip. “The last time the tabloids speculated about you being gay, and there being something between us...you kind of had a meltdown.”

“I did not have a meltdown.” Alex narrows his eyes at Henry across the table.

“Do you prefer tantrum?”

“I had an immediate emotional reaction that I allowed to get the better of me,” Alex clarifies. “It won’t happen again.”

“So you don’t care if people are talking about us?”

“People are always talking about me. It really doesn’t matter what they say.” Alex tears off a piece of bread and stuffs it in his mouth. “We know what’s going on with us. That’s all that matters.”

“Do we?” Henry arches an eyebrow at him, and Alex smiles widely to cover the anxiety tightening in his chest.

“Yeah. I like you, and you like me. Right?”

“Right…” Henry says, his eyebrow slowly coming back down.

“Do you want to keep seeing me?”

“Yes.”

“Great. I want to keep seeing you, too.”

“Well. Good.”

“Good.”

Henry makes a face at him. “How do you make everything seem so easy?”

“How do you make everything seem so complicated?”

“Everything is complicated.” Henry looks down. Alex isn’t sure if they’re messing around or not.

“This doesn’t have to be complicated,” he says, trying to figure out what’s going through Henry’s head. It’s harder when Henry won’t look at him. After a moment, to his surprise and relief, Henry laughs.

“Okay,” Henry says, reaching out to pick up a piece of bread. “So, what are we going to do with our remaining twelve hours together?”

When his eyes meet Alex’s again, they’re warm and friendly. The knot in Alex’s chest loosens.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

“Haven’t seen you much lately.” Rafael eyes Alex over their mimosas, and Alex tries not to squirm.

“I’ve been busy. I was out of town last weekend.”

“Out of town? Doing what?”

A vivid image enters Alex’s mind of Henry’s pale skin bathed in the gray, early morning light coming in through the window as Alex woke him up with lips on his neck and a hand cupping his co*ck.

“Visiting a friend.”

Raf’s eyes narrow. “You don’t have friends.”

“What are you talking about? I have tons of friends.”

“You have June and Nora and tons of acquaintances that you know from modeling. Not friends you would travel to spend a weekend with.”

Alex wants to argue, but he knows Rafael is right. “Maybe I made a friend recently.”

“A friend?” Raf waggles his eyebrows, and completely against his will, Alex feels heat prickle at his cheeks. “Who’s the friend and where’d you meet them?”

Alex briefly considers lying before he remembers telling Henry that he doesn’t care if people see them together and experiences a twinge of guilt. “It’s, um. Henry Fox.”

To his credit, Rafael keeps his true reaction in check save for a slight jaw twitch. “You’re visiting him? Out of your own free will?”

“Yeah. We kind of...bonded. After Seattle. And we ran into each other when I was in New York for the runway show, and he came back to L.A. for a few days to see a friend there, so we’ve gotten to know each other.”

“Alex, you know he’s gay, right?”

“Of course I know that,” Alex says defensively.

“I just know how you are, and I know how gay guys can be, and this guy might be harboring a huge crush on you that you don’t even realize you’re encouraging. Especially if you’re doing things like going to visit him for the weekend.”

“It’s fine. He’s fine.”

“Seriously, I wouldn't wish falling in love with a straight guy on my worst enemy. Does it seem like he has a crush on you?”

Alex pauses to eat several pieces of fruit salad before responding. “I mean, he definitely has a crush on me,” he says, still chewing.

Raf glares at him. “So what are you doing encouraging it?”

“It’s kind of...mutual.” Alex mumbles the last word.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s mutual. It’s a mutual crush.” Alex drains the rest of his mimosa.

“What are you trying to say? You’re dating?”

“I guess? We haven’t really put a label on it.”

“Are you sleeping with him?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“I can’t pay you to shut up about the girls you’re banging, but you get all shy now? Okay, kid.”

“Fine. Yes, sort of. We’re doing, y’know. Stuff. I don’t know what counts as sex between two guys.”

“Alex.” Alex tries to avoid Raf’s eyes, but his gaze is razor sharp. “This is serious. Have you thought seriously about this?”

“It’s not that serious. We’re just getting to know each other.”

“I mean it could have serious consequences for your career. Y’know, your millions of Instagram followers? Have you strategized with Zahra how best to go about this?”

“I haven’t...told Zahra.” It hadn’t even occurred to Alex to discuss it with her. He feels a surge of anxiety come up through his throat as he thinks about how she might react.

“That’s more the face I imagined you’d make when you told me about your first ever relationship with a man.”

“I thought you’d be proud of me or something. Give me some kind of heartfelt advice, from one queer Latino to another.”

“I wish that’s all I had to do, but unfortunately, my concern about you doesn’t just stop at your personal wellbeing. I’m trying to help you have a successful career. And you’re blowing up right now, so more and more eyes are going to be on you while all this is going down. Have the two of you been seen together?”

“Um, probably? I mean, definitely, yes. But I don’t think anyone would know we’re, like, seeing each other. In that way.”

“Really? Because you’re usually pretty obvious when you’re looking to get laid. You’ve got the whole bedroom eyes thing that you do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alex says dismissively.

“Alex.” Raf pauses while the server comes to drop off more drinks. Discomfort prickles under Alex’s skin as he waits to hear what he’s going to say. “Is this serious? Do you have real feelings for him?”

The answer comes to the tip of Alex’s tongue immediately; he doesn’t even have to think about it. Somehow, the rational side of his brain prevents him from blurting it out and convinces him to temper his response. “I don’t know.”

“Do you have any plans to see him again?”

“Not...yet.” Henry’s supposed to call him tonight to figure it out.

“Before you do, you have to talk to Zahra. I’m telling you this as a mentor and a friend. The last time you went off-script about this guy, you almost trashed your entire career. You need to be careful.”

“Okay,” Alex says, swallowing. Raf’s eyes bore into him like they can see his soul. It’s unnerving. “I’ll talk to her.”

—

“You probably have plans for your birthday already, right?” Henry asks Alex over the phone.

“Like, on my birthday or just for my birthday in general?”

“Er, both? It’s on a Friday, so I figured you’d have that whole weekend planned out.”

Alex vaguely remembers discussing going out with June and Nora. “Nothing’s set in stone. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was wondering...and you can say no, please don’t feel obligated or anything...but if you’re free, maybe you could come see me again. I have...an idea. But it would be a surprise, so I can’t give you any more details.”

Alex laughs, startled but pleased that Henry is thinking about ways to surprise him for his birthday. “Where are you going to be?”

“Orlando. It would be ideal if you could fly out Thursday night, then stay til Saturday or Sunday even. I have some events but my schedule’s pretty open those days, so we’d have a good amount of time together.”

“Let me look at flights and see what I can figure out,” Alex says, warmed from within.

“Sounds perfect. Just, er, the sooner I can know, the better. So I can plan everything properly.”

“You really don’t need to make a big deal out of it.”

“Don’t I?” Henry laughs.

“Fine. So I like big birthdays.”

“I think it’s cute,” Henry says, sounding a little bashful.

“You think everything about me is cute.”

“Guilty.” Alex can visualize the grin on Henry’s face and it makes his stomach flip.

“What have you been doing today?”

“Writing a lot.”

“Big change from the usual?”

Henry laughs. “It is, actually. I’ve normally been so drained from all the events and travel that I just ramble about nothing. Today I’ve actually been focused and productive.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I actually…” Henry exhales loudly. “My U.S. publisher called today. Shaan’s been negotiating with them for another book deal. I couldn’t really talk about it before, but it sounds like it’s happening. With a serious advance and everything. They’re actually going to pay me before I even give them anything. Ridiculous.”

“What the f*ck? How did we go through this entire conversation without you mentioning this?”

“I don’t know, I was just waiting for it to come up. I didn’t want to sound boastful or anything.”

“f*ck that! When you get news like this, it better be the first f*cking thing that comes out of your mouth! Jesus Christ, Wales.”

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry,” Henry says, laughing. “So anyway. It was good news, and it made me want to do better with the poems I’ve been messing around with.”

“That’s f*cking amazing, but I’m not surprised at all. I bet your next book is going to be even bigger than this one.”

“We’ll see what happens. First I have to finish it.”

“Can I hear anything you worked on today?”

“Oh, Christ. Do you really want to?”

“Do I want to be the first person in the world to get a sneak peek of Henry Fox’s incredible new groundbreaking work? Of f*cking course I do. I love getting special privileges for knowing the right people.”

“I don’t know what to read to you,” Henry says, sounding embarrassed.

“Do you have a favorite?”

Henry pauses. “I guess...there’s one I’ve enjoyed working on a lot.”

“Let’s hear that one, then.”

“Okay. Just—give me a moment.” Alex hears Henry rustling around and pictures him in some typical hotel room, sitting on the bed with his legs stretched out, maybe crossed at the ankle. He can practically see Henry reaching out to grab his notebook off the bedside table, holding the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he flips through the pages, looking for the poem he’s probably already spent hours crafting and analyzing and agonizing over, wondering if it will ever be good enough. The image is complete and perfect and it makes Alex’s chest ache.

Henry clears his throat. Alex says, “Did you find it?”

“I—I did. I just—it feels different doing this now that we’re...whatever we are. I swear I’m not trying to send you a secret message or something through my writing. It’s just work.”

“It’s not just work, and you already admitted to writing about me, but point taken. Please begin.”

“Fine.” Henry clears his throat again. Alex waits quietly, anticipation humming through his body.

“A hand on the train reminds me of yours, its grip on the seatback firm, tendons taut under the skin. Do you know how often this happens to me? Would you apologize if I told you how many times the ghost of you has taken me this way, heedless of venue or audience? Perhaps, but sorry isn't what I want to see on your lips, and I will not ask for it. I will list truths instead, for you to decide what to do with:

First; your profile causes my fingers to curl, like a reflex, Pavlovian, hard-wired.

And; I have written the feel of your fingers in my mouth. I have bitten my knuckle raw.

And; a friend pressed her wrist to my forehead, told me I was burning up. The flu, I agreed, not that shadow on your hipbone at all, not that bead of sweat that left your neck for my tongue without your noticing, a reward for my diligence.”

It’s happening again. Alex is prepared for it, resigned to it. He reaches down to adjust himself so he’s at least more comfortable.

“And; I can taste it still.

And; this is not the first time I have fled the train at a stop I do not know, for a room that is not mine, because your hands may as well be inside me and my body grows less forgiving of your absence every day. This is not the first time my legs have given out. This is not the first time I have failed to swallow around your name as I f*cked myself.”

Henry’s voice is low and gravelly by the time he’s done. Hearing him like this is a shock to Alex’s system, sends liquid desire shooting through his veins. He’s suddenly desperate for the next time they’ll see each other, wants to look up flights to wherever Henry is right now—f*ck waiting for Orlando.

“What did you think?” Henry asks nervously, and Alex realizes he’s failed to respond since Henry finished reading.

“I think your fanboys are gonna be really happy with that one, Wales.”

“I didn’t ask what other people will think. I asked what you think.”

Alex pauses. “Your use of imagery with the hands is powerful and evocative. The tempo fits the urgency of the diction. My dick is hard, so I’m not sure if that’s what you were going for, but if so, it f*cking worked.”

Henry’s burst of laughter comes loud and sudden. “Did you secretly study English at university or something? Where did you learn those words?”

“Hey, models can have depth, too, okay?”

“Also…” Henry coughs. “Are you actually...hard?” He sounds shy, Alex thinks, which is completely absurd, considering the poem he just read ended with the words as I f*cked myself.

“Yeah. This always f*cking happens.”

“You getting erections? Always? You might want to have a doctor look into that.”

“Shut up. I mean, because of your poetry.”

“So when you asked if I get horny writing what I write, it was actually because you get horny reading what I write?”

“No! I mean...not exactly. It just seemed like maybe it would turn you on. Since it apparently has that effect on everyone else.”

“Well...” Henry says before taking an extended pause, “it does.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“That I’ve been bordering on aroused all day while I’ve been working, and I got hard reading my poem to you and thinking about you listening to it.”

“Oh,” Alex says, and he’s suddenly a lot more turned on knowing that it’s mutual.

“Remember when you said,” Henry starts, sounding hesitant, “that I should have asked you for phone sex instead of going straight to an escort?”

“Right. That was a joke.”

“Right. Well, I’m not joking now.”

“Do you mean…” Alex’s mind whirs, trying to parse the meaning underlying Henry’s words. “Are you asking me to have phone sex right now?”

“Are you still hard?”

“I...yes.” Alex rubs himself through his basketball shorts, bites his lip to keep from making any noise at the pressure. “Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Alex says, with feeling.

“Do you want to?” Henry’s voice sounds breathier. Alex wonders if it’s because he’s touching himself now, too, and his dick throbs.

“f*ck,” Alex says, and then, “What are you wearing?”

Henry bursts out laughing again. “Is that how this is actually supposed to start? I thought that was, like, a bad p*rn thing.”

“I want to be able to visualize you exactly,” Alex says, slouching down on the couch. “I want to feel like I’m looking at you when I close my eyes.”

“Oh,” Henry says. Alex can hear him breathing. “I’m, er, in a white t-shirt and plaid boxers. That’s all.”

“f*ck, that’s hot,” Alex says. “I thought you’d still be all buttoned up.”

“I hardly ever wear trousers if I can help it.”

Alex is the one to laugh, now. “You’re full of surprises, huh?”

“What are you wearing?” Henry says.

“Basketball shorts.”

“Is that a specific kind of short?”

Alex sighs. “Google it, baby.”

“What about on top?”

“Nothing.”

“Underwear?”

“None.”

“f*ck,” Henry says, “that’s hot.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m…” Henry exhales long and slow. “Reaching in the slit in my shorts.”

“Say more,” Alex says, still touching himself over the silky fabric.

“It’s kind of...bursting out of there,” Henry admits. “I’m so hard, Alex.”

“God, me too.” Alex slips his hand under his waistband and grips his co*ck. “I’m touching myself now.”

“Oh,” Henry says, more of a breathy moan than a word. “I’m wet at the tip. Going to lick it off my fingers.”

“Jesus Christ.” Alex closes his eyes, pictures Henry bringing the sticky precome to his mouth. “Rub it on your lips.”

“Okay.” Alex doesn’t know if he’s imagining or can actually hear the wet sounds of Henry licking his lips, but it makes him groan, wrist flicking quicker over his co*ck.

“You’re f*cking gorgeous like this,” Alex says, loving Henry’s soft laughter in response.

“What do you want me to do next?”

“I want to watch you touch yourself before you even think about touching me.”

“You’re not going to let me touch you?”

“Not yet, sweetheart. What are you doing to yourself?”

“I’m rubbing my co*ck. Thumbing over the head a lot because it’s so bloody sensitive.”

“Take your other hand and pinch your nipple for me. Hard.” Henry moans and the sound goes straight to Alex’s dick. “I’m kissing it now. Sucking it and putting my tongue all over it.”

“Are you going to suck me off, Alex?”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” Henry groans.

“I’m touching your f*cking gorgeous abs. God, you’re so hot. Do you know how hard I am because of you?”

“I know.” Henry’s breath hitches. “I...I fantasize about your co*ck so much. Wish I could make you come on my tongue every day.”

“f*ck. On your tongue?”

“Yeah. Or…” Henry pauses, his breathing rapid and shallow. “Inside me. I think about…f*ck...you filling me up with your come and feeling it dripping out of me for hours after.”

“f*cking hell,” Alex hisses, and he comes in his shorts, hard and sudden, white light bursting behind closed eyes as his hand flies over his co*ck.

“Alex,” Henry groans. “I’m close. Tell me what you’re doing.”

Alex tries to catch his breath. “I’m sucking the tip of your co*ck into my mouth.”

“Ohhh, that feels good.”

“I’m taking you in deep. I’ve been practicing, baby.”

“How—deep?” Henry’s panting.

“Until I’m swallowing around you.”

“f*ck, you’re gorgeous,” Henry breathes. “Alex, I’m—”

“Come for me, Henry.”

Henry’s moaning and cursing and Alex feels, just for a moment, like he’s there, like he did this. Then Henry laughs, barely, and his heart clenches.

“I can taste you,” Alex whispers, because he can.

“You’re the most beautiful f*cking thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Nothing,” Alex says, “is more beautiful than the sound of you laughing when you come.”

“I do that every time, don’t I? I don’t mean to.”

“I f*cking love it.” The words escape Alex without thinking. A thrill of nervousness rushes through his entire body after realizing what word he chose.

“Did you come?” Henry murmurs.

“Yeah. Somewhere around the time you were talking about my come dripping out of your ass.”

“f*ck. I didn’t mean to say all that.”

“It was hot as hell.”

“I have a lot of fantasies about you,” Henry says slowly, his voice trembling. “But that one’s my favorite.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Alex says, his brain slow and thick post-org*sm, trying to understand the significance of what Henry is saying. Trying to understand how he can simultaneously feel closer to Henry and further away, now.

“I wish you were here,” Henry says, hushed.

“Yeah,” Alex says, equally subdued. “Me too.”

—

Alex tells himself he’ll check with June and Nora to make sure they don’t have anything planned for him before he books a flight to Orlando. But right when he’s looking up flight options, Henry sends him a snap of just his face and bare shoulders in the low light, biting his lip, hair falling over his forehead, with the caption can’t sleep. There’s an ethereal quality to him, his skin so pale it looks almost blue, eyes close to black, features delicate and fine. Alex’s finger slips on the confirm purchase button. He sends back a screenshot of his flight details, and Henry responds, uncharacteristically, with no fewer than twelve heart eyes emojis.

Alex calls June the next day. “You and Nora weren’t planning anything for my birthday, right?”

“No,” June says slowly. “Of course not. Why?”

“I was thinking about going to see...Henry.” Alex coughs. “In Orlando. It sounds like he has an idea for something to do.”

“Interesting.” June sounds thoughtful.

“What’s interesting?”

“Have you two had the talk yet?”

“What talk?”

“Oh, honey. Never mind.” Alex hears her cover the phone, then a muffled, “Babe. Cancel the llamas. He’s going to see Henry instead.”

“You did not get f*cking llamas for my birthday.”

“Go to him,” June says airily. “That sounds lovely. I hadn’t even realized your birthday was coming up, actually.”

Alex rolls his eyes, then remembers she can’t see him. “Great. Perfect.”

“Nora wants to talk to you. I’m going to put her on speaker.”

“Alejandro, mi amor. I hear you’re going to visit Henry for your birthday? Sounds romantic.”

“It might not be romantic at all. I have no idea what he’s gonna make me do.”

“Fascinating. I have some news, too. I wanted to tell you in person, but June thought it might be better for you to lash out however you need to solo and then we can follow up this weekend when you come over.”

Alex’s heart thuds sharply in his chest. “What?”

“It’s looking like MIT. It’s not official yet, but they’re recruiting me hard. We’ll probably be moving in August.”

Alex’s breathing is coming quicker as the words sink in. “What about the Times?”

“I’ve been in touch with the Globe already,” June says. She sounds sympathetic, which makes Alex feel even worse. “Again, it’s not a sure thing by a long shot, but they’re impressed with my resume and body of work. It’s looking good.”

“f*ck,” Alex says, then, realizing he sounds like a jackass, “I mean, congratulations. That’s...great.”

“Thanks!” Nora says cheerfully. “I can’t wait to leave this f*cking sh*tstorm of a job and never look back.”

“Yeah. You deserve it. You really do,” Alex says before swallowing. Hard.

“We’ll talk more this weekend, okay?” June says.

“Please make sure your liquor cabinet is fully stocked.”

“You got it.”

Alex hangs up, jittery with panic but trying to keep his cool. June is his biggest support system and cheerleader, and Nora is the only one who can keep him grounded in reality. Who the f*ck is he going to be without them?

Alex has a meeting scheduled with Zahra that week to discuss his upcoming castings and shoots and go over a few potential new contracts. He can practically see Raf’s warning spelled out as a neon sign blinking in his head and tells himself, firmly, that he’ll disclose his relationship with Henry. When the moment arrives, however, the words die on his tongue, leaving Zahra to yell at him for wasting her time with his stammering and bodily shoo him out of her office. He’ll tell her eventually, he thinks, if it even becomes necessary. There’s no point in devising a whole media strategy if Henry’s just going to meet some other beautiful gay intellectual at one of his poetry readings and figure out that Alex’s neurotic, maybe-bi-but-who-the-f*ck-knows, dumb model ass isn’t nearly good enough for him.

The thought hits Alex like a gale-force wind. He knows he projects nothing but confidence, the mask he’s spent years carefully curating to hide his obsessive anxiety and the knowledge that no matter what he accomplishes or how far he gets in his career, he’ll never be enough—not for anyone else, and especially not for himself. This thing with Henry is the most real relationship he’s ever experienced, the most of himself he’s ever allowed anyone to see. It can’t be long before Henry realizes just how f*cked up he really is and how much easier it would be with someone else. And then once June and Nora are gone, he’ll be completely, utterly alone.

Alex shakes his head, trying to clear his spiraling thoughts. He just needs a good workout, and his flight to Orlando is in less than a week. Henry hasn’t gotten sick of him yet.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

Henry meets Alex at the airport with a bright smile and a dozen roses. Alex wants to kiss him more than anything, but Raf’s words echo in his mind as he pulls Henry in for a tight hug instead, cupping the back of Henry’s head with his hand and hoping Henry understands what he’s trying to say.

“This is excessive,” Alex says, hood up and sunglasses on even though it’s 10 P.M.

“This is just the beginning of your birthday celebrations,” Henry says with a mischievous twist of his lips.

“You’re really going to make me feel guilty for not doing more for yours, huh?”

“You told me you were expecting something amazing. I’m not one to pass up a challenge.”

Alex spends the car ride to the hotel trailing his fingers up and down Henry’s inner thigh while Henry squirms. Alex is so intent on watching the little movements of Henry’s face, the way his jaw clenches and the way his entire body twitches when Alex’s hand approaches his groin, that he doesn’t even notice where they end up. Henry drags him into the hotel and past the reception, already having checked in. Alex doesn’t take his sunglasses off until they’re in the elevator, meeting Henry’s gaze and running his tongue over his upper teeth, his suitcase firmly between them.

“f*ck you, Claremont,” Henry says, following Alex’s every movement with his eyes.

“That’s the idea, Wales,” Alex says, looking up at him through his lashes.

Once they’re in the room, Henry has him on his back and is sucking his dick so fast Alex barely has time to blink. He comes with Henry’s name on his lips, neck curved forward so he can watch, hands cupping Henry’s jaw. Henry clutches at his hips like Alex might try to run away if he doesn’t hold him tight enough.

Alex isn’t running.

“We have to wake up early tomorrow,” Henry says casually after Alex has returned the favor, when they’re brushing their teeth side-by-side in the bathroom. Alex squints at Henry, toothpaste running down his chin.

“How early?”

“Sevenish?”

“Is this supposed to be a good surprise for my birthday? Because I thought you knew me better than that.”

“I knew it was risky, but I think I know you well enough that you’ll appreciate the payoff.”

“I’m not going to make it easy for you to wake me up, you know.”

“I can deal with that.” Henry spits out his toothpaste and grins at Alex in the mirror.

They get in bed and turn off the lights. Henry cuddles up to Alex’s back, bringing one strong arm around his waist. His fingers splay wide and his mouth finds Alex’s neck, hair tickling Alex’s ear. Henry spends the next hour turning Alex to absolute putty with sweet, slow caresses from his shoulders to his thighs, making him sigh and shiver and gasp, worshipping Alex’s body with his hands. Alex reaches behind him to grip Henry’s hair, murmurs soft encouragement and little words of praise, “Yes, baby, you feel so f*cking good, Henry, how the f*ck do you do this to me?” Finally, finally, Henry slips his hand into Alex’s boxers and fists him quick until Alex comes again, in no time at all.

Alex shucks his now-messed boxers and presses his ass back against Henry’s erection. Henry whispers in his ear, “Don’t worry, love, that was just for you. Go to sleep, all right?” Alex makes a noise in protest, but Henry lays kisses over his shoulder and distracts him from articulating an argument. He feels boneless, liquified, and doesn’t have it in him to keep trying, so he gives in to the desire of his body and lets himself drift off.

Henry’s alarm sounds way too early. Alex turns over and nuzzles into Henry’s arms, warm and comfortable and so, so tired. Henry scratches short nails into Alex’s skull, softly at first, eventually hard enough that Alex figures out what he’s doing.

“Are you trying to wake me up?” Alex mumbles into Henry’s chest.

“Is it working?”

“No.”

“D’you want me to start the shower for you?”

“Can you do that without moving? Because I’m really comfortable.” Alex wraps a leg and arm around Henry’s body, pressing himself flush to Henry’s chest.

“We have an amazing day ahead of us, love.” Alex feels his face get warm at the endearment. Henry tugs on the hair at the nape of his neck. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Fine,” Alex groans, rolling his hips against Henry’s once before flopping onto his back. Henry makes a faint noise.

“Happy birthday, Alex.” Henry presses a kiss to his temple, then gets out of bed. Alex hears the sound of the shower starting, and he smiles in spite of himself.

Henry lures Alex out of the room with the promise of an extra-large coffee. He’s surprised when Henry leads him out the back of the hotel to a small dock on a canal.

“Okay, where the f*ck are we? What’s going on?”

“You’ll see.” Henry grins.

The boat ride is quiet and relaxing; there's only one other couple on it who don't pay them any attention. Henry puts his arm around Alex and Alex snuggles in with his coffee, content to sit in silence before the caffeine has kicked in. He only figures out where they are when they pull up to the next dock, and Alex sees the familiar image: UNIVERSAL wrapped around a giant globe.

“Henry.”

“Alex.” Henry’s grin goes wide.

“Are we—are we going to—”

“Harry Potter world.” Henry says it with relish, then stands up with his hand held out to help Alex up.

“You beautiful bastard,” Alex whispers as they approach the front gates. Henry positively cackles. Alex doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this excited before. It looks incredible on him.

It’s a long walk to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter from the front gates. The park is nearly empty; Henry explains that by staying in a Universal hotel, they get entry an hour early into the Harry Potter section, hence the early morning. They start out strolling, but more and more people pass them by at a quicker pace, so Alex grabs Henry’s hand and speeds them up until they’re practically running. Henry laughs as they dodge around a family and when Alex looks over, he looks back, his eyes sparkling.

The gateway to the Hogwarts Express appears in front of them. Alex tries to turn off, but Henry pulls him along, saying they’ll come back later. Alex almost runs past the nondescript bricks that serve as the entrance to the park; Henry stops him.

“Tap the bricks,” Henry says, nudging him forward. Alex steps breathlessly around the brick wall and into Diagon Alley, and his heart stops.

The familiar melody plays quietly over the cobblestone street, nearly empty save for a handful of other early risers. Storefronts rise up on either side, quirky and familiar. Above it all, a gigantic dragon looms on top of Gringotts Bank. Alex’s skin is covered in gooseflesh, and despite the more rational side of his brain telling him it’s ridiculous, his eyes prickle with tears. He feels Henry step up behind him and melts back against his body.

“It’s so beautiful,” Alex whispers.

“Happy birthday, love.”

Alex turns around and flings himself into Henry’s arms, pressing their lips together. Henry laughs into his mouth, and Alex wonders if it’s possible for the human heart to burst from happiness.

Henry has the entire day planned out to maximize their time and get stuck in the fewest lines possible; he even sent off an anonymous tip on social media that Alex would be at Disney as a diversion, so they’re mostly free from the attention of others. They ride the rollercoasters first, while there’s still a smaller number of people in the park. Alex doesn’t realize he’s crying again until they’re off the Forbidden Journey ride. (“Alex, are you okay?” “Shut up, Wales. I was f*cking flying behind Harry Potter, it’s only the biggest dream of my entire childhood.”) They attend the wand ceremony at Ollivander’s, and Alex is sure Henry somehow arranged it in advance so that Alex gets selected as the volunteer whose wand chooses them. (They buy it. Alex continually gets Henry off schedule by getting stuck in front of every opportunity to use his wand, trying and mostly failing to perform the movement correctly to make it work, until a small child inevitably comes up to take a turn and gets it on the first try.)

They ride the Hogwarts Express in both directions multiple times; Alex snuggles up to Henry in their compartment and pretends not to notice the pleased smile on his face. They eat breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron and lunch at the Three Broomsticks, ordering an excessive amount of food and several rounds of butterbeer before stopping off at the Hog’s Head for some firewhiskey shots.

Tipsy and giggly in the midafternoon sun, Alex pulls Henry down the dark street toward deserted Knockturn Alley, looking around furtively before pressing him into the rough stone wall and kissing him hard and hot and messy. He shoves one hand into Henry’s hair and the other up his shirt and musses him up as much as he possibly can before they break apart, breathless and sheepish, at the sound of other people approaching.

Henry buys Alex a butterbeer ice cream and they sit on a bench to rest and people watch—at least, Alex people watches. Henry only watches one person—Alex—with big doe eyes as Alex licks and slurps at his ice cream cone, steadfastly avoiding Henry’s gaze until he’s done. He looks over at Henry innocently, then, carefully licking all of his fingers even though it’s not strictly necessary.

“You’re a demon.”

“You bought it for me!”

They wander in and out of the shops at Hogsmeade, and Henry happily buys Alex anything he wants, including a pair of house boxers for each of them (Henry, Ravenclaw; Alex, Gryffindor). By the time they’re hungry for dinner, Alex is verging on exhausted from the miles they’ve walked and hours in the sun and heat. They snag a table behind the Three Broomsticks and watch Hogwarts over the water while eating snacks in the shade; Alex makes fun of what the Brits consider cuisine and Henry responds by mocking him mercilessly for missing his mouth with his fork multiple times. Alex makes Henry take a million selfies with him with the castle in the background as the sun sets. Then he drags Henry on the Forbidden Journey again and again (“Again, Alex?” “It’s my day.”)

“Just one more thing,” Henry says, checking his watch as they exit the ride for the fifth time. “We need to get in a good position.”

Alex raises his eyebrows. “For what, exactly?”

“Shut up,” Henry says, bringing Alex out onto the main street with the best view of Hogwarts Castle. “I think...here. We’ll be good here.”

“Good for what?”

“Just be patient,” Henry says, spinning Alex around to face the castle and nudging in behind him. Henry’s arms wrap around Alex’s waist, and Alex can feel Henry’s chin rest on top of his head. He tentatively places his hands on Henry’s, a little taken aback by how much he apparently enjoys being the girl in the prom couple photo. He can’t even bring himself to feel bitter about the several inches of height Henry has on him, for once. The day has been too perfect; he’s too comfortable and too happy.

The street becomes crowded around them, but Alex barely notices anything except the steady feeling of Henry’s body pressed up behind him, Henry’s breath grazing his hair. When the Hogwarts light show starts, Alex can’t help himself. He gasps.

It’s the most perfect end to the most perfect day Alex could imagine. The light show is incredible, but it’s even more incredible to know Henry made this all happen for him.

They walk out of the park with the masses of crowds who stayed until closing, hand-in-hand. As people speed around them, Henry and Alex only seem to get slower, taking in the sights of all the areas of the park they didn’t visit, a closing parenthesis to the start of their day speeding past everything. They wait in line for the ferry with a throng of sweaty, sunburned vacationers, and Alex clings to Henry for support, exhausted and content.

When they get back to the room, Alex is torn between immediately getting in the shower to wash off the grime and sweat from the day and collapsing into bed. The bed wins. Henry falls in after him, and they lay on their stomachs, facing each other. Alex can’t keep the stupid smile from playing at his lips; Henry is mirroring it.

“Thank you,” Alex says, too tired to be anything but completely genuine, “for the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

“The best ever?” Henry looks entirely too pleased.

“Yes, you dumbass. Obviously it was the best ever.”

“We have to eat your cauldron cake.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Okay.” They smile dopily at each other for another moment before Henry says, “Let’s at least get out of these clothes.”

Alex shrugs somewhere around his chin. “I don’t think I can move.”

“I’ll take care of it for you,” Henry says, getting up with a groan. “As one last birthday favor.”

“I’m too tired to even make a sexual innuendo right now.”

“Adding Harry Potter world to the very short list of things that can get you to shut up. Harry Potter world and org*sms.” Henry rips his shirt off and wriggles out of his shorts before turning his attention to Alex. Alex doesn’t make it any easier for him, just forces Henry to arrange all his limbs however necessary to get him out of his clothes.

“You can take my boxers off, too,” Alex says, wiggling his ass just barely. “I prefer to sleep naked, actually.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Henry says with a smile. “That was one of the first things I learned about you, actually.” He tugs Alex’s boxers down, making a point to drag his hand over Alex’s groin and thighs. Alex’s dick twitches with interest; Henry raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t get any ideas, Wales.”

Henry shucks his own boxers off, and they climb under the covers, limbs finding each other and winding together until Alex doesn’t know where his body stops and Henry’s begins. He thinks about the way Henry looked that morning, running down the streets of Universal Studios on the other end of Alex’s hand, more excited than Alex had ever seen him for the sole reason that he was doing something to make Alex happy.

Alex’s heart pangs in his chest.

He nudges forward and finds Henry’s mouth with his own, because he’s never been good with words—not like Henry—and he doesn’t know how to express everything he’s feeling. It’s different than a lot of other kisses they’ve shared; there’s no sense of urgency, no sense of lust, no sense of need. It’s pure, thick emotion pouring between them, creating something that can only be made with Henry’s lips and Alex’s tongue and their breath intermingling, with Henry’s hands skimming Alex’s bare skin and Alex’s fingers wound in Henry’s hair.

The way Henry surges into him gives Alex the peace of mind that Henry feels it, too.

Henry’s off early for a morning book event. He goes in to kiss Alex’s forehead but Alex drags him down and gives him a sloppy tongue kiss instead, morning breath and all.

“You trying to make sure I don’t forget about you while I’m gone?” Henry murmurs.

“Is it working?”

“Definitely. I’ll be back for lunch, okay? Go back to sleep.”

Alex makes a soft noise and burrows down into the cozy bed. When he wakes up again, it’s past eleven and the sun is streaming in through the window. By the time he’s showered and brushed his teeth, Henry is back. Alex hears the keycard in the door and quickly reclines naked in bed, arranging himself so that his best muscles pop. Henry steps through the door, then spots Alex and trips over his feet.

“I—you—Jesus, Alex—”

“Like what you see, babe?”

“Erm,” Henry says, dropping his things and quickly unbuttoning his shirt without taking his eyes off Alex.

“How was your event?”

“It was,” Henry says, turning to his chinos, “an event of the likes I’ve done a hundred others.”

“So...good?”

“All I could think about was getting back here to you.” Henry strips the remainder of his clothing off quickly and stalks forward, climbing on the bed and crawling on top of Alex. He sits down on Alex’s hips, his already half-hard co*ck settling against Alex’s. Then he runs his hands over Alex’s chest, his stomach, back up his arms, his eyes dark and needy. “And if I knew this was what I was missing, I’d have called off sick.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Alex says, casually taking Henry’s dick in hand and rubbing him to full hardness. “We have plenty of time still today.”

Henry groans and leans down for a messy kiss. His fingers slide through Alex’s damp hair, and Alex keeps up his slow but steady movements over Henry’s co*ck while Henry grinds down on him. Alex’s level of arousal is increasing exponentially with every small moan and grunt as Henry starts to sound more and more desperate. They make out for a while, thrusting slowly against each other, until Henry breaks off, breathing against Alex’s cheek. He sits up suddenly, hands moving down to rest on Alex’s arms.

“Do you have…” Henry starts to say, looking uncertain. Alex raises an eyebrow and jerks his hips up. Henry’s grip tightens on his biceps before he clears his throat and continues. “Lube?”

“Um. No.” Alex’s heart is suddenly pounding against the inside of his chest. “Should I?”

Henry smiles slyly. “It’s okay. I have some.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I’ll just go grab it,” Henry continues, as though Alex hasn’t said anything. He jumps up and disappears into the bathroom, giving Alex just enough time to build himself up to an entire internal panic about what Henry wants to do before returning triumphantly with a small bottle in his hand. He climbs back on top of Alex, leaning in for a kiss. Alex kisses him back, shaky hands coming to rest on Henry’s muscular thighs. Henry pulls back, sitting up with his knees on either side of Alex’s hips. “You okay?”

“I’m just…” Alex tries to remember words. “Wondering where you’re going with this…”

“Don’t worry,” Henry says. He opens the bottle and pours some into his hand. Then he adjusts himself so that his co*ck is lined up with Alex’s and wraps his hand around both of them, biting his lip around a grin. The slick pressure of Henry’s hand moving over them, erections pressed together, is unreal. The tightness in Alex’s chest begins to unfurl as pleasure builds in his groin; maybe this is all Henry had in mind. He presses his fingers into Henry’s hips, thrusting up into Henry’s hand, and Henry moans above him.

“f*ck,” Henry says, voice low and heated. He lifts himself up, settling back down across Alex’s stomach and sliding back until Alex’s dick is nestled in the cleft of his ass. Alex’s eyes go wide when Henry reaches behind them, then, and he presses Alex further between his cheeks, leaning forward and starting to move up and down. The feeling of Henry surrounding him, the knowledge of how close he is to Henry’s hole, as close as he could possibly be without actually being inside him, is so f*cking erotic that Alex is actually speechless. Henry leans down and finds Alex’s mouth. When he pulls back, his eyes are sparkling and mischievous.

“I told you about my favorite fantasy,” Henry murmurs hotly into Alex’s ear, then catches Alex’s earlobe between his teeth. His ass is still grinding back against Alex’s co*ck while his hand keeps Alex in place, surrounded, the friction f*cking unreal. Alex tries to respond, but all that comes out is a squeak. An actual, high-pitched squeak. Henry laughs, breathless, his cheek nuzzled up against Alex’s. He finds a spot behind Alex’s ear to suck on, tongue pulsing. Alex’s eyes squeeze shut and he imagines Henry riding him like this, imagines thrusting up into him, imagines Henry whispering in his ear, urging him along. His org*sm bursts out of him before he can even think about it, slicking Henry’s ass even further, Henry working him through it.

“f*cking sh*t,” Alex groans. “Jesus f*ck.” His grip tightens on Henry’s hips. Henry drops soft kisses against his neck, his jaw, slowing his movements but not stopping entirely until Alex’s eyes blink open. Henry’s eyes meet his, intense, pupils blown wide. He places his hand over Alex’s, sliding them together back over his slick ass. He rubs Alex’s fingers in the mix of come and lube there, then directs him until the pad of Alex’s middle finger is rubbing against his hole. Henry just looks at him, and a thousand words Alex wants to say die on his tongue at how gorgeous he is when he’s eager and demanding and wanting. Henry bites his lip, smiles, and nods, just barely. Alex presses his finger forward, overwhelmed by the clenching heat that immediately envelopes him, drawing him inside. Henry’s lips part, his brow furrowing, eye contact fierce, and he lets out a low moan that goes straight to Alex’s groin. Alex’s dick is soft but he can feel it throbbing from his recent org*sm and the overwhelming desire rushing through him at the feel of Henry surrounding him. He slides his finger back, then in, and this time Henry pushes back to meet him.

“Yes,” Henry growls, so Alex adds a second finger, marveling at the way it disappears into Henry like he’s hungry for it, f*cking him slowly until Henry lets out an impatient whine and bites Alex’s lip. Alex nips back and then kisses him, open-mouthed and slick, while he speeds up his movements, curving up. Henry’s leaking co*ck is rubbing against Alex’s stomach as he f*cks himself back on Alex’s fingers, and Alex tentatively trails his free hand down to grip it between them.

“f*ck,” Henry gasps into Alex’s mouth. “That’s so good, f*ck, that feels good.” Alex’s wrist is cramping at the angle; he tries to coordinate pulls on Henry’s co*ck with the thrusts of his hand. Henry pulls back a little and hangs over him, trembling, red-cheeked and red-mouthed, curses tumbling from his lips. He looks like every wet dream Alex has ever had. His thighs are shaking on either side of Alex’s hips, and Alex knows he’s close, so he rubs his thumb up against the slit of Henry’s co*ck and presses his fingers up inside him. Henry comes with a series of stuttered groans, his lips parted against Alex’s cheek, body shuddering on top of him. He collapses soon after. Alex’s arms fit their way around him, wanting all of him touching all of Alex, no patience for space between them. He feels like Henry just unlocked part of himself for Alex, like he told Alex the most incredible secret, and Alex is breathless from it.

“You’re f*cking beautiful,” Alex whispers fiercely, mouth against the curve of Henry’s ear. Henry makes a soft noise in response, and Alex clutches him even tighter.

After a while, Henry presses a soft kiss, then another, to Alex’s neck. He rolls off Alex gently, still clinging to his side, eyes full of that same emotion that Alex can’t put a name to, but he can feel it, filling up his lungs and his heart, leaping into his throat. Alex grabs the sheet to wipe them up, then wraps his arm around Henry’s shoulders. Henry laces their fingers together over Alex’s stomach, and Alex closes his eyes.

The rest of the afternoon passes in slow motion through a haze of touching and dozing and kissing and talking. Alex is in some liminal place between sleep and wakefulness after his second org*sm of the day when Henry’s voice startles him to attention.

“I’m sorry.”

Alex blinks, sits up. Looks at Henry, who suddenly appears tense, jaw clenched, limbs stiff at Alex’s side. The sun is setting, but they haven’t yet turned on any lights, the room getting darker by the moment.

“Good, you should be,” Alex replies.

Now it’s Henry’s turn to blink. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just assuming that if you’re apologizing, you must have done something terrible, so I’m magnanimously allowing you to wallow in your anguish about having wronged me.” Alex grins innocently up at Henry. Henry loosens up a little, rolling his eyes and shoving his shoulder into Alex’s.

“Don’t you want to know what I’m apologizing for?”

“What’s the point? As long as you know you did me wrong, I’m good.”

Alex can see Henry fighting a smile.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Okay, fine, tell me which way you messed up this time.”

“This time? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You did that thing the other day.”

“What thing?”

“That thing you always do that annoys me.”

“I annoy you?” Henry looks genuinely put out.

“Not you,” Alex says quickly. “Just when you do that thing where you read something while we’re on the phone and stop listening to me.”

“Reading just overrides my auditory processing abilities. I didn’t know that annoyed you.” Henry frowns.

“Only because I have a compulsive need for someone to be paying attention to me at all times. It’s cute, right?”

Henry’s face softens. “You’re extremely cute.” He leans down and Alex expects a kiss, but he actually just nuzzles into Alex’s hair, sighing against his temple. Alex waits for him to say more, but he doesn’t.

“So what are you actually apologizing for?”

“I’m…” Henry pauses. “I got carried away earlier. I don’t want to rush you into doing anything you’re not ready for.”

“What happened earlier that you supposedly rushed me into?”

“Y’know. When I got back this morning and we...I had you...you know.”

“Oh, you mean when you pressed my dick into your ass and then sat on my fingers?”

Henry groans. “It sounds so coarse when you say it like that.”

“It’s an objective description of what happened, isn’t it? But, like, I was fully on board, so I still don’t know what you’re apologizing for.”

“I’ve just realized I’ve been coming on kind of strong, with the...phone sex...and everything I said that night, and then this morning. Just because I fantasize about you f*cking me doesn’t mean we have to do that soon. Or ever, honestly. Some people just don’t like it and that’s fine, and I don’t have any expectations about what we’re going to do.”

Alex is trying to pay close attention to what Henry’s saying, but he’s getting easily distracted by thoughts of Henry fantasizing about him, and of him f*cking Henry, and of Henry fantasizing about Alex f*cking him. A shiver runs down his spine.

“Baby.” He takes Henry’s face in his hands. “Don’t sit over there getting all in your head for no reason. Of course I want to f*ck you.”

“Don’t just say that—”

“Not, like, right now. But it’s for sure gonna happen. I’ll let you know.”

“You will?”

“Believe me. I’ll definitely let you know.” The tense, pinched corner of Henry’s mouth relaxes. Alex presses a quick, dry kiss there. “So how often are you having these fantasies, exactly?”

Henry groans and pulls away, yanking a pillow into his lap. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You must be getting pretty lonely on the road—”

“I haven’t wanked this much since I was a teenager. It’s ridiculous.”

Alex laughs, surprised and pleased. “Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Henry’s eyes glint. “Yes. You are.” Before Alex knows it, he’s being tackled onto the mound of pillows at the head of the bed, Henry’s mouth on his neck, giddy and hazy and so, so happy.

—

Alex goes home wondering how every second he spends with Henry can feel so idyllic. Is it the result of their long distance separation, he wonders? Making it so that every time they’re together, they only have space for soft laughter and feverish sex and absolute contentment? If they were able to see each other every day, would they get bored? Sick of each other?

More specifically, Alex wonders if he would get bored, or if Henry would get sick of him.

They’ve already figured out their next meetup: Henry’s going to Austin, and Alex completely rearranges his work schedule to meet him there. Henry insists it’s unnecessary, but “there’s no way I’m going to miss showing you around my hometown, Wales,” Alex scoffs. He doesn’t bring up his mom and stepdad still living there, and how they’ll certainly expect to see him. He doesn’t know how he feels about bringing Henry home when he’s never brought anyone home before, and resolves to spend some serious time thinking about it during his nightly elliptical workout.

Nora continues to send Alex all of Henry’s interviews with accompanying emojis. One arrives a few days after he gets home from Orlando in New Orleans' Ambush Magazine, along with several crying and confused-looking faces. Alex opens it when he’s waiting around at a shoot for the photographer and designers to finish putting the final touches on the set. It’s an article titled An Evening with Henry Fox, Poet Extraordinaire. Alex skims over the usual praise for his work and impact he’s having on LGBTQ equality, pausing when he gets to a paragraph that sounds irritatingly intimate.

Mr. Fox smiles at me over a glass of cabernet sauvignon—his weakness, he admits. An attractive man such as himself who’s made such a rumble in the gay community must be meeting all kinds of potential suitors. Has anyone caught his eye? Perhaps a roguish American, making his way into the heart of the poet?

“Oh, I wish I had time to think about romance right now,” he shares with a laugh. “I’ve been on the run so much from event to event and city to city, I barely have time to talk to myself, let alone date.”

He’s been spotted recently in both Louisville and Orlando with one model, Alex Diaz. What’s that about, I ask?

“Alex has become a great friend since I arrived in America, and I’m eternally grateful to see a friendly face when I’m on the road. Some of our work travel has overlapped, so we’ve been able to catch up from time to time.”

Nothing romantic?

“Nothing,” Henry says, a small smile on his lips. “I continue to be tragically single. Do let me know if Alex has any sudden revelations about his sexuality, won’t you?”

Alex feels like he’s swallowed gravel, and it settles heavily in his stomach. It’s at that moment when the photographer calls him over to start shooting.

It doesn’t go great. He can sense the searing, judgmental gazes of those watching him at all times; this photographer has never worked with him before, and he’s becoming increasingly agitated while barking instructions at Alex over and over. Finally, with a frustrated scream, he yells at Alex to take fifteen to get his sh*t together and come back ready to work. Alex books it to back of the studio, ignoring everyone’s curious looks, and finds a quiet spot to sit. His fingers are halfway to tugging on his hair before he remembers it’s been carefully styled; he squeezes his thighs, instead.

“Coffee?”

Alex looks up to see an assistant named Deana holding out a cup. He accepts it grudgingly, turning his focus to the heat of the cup on his palms and trying to empty his overly full mind.

“Are you okay?” Deana sits next to him; he considers her for a moment. She’s absolutely stunning. While the rest of the assistants are running around in heels and fake eyelashes, Deana's wearing minimal makeup and comfortable clothes and still looks better than the rest of them combined. Alex has always appreciated the down-to-earth look.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Anything I can do?” Deana's hand falls to Alex’s knee. All of a sudden, Alex feels like he’s outside of his own body, aware of her touch but not registering it, like it’s happening to someone else. Her fingers slide up the inside of his thigh with purpose.

Why shouldn’t he? According to Henry, he’s both single and heterosexual. This is an opportunity he would have taken without a second thought, before. Deana's lips are parted and she’s looking at him, waiting for a response, her hand moving up, up—

“No,” Alex says gruffly, pushing her hand away. “Thank you,” he adds, because she looks distressed. She gives him a pitying look and walks away.

The coffee helps. Alex thinks they’re able to get the shots they need, but he can already hear Zahra’s lecture about how acting difficult with photographers is the fastest way to get a reputation and see his opportunities shrivel up and die.

Alex climbs into the car waiting to take him home and looks listlessly through his Instagram comments during the ride. He steadfastly avoids several notifications from Henry until he’s showered and eaten. When he finally opens them, they’re casual, sweet messages, random thoughts about the political climate in New Orleans, musings on Alex’s hair (how does he manage to make it so soft and touchable even when it’s loaded with styling products?), asking how the shoot went and when he’ll be home. It makes Alex’s heart twinge almost painfully.

Why is Henry’s interview making him feel like this?

They’ve never put a name to their relationship status; the closest they got was in Louisville (“I like you, and you like me,” Alex remembers bitterly). They never said they were exclusive, or committed, or anything like that. But Alex clearly remembers telling Henry that he doesn’t care who sees them together, or what people say about them. Is Henry too embarrassed to admit to dating Alex because he’s a model? Is he worried it’s going to hurt his reputation in the literary community if people find out he’s with someone so unintelligent and simple-minded, someone who parades around in underwear for a living?

Alex consciously recognizes that he’s spiraling. His first instinct tells him to grab a bottle of whiskey, but he calls June instead.

“Come over?”

“Nora told me about the article,” June says sympathetically. “You okay?”

“I just need some company or I’m going to do something stupid.”

“What, like actually talk to Henry about this instead of ghosting him?”

“What the hell makes you think I’m ghosting him?”

“He texted me,” June admits. “He said you were supposed to be home from your photoshoot hours ago and he was worried about you. Can’t you just call him?”

“What did you tell him?” Alex’s heart thunders.

“That I was sure you were fine and maybe you just got caught up working out or something.”

“I don’t work out on hard shoot days,” Alex mutters. “He knows that.”

“Alex. f*cking act like the emotionally intelligent adult I know is in there somewhere instead of the spoiled brat you usually are and call him.”

“Okay, fine. If you come over, I’ll call him when you get here.”

“No. You don’t need me to hold your hand through this.”

“Is Nora there?”

A pause.

“No. She’s out doing something very important and is unavailable to talk. Call him!” June hangs up.

Alex groans and threads his hands through his hair. At that moment, his phone starts buzzing. He knows without looking that it’s Henry. Briefly, cowardly, he considers not answering, but he thinks about the words emotionally intelligent adult and at the last second, he picks up.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Alex!” Henry’s voice is both panicked and relieved. “You’re—you’re okay! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I got worried when I didn’t hear from you after the shoot. But June said she thought you were fine, but I—”

“The shoot didn’t go great, so it took longer than it was supposed to.”

“Oh, yeah? What happened?”

“What happened is—” Alex cuts himself off, scratching the back of his neck. “I saw your article. In Ambush.”

“You did?” Henry sounds uncertain, now. For some reason, it makes Alex burn with annoyance. Why couldn’t Henry have at least given him a heads up that something was coming out where he said that kind of stuff?

“Yeah. About your good American friend Alex Diaz and your tragic, perpetual state of singlehood. I know we haven’t, like, fully fleshed out our relationship status, but f*cking single? Come on, man.”

He can practically hear Henry wince. “Can I be honest with you?”

“About f*cking time.”

“To be fair, I didn’t lie, or anything. Like you said, we haven’t established that we’re—in a relationship. And I don’t actually know what your sexuality is, even.”

“Is this supposed to be making me feel better?”

“I’m sorry. I got off track. What I meant to say was...I was hoping you wouldn’t see it.” Alex’s heart plummets into his stomach. “It’s just a bit tricky for me to navigate right now. So not knowing what you’d want me to say in that situation, and knowing that, erm, Shaan thinks my sales will go better if everyone thinks I’m single and available, I just...said all that. I didn’t mean to upset you. Honestly, I didn’t know how you’d feel about it. If you’d even care. I just hoped it wouldn’t have to come up and we could go on as we were.”

Alex grips the arm of the couch with his free hand. He feels tense and sick and like he wants to be anywhere other than having this conversation.

“And how would that be?”

“Happy?” Henry’s voice is faint. “I don’t know about you, Alex, but this last month has been the happiest one of my life. Not just because of the book tour and the success and all that...honestly, I’d love to call off the tour and be done with it, at this point. But because of you. Having you to talk to and being on the receiving end of your stupid muscle flexing selfies and counting down the days, hours, minutes until I get to see you again. I know we haven’t...talked about what we are, but I know what I’d like us to be. I’ve just been too cowardly to bring it up, in case it scares you away.”

Alex exhales, his mind whirring, trying to figure out which part to respond to. “You think my selfies flexing are stupid?”

“Alex.”

He pauses. “I’ve been happy too,” he says. “Really happy. When I saw what you said, I thought...maybe you were embarrassed to be seeing me. Since I’m just a dumb model and I wouldn’t exactly fit in with your poet crowd.”

“Embarrassed to be seen with you? Alex, you’re a bloody catch. You should hear what some of these guys say about you.”

“What? What guys?”

“The guys who have seen pictures of us together, who ask me what’s going on when they come to my events. It’s always in the sense of like, oh, I heard you’re getting down with that model Alex Diaz, how’d you get him to see the light? I’d nail him to my bedpost any day. That kind of thing.”

“Nail him to my bedpost? Who am I, Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior? Where are you learning this sh*t?”

“The point is, everyone knows how amazing you are and I would love to tell the entire world that you’re my…” Henry cuts himself off. Alex waits, but Henry doesn’t continue.

“Your what?”

“My...boyfriend. If that’s what you want. But if you get scared now, just know it’s your own fault for bringing this up in the first place.”

“I’m not getting scared,” Alex says, aware of how overly defensive he sounds, which makes him feel even more defensive. The heart palpitations he’s suddenly experiencing definitely don’t indicate fear of commitment or fear of coming out to the entire world when he’s not even sure of his own sexuality.

“You sort of sound like you’re getting scared.”

“Well, I’m not. And you know what a boyfriend would do?”

“What?”

“Have dinner with his boyfriend’s parents when he goes to his hometown.”

“Are you inviting me to dinner with your parents in Austin?”

“Who’s the scared one now?”

“I’m not—scared, I’m literally trying to clarify what’s happening in this conversation.”

“My mom would want to meet you.”

“Okay…”

“So before I ask her, is that something you’re okay with?”

“I would love to meet your mother, Alex.”

“Leo’s pretty chill, too.”

“I’m sure he’s wonderful. I’d be honored to have dinner with them.”

“Well, good.”

“Are you still upset with me? I’ll call that reporter right now and tell him to print a correction.”

“Don’t even think about calling that creepy ass reporter. He sounded like he had a huge boner for you.”

“Alex.”

Alex pauses, thinking about how to elucidate the jumbled up mess of emotions threatening to burst out of him. “I’m not...mad at you. I wasn’t. I was just...surprised. And...hurt, I guess.” Alex blows his hair up off his forehead. “Because I’ve never had something like this before. And it made me wonder if it was all in my head.” He knows he’s mumbling, but it’s all he can do to force the words out. He hears Henry let out a long, slow breath on the other end of the line and suddenly, poignantly aches to be near him. It feels like he’s a million miles away.

“Oh, Christ. It’s definitely not in your head.” Henry clears his throat. “I admit I’ve been a little worried, because everything seems so easy with you. Since the first time I kissed you in L.A., you’ve been so on board with everything. It’s your first time dating another man, and you don’t seem scared at all. There’s no screaming, drunken fights and no jealousy, like in my last relationship. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, or for you to...change. But it hasn’t happened, and I think I’m just now starting to realize that this is the real you, and that you actually want the real me.”

“Of course this is the real me, and of course I want you.”

“You make it sound simple, but it’s never been that simple for me. A part of me thought you wouldn’t care if I went around saying I was single, because maybe this is all just a fling to you, and you’re only in it to have someone to f*ck and flirt with and...I don’t know...explore your sexuality with.”

“Baby.” Alex closes his eyes. “If I wanted a fling, I could make it a lot easier on myself than being with someone who’s halfway across the freaking country. There’s a lot of hot gay guys in L.A., you know.”

“Believe me, I know. I was at that club too,” Henry says, laughing a little. “I just...part of this feels too good to be true. My mind comes up with all kinds of scenarios why it couldn’t be what I want it to be.”

“And what do you want it to be?” There’s a pause. Alex’s pulse throbs in his wrists, anxiety climbing up through his veins.

“I want you to be my boyfriend. I want this to be real. But I know this is new for you, and if you’re not ready for that, it’s all right.”

“I’ve never really dated anyone seriously before. You know that.”

“So you say, but you’re such perfect boyfriend material, I find it hard to believe.”

Alex snorts. “Boyfriend material? Me?”

“You text me when you wake up every morning and before you go to sleep every night. You check in when you know something important is coming up or when I’ve had a big event. You wrote me terrible poetry for my birthday because you know no one would ever dare gifting poetry to a poet but you know how much I love it. You kiss me like I’m the only person that matters, and you make love to me like I’m the only thing in this world you could ever want. You are, extremely often, a total prick to me, but for whatever reason, I get off on that too. So yes, you appear to be everything I could ask for in a partner, and that scares me to no end.”

A warm glow washes over Alex at Henry’s words; it’s hard to believe he’s capable of making someone else feel like that. “I’m scared, too,” he admits tentatively. “I’ve never...felt like this. About anyone. Let alone a guy.”

“Not Liam?”

Alex groans. “Please don’t bring that up.”

“Did you have feelings for him?”

“I don’t know, Henry. I was too much of a dumbass at that time to know what the hell was going on with me, let alone identify my feelings.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Henry says. Alex can tell he’s smiling. “So...are we calling this a relationship now?”

“Yeah. I guess we are.”

“Don’t sound so thrilled about it.”

“You should keep telling people you’re single, though. If it’s better for book sales and your image and everything.”

“Are you sure? I would never want to make you feel bad just to sell a few more books. It’s not worth that.”

“I won’t feel bad now that I...know. Where you stand. Where we stand.”

“Alex.”

“Seriously. I’d rather not deal with talking to Zahra about a whole media strategy for my own coming out party anyway. It’s better for both of us.”

“Is that something you’ve thought about?”

“Only since I got advised to think about it. Raf pretty much tore me a new one. But I don’t think I need to get her involved, yet.”

“So you’re absolutely positive I shouldn’t call Devin back from Ambush? He was pretty cute, actually.”

“I swear to God, Wales. Don’t make me fly out there, tie you up, and occupy your mouth with other things.”

“What a terrible threat,” Henry says in the deadpan voice Alex loves so much, and something warm and genuine and euphoric fills up in Alex’s chest.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

The second the plane lands in Austin, Alex feels like he can breathe again.

The past week has been packed with back-to-back shoots and meetings and Alex has barely had a second to think. He only had time to toss a bunch of random clothes in a suitcase and race off to the airport an hour before his flight, still caked in makeup with his hair sprayed stiff. He got a few looks as he went through the security line.

He knew it was leading up to this—to being home in Austin, which he always loves, but not only that—being here with Henry. Showing Henry all his favorite places, where he came of age and where he got discovered. Introducing Henry to his family.

That part makes his heart palpitate, but it’s fine.

Henry got in a few hours ago, so Alex takes a cab over to his hotel. He hasn’t booked his own room since their weekend in Louisville; the idea of wanting to sleep or spend time away from Henry is laughable. Henry talked Alex into going to his Austin reading at BookPeople, the first one Alex will have attended since Seattle. That weekend feels like it took place in a different lifetime. This time, he’ll be prepared, and this time, he’ll get to take Henry back to the hotel after and do whatever the f*ck he wants with him.

Alex leans his forehead against the car window, drinking in the familiar sights. He’s gotten used to L.A., loves the vibe of his apartment and the pace of the city, the only place he’s lived that moves as fast as his brain. But nothing and no one understands who he is at his core like Austin.

And, maybe, Henry.

If landing in Austin feels like breathing fresh air, seeing Henry feels like jumping in a cold lake on a hot, humid, Texas day. It’s relief and comfort and pure pleasure all wrapped up in Henry’s smile, directed straight at him, and Henry’s eyes crinkling at the corners, and Henry’s arms pulling him in and cradling him close. Alex feels the confluence of the two—Austin, the city that made him who he is, and Henry, the man helping him become who he wants to be—like a physical weight lifted off his shoulders.

“Hi, love,” Henry whispers in his ear. Alex just clings to him tighter.

They leave soon after for Henry’s reading. The ride to BookPeople is full of stolen glances, soft smiles, fingers brushing on the seat between them. Alex’s heart flutters whenever Henry’s eyes catch on his. How can someone’s mere presence have this effect on him?

“You promise you’re not going to run out this time?” Henry asks once they’ve arrived. Alex is busy fixing Henry’s hair, straightening his shirt, brushing imaginary lint off his shoulders.

“This time I’ll know what’s going on when I inevitably get a hard-on, so yes, I promise.”

“Wait a second. Is that why you left in Seattle? You got turned on and you didn’t know why?”

Alex fidgets uncomfortably. “Maybe. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Henry almost falls over laughing, gripping Alex’s arms for support. “I thought—good god, I thought you were disgusted by my work!”

“And you hadn’t figured out by now that I obviously was not?” Alex glares at Henry, who’s still giggling helplessly.

“I just hadn’t put it all together...it almost seems like you were a completely different person, back then.”

“I had no idea what was going on. It’s not funny!”

“It’s a little funny that even after all that with Liam, you never considered you might not be entirely straight. Isn’t it?”

“Zero sympathy. I thought you’d be over here ranting about compulsory heterosexuality on my behalf, not laughing at me.”

“Can’t I do both?” Henry pulls Alex in to kiss him on the forehead. Alex grudgingly lets him.

“Aren’t you usually nervous before these things?”

“How can I be nervous with you here to tell amusing stories and keep me calm?” Henry grins; Alex rolls his eyes, but they both know it’s overly exaggerated.

“I should find a seat.”

“Okay.” Henry keeps smiling at him as he disentangles himself, eyes twinkling.

“Break a leg. Or whatever.”

“Thank you,” Henry says, giving Alex’s butt a pat as he walks away.

Alex slips on his sunglasses and tugs up his hood as he emerges from the back room. He’s fully aware of the extent to which he is a living, breathing cliche, but he knows it will be nearly impossible not to get recognized when he’s home, and he doesn’t want to steal the spotlight. Pride swells in his chest for Henry at the turnout; it’s already filling up. He finds a chair near the edge of the room. By the time Henry emerges, it looks just like did before, the sides and back packed with standing room only.

Henry steps up, a beam of light shining so brightly that Alex feels momentarily blinded. He’s beautiful.

The speech is mostly the same as Alex remembers, but it feels like he’s hearing it for the first time now that he knows so many more details from the hours they’ve spent getting to know each other. When Henry mentions Audre Lorde, Alex can feel Henry’s breath curling around his ear as he says in his low voice, “from the beginning, your richness made my heart burn like a Roman candle.” When he talks about coming to terms with his sexuality, he can see the pain in Henry’s eyes as he tells Alex about his first time with one of his brother’s friends from university, when he wasn’t really ready but wasn’t willing to pass up on the opportunity, either.

Henry is so much more than any of these people realize, Alex thinks. He’s so much more than anyone Alex has ever met, so full of knowledge and life and experience and hurt, all wrapped up to make him perfectly, wholly Henry. He can see the facade Henry puts on, now, the way he reveals just enough of himself that people won’t ask too many more questions. The way he’s slowly stripped back that facade and let Alex in, more completely than Alex even realized.

Alex’s heart clenches.

When Henry starts reading his poems, Alex knows to expect the full-body experience that comes with it, so he tries to relax and focus on the words, on the physical sensations they bring. He notes his arousal as an objective fact, not an unknown fear. He feels shivers course down his spine and thinks how exquisite it is that Henry can touch him like this without even being near him. Henry is stunning to see in this environment, flushed and confident and tender all at the same time, stripped raw, down to the barest words of his soul. Alex is awed by the sight of him.

When it’s over, Henry goes to the back for a short break before the signing. Alex follows close after. His brain can only focus on Henry, Henry, Henry, and as soon as the door closes behind them, Alex has him up against it, kissing him with heat, feeling the curve of Henry’s smile against his mouth.

“Did you like it?” Henry says between kisses.

“Like does not accurately express the depth of my feelings about it,” Alex replies, thrusting a thigh between Henry’s legs and pressing into him with everything he has.

“Alex,” Henry sighs, sounding reverent. Alex’s mouth moves to his neck and his hands find the waistband of Henry’s chinos. “Alex,” he says again, this time with some urgency. “We can’t do this now.”

“I know. It’s so bad.” Alex goes on his tiptoes to grind his thigh up against Henry’s groin, smirking at Henry’s moan. “Just let me suck you off quick. Please.”

“Alex, no. We can’t. Oh, god. My break is only five minutes.”

“Is that a challenge?” Alex mashes their mouths together again, delighting in Henry’s fingers coming up to tangle in his hair.

The sound of the door handle has Henry shoving Alex off of him. The force of it only serves to turn Alex on more. He smirks again as Henry wipes his very red lip with his thumb.

“Mr. Fox? I was just coming to see if you needed anything before the signing.” The store manager smiles at both of them as her head pops through the doorway.

“No, thank you, I’m just fine,” Henry says with a tight smile. Alex grins at her.

“Great. We’ll see you out there in a few.”

“See you in a few,” Henry echoes. The door closes again behind her. Alex takes a step forward, and Henry responds by holding out an arm in front of him to keep Alex at a distance.

“So that’s a no?”

“I’m—I’m going to have to go out there like this—god, Alex—”

“Think about me,” Alex argues. “I’ve had to sit there this whole time listening to sex dripping from your lips and now I’m going to have to sit and wait again while you sign books? It’s practically torture.”

“That is an absolutely inappropriate comparison to make. You shall have to wait to ravish me until later.”

“You better hope I’m still in the mood later.”

Henry’s face in response is pure amusem*nt. “I’m sure I can figure out a few ways to get you in the mood. You’re not that difficult.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Can you just tell me if I look all right?” Henry glares at him, but his voice is fond. Alex reaches up and threads his fingers through Henry’s hair, straightening out where it’s sticking off in weird angles, and smooths down the front of his shirt and trousers.

“You look hot, baby. Go sell those books.” Henry’s face softens into a smile. Alex presses a chaste peck to his lips.

Alex laughs to himself watching Henry walk awkwardly to the signing table, no doubt trying to mask his at least partial erection. If he’s not mistaken, there’s sweat glistening on the back of his neck, too.

After, Alex pins Henry to the mattress at the hotel, brushing away Henry’s every attempt to take control with his hands or his lips. He strips Henry slowly, trailing his tongue over every new inch of exposed skin, turning Henry into a writhing, moaning mess before finally taking Henry in his mouth. Alex looks up at Henry’s head thrown back, sees his fists gripping the sheets on either side, watches his back arch smoothly, all punctuated by curses and groans and every possible variation of Alex’s name. It heats Alex up until he’s burning at his core watching and feeling and hearing Henry fall apart underneath him.

Alex reaches down and starts furiously stroking himself, pent up pleasure coursing through him at the very first touch. He moans, muffled around Henry’s co*ck, and Henry looks down in surprise.

“Alex—oh, Christ,” Henry says between gasps, and it’s not much longer before Alex feels Henry approaching his brink. When he throws his head back and comes, the sound of his helpless laugh pushes Alex over the edge, too, still sucking every drop from Henry’s pulsing co*ck. Henry’s eyes meet Alex’s again, his mouth open and panting; Alex rests his head on Henry’s thigh, catching his breath. After a moment, Henry drags him up and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him until Alex is too tired and spent to go on.

“Where did that come from?” Henry murmurs, mouth catching on Alex’s jaw.

“That was for Seattle,” Alex tells him, nosing into his neck. “Everything I wanted to do to you that night and didn’t know why or what or how.”

“You’ve picked up the how part pretty well.”

“Only pretty well?” Alex pulls back and pouts.

“Okay, extremely well,” Henry says, laughing. His hands trail down Alex’s back, palms coming to rest on his hips, fingers stretching over his ass. The feel of it makes Alex shiver. “It was so hot,” he adds in a low voice, “to look down and see you touching yourself. Over me.”

“You might be surprised how much you inspire that in me.”

Henry shakes his head, reaching down further to squeeze Alex’s butt. “How did we get here?”

“I’m pretty sure I kept bugging you until you realized you were head over heels for me.”

“Is that what you think happened?” Henry’s smiling like he knows something Alex doesn’t. Alex narrows his eyes.

“What’s your version of events, Wales?”

Henry shrugs, a dainty flush spreading across his cheeks. “We can go with yours. Less embarrassing for me.”

“What?” Alex’s exhaustion is beat out by his curiosity over what Henry is thinking. “I introduced myself to you in L.A. I texted you first after Seattle. I made you come get in my bed in New York and come to my fashion show.”

“I kissed you,” Henry says quietly after a brief silence. His blue eyes are locked on Alex’s, something serious and genuine in their depths. Alex wants to tease whatever Henry's hidden away there out of him, but he doesn’t want to push him.

“Only after I made you grind against my ass.” Alex grins; Henry laughs and his eyes go soft. He gives Alex’s butt a sharp smack; Alex yelps a little.

“Christ, I was so nervous and turned on. Did you even know what you were doing?”

“I think some part of me knew. Like my body knew how much it wanted you before my brain did. Does that make sense? I just knew I wanted to be up against you all f*cking night.”

“I like the thought that you had some sort of primal attraction to me.”

“Yeah. Animalistic.”

Henry snorts and brushes back the hair on Alex’s forehead, his touch as gentle as a breeze. “So, we have a big day tomorrow.”

“I guess so. Dinner with my mom and Leo.”

“Are you nervous about introducing me to your parents?”

Alex pauses, considering. “I haven’t really thought too much about it. I think it’ll be fine. The only thing is, she’s pretty career-focused. So she might be worried about that.”

“Like mother, like son.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Very.”

“Really?”

“Of course. This is a big deal to me.” Henry continues to stroke Alex’s face, over his temple and down his cheek. Alex’s heart gives a strong, acute thud in his chest.

“It’s a big deal to me, too. I didn’t mean to make it sound like it’s not.”

“I know.”

“It’s my first time bringing someone home.” Henry’s fingers ghost over the side of Alex’s neck, and he shivers.

“I know.”

—

Henry has a couple of events throughout the next day, so Alex gets lunch with some of his old lacrosse buddies and thinks guiltily that he should have told Liam he was coming, especially since Liam will definitely figure it out from Instagram. Then he thinks Liam has had a million opportunities to reach out and talk to him and never has. It’s not a one-way street. A very small, very quiet part of him thinks that maybe he owes Liam an apology, but he pushes that part down.

He meets Henry back at the hotel to get ready. Henry wasn’t kidding about being nervous; he’s downright jittery, knocking over a bunch of bottles on the bathroom counter, and weirdly silent. Alex has never seen him like this before.

“You are going to talk when we get there, right? Because they’re going to expect you to talk,” Alex says in the car on the way over, poking him in the arm.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” is all Henry says before he returns to grim silence.

“Can I do anything to help?”

“What did you tell them about me already?”

Alex experiences a hot flash of guilt. “I said I had met someone and we were going to be in town and I was wondering if we could come over for dinner.”

“Any gender pronouns indicated in this conversation, by chance?”

“Um, no. I thought it would be better as a...surprise.”

Henry goes, impossibly, more pale. “You thought surprising people with a gay couple in the southern United States was a good idea?”

“It’s not people. It’s my mom. She’s a huge Democratic donor. Her support is practically responsible for the progressive revolution taking place here. She’s not going to, like, shoot you on sight, or something. She already knows about June and she still loves her.”

“Maybe you just should have said something first.”

“Maybe I should have, but I didn’t. Henry. Look at me.”

Henry turns slowly, reluctantly, to face Alex in the backseat. Alex places his hand on Henry’s cheek.

“My mom is going to love you. She’s the definition of southern hospitality. The good kind, I mean. And she called me crying when marriage equality became the law of the land. It’s going to be great.”

Henry looks dubious. He takes a deep, slow breath, then nods. “I’m sorry. Have I mentioned I’m really nervous?”

“It’s okay, baby.” Alex drops his hand to Henry’s thigh and rubs slow, soothing circles there the rest of the ride. When they pull up in front of Alex’s house, Henry’s jaw twitches. “Ready?”

Henry shrugs helplessly and follows Alex up the driveway.

“Mom?” Alex calls, letting himself in the side door. “We’re here!”

“Kitchen!” Alex hears faintly in response. He takes Henry’s hand.

“C’mon.”

“Is this the house you grew up in? It’s massive,” Henry whispers.

Alex laughs forcefully, leading Henry down the long hallway. “No. Definitely not. I grew up in a rented apartment and shared a room with June. We moved here my senior year of high school.”

Henry looks like he wants to ask more questions, but they’ve reached the entrance to the kitchen. Alex looks at Henry, trying to ask with his eyes if Henry’s ready. Henry looks back at him and nods.

“Mom?” Alex says as they step into the sprawling kitchen. His mother is standing at the island, pearls and heels in place as she chops away. Her expression falters for only a millisecond when she sees Henry before she plasters on an enormous smile. “This is my boyfriend, Henry Fox.” It gives Alex a little thrill to say it out loud.

“Henry. Sugar. It’s so wonderful to meet you,” she coos, wiping her hands on her apron and scurrying over to give him a hug.

“It’s wonderful to meet you as well, Mrs. Claremont,” Henry says, towering over her. Alex can’t help but smile at his earnestness.

“Please, call me Ellen. Alex, baby, let me look at you.” Alex rolls his eyes as his mother carries out her usual fussing, pinching at his hips. “You look like you need a pound of butter on these bones. Luckily, that’s about how much is in the chicken.”

Alex laughs, pulling her into a hug. “Hi, Mom. Surprised?”

“Only a little. You always did like to copy everything June did.”

“Oh my god, I’m not copying her. It just worked out this way.”

“Sounds like we have a lot to catch up on,” Ellen says, pointing her knife at Alex before returning to chopping. “Dinner’s almost ready. Get yourself something to drink. Leo opened a nice bottle of red already. Do you like red wine, Henry?”

“I love it,” Henry says. He’s smiling, but Alex can see the nervous pinch at the corners of his eyes.

“I think he’s setting the table. Get some wine and why don’t you show Henry around the house while I finish this up?”

“Sounds great,” Alex says, something warm and pleasant taking root in his chest at being here, at his mom’s house, in Texas, with Henry.

“Thank you, Mrs. Claremont,” Henry says, looking slightly embarrassed. Alex takes Henry’s hand and pulls him over to the wet bar.

“Will wine help you calm down a little?” Alex whispers, showing Henry the bottle. His eyes go wide.

“Oh, wow. I do hope so, but I make no promises.”

“Hey, that was kind of a joke! That’s a good sign, right?”

“That’s a really nice bottle of wine. Are you sure we’re allowed to drink it?”

“Here, baby. An extra big glass for you to chug.”

“I would never chug a wine like this. It’s meant to be savored.” Henry’s extra-large sip betrays his words.

Alex gives him a quick tour of the house—as quick as possible for the massive amount of square footage, anyway. Henry insists on inspecting every inch of Alex’s room, which is essentially a time capsule from his senior year of high school.

“You have shelves full of books on politics and political history?” Henry looks at him quizzically. Alex shrugs.

“I was thinking about going into politics. Before I became a model.”

“I’m shocked. How did I not know this about you?”

“Shocked because I’ve become progressively dumber every year since I was sixteen?”

“Alex. You’re not dumb. And what do you mean, was thinking?”

“I’ve taken a different path, obviously.”

“Are you planning to model forever?”

“Just planning to get rich enough to retire by thirty, then spend the rest of my days in leisure.”

Henry smiles knowingly at him. It’s irritating. “You’d never be content spending your days in leisure. You must know that.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“I wouldn’t take a political career off the table for you.”

Alex squints at him. “Are you feeling okay? You’re acting strange.”

“No, seriously. You’re already committed to social change and using your platform to make a difference. It’s one of the things I love most about you. You could do it on an even bigger scale as a politician, and you’ll already have the name recognition. I think you’d be amazing at it.”

Between Henry thinking he’s smart enough to be a politician and using the word love in a sentence like that, Alex’s resulting emotions are a giant, tangled mess. He sees a flush spreading across Henry’s cheeks; he must have realized it, too.

“Thanks, but I’m pretty sure my looks are my best asset. Along with my—” Henry claps a hand over his mouth and rolls his eyes.

“Don’t rule it out just yet, okay? And keep your language appropriate. We’re in your mother’s house.”

“You won’t want to hear the stories about what kinds of things have taken place in this room, then,” Alex says with a smirk. Henry gives him a playful shove.

They return to the dining room, Alex flushed warm and buzzing from Henry’s faith in him. He thought he had made his choice, that no one would ever take him seriously in a political career after this. The fact that Henry—the smartest f*cking person he knows—thinks he might actually have a shot fills him with pride, even if it’s something that will never happen.

“Perfect timing, boys!” Ellen emerges from the kitchen carrying a roast chicken; the rest of the table is filled with enough plates and dishes to feed a family of twenty. Leo tips his wine glass forward.

“Jeez, Mom, make enough food? Leo, this is my boyfriend, Henry.”

“Great to meet you,” Leo says, grinning. Henry reaches out to shake his hand.

“You as well,” Henry says with a shy smile. “I heard you chose the wine? It’s exquisite.”

Leo’s face lights up. “Isn’t it? I’ve been saving this bottle for a special occasion. Nothing more special than our perpetual bachelor actually bringing someone home.”

“Hey,” Alex cuts in indignantly. Everyone looks at him. “I don’t actually have a good comeback for that.”

“Let’s eat,” Ellen says with a wide smile.

Dinner goes well, at least from Alex’s perspective. His mom and Leo ask Henry lots of questions, but more in a friendly way than a grilling him kind of way. Henry’s nerves seem to get better as the conversation goes on and as he drinks more wine. They avoid any awkward questions about how Alex’s apparent hatred for Henry turned into a relationship, but Alex is sure he’ll be getting those later. After they’re all stuffed beyond belief, Leo stands up.

“I’ll go find us a nice port for dessert. Henry, would you care to come see the wine cellar?”

“I’d love to,” Henry says, eyes wide. He leaps up and follows Leo out of the room. Alex watches them go, unable to keep the smile off his face.

“You’re smitten,” Ellen observes, and Alex jumps.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve only seen this look on your face when you’re about to dive into a pile of barbecued ribs.”

Alex wants to protest, but he knows she’s right. He ruffles his hair, self-conscious. “I know. I’m not sure how it happened.”

“Love always does seem to come unexpectedly.” Alex’s nerves ignite at his mother’s words.

“We’re not—I mean, we haven’t—we’ve only been seeing each other for a couple months. This isn’t—”

“I like him,” Ellen interrupts.

“Yeah,” Alex says, after a moment. “Me too.”

“How did you figure it out? I thought you hated him.” Ellen levels him with a keen gaze.

“Things changed when I heard his poetry,” Alex says, thinking. “I just didn’t really understand everything that was going on. It took me a while to catch up.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Are you calling me slow?”

“I’m calling you stubborn. Once you get an idea in your head about something or someone, you dig your heels in. Remember that little girl from the apartment next to us? You hated her. What was her name?”

“How do you not remember Kathleen’s name? We lived next to them for like ten years.”

Ellen waves her hand. “You hated her for years! Always whined about having to play with her or invite her along to something. Right up until she kissed that smart mouth and shut you right up.”

“That kiss came out of nowhere!” Alex protests. “I wasn’t ready!”

“You’re never really ready for your first kiss, sugar.” Ellen smiles fondly at him. Leo and Henry choose that moment to return, arms laden with bottles.

“Did I miss the opportunity to hear about Alex’s first kiss?” Henry says, looking entirely too comfortable all of a sudden in Alex’s mother’s home.

“Aren’t you supposed to be too nervous to talk?” Alex snipes, then glares when Henry, Leo, and Ellen all laugh heartily. “Great. Ganging up on me already.”

“I’ve got embarrassing stories for days, darlin’,” Ellen says, ignoring Alex. He tries to give her an indignant look, but she doesn’t even glance at him. “Let’s move into the living room. Leave the bottles, Leo can bring us our drinks in there.”

“Charmed,” Henry says, placing the wine he’s holding on the dining room table and offering Ellen his arm. She gladly takes it. Alex watches them leave the room with his mouth hanging open.

“You’re going to want to keep an eye on that situation,” Leo notes as he starts clearing plates. Alex glares at him, then angrily follows into the living room.

“I cannot believe,” Henry says when they’re back at the hotel, swaying slightly as he removes his shoes, “you didn’t know Kathleen had a crush on you that whole time. Also, I’m extraordinarily inebriated. Why didn’t you warn me about Leo?”

“What, that somebody exists who loves cabernet more than you?” Alex teases. Henry looks like he would topple over with the slightest push, and Alex thinks he’s being very kind to refrain. “And give me a break. I was thirteen. I figured it out after she kissed me.”

“Seems to be a pattern for you, doesn’t it?” Henry hiccups. Alex seriously reconsiders his decision not to push him over.

“Did you have a good time, Wales?” Alex asks pointedly.

“Yes. Ellen and Leo are lovely people.”

“Were you terrified for absolutely no reason?”

“I don’t think it was no reason, but—”

“But I was right,” Alex says, glowing. “You can say it. I was right.”

“Come here, Alex. I have to tell you something.” Henry sounds intensely serious in the way a drunk person does when they’re about to say something completely ridiculous. Alex goes over and takes Henry’s hands between them when he reaches out. “Closer.” Alex steps up until their chests are brushing. It sends a little electric zip through him. Henry leans in, his lips touching the shell of Alex’s ear. Then he whispers, “I will go to an early grave before I ever admit you were right about something.”

Alex shoves Henry back as he bursts into peals of laughter, and he flings himself down on the bed, cackling. He thought he had seen Henry drunk before, but Henry plastered on expensive red wine is apparently a completely different story. Alex kicks off his shoes and jumps on top of him.

“You’re going to pay for that!”

Henry’s still giggling, looking up at Alex with sparkling eyes and flushed, red cheeks. Alex is suddenly struck by the sight of him—by the beauty of him. Henry quiets as he takes in Alex’s gaze, then tilts his chin up until their lips meet. The kiss is breathtaking in its simplicity; Henry kisses Alex long and slow, like he’s holding onto every second of it. It feels like Henry just wants to kiss him, to savor the softness of his mouth, to memorize the contours of his face with the loving tips of his fingers. It only makes the feelings inside of Alex swell even more.

—

Alex wakes Henry by curling around his back and holding a cup of strong, black tea under his nose. Henry groans before he moves or even opens his eyes.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Am I dead?” Henry manages to turn his head and crack one eye open blearily at Alex. “Is this hell or heaven? I’m confused by the combination of hot, muscley man holding tea and nausea-inducing headache.”

“You’re hungover,” Alex says, trying to be helpful.

“I am death,” Henry mumbles. “I am the lord of death.”

“Even when you’re on the verge of vomiting, you still have an ego,” Alex scorns. “Incredible.” He continues to wave the tea under Henry’s nose until he grudgingly opens both eyes and reaches up to grab it.

“Haven’t we just fallen asleep?” Henry sits up a little, blowing on the hot liquid. “Aren’t you supposed to hate mornings?”

“We fell asleep nine hours ago, and somehow I’m supposed to show you all of Austin in one f*cking day. You should really talk to your publisher about worker’s rights, you know. One day off every two weeks is not legal.”

“I don’t think it exactly applies in this circ*mstance,” Henry says, looking a little more lively after his first sip. “Two sugars? You remembered?”

“What kind of boyfriend do you think I am?” Alex scoffs. “You think I can’t even remember my boyfriend’s tea order? f*ck’s sake.”

Henry’s looking at him all moony-eyed, and Alex’s stomach is starting to feel funny. He strips his boxers off and throws them in Henry’s face.

“I’m getting in the shower,” he announces. Henry’s back to looking nauseated. “Now’s your chance to join me. If you can keep from throwing up, you might even get a handjob out of it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Henry mutters, taking another gulp of tea. Alex shakes his ass on his way to the bathroom.

Forty-five minutes later, they’re dressed and ready to go. Alex notes with pleasure that Henry’s got a little more color in his cheeks from his post-org*smic glow. By ten, they’re lining up around the block with hundreds of other people waiting for Franklin Barbecue.

“This is ridiculous. Positively absurd! How long are we going to be waiting here?”

“It’s all part of the experience,” Alex insists, setting up the camping chairs. “And it’s gonna cure your hangover, so you better be f*cking grateful.”

“Alex Diaz?” The shriek reminds Alex, fondly, of Nora. Instead, it’s a group of girls in varying states of UT dress. The one that screamed is blonde, short, and cute.

“Why, hello ladies,” Alex drawls, turning up his grin to one hundred.

“I can’t believe you’re in town this weekend! Usually I see on your Instagram where you’re heading.”

“Yeah, I kept this trip under wraps to surprise my mom.”

There’s a chorus of awwws. “That is so sweet,” another girl pipes in.

“Y’all must be UT girls. What are you majoring in?”

The longer the conversation goes on, the thinner Henry’s lips get. Alex introduces him as a friend, and the collective fawn over his accent brings back the nauseated expression. After about fifty selfies, Alex excuses himself to go get breakfast from the food truck, and when he returns, the girls have turned back to the front.

“Sorry about that,” Alex murmurs, passing Henry his breakfast tacos and cold brew. “I’m kind of a hometown favorite.”

“Modest, too,” Henry snarks, but he smiles when he says it. Alex leans over under the guise of adjusting Henry’s chair until his mouth brushes Henry’s ear.

“Just keep in mind whose dick I was sucking this morning.” Henry chokes, then tries to cover it with a cough; Alex delights in the small shiver that visibly courses through his body. He sits back in his chair and takes a huge bite of breakfast taco through his smile, sauce dripping down his chin. Henry laughs and reaches over to wipe it off.

It’s close to noon by the time they get to the front and Alex orders. Henry’s eyes are saucers when it all comes out.

“How could we possibly eat this much food?”

“Just try it, baby.” Alex spears a huge piece of brisket and shoves it in Henry’s mouth.

By the time they’re done, Henry’s singing praises about the meat melting in his mouth and Alex is waggling his eyebrows with gusto in response. They don’t quite finish everything, but they do a pretty damn good job, Alex thinks.

“Oh, Alex,” Henry moans as they walk out the door. “I can’t imagine doing anything else today. Please tell me we’re going somewhere to nap on a hot rock in the sun.”

“How’s your hangover?”

“Cured. No need to say I told you so.”

“Do you like how I’m always right? Is that a turn-on for you?”

“Unfortunately, and for reasons completely unknown, yes. It is.”

Alex knocks his hip against Henry’s, and Henry knocks his back. They meander down 11th Street slowly, fingers brushing together as they walk. The urge to take Henry’s hand is almost overwhelming, but Alex refrains. Too many people know him here.

It’s a few short blocks to the Capitol building. They stroll up the shady, tree-lined boulevard, the building looming and palatial under the bright blue sky.

“It’s massive,” Henry breathes, craning his neck to look up at the domed roof.

“Everything’s bigger in Texas,” Alex says with a wink, and Henry shakes his head as he smiles. They sit on a bench outside, basking in their full, sated bellies and the warm air against their skin. Henry peppers Alex with questions about local politics, no doubt adding to his catalogue of fun facts about every state in the U.S.

“You really know everything about this,” Henry marvels after Alex finishes a particularly passionate rant about gerrymandering.

“Surprised that it’s not entirely empty up here?” Alex knocks his knuckles against his temple. He doesn’t miss Henry glancing around briefly before taking his hand and pressing a short, sweet kiss to his palm.

“You always joke about that, but no. I’m not surprised at all.” Henry’s eyes are warm and appraising, and he holds Alex’s hand between his for an extra moment before letting it go. “Just makes me even more sure that you’re going to be an incredible politician one day.”

“That’s cute, but it’s not gonna happen,” Alex tells him. “I’ve made my choice.” The brief flare of excitement he experienced after Henry’s encouragement at his mom’s house died down after he thought about the chances of getting elected as a queer, half-Mexican, retired model. Nobody would take him seriously. He tells Henry as much.

“Why did you bring me here, then?” Henry gestures at the Capitol building.

“It’s just something you have to see when you’re in Austin.”

“Right,” Henry says slowly. “It’s not personally important to you at all, I’m sure.”

“Nope.” Alex leans back against the bench, bringing his hands up behind his head and closing his eyes. He can feel Henry looking at him, but he doesn’t take the bait.

“Well, it’s beautiful here,” Henry murmurs. “You’re beautiful here.” Alex feels Henry shift so their thighs are pressed together. He doesn’t think the heat that spreads through him is entirely from the weather.

Alex blinks his eyes open, looks up at Henry by his side. “I like being here with you.”

He feels like they should be in a hurry, but he can’t quite bring himself to move.

Alex had debated internally about the next stop on the Austin tour, but the decision was cemented after they spent an hour looking at baby pictures at his mom’s house. Lady Bird Lake trail is only slightly busy on a beautiful Wednesday afternoon, and they’ve recovered enough from their massive meal to actually walk at a reasonable pace; however, Henry keeps slowing them down to ask questions about what kinds of fish live in the lake and guess at tree species based on leaf shape. When they get to the field of bluebonnets, Alex doesn’t say a word, and Henry stops with his mouth dropped open. It’s slightly past peak, but still quite a sight to see, purplish-blue blooms among fields of bright green under a cloudless sky.

“My parents used to bring me and June here,” Alex starts, his voice trembling slightly, much to his chagrin, “every year in the spring, to get pictures of us in the bluebonnets. We’d make a whole day of it, walk the trail and pack a picnic and play games. My mom would take a million pictures in a million different poses. You saw some of them. I always complained about it, but it was pretty much as close to the idyllic family of four as we ever got. My mom had to request the day off, like, weeks in advance, but no matter what, she made it happen. Didn’t matter what was going on at the time, we all set our sh*t aside and spent the day together. Even the last couple of years before the divorce, when they were fighting all the f*cking time. It was like this unspoken rule to show up happy for bluebonnet day.”

Alex swallows thickly. He can feel Henry’s eyes trained on him, but he doesn’t think he can bear looking over and seeing pity, so he doesn’t look at all.

“After my dad moved to California, it was like the tradition never existed. We kept waiting for Mom to wake us up with a picnic packed and drag us out, but she never did, and we never asked. She was moving up, then, putting in tons of overtime to make sure she could climb the corporate ladder. Maybe she forgot, or maybe it was just too painful without my dad. So that first year, we didn’t go. But the year after, June took matters into her own hands and brought me out here. We took our own stupid pictures and ate our own picnic and played our own games. After that, it was our tradition, just the two of us. In high school, we’d sneak beer and get day drunk and just talk for hours. That was when June became my best friend on top of my big sister.”

Alex scuffs his foot on the dirt trail. He only looks up when he feels tentative fingers on his lower back.

“I’m glad you had each other,” Henry says quietly. “It was the same for me when my dad died. My mum was suddenly absent, but Bea made sure we still did our usual traditions, came home from uni on the weekends just to spend time with me and make sure I wasn’t turning into a recluse.”

“Were you turning into a recluse?”

“Well, I’ve always been a bit of a recluse. I prefer introvert, though.”

“I bet you do,” Alex says, finally meeting Henry’s eyes. They’re clear blue, full of empathy and understanding, not a trace of pity. “I’m glad you had each other, too.”

“Who knew our annoying elder sisters would end up being so great?”

“I never would have predicted it when June was threatening to shave my hair off while I slept. Hey, get out there.” Alex gestures toward the field, and Henry gives a small, embarrassed grimace.

“Are you going to take my portrait?”

“It’s classic Texas. You need one. I’d be failing as a tour guide otherwise.”

Henry steps tentatively into the field. Alex arranges him in several artistic poses highlighting the bluebonnets, and after a few minutes and some especially absurd instructions Henry is throwing his head back and laughing. The resulting photo is so gorgeous, it makes Alex ache, even with Henry right here in front of him.

He joins Henry in the field and they take endless selfies until Alex is satisfied.

“Small taste of a day in your life, eh?” Henry brushes away the curls falling over Alex’s eyes.

“Strip down for me and you’ll be a lot closer to a day in my life.” Alex leers at him while Henry laughs.

Next, Alex takes Henry to the neighborhood he grew up in on the east side of Austin, shows him Cristo Rey Iglesia Católica where his dad used to take him and June every Sunday for mass and the Whole Foods warehouse on the outskirts of town where his mom started out, semi trucks all lined up to receive deliveries. They walk down Cesar Chavez Street, the tall, shiny buildings making up the downtown city skyline jutting up on the horizon. Alex turns them onto a few side streets and comes to a stop in front of a massive condo building, clearly new construction from the blocky, multicolored design.

“So my mom’s house that we went to last night...like I said, we moved there my senior year of high school, and I moved to L.A. the year after that. I never really thought of it as my house...it’s her house. This is where I grew up.” Alex gestures to the building in front of them. “Except it was just a sh*tty old apartment building. We had a two bedroom on the corner, second floor. June and I shared a room that was basically the size of a closet. It always smelled like cigarette smoke and fresh masa in the hallways. We knew everybody, had a big barbecue with all the neighbors every month. But developers came in and knocked it down not long after we moved out. Everyone that lived there got displaced. They couldn’t afford the new luxury condos going in.”

Henry is watching him again, and this time Alex isn’t afraid to meet his eyes. He juts his chin out defiantly as he looks up at him, rage quietly radiating off of him.

“Austin was always segregated, with people of color forced to settle east of the highway. But our roots were deep here and our communities were so strong. White people suddenly realized how close East Austin is to downtown, the river, all of it. Now they’re building a Whole Foods and a Target and ugly monstrosities like this one, tearing down old houses and putting up new ones that all look the same, fancy restaurants and bars. The neighborhood is changing so quickly, I barely recognize it from five years ago. Rich white people are coming in droves, and people who look like me are getting pushed out. Where do you go when the neighborhood that was designed to keep you separate gets taken over by the same people who forced you there in the first place? It’s f*cked up.”

“That is f*cked up,” Henry echoes softly, looking up at the sparkling new building in front of them. Alex shakes his head, anger and hurt churning inside him at the injustice of it all. They had left on their own; the same couldn’t be said for so many others that Alex had grown up with.

A moment of silence passes between them before Henry cautiously takes Alex’s hand. He turns to face him, and Alex turns too. When Henry speaks again, his voice is quiet but the glimmer in his eye is fierce. “You are so much more than your Instagram followers realize. You’ve got so much history and passion and conviction. I’m so grateful that you let me see it.”

Alex feels heat rise in his cheeks, and he shrugs. “Everyone’s got a story.”

“But not everyone cares as much as you do. You’re really special, Diaz.”

Alex feels the corners of his mouth turn up at the use of his Mexican surname, here where he grew up, surrounded by people who understood him. He reaches up and pulls Henry in by the neck, kissing him softly.

“Thank you for caring, too.”

They walk around the neighborhood a while longer before Henry declares he’s starving. Alex goads him about being hungry after their enormous lunch, then takes him to Mi Madre’s for a giant plate of Tex-Mex. They head back to the hotel downtown to shower and change, then meander over to Sixth Street to hit the bars.

“We’re starting here,” Alex declares when they reach Chupacabra, pulling Henry inside to order a margarita bigger than both of their heads along with two shots of tequila. Henry’s eyes widen, but he shakes his head with a smile, and Alex is pleased that Henry has learned what it’s like to go out with him.

The younger crowd here recognizes Alex much more readily than in East Austin, and they’re interrupted every few minutes by someone wanting to get a picture with him. Henry’s willingness to deal with this increases the drunker he gets, so Alex keeps the giant margarita pushed down the bar toward him and tries to include him in the conversation as much as possible. At one point, a group of presumably gay men recognize Henry from his reading the other night and form a circle around him. The snatches of conversation Alex can hear over the pounding music all appear to be aggressive come-ons, and after a few minutes Alex interrupts and drags Henry to the men’s bathroom.

“That was rude, Alex—”

“They were all trying to get in your f*cking pants, Wales.” Alex pushes Henry up against the bathroom door and glares in his face.

“Jealous?” Henry licks his lips and flicks up an eyebrow. Alex growls and smashes their lips together, Henry’s gasp of surprise disappearing down Alex’s throat.

Alex works his hand down the front of Henry’s pants, completely turned on by the feel of Henry hardening beneath his palm. He jerks Henry off rough and quick, dragging his tongue down Henry’s neck and pulling his shirt open at the collar to suck at the tender skin there. Henry has one hand clutching the back of Alex’s neck and another tangled in Alex’s shirt, and he’s moaning and moaning, barely audible over the thumping bass. Alex belatedly recognizes that making Henry come in his pants would effectively end their night out in Austin, so he unfastens them and drops to his knees, suckling at the head of his co*ck and fisting the shaft hard until Henry comes in his mouth with one hand gripping Alex’s curls. Alex licks him clean, presses kisses down his softening co*ck until Henry’s body convulses, then tucks him carefully back in and zips him up.

“f*ck,” Henry breathes. The word alone out of Henry’s mouth brings a wild grin to Alex’s face.

“Now you know what happens when I get jealous.”

“I might have to arrange for that to happen more often. Christ, Alex.” Henry’s lips are parted, red and swollen, his eyes hooded, forehead damp with sweat. He’s f*cking gorgeous.

“You ready for another drink?” Alex leans in and presses a lingering kiss to Henry’s mouth. Henry licks into him like he wants nothing more than to taste himself on Alex’s tongue.

“All right, then,” Henry says breathily when they break apart. Alex fixes his own hair, mussed from Henry’s fingers, and Henry’s shirt collar, askew from Alex’s mouth, before pulling him back out into the bar.

The rest of the night is a blur of drinks and chatting with strangers and heated looks from Henry that make Alex’s groin tighten. They end up dancing in a basem*nt bar, and it appears that this time, Henry’s drunk enough not to care what he looks like. He presses up against Alex’s back, the crowd around them cover for how close they’re dancing, and Alex grinds his ass back against Henry’s front as hard as he can. At one point, it’s dark enough and he’s drunk enough to lean his head back on Henry’s shoulder and search out Henry’s lips with his. They kiss for a long minute, Alex’s hand wrapped tight around the back of Henry’s neck and Henry’s fingers trailing over Alex’s stomach underneath his shirt. It’s hot and sweaty and dirty and Alex loves every f*cking second of it.

They stumble to the hotel, half-singing, half-yelling even crappier renditions of the crappy top 40 music they had been dancing to. When they’re back, Henry strips Alex with a kind of drunken sincerity, then pushes him down onto the bed and considers him, only slightly off-balance.

“You danced,” Alex says, propping himself up on his elbows and smirking.

“Somehow,” Henry replies, removing his own clothes one by one, “you get me to do a lot of things I wouldn’t do otherwise, Claremont.”

“Oh, yeah?” Alex tilts his head in mock consideration, runs one hand over his chest and thumbs at his nipple. “What else?”

Henry, now naked, crawls onto the bed next to Alex before replying. “Phone sex, for one.”

Alex scoffs and reaches out to run his hand lightly over Henry’s side. “You literally begged for it. I had nothing to do with that.”

Henry shivers. “Going to fashion shows. Wearing leggings.”

Alex pauses at Henry’s hip and rubs slow circles into the soft skin just inside the jut of bone there. “You looked so hot. You should let me pick out your clothes more often.”

Henry reaches for Alex’s co*ck and quickly strokes him to full hardness, never taking his eyes away from Alex’s face. Alex bites his lip, watching Henry back, the way the shadows move across his face, the brightness of his eyes despite the dim light of the single lamp beside them. Henry flicks his wrist a few times quickly, and the increased pressure makes Alex’s mouth drop open, makes his head fall back, makes him groan. Henry’s face lights up at Alex’s responsiveness.

They get each other off slowly, taking their time, eyes burning into each other and hands roaming over wide expanses of skin. Henry brings Alex to the edge again and again in so many different ways, pulling back when he knows Alex is close, leaving him panting and desperate and aching for release; at the same time, he never wants this to end, wants to stay wrapped up with Henry in these quiet moments, nothing more to do than tease moans out of each other’s mouths and send tantalizing zips of pleasure through each other’s bodies for as long as they can. By the time Alex comes, his lips are swollen from kisses and gentle bites, a bruise sucked into the tender skin just below his collarbone, sweat sheening on his chest and arms and forehead, a strangled cry ripped from his throat as he curls in on himself and spills into Henry’s hand. The intensity of it echoes through his limbs, pulses in time with his pounding heartbeat. Alex’s hand is gripped in Henry’s hair so tight it must hurt, but Henry’s not complaining, just ruts up against Alex’s thigh, f*cks into Alex’s fist until he comes, too.

They collapse on their backs, sapped of all strength, bodies searching for oxygen in the form of gasping breaths. Henry’s fingers brush the side of Alex’s thigh and it sends a shockwave of electricity through him, his skin overly sensitive and his body eager to respond. Everything feels good, too good. Alex never knew it could feel like this until Henry.

After a minute, Henry rolls over and seeks out Alex’s lips, and Alex loses himself in it again and again.

—

Alex knew that showing Henry around his hometown would be meaningful, but he’s not prepared for just how deeply connected he feels after telling Henry things about his past that he’s never told anyone. Saying goodbye at the airport is always a little sad, but it’s especially hard this time. Having Henry in Austin has made Alex homesick for a life he never had, imagining the possibilities of stability and a political science degree and a small house in Holly by the river; here, where he’ll always feel most at home, with Henry by his side. Against his will, Alex feels tears prick at the corner of his eyes as Henry’s arms wrap tightly around his waist.

“Thank you,” Henry murmurs in his ear, “for everything.”

Alex just grips him tighter in response, eyes squeezed shut and throat working.

He’s sullen and melancholy on the flight back, an ache wired through his jaw, clenching down his throat, and landing like a rock in his heart. He stares out the window, trying to figure out when this feeling that he knew had started creeping under his skin took root and spread throughout his entire body. He can’t help but think, just like the field of bluebonnets or the corner where his apartment building once stood, that Henry is part of his story now, his history, part of what makes Alex intrinsically, utterly himself. He thinks he should be more scared that after so many years, someone has managed to cut through every layer and pull back every last defense he’s built up around himself, to see him for exactly who he is.

Out of all the emotions he’s experiencing, he’s not scared.

Until he lands, takes his phone off airplane mode, and is slammed with notifications on all his social media—but especially Twitter.

Alex doesn’t bother to open anything, just calls June as he rips through the airport, his heart racing.

“I just landed. What’s going on?” he demands. June sounds out of breath, like she’s been running, too.

“Someone posted a photo of you and Henry in Austin.”

“So what? Everyone already knows we’re friendly.”

“Of you and Henry kissing,” June clarifies. “At a club. And tagged you both in it. It looks like Barcelona, actually. Did you go to Barcelona without me?”

The blur of an evening comes back to Alex in pieces. Blowing Henry in the bathroom...grinding up against him on the dance floor…

“We did kiss on the dance floor at Barcelona,” Alex says, his throat dry. “We were...drunk.”

“Obviously. That place is only tolerable as a last stop.”

“June.”

“Sorry. Have you disclosed your relationship to Zahra yet?”

“No, I...I thought we’d have more time. To figure out how we wanted to go about it.”

“It looks like someone else has decided that for you. You should probably call Henry.”

“He’s in events back to back all f*cking day. f*ck. I don’t even know if he’ll have seen it yet.”

“Alex,” June says, and she sounds like she’s making an effort to appear calmer, now. “This doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Henry’s already out, and you’re in a queer-friendly industry.”

“Yeah, except my f*cking popularity with the 18-30 year old female demographic is kind of what my entire f*cking career is based on.”

“I don’t think it’s as bad as you think it is. Call him. Maybe he’ll have a minute in the car or something.”

Alex exhales slowly. “You’re right.”

“And then call Zahra. She’s probably called you a million times already anyway.”

Alex has somehow made it to the doors of the airport without realizing it. “Okay. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“It will be. Alex.”

“What?”

“Stop biting your lip. You have a ton of work in New York this weekend.”

“That’s what photoshop is for,” Alex grumbles, then sighs. “Thanks, Bug.”

He orders a Lyft and calls Henry. No answer. He texts Zahra that he’s on his way to her office; she responds immediately with a poop emoji. Alex grimaces. Emojis from Zahra are never a good sign.

By the time he’s taking the elevator up to Zahra’s office on the 34th floor of City National Plaza downtown, he’s officially worked himself into a near-panic. His career is over; his covers will definitely be canceled, and he hasn’t checked, but he’s positive he's already lost thousands of followers on Instagram. People will be disgusted at the idea of him with another man. He’s sure of it.

Even if it’s someone as beautiful as Henry.

Alex checks his text messages and call log again, but he hasn’t missed anything from him. He takes a deep breath and knocks twice before letting himself into Zahra’s office. Her chair is facing the window, and she only spins around once Alex coughs.

“Diaz. Sit.”

Alex does, because the only people he’ll take orders from are his mother and Zahra.

She drums her perfectly gelled, square-cut fingernails on the desk and gazes at him unflinchingly. Alex swallows. She takes a long pull from her massive coffee thermos, glaring at him the entire time. Alex clears his throat.

After a continued silence much too long to be comfortable, Zahra finally speaks.

“Were you planning to tell me about your gay love affair at any point, or was I just supposed to find out on Twitter all along?”

“I was going to tell you,” Alex insists, unable to stop words from tumbling out of his mouth once he starts speaking. “Our last meeting, I planned to tell you. I just...chickened out, and I wasn’t ready to come out to the entire world, and I was scared you’d tell me I have to. But I’m ready now, I don’t care. I know it’s out there, and there’s no way I’m going to try to take it back. I want everyone to know I’m with Henry, and that I’m…bisexual.”

Alex hadn’t even known exactly what he was going to say until it came out. The half-baked thoughts had been forming, soft and doughy and malleable, waiting for something to come along and make him sure. He’s surprised to find out, now that the thing has happened, that he already was.

Zahra considers him over her thermos. Alex nervously sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, then remembers June’s parting words and soothes it with his tongue. It feels like forever before she responds.

“Great,” she says flatly. “I don’t see why this has to be a big deal. So you’re bi. So what? Of course you’d end up dating the f*cking reddest of red-hot gay guys everyone’s thirsting after. Everyone loves a power couple. I don’t think we need to do anything big. Pick a cute, wholesome photo of the two of you to post on your Insta and write something vomit-inducing but brief about your relationship. A few girls will cry themselves to sleep for a few nights, but it’s not like you’re completely unavailable to them.”

“I am unavailable,” Alex interrupts, not trusting that he’s hearing what he thinks he’s hearing. “We’re in an exclusive relationship.”

Zahra waves her hand dismissively. “But you’re bi. So there’s still a chance that if you broke up, you’d want them. It’s not reality, Diaz. It’s just the fantasy that powers your career.”

“Oh,” Alex says dumbly. “Okay.”

“Send me the picture and the text for approval before you post it. Don’t be a f*cking dumbass and go rogue here. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, unless you make it one. Got it?”

“Got it.” Alex can hardly believe it’s going to be this easy. “What if…” He trails off, afraid to give voice to his anxieties, to make them real.

“What if what, snickerdoodle? Spit it out.”

“What if everyone’s disgusted and turns against me? Luna said I needed to think seriously about the potential repercussions to my career.”

Zahra sighs. “Look, Luna is a genius, and he went through hell to get where he is today. But it’s a different time now than it was when he was up and coming. Will you piss some people off? Sure. But it’s not the first time you’ve pissed people off on the internet, and it definitely won’t be the last. Alex.” Zahra looks at him with keen, focused eyes. Alex’s heart is in his throat. “Anyone who’s disgusted is just a backwards motherf*cker looking for reasons to hate you. Of which there are many, but this isn’t one of them. It won’t be a problem if I say it won’t.”

“Thanks, Zahra,” Alex says quietly.

“I’ve got your back, idiot. But if anyone asks, I’ll f*cking deny it, so don’t go blabbing.”

“I won’t.” Alex feels a slow smile spread across his face, an incredible light, airy feeling filling up his chest. “I can’t wait to talk to Henry. I thought this was going to go so much worse.”

“Your lovesick smile is completely repulsive. Please get out of my sight.”

Alex doesn’t need to be told twice. He jumps up and makes his way to the door, pausing there. “Zahra, seriously—thank you.”

“Get the f*ck out of here, kid.” Zahra’s harsh words are undermined by her small smile. Alex takes the elevator back down, grinning the entire time.

Alex doesn’t hear from Henry until that evening. Barely three notes of his ringtone sound before he picks up.

“Henry?”

“Alex. I’m so sorry. I haven’t had a second all day and I knew something had happened because people kept f*cking asking me about it but my phone was in my bag locked up somewhere and I asked them to bring it to me because it was a f*cking emergency but it took forever and then the line was so long and everyone wanted to ask me about you and I couldn’t—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what to say, this one guy took pity on me and showed me the post and I just sat there like a f*cking idiot when I should have gone straight to call you and make sure you were all right and I’m so f*cking sorry. We’ll put out a statement that it was a—a f*cking dare, or whatever you need to say to make sure it’s okay, Alex—”

“Henry, it’s okay. It’s—no, f*cking listen, baby, it’s fine. You might lose a few book sales or whatever, I can pay you back for that if you want, but I got the okay to tell everyone. About you. And about us. And about me. Being bisexual or whatever.”

“Is—you’re—Alex, are you coming out to me?” Henry laughs, breathless, disbelieving.

“Yeah,” Alex says, smirking. “I guess I should tell you first. I’m bisexual. Well, technically I told Zahra first, but she doesn’t count.”

“She’ll kill you if she hears you said that,” Henry replies, and Alex can hear the smile in his voice. “Alex, love, are you saying you want to go public? You’re not worried?”

“I am worried. I’m f*cking terrified, to be honest with you. But you’re the best f*cking thing that’s ever happened to me—no, shut up, listen, you are—even better than being discovered on Instagram, and there’s no way in hell I’m lying about this. Zahra doesn’t think it’ll affect my career too much aside from a few broken hearts.”

“That’s unbelievable,” Henry breathes.

“I have a whole post written up for the ’gram. I wasn’t gonna post it until you said it was okay, though. Zahra’s already approved it. And I’m gonna post that picture of us in front of Hogwarts, with your arms around me f*cking prom date-style.”

“Remind me how much of a nerd you are the next time you try to call me a nerd.”

“Shut up. I’ll send you the text after we hang up. Let me know what you think.”

“Alex.”

“Yeah?” Alex waits, but Henry doesn’t say anything else, just exhales, loud and long and slow. Somehow, Alex doesn’t need him to explain. After a moment, he simply says, “I know.”

—

@alex.diaz
Cat’s out of the bae-g. Yes, I’m dating @henryfox, and no, I’m not going to answer your questions about it. Bi Pride MFers

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Alex only has one night at home before he flies out again, heading to New York for some shoots. The quick turnaround and packed schedule somehow keep him busy enough to not overthink things. Henry’s equally unavailable, moving at a frenetic pace as his tour wraps up its final two weeks.

Alex puts on his charming, outgoing exterior, flirting his way through hair and makeup and sucking up to photographers, not mentioning anything about the Instagram post that quickly became his most liked post of all time. His makeup artist the first day, Jeremy, gives him a wink and a nod, and it imbues Alex with the confidence to move forward unapologetically. Several young assistants suddenly seem to want to treat him like their gay best friend, which is a weird change from getting hit on every twelve seconds; Alex isn’t sure what to do with it, but it does make things more comfortable not having to worry about long fingernails seeking out his dick.

The most important photoshoot of the trip is Monday—a Vogue editor wants him to do a test shoot for an upcoming luxury spread. He’s thrumming with impatience to land this contract, and to his glee, everything fires on all cylinders during the shoot. The photographer is literally whooping by the end of it, and the small crowd assembled randomly bursts into applause when it’s over. Alex grins and spreads out his arms, welcoming the attention. He won’t know officially for a couple weeks if he got it, but the look on the editor’s face says it all.

Henry sounds ragged whenever Alex talks to him, exhausted after four long months of even longer days on the road, yearning for some sense of stability. Alex feels a little guilty that he’s riding the high of a great weekend of work and practically vibrating with excitement in anticipation of Henry coming back to L.A. after his tour ends. He tries not to overdo it with his good mood, lets Henry take the space to complain about whatever he needs to that day: eating American restaurant food three meals a day, signing books until his hand cramps up so hard he thinks it’ll fall off, sleeping in another hotel, getting another escort who won’t stop asking questions about his personal life, not seeing Alex or his sister or his dog, feeling completely drained from people sucking the life out of him all the time, and doesn’t anyone realize he’s an introvert, goddamn it?

Alex tries to reassure him that it’ll be over soon and it’s all because he’s successful and brilliant and f*cking sexy as hell. (Henry insists this has nothing to do with anything, but Alex assures him it’s extremely relevant.) There are no arousing lines of poetry being sent these days, no phone sex, only a little brief flirting. Alex knows it’s because Henry’s just that exhausted.

He tries to leave Henry smiling, if nothing else, even if it’s exasperatedly fond, and he almost always succeeds.

Henry’s final event is a luncheon in San Diego, which Alex has to beg his father not to buy tickets to. He only manages to convince Oscar by promising him they’ll have brunch while Henry’s in L.A. so they can meet properly. Henry FaceTimes Alex from the car on the drive up after he’s done. Alex wants to celebrate, but Henry looks so goddamn bone-weary and exhausted that he gives him lots of soothing, calming praise instead, promising that they can take it easy that night and every night after if that’s what Henry wants. Henry just looks at him with hooded eyes, so gratefully and lovingly it makes Alex’s chest constrict.

—

Having Henry back in his apartment after so much time spent in hotels across the country brings Alex a sense of comfort he never would have predicted. It’s odd to think that the last time Henry was here, Alex almost collapsed from nerves just trying to pick out a shirt. Now, Henry’s presence fills an emptiness that Alex hadn’t noticed was there until Henry’s long limbs and soft, sandy hair and beautiful blue eyes walked through his door.

“I like seeing you here,” Alex says, grinning at Henry making himself at home on the couch after dinner—the couch Alex has spent so many hours draped across while he sends Henry texts or snaps or talks to him on the phone. The couch that’s inextricably linked with Henry now through memories of laughter and wanting and sacred stories shared in the dark, even though he hasn’t been there to sit on it since the morning after their first date.

“I like being here,” Henry says, smiling back. “It’s incredible just to eat a simple, home-cooked meal.” He already looks more alert, more secure. His posture is loose, relaxed, like he’s finally allowing himself to exhale after a breath he’s held for several months. Alex walks over and carefully climbs on top of him, straddling his thighs. Henry’s hands go automatically to his hips, thumbs rubbing up and down there.

“We have a week,” Alex says softly, scratching his fingers up through Henry’s hair. “Do you know what you want to do?”

“I want to come to a photoshoot with you,” Henry responds immediately. Alex laughs at the unexpected response.

“You do? Why? You’d just be bored. Photoshoots are mostly just sitting around waiting for something to happen.”

“Because you’ve been to see me and come to my readings and know all about my work, and I want to see you when you’re in your element, too.”

“You came to my show in New York.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Henry says, his hand coming to rest on the hinge of Alex’s jaw and tilting it down, “I couldn’t do this after. Like I wanted to.” Henry’s kiss is rough but loving, stubble scraping and tongue pressing deep and gentle fingertips that make Alex’s hair stand on end. Alex is always struck by how profoundly he wants Henry to encompass him entirely, to be his beginning, middle, and end. He realizes, with a start, that Henry can be.

“I know what I want to do while you’re here,” Alex murmurs when Henry breaks away to leave soft, lapping kisses along his neck.

“What’s that, love?” Henry sucks just behind Alex’s ear, quickly turning him into a quivering mess.

“I want to f*ck you,” Alex manages to say, low and breathy, despite his brain short-circuiting as Henry places a wide, strong palm flat against his chest.

“You do?” Henry pauses his attentions to pull back and search Alex’s eyes. Alex isn’t sure what emotions he’ll find there, but he’s confident it won’t be fear. He’s never been so sure about wanting anything in his life.

“I have wanted to. I just...wanted it to be the right time.”

“What makes now the right time?” Henry’s gaze holds him. Alex thinks for a minute, knowing the answer is important.

“Because this apartment has never really felt like home to me until now, with you in it.”

“Alex,” Henry says softly, and this time Alex is the one who surges forward to kiss him. Henry meets him halfway, all the passion and desire and wanting that Alex feels reciprocated in every movement of Henry’s mouth, his tongue, his hands. Alex takes Henry’s lower lip between his teeth and feels Henry’s resulting moan all the way to his groin. Nervous, excited energy buzzes through his veins. Suddenly, Henry doesn’t seem tired at all.

“Are we gonna do this now?” Alex asks, a coarse whisper. Henry’s breath comes shallowly through parted lips. In lieu of a response, he wraps his strong arms around Alex’s hips and stands up; Alex’s legs quickly hook behind his back. Henry takes a second to boost Alex up, then grins at his shocked face. Alex manages to say, “Should I take that as a yes?”

“Yes,” Henry tells him, pressing a kiss to Alex’s collarbone. “Yes, yes, yes.” He carries Alex over to the bedroom, Alex marveling the entire way at how much of a f*cking turn-on it is to be lifted like a sack of potatoes. Once they get to the bed, Henry literally throws him onto it. Alex looks up at him, aware that his chest is heaving like some nubile young virgin in a bad p*rno. Henry’s gaze is all heat, directed right at him, and it sets Alex ablaze.

“C’mere,” Alex says roughly. He reaches out until Henry’s body finds its way into his arms, pressing him into the mattress the way he loves so much, anticipation rapidly building in the form of trembling hands and tightness in his chest as Henry kisses him. He’s never wanted anything so badly, with such immediacy and urgent need, in his life.

It seems Henry can sense Alex’s intense emotions. He kisses him and kisses him until Alex is breathless, until the tremble of nerves has turned into a quiver of need, until Alex melts underneath him into something boneless and desperate. Alex pulls at Henry’s clothes, searching for skin, and Henry’s moaning at the first tender brush of Alex’s fingers over his ribcage like he’s already getting off from it. Alex understands why when Henry gets Alex’s shirt up and over his head and sits up to lightly run his fingers over Alex’s stomach; every single nerve ending in Alex’s body lights up as though it's directly connected to Henry’s touch. He feels his abs flutter involuntarily and the moan that escapes his mouth is even louder than Henry’s. Every sensation is already heightened, and they’ve barely just begun.

They take turns tearing each other’s clothes off, laughing at Henry’s skinny jeans getting stuck around his ankle and the wet spot already visible on the front of Alex’s boxer briefs. Once they’re naked, lying side by side, Alex can’t help but remember their first time in the same bed, his tentativeness and Henry’s steady confidence, verging on dominance, the way everything just felt right. It feels the same now—he’s nervous as f*ck—but he’s also never been so sure of what he wants, knowing that Henry wants it just as much as he does. This time, Alex can’t keep his hands off Henry, pushing them into his hair and slipping fingers down his spine and squeezing his ass until Henry is bucking up into him. Henry’s mouth is all over Alex’s jaw and neck and ear, slick and sucking, and they’ve made each other feel so good in so many ways already, Alex thinks, that this is just one more way he can show Henry how he feels about him.

Alex takes a deep breath, then brings his mouth to Henry’s ear, fingers gently massaging his lower back.

“I got lube.”

Henry pulls back to grin at him, eyes full of surprise and delight. “What about condoms?”

“I have those, too.”

“Where are they?” Henry says, low and urgent. Alex turns away to grab everything, but then Henry’s fingers find his co*ck and start stroking slowly. Alex grips Henry’s shoulder, mouth falling open in a groan.

“You’re distracting me,” Alex mumbles. Henry thumbs the head and brings his thumb up to his mouth, spreading glistening precome over his lower lip. Alex’s jaw drops. After all this—Henry’s filthy f*cking poetry and the utter sexuality that oozes from him when he wants it to—it still surprises him when Henry acts like a total slu*t in bed. Surprises him and completely f*cking turns him on.

Henry’s tongue slides over his lower lip, collecting every shiny drop. Alex is so hard it hurts.

“Condoms? Lube?” Henry says with a cheeky grin. Alex growls and jumps on top of him, sucking desperately at his mouth, completely gone at the taste of himself on Henry’s lips.

“I am gonna f*ck you,” Alex says, aware of how stupid he might sound and not even remotely caring. Henry looks charmed, which is not exactly the reaction Alex was expecting.

“I want you so much,” he says in response, all earnestness, laying a palm against Alex’s cheek. His eyes are so blue, locked on Alex’s face. Alex’s heart gives a strange, almost painful pang in his chest. Then Henry’s lips spread into a crooked grin, and it sets Alex into motion. He jumps up to grab the condoms and lube out of his drawer and slides back onto the bed.

“How do we do this in your fantasies?”

“How don’t we do it in my fantasies?” Henry leers at him. Alex’s laughter is cut off by Henry pushing him onto his back and straddling his thighs, wrists pinned up next to his head. Henry bends down and mashes their mouths together, messy and hard and fast. Alex rolls his hips up, unable to free himself from Henry’s grip. Henry responds by plucking the condoms and lube out of Alex’s hand, then brings Alex's fingers to his mouth, sucking two in and laving his tongue all over them.

“Gonna get me nice and wet for you?” Alex says, breathless and jagged. Henry hollows his cheeks around Alex’s fingers as he meets Alex’s eyes; Alex’s dick throbs. He grabs for the lube again, popping it open and waiting for Henry to release his other hand. After teasing between Alex’s fingers with his tongue, Henry frees them. Alex immediately reaches back and finds Henry’s hole, rubbing his spit-slick fingers around the outside. He watches Henry’s face as he feels Henry press down against him; Henry’s tongue darts out over his lower lip, his eyelids heavy over dark eyes.

“Are you going to f*ck me or just tease the f*ck out of me?” Henry’s voice rolls through Alex’s chest, filling him with the crackling heat of an impending storm. He quickly coats his fingers in lube. Henry settles forward, his co*ck pressing against Alex’s, and he meets Alex’s mouth while Alex reaches behind him again. Alex is the one who moans when two fingers slip inside, inch by inch, enveloped in Henry’s heat. Henry’s lips spread into a devilish smirk, like he knows exactly what his body feels like to Alex, and Alex can feel himself spiraling with the intensity of his arousal. He f*cks Henry with his fingers, working him open, determined to wipe the smirk off Henry’s face. It takes a minute, but Alex finds Henry’s throat with his mouth and curves his fingers up the way he knows now that Henry likes, and when he feels Henry’s groan he drops back to see Henry’s lips parting and his brows knitting together. Triumphant glee spreads through his chest.

“Oh, my love,” tumbles out of Henry’s mouth, and Alex feels it bone-deep, quivering down his spine. Something pours through him, something huge and meaningful and important. Henry’s hips rock back and forth, meeting Alex down to the third knuckle. They trade moans between them like breaths, each one fueling the other. Alex feels totally in tune with Henry’s body, the way Henry wants him to move and the places Henry wants him to kiss, Henry responding to every touch with heavy gasps and quiet curses and the fierce glimmer in his eyes that tells Alex everything he needs to know.

Once Alex has Henry trembling, desperate, he releases his hand and pushes on Henry’s hips until they’ve rolled over. Henry’s laughing, flushed and beautiful, letting Alex put him just where he wants to.

“What?” Alex says, unable to fully wipe the smirk off his face. “I told you I was gonna f*ck you, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Henry confirms, body loose and face a mix of amusem*nt and contentment. “Get to it, won’t you?”

Alex shoots him a glare before rolling the condom on, then leans down and kisses Henry breathless. When he pulls back, Henry’s not laughing anymore; his expression has morphed into something soft and needy. Alex tries not to let it unnerve him.

“Are you ready?” Alex says. In response, Henry curves back on his spine, legs falling wide open. Then, he nods.

Pushing into Henry for the first time feels like the words of Henry’s poems unfurling all over his body, blooming and creation and raw sensuality seeping into his skin. Sweet metaphor drips off his tongue onto Henry’s lips; vivid imagery sears behind his eyelids with every blink; alliteration alights from the alcove of Henry’s open mouth, drawing in shaky breaths; their bodies discover a new, uncharted rhythm at the crux between them. Alex is in awe at the unadulterated power Henry holds over him, stunning him into reverence as Henry maps a poem onto him, a different word marking every place their skin brushes together.

Henry’s looking up at him, fingers sweeping the hair back from Alex’s temples so gently, his face utterly naked in its intimacy: lips parted and glistening, eyes blinking rapidly, breath catching in his throat. He’s the most beautiful thing Alex has ever seen.

Alex tries to focus, to keep steady, but it’s overwhelming. Henry feels like he was made to have Alex inside him. Henry’s eyes lock onto him, holding him there, drawing him in closer, wordlessly telling Alex he wants more, now. Alex does his best to give it to him, reeling from the sensation of Henry surrounding him completely, of Henry’s fingers running up and down his back, of Henry’s lips finding his jaw, nose nudging along his cheek. It all comes together to send waves of pleasure crashing repeatedly through Alex’s body, filling his heart and soul with something buoyant and effervescent.

“Alex,” Henry groans, throwing his head back, back arching as though trying to draw Alex even deeper. Alex wraps one arm around Henry’s waist, pulling him in, filling his movements with care and intention, trying to make Henry feel as unbelievably good as he does. Henry’s fingers scratch down his sides, his gasps and moans a mellifluous couplet, euphoric and lyrical all at once.

Alex realizes with sudden clarity that he can’t imagine life without this—without Henry. The realization sparks an utter desperation in the thrusting of his hips until Henry’s hands find either side of his face and his mouth finds Alex’s, centering him.

“Alex,” Henry says against his lips. “Wait.”

Alex stops immediately. “Are you okay? Did I—”

“I’m amazing,” Henry interrupts him, fingers trailing over his cheek. “I just wanted to know if you’d let me finish on top.” He grins cheekily. Alex groans and shoves his shoulder.

“Don’t f*cking scare me like that!” Alex manages to say, trying to catch his breath. “Of course you can finish on top. You can have whatever the f*ck you want, baby.”

Henry looks a little bashful but mostly just pleased. Alex pulls back, hovering over him, unsure of how to proceed. Henry quickly takes charge, pushing him off to the side.

“Sit up against the headboard,” Henry instructs. Alex scrambles to comply, heart thudding, anxious to see what Henry has in mind. Henry gets up on his knees across Alex’s thighs, cupping Alex’s cheeks while he kisses him softly. Despite the pause in momentum and the change in tempo, the kiss is filled with every single feeling Alex had been experiencing a minute ago, and he melts into it, following Henry’s lead. He feels rather than sees Henry reach for his co*ck, feels Henry sink down onto him until he’s as deep as he could possibly go, and experiencing it from this angle is an entirely new kind of bliss.

“f*ck,” Alex gasps into Henry’s mouth. Henry’s lips curve into a smile, then press small kisses against his cheek, his forehead, his temple. Henry starts to move his hips, grinding down on top of him, and Alex is left speechless. Henry’s hands find his shoulders, steadying himself as he begins to move up and down. It’s a new kind of ecstasy imbued in the joining of their bodies, jolting through Alex every time Henry ruts down on him. Henry moans and moans in his ear like Alex is giving him everything he needs, and Alex takes hold of Henry’s co*ck and grips it tight, stroking him up and down in time with Henry’s movements. Henry speeds up, sending Alex’s breath into an erratic, desperate pattern. His head falls back against the cushy headboard, eyes squeezing shut as Henry works to wring every drop of pleasure from his tensed body. It’s building fast; Alex tries to thrust up to meet Henry the best he can, hand flying over Henry’s co*ck, and Alex can feel it from the inside out when Henry comes, pulsing between them, his hole contracting around Alex’s dick. Henry pauses momentarily, clenching with Alex deep inside him, cheek to cheek and breathing hot in Alex’s ear. His laugh is the most exquisite refrain Alex has ever heard.

Alex’s co*ck is throbbing, hard and full, and he expects Henry to climb off him, but instead Henry resumes sliding up and down. He can feel the way Henry is tightening intentionally around him, and it’s not long before he chokes out a groan and comes hard, hips jerking up as white-out pleasure courses through him. Henry’s hand finds his chin, tugging him into a deep, open-mouthed kiss, and every physical feeling Alex is experiencing intensifies with the all-consuming emotions threatening to overtake him.

Alex loves every f*cking thing about this—loves what they have and what can they create, with each other and for each other. He loves Henry.

With that thought, the kiss goes from lazy and languid to urgent and intense, and Henry pulls back, laughing a little, fisting his hand in Alex’s hair.

“Christ, Alex. I thought I was the one who got energy from sex.”

“You’re f*cking incredible,” Alex whispers fiercely, unable to stop himself. The laugh on Henry’s face falters, something dawning in his expression. He carefully lifts up, then settles back in across Alex’s lap for another kiss. Alex’s hands roam all over Henry’s body, hot and damp with sweat, seeking and seeking without destination. When Henry moves back this time, he considers Alex seriously. Alex finds he can’t bring himself to meet Henry’s eyes, too anxious of what Henry will see in his.

“Hey,” Henry murmurs, fingertips brushing over his cheek. Alex takes a deep, shaky breath, emotions swirling through his chest, forcing their way up his throat. He busies himself with tying off the condom to take a minute and get control of himself. Henry lets him, then gently cups Alex’s face in his hands, waiting until Alex looks at him again. “You know I’m utterly lost on you, right?”

Alex melts, working hard to keep it from showing on his face, but he feels his shoulders sagging in relief. “I guess.”

“You guess?”

“You know I’m lost on you, too, right?”

“Is everything all right, love?”

Alex fidgets with the hem of the sheet. “Everything is perfect. That was...a lot. In the best way.”

Henry smiles all the way up to his eyes. Alex is captivated by how genuinely happy he looks. He curls a lock of Alex’s hair around his finger. “That was the best f*ck of my life.”

Alex bursts out laughing, tension seeping out of him. Henry laughs with him, pressing their foreheads together.

“Going to write a poem about it?”

“Definitely,” Henry says, kissing him quickly. “A lot sappier than my usual fare, probably.”

“That’s good,” Alex replies, kissing him back. “You have to evolve, or whatever. Can’t just write the same old sh*t all the time.”

Henry’s smile is wry. “You’ve given me lots of new directions to go in. I’m eternally grateful.”

“I’m eternally grateful for you.” Alex doesn’t mean to say it, but his brain is always half a second behind his mouth. Henry clutches him tighter, and Alex responds in kind. He feels vulnerable, shaky and exposed, as though Henry has pulled something fragile and raw from deep within him and placed it between them, laid bare for all to see—but Henry's arms around him are protective, grounding, full of certainty and care. Like he wants Alex to know it's safe there.

He buries his head in the crook of Henry's neck and closes his eyes.

—

After months of meeting up in hotels in strange cities, having Henry in his own apartment in L.A. full-time feels so normal and natural, the thought keeps occurring to Alex that it must be a dream. He tells Henry this after waking up the next morning to Henry’s mussed hair fanning all over his pillow and Henry’s sleepy, barely-open blue eyes focusing in on him.

“A dream?” Henry laughs, then finds Alex’s thigh with his fingers and pinches. “I assure you, this is real.”

Alex yelps and shoves him in the chest, but that only gives Henry leverage to pull him close and tuck Alex’s head under his chin. Alex speaks, muffled, against his chest. “Just, all the ways I pictured my life to go, and the person I might end up with someday...I never imagined this, y’know? But it’s like you fit here, so perfectly. Now that you are here, I don’t even want to think about what it was like before.”

Henry is quiet for a moment, and Alex’s heart stutters. He belatedly realizes this conversation shouldn’t be happening before caffeine, but it’s too late.

“It’s not exactly how I imagined it, either. Mostly due to the fact that you’re a Yank.”

“A what?” Alex jerks back to shoot Henry his most severe glare.

“I never thought I’d fall for an American,” Henry says, laughing. “It’s not the smartest idea...geographically, anyway. I’ll be back in London in a week.”

Henry’s comment brings a hundred questions to the tip of Alex’s tongue that he forces back down his throat. Is Henry worried about the distance? Is he just now realizing what it means to date someone who lives thousands of miles away? Does he regret starting something with Alex in the first place?

Alex hasn’t, he realizes, been worried at all. He just assumed they’d figure it out, and between his own traveling for work, Henry traveling for book publicity, and adding in some times just to visit, he thought they’d probably see each other about as often as they have been—every two or three weeks. Henry clears his throat, eyes trained on Alex.

Alex almost asks. Almost.

Instead he says, “It’s not your fault I’m irresistible,” and pats Henry’s ass indulgently. And Henry smiles that soft smile that he only uses in private, the one that does weird things to Alex’s insides and makes him forget what he was thinking about.

Henry kisses Alex’s forehead and says, “I’ll make coffee, shall I?”, then extracts himself from the bed. Alex watches him pad out of the room, a warm glow settling over him at the mere concept of someone bringing him coffee in bed on a lazy morning, together at home. He steadfastly ignores the niggling feeling of unfinished business prickling under his skin.

Henry requests the first couple of days for relaxing; Alex made sure to clear his schedule. They’re more than content to spend their time eating and drinking and f*cking, not leaving Alex’s apartment for absolutely anything. In between all that, they watch the original Star Wars trilogy, limbs tangled together on the couch and an endless stream of commentary and debate passing between them over important scenes and significant dialogue.

Alex quickly determines that he’s addicted to the soft, needy look Henry gives him every time he hovers on the verge of pushing inside him, the way it transforms into an O of pleasure and fulfillment and utter rapture. He can’t get enough of how Henry clenches hotly around him and moans his name while staring him right in the eyes, as though daring Alex to make him say worse. Alex starts waking up to find Henry next to him in bed already sipping a cup of tea and writing in his leather-bound notebook, an image that fills him to the brim with contentment.

Saturday brings a return to reality in the form of work: Alex has a photoshoot on location at the beach. Henry dutifully accompanies him as promised, and Alex flushes with giddiness at introducing him to everyone as his boyfriend. Henry asks a million questions about the makeup artist’s process as she transforms Alex into even an even hulkier version of himself through strategic contouring; his accent and good looks have the combined effect of making her giggle before every answer. When they’re waiting for the sun’s angle to change a little before getting started, a Calvin Klein representative practically accosts Henry in an attempt to coerce him into doing a test shoot. She leaves shaking her head and muttering about a waste of good genes after Henry’s repeated refusals.

“I told you, you could be a model,” Alex says, surprisingly unbothered by how much of the attention is going to Henry. Henry visibly shudders.

“I’m quite happy with being the boyfriend of the exceedingly fit and well-oiled model, actually,” he says with a sly smile. Alex glances down at his chest and arms, then casually shuffles to his right until he brushes against Henry’s arm. Henry yelps and jerks to the side. “Don’t stain my clothes, please!”

“Your cheap-ass Primark shirt? Yeah, I’ll try really hard to keep away from you. Yes, I know what f*cking Primark is, I’ve been to London like twelve times,” Alex adds in response to Henry’s shocked expression. He’s clearly about to respond with something scathing, but the photographer calls for Alex at that moment, and he jumps up happily. “I would really love to get you into some more Burberry. We’ll finish this conversation later. Watch me work, baby!”

He can hear Henry’s frustrated groan behind him, and he grins to himself.

It’s a swimwear shoot, and it starts out easy, some nice beach shots with the water lapping gently at his feet. Alex feels a tiny thrill of nerves mixed with arousal at the thought of Henry watching him, and he overdoes it with sultry looks at first until the photographer yells at him to lighten up and have some fun. It gets more challenging when he’s told to get down in the waves and tries to maintain his expression while salt water crashes into his eyes. The Pacific ocean is f*cking cold, and they have to stop several times while Alex tries to think warm thoughts and get rid of his goosebumps. However, the longer it takes, the lower the sun gets, along with the air temperature. Alex’s teeth are chattering by the time the photographer calls it. He looks around for an assistant to bring him a f*cking robe, stat, but is surprised by Henry tentatively walking towards him with it instead, along with what Alex can only assume is a cup of hot coffee.

“Mr. Diaz?” Henry says, a shy smile on his lips. “May I?”

Alex lets Henry wrap the robe around his shoulders and tie it snugly around his waist, accepting the coffee. He gratefully wraps one frozen hand around the cup and the other around the back of Henry’s neck, pulling him in for a heated kiss.

“Your makeup,” Henry says, laughing, as he pulls back.

“Like it wasn’t already f*cked.” Alex nuzzles his wet face and hair against Henry’s neck while Henry squeals.

“So cute, get a f*cking room,” an extremely gay set designer says with a wink as he disassembles the light reflectors. “Actually, it was so cool to see you come out. There’s a lot of us behind the scenes in this industry, but almost no one with your kind of visibility. It meant a lot to me and a lot of other people I know.”

A lump forms in Alex’s throat. “Hey, thanks, man.”

“And you sound like such a bro. Who would have guessed?” The designer trots off, carrying a bunch of equipment back to the truck. When Alex turns back to Henry, the look on his face can only be described as pride.

“Don’t say anything,” Alex interjects before Henry can open his mouth and make him more emotional. “How’d you like the shoot?” He tilts his head toward the trailer, and Henry falls into step next to him.

“Incredible,” Henry says, grinning. “It’s a lot less glamorous than I realized, though.”

“Yeah, I’m usually miserable for one reason or another.”

“So sexy, though,” Henry adds in a low voice, “to see everything you can do with that body.”

Alex is suddenly extremely glad he’s wearing a robe.

“I was kind of nervous with you watching,” Alex admits. “So I might have been overdoing it a little.”

“Some of the faces you make are really similar to when we f*ck. Did you know that?”

“I didn’t.” Alex opens the door to the trailer and prays no one is inside.

“Makes me wonder what you think about when you’re out there.”

Alex grabs Henry’s wrist and drags him inside, slamming the door shut behind them. Henry quirks an eyebrow, and Alex responds by shoving him against the wall, fingers threading immediately through his thick hair.

“I think about you, dumbass,” Alex breathes, then crushes their mouths together in a searing kiss. Henry responds immediately, gripping Alex’s hips and grinding up against him. Alex is suddenly feeling a lot warmer.

After only a minute, a loud, sharp knock on the door interrupts them.

“Mr. Diaz, it’s Alessia, I’m here to help you undress!”

“I don’t need help!” Alex calls back, eyes on Henry, dragging his thumbnail down Henry’s neck.

“I’m also here to collect the product!” the voice responds.

“Fine,” Alex says, backing off Henry with an apologetic look. “Come on in.”

Alessia buzzes in, zeroing in on Alex immediately. Henry’s eyebrows are practically in his hair as she immediately tears Alex's robe open and removes the small swimsuit, then starts aggressively drying him off with a fluffy towel.

“I can do it,” Alex insists, taking the towel from her.

“Suit yourself.” Alessia shrugs and starts collecting different pieces of swimwear from the hanging racks around the small space. Alex quickly dries himself off and puts his clothes back on. “They’ll be here soon to tear down the trailer,” she adds as she walks out the door with an armful of swimsuits.

“Thanks,” Alex says, only a little sarcastically, as the door closes behind her. Henry immediately bursts out laughing.

“Christ, Alex, how many people have manhandled your dick throughout your career?”

“There’s no way of knowing,” Alex says with a shrug.

“All of a sudden, I can understand how you’ve hooked up with so many assistants. You’re practically there with all of them already.”

“Don’t forget my boyish good looks.” Alex smirks and finishes towel drying his hair, then holds out his hand. “Ready to go?”

“Ready when you are, love,” Henry says with a smile, taking it.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

“Are you sure this is a good idea? Maybe we should cancel? Catch up another time?” Henry grimaces, fluffing his hair in the mirror.

“Don’t be an ass,” Alex chides. “My dad is driving two hours to meet you, the literal least you can do is f*cking show up.”

“I know,” Henry moans, entirely pathetic. “I just don’t want to mess it up.”

“You did fine with my mom, right?”

“Yeah, but mums are more likely to respond to the British accent.” Henry gives him a salacious grin. Alex punches him in the arm.

“You’re going, and now I’m not even going to try to save you when he starts the grilling.”

“Pleeeeease, Alex!” Henry grabs his arm and pulls him up close. Alex relaxes against Henry’s chest, looking up at him, and bats his eyelashes.

“Sorry, baby.” Alex shrugs. “You’re on your own.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Henry says, then leans in and captures Alex’s lips in a kiss. Alex lets him before pushing him away, smirking.

“I’ll see how I feel after. Come on, we need to go.”

They’re meeting in Hollywood for Sunday brunch at Oscar’s request. He’s already there when they arrive, seated in a cozy booth. Oscar jumps up enthusiastically, pulling Alex into a bone-crushing hug before turning to Henry, who’s standing sheepishly behind him.

“Oscar,” he says with a hand outstretched. Henry takes it, and Oscar yanks him into a hug as well.

“Henry Fox,” Henry manages to say with Oscar thumping his back. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Oh, please don’t call me sir,” Oscar groans, releasing Henry and flopping back into the booth.

“Duly noted,” Henry says with a smile as he and Alex sit as well.

They make small talk about what to order, and Alex notes how relieved Henry looks that Oscar takes the lead on brunch co*cktails. Once they’re settled in with drinks and have food on the way, Oscar leans back, steepling his fingers under his chin.

“So, Henry. Has Alex mentioned to you that he’s never brought anyone to meet the parents before?”

“He has, yes.”

Alex cuts his eyes over to Henry; he has an apprehensive look on his face.

“Why do you think he brought you?”

Henry glances over at Alex, a small smile on his lips. “I believe it’s because he’s serious about me and about our relationship.”

“You believe, or you know?”

“I know,” Henry clarifies. “He’s said as much.” His hand finds Alex’s leg beneath the table and grips it, tight. Alex places his hand on top and rubs soothing circles into the soft spot next to his thumb.

“Are you as serious about him?”

Henry pauses, glancing at Alex again, then meets Oscar’s eyes. “Absolutely. I’ve never been this happy or this comfortable in a relationship before. It took me by surprise, but he’s changed everything for me.”

Oscar considers him. Henry takes advantage of the quiet moment to take a large drink of his co*cktail.

“What has he changed?”

Henry takes a deep breath. “Alex believes in me unconditionally. He has an incredible mind, but an even more incredible heart. He’s helped me to know who I am and what I want. He helps me stay present in the moment instead of getting stuck in my head, which I'm quite prone to doing. We just...understand each other in a way that I’ve never experienced before. I think we make each other stronger. At least, I know he makes me a better man. I can only hope I do the same for him.”

Alex’s face heats up at Henry’s words. He knows on a fundamental level what they mean to each other, can feel it in Henry’s touch and see it in Henry’s eyes, but he’s never heard him say it out loud like that. It steadies something inside Alex that he hadn't even known was shaky.

Oscar is smiling, looking back and forth between the two of them.

“And I have a great ass,” Alex says casually.

Oscar bursts out laughing, slapping the table. Henry laughs too, shifting in the booth next to Alex. Alex grins, glad he could interrupt the intensity a little, but Henry’s words echo in his mind. Henry squeezes his thigh once more, then lets go.

“Alex has told me about your nonprofit. I’d love to hear more about your work.”

Oscar raises his eyebrows and launches into a description of the different branches of his organization. Henry asks a ton of detailed questions, and the conversation turns into a complex discussion of the nuances of U.S. immigration law. Alex leans back, sipping his drink and watching his two favorite men go deep on an important topic, his heart fluttering wildly.

He tunes back in to hear Oscar say, “For a minute there, I thought Alex might actually follow in my footsteps and go to law school before he got into politics, but he’s taken a slightly different path.”

“A path that’s basically paying your salary with my generous financial contributions,” Alex cuts in. Oscar flicks a breakfast potato at him across the table, and Alex glares in response, resisting the urge to fling his entire cup of salsa back.

“I’ve been telling him, I think he still has a serious shot at a political career once he’s done modeling,” Henry says as though Alex hasn’t spoken.

“Yes! He’s f*cking brilliant. It’d be a waste for him to give up on his dream entirely and spend the rest of his days prancing around in underwear. The boy used to make the entire family sit down to recreate Senate debates at age eleven, for Christ’s sake.”

“He’s making a huge difference in the modeling industry right now being open about his identities. I’m really proud of him for everything he’s doing.” Alex’s heart clenches at Henry’s subtle defense of his career.

“He is, you’re right. I’m proud of him too.” Oscar grins. “Even though he defied my wishes. Little sh*t.”

Henry laughs. “He is a little sh*t, but that’s what I like about him.”

Henry’s arm curves around Alex’s shoulders. Alex cuddles into his side, biting the inside of his cheek.

“All right, Diaz. He’s a keeper, I’ll give you that.”

Oscar insists on paying the bill before Alex can swipe it away from him. The three of them head to the door together.

“Mr. Diaz, I’m not sure if you’re heading straight back to San Diego, but while we’re in the neighborhood I was planning to take Alex to see my father’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Would you care to join us?”

“I would love to, Henry. And call me Oscar. None of this Mr. Diaz sh*t.”

“All right. Oscar.” Henry smiles. It hits Alex for the first time what it might mean to Henry to be meeting Alex’s father when he lost his own. He feels the sudden urge to do something, or say something, but he doesn't know what or how. So he just takes Henry’s hand, laces their fingers together, and looks up at him. Henry looks back, eyes bright and clear, with a soft smile.

“Was that okay?” Alex tosses his shirt into the hamper and emerges from the closet to find Henry lying on the bed with his arm covering his face. “Are you okay?”

Henry’s chest expands as he takes in a deep breath. “Yes. That was lovely. Your father is an incredible man.”

“I meant—”

“I know what you meant.” Henry props himself up on his elbows and gazes across the room at Alex with an inscrutable expression on his face. “I don’t know exactly how I’m feeling right now, but I am okay. I just...miss him.”

“I know,” Alex says softly, closing the distance between them and sitting on the bed. He lays his hand on Henry’s, strokes his thumb over Henry’s wrist. “If it means anything, I think my dad might be in love with you.”

Henry laughs, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Alex’s chest twists with anxiety; he can almost always smooth things over with a witty quip or sarcastic joke. He knows on an intellectual level that nothing he says can touch the pain Henry feels at the loss of his father, but it’s another thing to actually see it in Henry’s eyes.

“Henry…”

“Alex,” Henry says firmly. “I’m all right, honestly. There are going to be times when you can’t just cheer me up, and that’s okay. It’s enough for me to know that I have you here, and that you won’t be scared off by seeing me like this. At least, I hope you won’t.”

The tightness in Alex’s chest loosens a little. “f*ck, no. It’s gonna take a lot more than this to scare me off, baby.”

Henry drops back down, stretching his hands up behind his head. “I’m happy to have met your parents. I just wish I could feel the same about introducing you to mine.”

“I want to meet your whole family,” Alex insists.

“Even Philip?” Henry says with a wry smile.

“Especially Philip. I can’t wait to make his white bread, hom*ophobic ass uncomfortable with my mere existence.” Henry laughs, for real this time. Alex grins and decides to go for distraction. “Do you still want to do yoga with me?”

“Did I want to do that? I seem to remember it more as, you begged me to and ultimately only convinced me to say yes by means of a spectacular blowj*b.”

“Hmm, we remember things differently,” Alex says, jumping up and stripping off his chinos so that he’s left in his tight, black, CK boxer briefs. “Does it help to know that I usually do yoga wearing only this?”

Henry’s eyes slide down the length of Alex’s body at an agonizingly slow pace. Arousal flares in Alex’s belly.

“It might.”

“I can do naked if you prefer.”

“Let’s start like this,” Henry says authoritatively, “and I’ll see how I feel later on.”

Alex smirks. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

“Shall I strip down too, then?”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Alex sets up the yoga mats in the small gym area of his loft. When Henry emerges from the bedroom with a shy smile, his adorably skinny, pale legs sticking out of his navy blue boxers, Alex almost says f*ck it and throws him down on the mats for another purpose. But he got the idea to do partner yoga with Henry a long time ago, when Henry insisted on watching his routine over FaceTime one night, and he’s thought about it ever since.

He does pull Henry close for a lingering kiss before they begin, though.

Alex has them start with some seated, back-to-back breathing and stretching poses. Having Henry pressed up against him, moving and breathing in tandem, is more of a turn-on than he anticipated. After a few poses, he gets into his usual meditative zone, calmly directing Henry’s movements and relaxing into the feel of it. Alex and Henry turn around to face each other, and Alex instructs Henry into a center split, stretching his legs out as far as they’ll go. Henry looks pained; Alex keeps his mouth shut.

Alex mirrors Henry’s split and reaches forward to take his hands. They breathe together like that for thirty seconds, staring deeply into each other’s eyes. It feels sensual and intimate and Alex is pleased that Henry doesn’t look away or laugh in discomfort. When he has Henry pull him forward into a stretch, though, his head bows close to Henry’s groin and he thinks he hears a snort of laughter. Alex pointedly ignores it, breathing steadily for thirty seconds before sitting back up. Henry’s got a cheeky smile on his face and it takes all Alex has not to smile back.

“Your turn,” he says, tugging on Henry’s hands. Henry bends forward, making cute little noises at the stretch. Instead of resting and breathing once he’s facedown, though, he nudges his nose forward against Alex’s dick and then mouths over it. Alex jumps. “Henry! You’re supposed to be breathing!”

“I am breathing, aren’t I?” Henry replies, dragging his tongue over the fabric. Against his will, Alex feels himself start to respond, interest stirring with a tug of arousal. He tries to get his dick to behave, but it’s not easy when Henry’s mouth is so close. “Can’t resist when you’re right in front of me like this.”

“You can resist. You’re just choosing not to.”

Henry peeks up at Alex through his eyelashes, then shrugs. “You’re right. I’m just making my turn more interesting.”

“You can sit back up,” Alex says, trying to look stern, but he can feel the corners of his mouth twitching. Henry mouths over his boxer briefs once more before doing so, then looks at Alex with a lazy smile and eyes full of heat. Alex closes his eyes briefly, willing his co*ck to stop hardening, but it doesn’t work.

Determined, he presses on with the partner routine, albeit marginally less comfortable. Henry grows increasingly more devious as they move around more, sliding his hand down the back of Alex’s shorts, leaning in to suck on his neck, or lightly grinding their hips together. By the time they get through most of the poses, Alex is sweating a lot more than normal and his dick is throbbing in anticipation of what Henry has been not-so-subtly hinting at. His concentration is absolutely f*cked, meditative state out the window.

“All right, just a couple more. I need you to get in plow pose.” Henry raises his eyebrows, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. Alex feigns exasperation, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Lie on your back. Good. Breathe in...and out. On your next inhale, roll back on your spine and bring your legs in the air. You can put your hands on your hips to steady yourself. Legs straight out over your head.” Alex helps Henry balance on his upper back and shoulders, legs parallel to the floor with his ass in the air. Alex can’t resist grinning at the sight of it. “Okay, now just keep breathing for a little bit.”

Alex kneels in front of Henry’s backside and gently catches his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers. In one quick movement, he has them up over Henry’s thighs, exposing him completely. Henry's body jerks, but he manages not to fall out of the pose.

“Alex! What are you doing?”

“What you’ve been begging me for this entire time,” Alex responds, running his hands over Henry’s ass before gently but insistently pulling his cheeks apart. “Just stay still and breathe, okay?”

Alex leans forward and exhales hot air onto Henry’s hole before circling it with his tongue. Henry’s body convulses so hard he almost collapses, a choked sound escaping him.

“Stay strong, sweetheart,” Alex murmurs, nudging his nose around Henry’s balls before starting to lick his hole in earnest. Henry moans, his arms starting to tremble slightly. “I’m going to get you nice and loose so I can f*ck you, okay?” Henry moans again, louder.

Even after all their time together, Alex is kind of astonished at the way Henry’s body reacts under his mouth. Alex has no idea what he’s doing, but within a few minutes Henry’s practically caved in on himself, barely able to hold himself up. Alex works him open, legs spread wide and knees bent. He teases Henry’s hole with different swipes of his tongue, light and flicking mixed with flat and firm, prodding forward until he can actually feel Henry opening around him. It’s absolutely incredible to have Henry’s hole clenching on his tongue, to have Henry shaking and cursing and moaning from his touch.

When he pulls back, Henry whines. “Don’t stop, Alex—”

“Come down, I don’t want you to hurt your neck. Come on.” Alex helps Henry bring his legs back down until he’s lying flat on his back on the mat again, pulling his boxers off entirely in the process. Alex thrills at his flushed, gorgeous face, bottom lip red from furious chewing, eyes dilated and dark with want. His co*ck is deep red and so hard, curving up over his stomach. Arousal shoots through Alex at the sight. “Stay there and breathe a moment. I’ll be right back.”

Henry looks like he wants to protest, but the words die before they get past his lips and all that comes out is a breathy sigh. Alex can’t resist stroking fingers over Henry’s temple before he moves, and Henry tilts his chin to capture them with his mouth, sucking them in. Alex marvels at how erotic it is, at how easily Henry exudes sexuality even when he’s not trying. He forces himself to pull away, going to find lube and a condom before returning to Henry’s side. He finds Henry still supine on the mats, lazily stroking his co*ck, bottom lip caught between white teeth. The sight is f*cking incredible.

“f*ck,” Alex says, and Henry’s eyes flit up to him with a smile.

“How do you want me, love?” Henry says in a low voice. Alex’s brain short-circuits and he’s momentarily rendered speechless, eyes trained on the head of Henry’s co*ck, glistening with precome as it disappears and reappears inside his fist.

“I want you in down dog,” Alex finally manages to say. “Remember that one?”

“Yeah,” Henry breathes, back arching briefly and eyes fluttering closed before he lets go of himself and flips over to push his body up into the pose. Alex stands behind him and gently kicks his heels to spread his legs further, then drops his own shorts. He runs his finger down the crevice of Henry’s ass, watches a shiver go through Henry’s body.

“Do you think you can stay like this?” Alex says, coating his fingers in lube.

“Let’s see if you can make me collapse.” Henry’s voice rumbles through him; Alex feels the anticipation buzzing under his skin.

Alex rubs Henry’s hole and slides a finger in with no resistance. Henry presses back into it, making soft, sweet noises that encourage him on. Henry’s already loose from Alex’s tongue and he adds another finger easily, f*cking into Henry slow and deep.

Henry groans. “Will you just f*ck me already?”

Alex laughs, continuing to finger him with intentional thrusts. “I’ll f*ck you when I’m ready to f*ck you.”

“Please, baby,” Henry whispers. Henry’s use of Alex’s own pet name for him stops him in his tracks. Alex’s dick throbs and all of a sudden he can’t imagine drawing it out any longer. He rips open the condom and rolls it on, then guides his co*ck to Henry’s hole. The sight of Henry, ass in the air, spread open and loose for him, threatens to turn Alex into a puddle of desperate want. He rubs Henry’s lower back with his free hand and presses forward. Henry gasps suddenly and his ass tightens around Alex’s co*ck before he’s all the way in. “f*ck, Alex, do that again.”

Alex pulls back slowly and then moves forward again. Henry’s hips buck and he groans in response, and Alex’s eyes widen. He starts f*cking Henry shallowly, hands gripping his hips, aiming for the same spot, and Henry’s entire lower half starts trembling, moans pouring out of his mouth. Alex's arousal ratchets up exponentially seeing Henry respond to him like this, feeling him clench hotly around Alex’s co*ck like he wants to keep him inside forever.

“Alex, f*ck,” Henry moans. “Please touch me, Christ, you feel so good.”

Alex reaches around Henry’s hip and wraps his hand around Henry’s co*ck, and at the same time he thrusts fully into Henry for the first time, seating himself deep inside. Henry practically mewls, thrusting back against him. Alex sets a bruising pace, f*cking him deep and jerking him off with quick, rough strokes. Henry sounds like he’s going to fall apart and Alex’s own thighs are getting shakier and weaker as pleasure wracks his body. He doesn’t know how Henry’s arms could possibly still be holding him up, but miraculously, they are.

Alex feels Henry’s co*ck thicken slightly in his hand right before he comes with an array of groans and curses. Alex pauses his movements and lets Henry’s hips snap, f*cking himself back onto Alex’s co*ck. The feel of him tightening around Alex, the uncontrollable way he's jerking as though his pleasure can't be contained inside his body, sets Alex’s own org*sm into motion. Alex's muscles tighten to their peak and then slowly release as he comes, everything shaking as he falls forward over Henry’s hips.

Henry quickly collapses onto the yoga mat and Alex follows. It’s a sweaty, sticky mess of lube and come, but Alex doesn’t care, just wants to curl his body around Henry’s and hold him so f*cking tight. Henry groans, quiet and breathy, linking his fingers with Alex’s and holding on. He turns his head toward Alex, blue eyes blinking slowly. He looks like he’s about to say something, but then he just turns back and buries his head into the crook of Alex’s arm.

Alex’s heart is fluttering wildly against his ribcage; he tries to calm his own erratic breathing. Pure, thick, powerful feeling crawls up his chest and lodges in his throat. It takes him a minute to get words out.

“Final verdict on yoga?”

“Good exercise, spiritually fulfilling, spectacular org*sm.” Henry ticks off each response with his fingers, still panting. “Yes, I could be convinced to do it again.”

“Seemed like that was a good angle for you.”

Henry snorts. “It was. Any ideas for modifications so my wrists don’t get ruined next time?” He flexes them carefully, stretching them out.

“I’ll think of something.” The easy banter helps bring Alex back down to earth. “Until you’re advanced enough to hold that pose for longer, anyway.”

“Hey!” Henry protests. Alex laughs against his damp skin.

—

Alex runs out to pick up groceries on Henry's last night in L.A., leaving Henry at the apartment to start packing so they won't have to worry about it later and promising he won't be gone long. He arrives back home around five to a completely silent loft, seemingly devoid of all motion and sound. Alex sets the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and calls out, “Henry?”

The lack of response sets his pulse racing.

Alex rushes into the bedroom to find Henry curled up in a ball on the bed, blackout shades drawn, completely obscuring the intense sunlight Alex just came in from. There’s a pile of clothes on the floor next to Henry’s empty suitcase, thrown wide open. Alex is at the side of the bed immediately, kneeling down and reaching out to gently touch Henry’s shoulder. “Baby? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Henry blinks, eyes slowly coming to focus on Alex. Even in the dark, Alex can tell they’re red-rimmed and too glossy. Henry reaches out, touches his fingers to Alex’s cheek, slides his hand around the back of Alex’s neck and pulls him forward. Alex takes the hint and climbs into bed with him, wrapping his arm around Henry’s back to draw him closer. Henry buries his face in Alex’s chest and inhales deeply.

“Please talk to me,” Alex says quietly, anxiety palpable in his wrists, his throat.

“How is it,” Henry starts, voice rough, “that all I’ve wanted for months is to be home, and now, when I’m on the verge of getting it, I feel like I’m being punished?”

“This is about you leaving tomorrow?”

“I had the thought...it might be stupid, I know. But I thought, what if this is the last time we ever see each other? What if I go home and you change your mind about me and that’s it?”

“No, Henry, that’s not even a f*cking possibility, do you understand me?”

“You’re out now,” Henry continues as if Alex hasn’t spoken, “and lots of guys will be hitting on you at all your events and parties and everything, in addition to the millions of girls who already do. And I’ll just be a distant memory. Fond, maybe, but still thousands of miles away, and there will be so many other people right here wanting you.”

“Henry, stop. I honestly can’t even f*cking listen to this, all right? This is your anxiety talking. It’s not real. It doesn’t matter if millions of people are hitting on me or if no one ever hits on me again. The only person I want to be with is you.”

Henry pulls back, puts his hand on Alex’s face, searches his eyes. After a minute, he nods.

“I think it’s just really f*cking with my head not knowing when I'll see you next,” Henry whispers.

Alex threads his fingers through Henry’s hair, presses into his skull, trying to make the touch as soothing as possible. “I know. But we’ll figure it out. Remember, you wanted to go home and meet with Shaan first?”

“I know.” Henry closes his eyes briefly. Alex tries to hide his desperation.

“We’ve made it work for this long already, haven’t we? It might be a little more distance this time, but it’s still us. Nothing’s going to change.”

Henry doesn’t say anything back, just clings to Alex’s body like it's all he can do not to float away.

It’s a while before Henry’s willing to get up. He listlessly tosses clothes at his suitcase, which Alex then moves to fold and tuck carefully in place. Alex starts chattering about the most recent drama on Instagram to try and get Henry’s mind off things. He maintains his dispassionate expression until Alex says something particularly stupid, then lets out a snort. Alex grins, triumphant.

“I’m just saying, if Taylor Swift is really as pro-LGBTQ as she claims to be, she would have liked my post. That’s all.”

“Is it possible she didn’t see it?” The corners of Henry’s mouth turn up in amusem*nt.

“Baby. Please.”

Packing doesn’t take long. Alex entices Henry into the kitchen with the promise of a nice bottle of wine and puts him to work chopping vegetables for dinner. He steadfastly keeps the conversation light and easy; Henry warms up enough that he’s soon approaching Alex at the stove from behind and putting his arms around Alex’s waist, swaying their hips together lightly, his mouth on the shell of Alex’s ear. Alex nuzzles into his touch, flushing with warmth. He never thought of this kind of domestic bliss as being something he’d want, but now he can’t imagine returning to the drunken fumbling and anonymous hookups that previously made up his love life. His heart is too full.

The rest of the evening passes in slow motion, it seems. Alex keeps himself firmly in the moment, not allowing himself to think about the future or what it will be like when Henry goes home. They eat and drink and laugh and cuddle and after they’ve gone through a bottle and a half of wine, Henry ends up pulling Alex to his feet and leading him around the living room in the slowest possible version of a slow dance, clinging to him and turning them in circles. Alex leans into him, breathing in the comforting scent of Henry that’s become so familiar, so reminiscent of safety and contentment and home.

Henry’s hand gently cradles the back of Alex’s head, his touch so tender that it makes Alex ache. The words are on the tip of Alex’s tongue, the ones he’s never said to anyone, the ones that would make sure Henry knows what it all means to him, but he thinks back to Henry’s red-rimmed eyes and swallows them down. He doesn’t know if it would make it better or worse, and he’s too scared to find out.

In the end, he pulls Henry into the bedroom and tries to tell him with his touch, instead. He slowly uncovers every inch of his skin, worships his body with his mouth and hands, turns Henry into a trembling, wanting mess. Henry is flushed and mussed and absolutely gorgeous beneath him, and Alex tells him that between soft kisses to his neck, his chest, his collarbone, tells him he’s beautiful and perfect and takes Alex’s breath away. Henry responds with quiet moans and desperate gasps and when he comes in Alex’s hand, he breathes out a whispered “love,” clutching Alex’s back so hard his nails dig in.

Seeing Henry come apart like this is still so stunning and mind-blowing that Alex almost can’t believe it’s real.

They stay up late tracing each other’s skin with their fingers, like if they don’t map out every inch it will disappear into nothing but a blurred memory, one that loses shape and texture with every mile Henry flies away from Alex. The morning dawns early, too early. Alex drives Henry to the airport, nauseous and pained, trying to hold back tears because he doesn’t want Henry to see him cry—not when he’s trying to stay strong for him. He’s not sure why this feels so different than all the other times they said goodbye, why there’s a finality to it that fills him with fear and uncertainty, both of which he sees mirrored in Henry’s eyes.

He pulls Henry into a fierce hug in front of security and Henry sobs against his shoulder. Alex feels tears drip silently down his cheeks.

“I’ll see you soon, baby,” Alex whispers into his ear. “This isn’t goodbye. Not ever. You’re stuck with me.” Henry just nods in response.

Letting go is one of the hardest things Alex has ever done in his life.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

No matter how much Alex tried to convince Henry—and himself—that Henry going home wouldn’t change things, it does. The eight hour time difference is brutal; by the time Alex wakes up, Henry’s day is already winding down. Alex didn’t realize how much he took for granted having Henry generally available to call just to say something stupid and hear him laugh, didn’t realize how much Henry’s laughter had become an integral part of his day until the first time it’s getting late and Alex’s mind is spinning off in a million directions and he has to try to sleep without Henry there to help him clear his head.

They figure out quickly that between their work schedules and the general need for Alex to look well-rested for photoshoots and appearances, FaceTimes need to be scheduled. Alex isn’t his best self right when he wakes up even in the most ideal of circ*mstances, but that’s usually the best time for them to talk, so he chugs coffee and keeps his hair messy—even though it kills him—because Henry likes to see it like that. He tries to be as upbeat as possible, but Henry always sounds a little down, a little tired.

It works pretty well for the first couple of weeks. But then Alex has a photoshoot with a 5 A.M. call time, and when he gets home that afternoon, Henry is mysteriously absent until Alex wakes up in the middle of night after passing out on the couch after dinner to a text from Henry that he had gotten caught up working and missed Alex's calls. They end up in a weird back and forth of random texts and back and forth voicemails, and it feels like they just can’t connect.

A long, frustrating week of too-busy schedules go by before Alex declares he’s clearing his calendar for Sunday and will stay up all f*cking night if that’s what it takes for them to get on the same goddamn page long enough to actually talk. Henry FaceTimes him around midnight, London time, once he’s home from dinner with his mom, his grandmother, and Bea. Seeing his face on the screen in real time brings a sense of utter physical relief to Alex’s body; he hadn’t even realized how increasingly tense he’d been getting every day that went by without him.

“Hi, love,” Henry says. The sound of his voice curls around Alex’s ear, comforting and familiar.

“Baby,” Alex says warmly. Tension starts to creep back up his neck, though, when he sees the dark circles under Henry’s eyes and the way his smile doesn’t quite reach them. “It’s so f*cking good to see your face.”

“Yours, too,” Henry says, softening a little.

“How was dinner?”

“It was all right. Having Bea there makes it easier. Gran was a nightmare, as always. I did not miss hearing the million criticisms she always has of me while I was gone.”

“When are you gonna let me at her? I could take her.”

Henry snorts. “I’d be concerned if you couldn’t take an eighty-year-old grandmother, honestly.”

“How’s your mom doing?”

“She was in good spirits. Happy to have me home.”

“Good,” Alex says. There’s a moment of quiet as Henry just looks at him until Alex adds, “Hey...are you okay?”

Henry lets out a heavy sigh and doesn’t respond right away. Alex’s pulse quickens.

“I don’t know.”

“What’s going on? Please talk to me.”

“I don’t know, Alex.” Henry’s eyes flit down. There’s a thousand questions on the tip of Alex’s tongue, but he manages to bite them all back, trying to give Henry time to decide what he wants to say and how he wants to say it. “This past week...it’s exactly what I was afraid of. You’re so busy with your career and all your engagements, and I need to focus on promoting my stupid book and writing my next one. My time with you in L.A. was so perfect, it feels like it was a dream, now. It’s already been three weeks since we’ve seen each other and I don’t even know when I’ll see you next. I’ve just been feeling...like utter sh*te.”

“Henry,” Alex says quietly. The nervous fluttering of his heart turns into a dull, heavy ache as Henry’s words sink in. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. We’re both at important places in our careers and we’re an ocean apart. This was bound to happen. I just don’t know what to do if it keeps happening.”

“It won’t. I’ll do whatever I have to to make sure it doesn’t.”

“No, you won’t. I won’t let you turn down opportunities just to sit on the phone with your needy, pathetic boyfriend.”

“You’re not needy and pathetic. I’ve missed you too, so f*cking much. I want this, and I want to do anything I can to make it work. You were the one who told me it wasn't a dream, remember? This is real. Don’t give up on me.”

“I’m not giving up,” Henry says, and Alex is surprised to hear a flash of anger in his voice. He tries to keep his own as calm as possible, tries to hide the panic that's spreading through his limbs, making him jittery.

“Let’s figure out when I can come to London right now. I know you need David to approve of me and I want to meet Bea and your mom and hang out with Pez and see your apartment. You’ve seen so much of who I am and where I come from. Please let me come.”

Henry exhales; Alex can practically feel the weight of it traveling through the speaker, settling on his shoulders. “Of course you can come to London. It’s the thing I want most in the world.”

“Me too, baby.” Alex waits until Henry’s looking at him again, then smiles. “Let’s do it.”

It’s not easy to find a time where there's more than a day or two free; their schedules are atrocious. Alex has to go back and forth to New York several times for his Vogue editorial spread, magazine cover shoots, and accompanying interviews in between promotional work and commitments in L.A. Meanwhile, Shaan has Henry doing stints in Scotland and Ireland to promote his book.

“June 12th,” Alex says, cringing at how far away it sounds. “I’m free that weekend and the entire next week.”

“Alex, that’s almost a month away.”

“Does it work for you?”

“Yes. It appears so. I just wish it was sooner.”

“I know. You were right. This is harder than when you were touring.”

“Is it ever going to get easier?” Henry sounds exhausted. It cuts Alex to the bone to hear him like this, makes him feel desperate and anxious and sick to his stomach.

“It is. I promise. We’ll figure it out.”

There’s no room in Alex’s mind for doubt. He’s determined to believe enough for both of them until Henry believes it himself.

After that, Henry goes back to his usual self, more or less. Alex makes a point to ensure they FaceTime at least every other day, even if it means he has to set his alarm for some absurd hour in the middle of the night to catch Henry awake and available. Henry goes back to sending him lines of poetry to wake up to, and Alex starts every day with the desire to be close to him again gnawing at his soul.

It feels better, though. One night, he manages to make Henry laugh so hard he drops his phone into his bowl of soup. Another night, Henry tells him that he’s been f*cking himself with a dild* while he imagines Alex inside him every night for a week and his eyes go dark with desire as he begs Alex to get him off with his words. A few days of the new normal go by, and it feels good. Another few days ago by, and it’s not as good, but still manageable. After a week and a half, though, Henry starts disappearing again, not responding to some of Alex’s texts and missing all his calls, playing catch up hours later with vague responses and non-answers to Alex’s questions.

Alex sits an airport bar before his flight to New York for the Men’s Health cover shoot riddled with anxiety, a different kind of ache taking root in his chest. He drinks two bloody Marys and reads through his text messages from the last day again and again, turning more maudlin by the second.

Alex
how’s edinborough?
nora convinced june to eat a pot brownie with us
it was fun for like five minutes and then she got paranoid as f*ck
we had to take her phone away so she didn’t call the cops lol

you still at the event, baby?
how did it go?

i’m around for the next three hours if you can talk

please call me?
i miss you

Alex is at his gate for boarding when Henry finally responds.

Henry
I’m so sorry. Got caught up.
Can you talk now?

Alex
i’m boarding the plane to nyc
can i call you when i land?

Henry
what time?

Alex
7 EST

Henry
I really need to try to sleep tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow?

Alex
ok
i miss you :(

Henry
I miss you too.
Have a good flight.

Something’s wrong. Alex knows it, but Henry won’t let him in. He doesn’t know how to make Henry talk, how to tell Henry that he’s hurting, too, how to bring them back to those sweeping feelings of excitement and contentment and fun that marked their relationship before Henry left. He’s tried needling it out of him, tried joking around and keeping things light, tried waiting for Henry to come to him. None of it’s working.

Alex feels like he’s fighting so hard, but he’s getting so tired, fighting alone.

New York is fast and busy and businesslike as always. Alex spends the following day in interviews and photoshoots, and it’s not until he stops back at his hotel to change before dinner that he realizes he hasn’t heard from Henry all day. It’s not entirely unusual, especially with Henry finishing up his overscheduled time in Scotland. But Henry had said he would call, and it’s already almost midnight there. He has to be back at his hotel.

Alex
i only have a minute, but can you talk?
i wanna hear about your day

He should be used to the lack of a response, now, but it still severs him in half.

After a whirlwind evening—a networking dinner full of megawatt charm and drinks that stretch out much later than they need to, because Alex isn't ready to face an empty hotel room and an even emptier call log—he finds himself back in an unfamiliar bed, drunk and lonely, arms wrapped tight around the pillow. He knows he’s not going to get a lick of sleep. His mind is in overdrive, half-baked thoughts and fears and insecurities flitting through at an increasingly rapid pace.

Why is Henry doing this to him?

How could Henry do this to him?

Doesn’t he f*cking care about Alex at all?

Alex fumbles for his phone, unable to resist the drunken temptation.

Alex
i miss you so f*cking much
i think about you all day
every f*cking day
wondering what you’re doing and seeing and experiencing
if you’re thinking about me too
please, please call me when you wake up
i’ll be up

Morning dawns without a word.

Alex forces himself to get to his work appointments, to smile and focus and push through, but he’s running on no sleep and acidic nausea sloshing around in his esophagus, unable to eat. He knows Henry is supposed to be flying home from Scotland today, and all the selfish anxieties he was having about whether or not Henry still cares about him are swiftly turning into a pulsating fear that something terrible has happened. By the time early evening rolls around again, marking the end of the day in the U.K., Alex can't fake it anymore. He cancels the dinner he was supposed to go to and searches through his phone for Pez's number with trembling fingers. To his relief, Pez answers on the second ring.

“Alexander, darling. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Pez. I'm sorry to call so late, I just...have you talked to Henry? He was supposed to get home today, but I haven’t heard from him, and I’m just...worried.” Alex tries to force himself to sound normal. He maybe should have asked Pez how he was doing or something first, but his panic beats out his manners.

“You haven’t heard from him?” Pez’s voice sounds strange. Alex doesn't even know where to begin figuring out what it means.

“No. Not since the day before yesterday. I know he was super busy and everything, but he said he would call me yesterday and he didn’t, and he hasn’t responded to any of my messages, and I’m started to get really f*cking freaked out that something awful happened to him. Do you know anything?”

“Oh, Alex.” A pause. “He’s...all right. I can tell you that. I picked him up from the airport this afternoon and he should be at his flat right now, as far as I know.”

“You picked him up?” Alex’s voice comes out strangled. His heart is throbbing in his throat, pain searing through his chest.

“Yes.”

“And he was...okay? Do you know why he hasn’t called me?”

Another pause. “He’s okay. I wish I had more to tell you, but he is at home and safe. I’ll try to talk to him tomorrow. See if I can get him to contact you and check in.”

Alex swallows hard. His entire body is shaking. “Thanks, Pez,” he says faintly.

“I’m sorry, Alex.”

Alex can’t bring himself to speak, so he just hangs up. He can apologize to Pez later.

An empty, hollow feeling carves itself out inside Alex’s ribcage and spreads through his body until every single part of him is radiating with pain.

Henry might be okay physically, Alex realizes, but he’s not okay. They’re not okay.

With violently shaking hands, he cancels his flight home for the next day and buys a last-minute ticket to London, instead.

—

“Wales.”

Henry physically jumps at the sound of his name and turns around. Alex is sitting on a wooden bench, completely soaked from the steadily pouring rain. His teeth are chattering. Henry rushes over to him, a look of utter disbelief on his face.

“Alex? Are you—what are you—how—?”

“Can we talk about this inside?” Alex manages, his entire body shaking, and Henry hauls him to his feet.

“Of course. How long—"

“Four hours,” Alex says as Henry leads him to the door of his building.

“I was at Pez’s,” Henry says apologetically, fumbling with his keys and unlocking the door. “I had no idea—"

“I know.”

“Honestly, I’m not entirely sure this isn’t a drunken hallucination.”

“Are you drunk?” Alex peers up at him. The door slams shut behind them with the noise and force of ancient wrought iron.

“Just a bit,” Henry admits. “And I’m sorry, but I’m on the fifth floor and there’s no elevator.”

“Of course there’s not,” Alex says. “f*cking Europe.”

Henry grabs Alex’s soaking wet suitcase out of his hand. They climb the stairs as quickly as Alex’s stiff, frozen limbs will allow. When Henry opens the door to his apartment, David meets them there, and Alex’s chest goes funny. It’s just how he always pictured it: open and full of windows, with old hardwood floors that are sure to creak in certain spots; a small nook overlooking the street with a desk tucked inside, books stacked high upon it and loose pieces of paper strewn all over it; a cozy armchair by the window overlooking the courtyard; a small kitchen with old appliances and fixtures; art on the walls that Alex wouldn’t even know how to find; an upright piano in the corner. Everything is neat and orderly but clearly lived in, loved. It’s so Henry, it hurts.

“We need to get you out of these clothes,” Henry says, bustling over to him suddenly, his caretaking instincts obviously kicking in. “Come on, the washroom's through here. Oh, Alex, why didn’t you call?”

“I did,” Alex says, his teeth still chattering uncomfortably. “It went straight to voicemail. I sent a bunch of texts, too.”

“My phone died,” Henry says with dawning realization after pulling it out of his pocket. “I totally forgot. I’ve just had—my mind on other things. You could have at least gone to sit in a cafe or something until you could get a hold of me. We’re having this awful cold snap.”

Alex shrugs, not sure if Henry even sees it, because he's already leading him to the bathroom. Once they're inside it, Henry peels Alex’s soaked sweatshirt up and over his head, followed by his white t-shirt underneath. He wraps his arms around Alex’s waist, then, holding him close for a minute, and Alex lets himself be held; Henry’s warmth feels like it’s filling him from within. It’s only at that moment he notices that Henry hasn’t kissed him, yet.

“You’re freezing,” Henry says, reaching behind him to turn on the water in the shower. He returns his attentions to Alex, rubbing up and down his arms. “Is this helping?’

Alex nods. Henry’s hands find his sides, moving over him quickly, trying to drum up heat like he’s starting a fire with only two sticks. Alex has the sudden image of Henry as a Boy Scout and smiles faintly.

“Here,” Henry says, undoing Alex’s jeans and attempting to drag them down. They’re stuck to his thighs. Alex braces his hand against the wall as Henry actually goes to his knees to peel them off, along with his boxers. He carefully removes each shoe and sock, cupping his hand around Alex’s toes, trying to rub them back to warmth. “Feel the water, is it too hot?”

Alex cautiously sticks a hand under the shower spray and finds a scalding heat that makes his fingers explode with tiny pinpricks. “f*ck,” he says.

“Is it? Here, try this.” Henry comes up behind him and fiddles with the fixtures. Alex watches him. Henry’s face is carefully composed, close to blank, looking everywhere but at him. Alex realizes with sudden and complete certainty that Henry knows exactly why he’s here.

“Henry,” he says.

“Try this,” Henry insists, but Alex just waits. Henry grabs his hand, trying to direct him to the spray, and Alex uses all the strength he can muster to grab it back, holding his fingers tight.

“Henry,” he says again, voice low. He waits. Henry finally looks up, meeting his eyes. Alex can see it then—can see him. He looks shattered, his blue eyes cloudy, giving away what the rest of him won’t.

“Please, Alex,” Henry says, and his voice cracks. Alex feels it splintering all the way through his heart.

He steps into the shower without testing the water again. It burns his body, bringing him back into the moment with tiny needles all over his skin. His feet go numb and he places both hands against the walls to steady himself.

“Are you okay?” Henry asks, as though he doesn’t already know.

Alex doesn’t respond, just lets the water pound down on him, lets the heat break him down and then build him back up again. Henry stands with his back against the wall, eyes closed, until Alex turns off the shower. His limbs feel leaden, but the chill that had seeped into his bones seems to be held at bay. He shakes his head, water droplets flying off his curls.

Henry appears in front of him with a fluffy green towel. He takes Alex’s hands, pulls him out onto the worn bath mat. He starts to carefully dry him, his shoulders, his arms, his stomach, his chest. He throws the towel over Alex’s head and scrunches his hair. Alex leans into him, and Henry supports his weight, dragging the soft towel down over his back, his butt, his thighs.

“Come on,” Henry says. “Let’s get some dry clothes on you.”

He takes Alex by the hand to the bedroom, sitting him down on the bed. Alex finishes drying his legs, then soaks more water up out of his thick hair. Henry pulls a worn, soft-looking pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt that Alex has never seen before out of a drawer and helps him get dressed. He pushes Alex insistently back into the bed, wrapping the warm duvet around him and tucking it into his sides. Alex watches Henry change clothes, too, wet from the rain and from Alex, and then he disappears from the room.

There's the click of a leash and David’s nails against the hardwood floors, the sound of the front door. Alex squeezes his eyes closed. Henry returns a few minutes later, bustling around the apartment before he enters the bedroom with a cup of coffee for Alex and tea for himself, which he sets on the nightstand and then climbs into bed with him. They lie on their sides facing each other for several minutes, breathing and blinking, and neither one says a word until Henry breaks the silence with a hushed, “Alex.”

“You know why I’m here,” Alex says. His mind feels much clearer than it did twenty minutes ago, and he’s immensely grateful for Henry’s intentionality and care, even as his heart aches to be here, in his bed in London, looking at him but not touching.

“Tell me,” Henry whispers.

“You’re pulling away,” Alex says. “You’re f*cking pulling away. I’ve felt it since the last night you were in L.A.”

Henry squeezes his eyes shut and nods almost imperceptibly.

“Why?’

There’s a long pause. Alex watches Henry mentally go through all the possibilities of what he could say and how he could say it. Through it all, he aches and aches, Henry’s face impossibly beautiful in the dim light despite being streaked with pain.

“You hate cold weather,” Henry finally says, and it’s so nonsensical that all Alex can do for a moment is blink.

“What the f*ck are you talking about?”

“I just...I don’t know how it can work.” Henry’s voice is weak. “Your life is in L.A. Mine is here. It might as well be opposite ends of the f*cking earth. It was one thing when I was touring the States and you could come see me wherever, whenever your schedule allowed, even if just for a weekend. It felt like I always had something to look forward to. But now I’m...here...and you’re there...” Henry trails off. His eyes look somewhere beyond Alex, glassy and slightly unfocused. “There’s nothing to look forward to. There’s no time when we’ll be together again. It’s like we’re on parallel paths that won’t ever intersect. I just don’t see how we can make it work.”

“I’m f*cking here now, aren’t I?” Alex says. It bursts out of him, angrier than he had intended. “The paths are only parallel if we let them go off on their own. We have to be the ones who make them intersect. It’s not that f*cking complicated.”

“It is, though,” Henry argues. “If one of us has to give up everything to make that happen.”

“I don’t f*cking care what I have to give up. Henry. Listen to me. I’m in love with you.”

Henry’s eyes go wide at Alex’s confession. His expression looks terrible, as though Alex has punched him in the gut instead of told him he loves him. Alex closes his eyes, unable to bear it.

“That’s not—it’s—that’s beside the point, isn’t it?” Alex’s eyes fly back open to see Henry cringing at his own words.

“That’s beside the point?” Alex distantly wonders how he could have fallen in love with someone who’s so f*cking stupid. “For me, that is the f*cking point. The only point that matters. I’m in love with you. I would do anything to keep you in my life.” Alex swallows. “I’ve never felt like this before. You know I've never had anything even close to this, and I know I never will again. You can’t just come crashing into my life, tell me you’re only looking for a relationship that actually means something, make me fall in love with you, and then f*cking leave the second things get a little more complicated.”

His chill is quickly turning into something white-hot, his shivers becoming uncontrollable shaking. Henry looks crushed.

“Alex,” he says slowly. “You’ve worked so hard to get your career where it is today. You told me how hard you’ve worked, since you were fifteen years old, to get where you are right now. You can’t just...leave it all behind. I would never forgive myself.”

“How do you know that I’d have to leave everything behind? There’s a huge fashion scene in London. And Milan would be so close. I could go international.”

“But your Calvin Klein contract...Zahra, everything else that’s been happening for you lately. It’s all in L.A. And look at you. It’s nearly summer, and you’re practically getting hypothermia just from sitting outside here, and you hate cold weather. And there’s June, and Nora. I could never ask you to leave them.”

“You wouldn’t have to f*cking ask,” Alex bites out. “They’re leaving L.A., anyway. For Nora to go to grad school.” His heart pangs at the thought. “And Boston’s practically closer to London than California.”

“But…” Henry trails off. Alex narrows his eyes.

“What?”

“I’d feel so guilty. Because I don’t think I could leave my life here. After being away, and coming back, seeing my mum again and everything. I couldn’t leave her again.”

“I would never ask you to.”

“But that’s just the thing. You’d never ask me to, and I would know I’d have forced you to.”

“Henry.” Alex can’t stand it anymore. He can’t stand Henry’s earnest doe eyes and his theoretical feelings about decisions he’s making without Alex’s input. He puts his hands to Henry’s cheeks and digs his fingers in. “Listen to me. It’s not. Your. f*cking. Decision. It’s mine. Unless…” Alex is the one trailing off now. The thought occurs to him suddenly, horribly, like a slap in the face. He doesn’t know how it hasn’t occurred to him before. He lets his hands fall back to the bed. “Unless you don’t love me, too.”

Henry doesn’t say anything, and Alex’s heart drops into his stomach. His wrists feel like they’ve had spikes put through them, and his throat is suddenly dry and scratchy.

“Oh god,” Alex says, shrinking back, and it hurts. Everything hurts. “What the f*ck am I doing here?”

“Alex,” Henry says weakly. “Wait. I—I’m not saying—I’m just trying to be reasonable, here.”

“f*ck reason,” Alex says vehemently, shaking with pain and anger. He starts to sit up, throwing back the covers. “And f*ck you. f*ck you for coming to that bar in L.A. and doing this to me and f*cking walking away from the most real thing I’ve ever had in my stupid, useless life.”

“Alex, please, stay in bed. You need to keep warm.” Henry’s pushing him back down, ignoring everything Alex is saying in favor of trying to make him let Henry take care of him. But, Alex realizes, he’s not Henry’s to take care of, now.

“You don’t understand anything about what I need.” Alex doesn’t even try to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Henry stops, suddenly, frozen, his hands holding the duvet and pushing against Alex’s stomach. Alex puts his hands on top of Henry’s, ready to shove them away, but the shape and the texture of Henry is too familiar, too warm, so he pauses, too. Alex takes a deep, shuddering breath; Henry echoes it. They lock eyes, and just like that, Alex can see how frightened Henry is of this, how much power it has over him, how desperately he’s trying to stay in control.

Henry’s eyes flick down again.

“There is that in me,” Alex says quietly. He relaxes his grip on Henry’s hands, touches him gently, fingertips running over his knuckles. “I do not know what it is. But I know it is in me.”

Henry leans in and presses his forehead against Alex’s. His breath is coming quick and shallow, short puffs against Alex’s lips. It takes everything Alex has to stay still.

“You saw me,” Alex says. “Right away. You saw through everything and saw me. I didn’t understand it. I’m still not sure I do. But I know that no one will ever see me like you do.”

“Alex,” Henry murmurs after a moment. He sounds wrecked. Alex lets his fingers slide up Henry’s arms, over his shoulders, until he’s got Henry’s face in his hands. The moment feels so fragile that Alex is scared to breathe. He holds Henry close, his thumbs running over Henry’s cheekbones. Henry inhales like he’s going to speak, but instead, he nudges his nose against Alex’s and presses their lips together so softly it feels like a dream. Alex doesn’t dare move.

Henry’s hands move to his waist and wrap around him, drawing him close. They stay like that a moment, pressed up against each other, kissing but not really. Alex waits.

“Alex,” Henry says again, and then, his voice barely a whisper, “I’m in love with you, too.” And he surges forward and takes Alex’s mouth in a rough, desperate kiss.

Alex had already memorized the tender softness of Henry’s lips, the different ways he uses them to express what he’s feeling, but this is a version of Henry that Alex has never seen, never felt, never known. He kisses Alex like it’s the only thing that will keep him alive through the worst storm of his life. It’s all Alex can do to be a tether for him, to take all that Henry’s giving him and make sure he knows that he’s safe. Henry pushes Alex back down on the bed, and Alex lets him. Henry kisses Alex until his lips are swollen and raw, until Alex feels the ghost of Henry’s touch all over his skin, pressed into his hips, wrapped around him.

Henry pulls back far enough to look into Alex’s eyes. They’re clear, now, crystalline blue, so incredibly beautiful it takes Alex’s breath away. Alex presses his fingers into Henry’s hair, his thumbs rubbing small circles at Henry’s temples. Henry doesn’t speak, just draws in shaky breaths. Alex can see his lower lip trembling.

Alex thinks he understands everything Henry is trying to tell him. He thinks it will be okay—that they'll be okay. He wants to hear it from Henry’s lips, but Henry just looks at him and looks at him and finally says, “We should sleep. I can’t imagine how exhausted you are with everything you went through today.”

“Henry,” Alex says weakly, a protest.

“You’ll still be here in the morning. We can talk more when we’ve gotten some rest.” Alex gazes up at him imploringly. Henry brings his hand to Alex’s cheek and strokes it slowly. “I know, love. I just can’t think anymore right now.”

Hearing Henry call him love—right now, in this moment, after all of this—sends a warm flush trickling down Alex's entire body, from his head to the tips of his toes. Henry reaches to turn off the light, then pulls the blankets back over them, curling his body around Alex’s. Alex buries his head in Henry’s chest as Henry’s arms wrap around him, covering him entirely, making Alex feel as safe as he tried to make Henry feel moments ago.

It doesn’t feel like closure. It feels like the beginning.

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

When Alex wakes up the next morning, Henry is at his side, propped up against the headboard and writing in his little notebook. The sight brings a comforting familiarity that Alex didn’t realize how much he needed until he saw it. Henry notices he’s awake when he shifts slightly, greeting Alex with a soft smile and gentle fingers skimming over his shoulder, now bare after tearing off his sweatshirt in a fit of heat in the middle of the night. Henry’s fingers follow the arc of his neck up and thread through his hair several times, the touch repetitive and soothing.

“Good morning, love. Can I bring you coffee?”

“Would you have to stop doing that?” Alex mumbles. Henry laughs.

“Yes. But only for a minute, and then you’ll have caffeine.”

“Okay. I guess.”

Alex closes his eyes again while Henry pads out of the room. He breathes in the overwhelming scent of Henry, here in his bed, face pressed into his pillow, wrapped up in his clothes and his sheets. The mattress dips moments later as Henry sits down again with a hand on Alex's shoulder. Alex grudgingly pushes himself into a sitting position, taking the mug from him, and tucks himself into Henry’s side.

Henry brushes a stray curl off Alex’s forehead and reaches for his notebook. “I put something together for you this morning. May I read it to you?”

The corner of Alex’s mouth turns up. “You wrote me something?”

“Not exactly. You’ll understand when I start. May I?”

“You have to, now, actually.”

“I see,” Henry says with a laugh. He takes a sip of his tea and clears his throat before finding the page. Then he puts his arm around Alex’s shoulders, kisses his temple, and starts to read.

“May 2016. Bea’s left her Teen Vogue magazine at my flat. This is so idiotic, but I can’t bring myself to throw it away. There’s a boy on the cover, dark skin, dark hair, warm brown eyes that feel like they’re burning into me. I’m utterly mesmerised by him.”

Alex’s mouth drops open, and he looks up at Henry, blinking his shock. Henry’s cheeks are flushed pink, getting pinker, an embarrassed smile on his lips.

“April 2017. I've been dreaming of fingers in my mouth. Laving my tongue over rough, calloused skin. The faint taste of char and a sharply inhaled breath I feel more than hear. When I look up, it’s him.

September 2018. It’s truly humiliating how long this magazine has sat on my desk, and now it’s come with me through a move — a move into a new flat with a boyfriend, no less. I wonder where this boy is, what he’s doing, how his days look. If he knows that he’s a flicker of hope for someone when things are hard.

January 2020. The boy on the magazine introduced himself to me tonight. His voice is slow-flowing molasses, covering my body with its sweet thickness. His eyes glow with life, smoldering embers of mahogany. Panic seized every part of me, organs turned to useless, trembling wreckage. I’m still smoking from the destruction. I dare not hope for a second chance.

April 2020. A field of bluebonnets. Colours so vibrant they ooze from the earth. Immeasurable beauty that pales in comparison to the man beside me—the man whose breath has imbued new life into me, catching the remote, ruinous spark inside, feeding it oxygen and smiling as it spreads, coaxing the flames with his hands on my skin. How am I to tell him this blaze has already devoured me? I cannot stop it now.”

Henry quiets beside him; Alex can feel slight tremors coursing through his body. He tries to make sense of what Henry has just revealed to him, but his brain feels like it’s trapped in a dense, slow fog. A long silence stretches between them. Then Henry says, “Do you believe in fate?”

“You knew who I was?” Alex says, finally, his voice hoarse and rough with emotion. "You—the sharply inhaled breath—that was about me?"

“When you came up to me at that bar in L.A.,” Henry says, “your face was as familiar to me as an old friend’s. I couldn’t parse it in the moment. I was too flustered to even talk to you. I had to send you away just to prevent myself from falling to pieces entirely. But when I saw you again, at the reading, I felt it couldn’t be a coincidence. How could it be? I had been drawn to you for years before I even knew you...when you came back to see me, I thought maybe you were drawn to me, as well. Hence my note.”

“I was. I didn’t f*cking understand it and I still don’t. Why didn’t you ever tell me this?”

“I’m telling you now,” Henry says, still blushing up to the tips of his ears. “It’s mortifying, actually.”

“What, that you had a huge, embarrassing crush on me for years before we even met? I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but there’s, like, a million teenage girls who have experienced exactly the same thing. I’m extremely attractive, after all.”

“You’re infuriating,” Henry replies, but he’s grinning. Alex moves to straddle his hips, hands flat on Henry's chest.

“Are you trying to tell me you still want to be with me?” Alex’s heart crashes like thunder in his chest, not daring to believe it until he hears it from Henry’s mouth.

“I’m trying to tell you that I’ve been a complete idiot, the fact that you’re with me is a f*cking miracle, giving you up would be the biggest mistake of my life, and I’m so sorry for what I’ve put you through these last few weeks. I was...scared." Henry takes a deep breath. "It's no excuse, but it's the truth. I was so sure something would go wrong that it became a self-fulfilling prophecy. But it appears that no matter how much I try to muck things up, you're always here just in time to put my head on straight. I don't know what I did to deserve it—"

“You deserve f*cking everything, Henry,” Alex interrupts fiercely. "Everything." Henry’s smile makes his heart clench.

“What I can do,” Henry says, “is promise I’ll try to do better. I’ll talk to you and listen to you and love you, and...let you love me. If you still do, after all this.”

“I love you so f*cking much,” Alex says, trying to keep his voice under control—trying not to yell, even though he wants to scream it until the windows shatter, until the streets of London are filled with its resounding echo. He falls into Henry, crushing their mouths together, pouring everything he has and everything he is into the kiss. Henry laughs into it, his arms wrapping around Alex’s waist and pulling him flush against Henry’s front. Alex’s body receives the contact like it’s the first time Henry has ever touched him, his skin erupting into gooseflesh as though trying to maximize every square inch of where Henry can reach. A million different emotions rage furiously through Alex’s entire body, but above all, he’s struck with overwhelming, unbelievable gratitude, knowing how close he was to losing this.

“I love you too,” Henry says against his lips, pressing their foreheads together. The words send a hot spark through Alex’s chest.

“I’m going to talk to Zahra about getting a European agent and getting work over here.” Alex’s arms slide around Henry’s neck. He hugs him close, fighting the chill of anxiety about uprooting his entire life with the warmth and comfort of Henry’s body. “It might be a lot of back and forth at first to finish up my commitments, but my look is going to be so unique, I'll be blowing up here in no time. Europe’s gonna fall in love with me.”

“It’s impossible not to,” Henry says in his ear, and Alex smiles dumbly, because Henry can’t see him. “Alex. Are you absolutely sure about this?” He pulls back, searching Alex’s eyes.

Alex has spent his life speaking without thinking, making quick decisions and figuring out the consequences later. He’s never had time to think, considered it a luxury afforded to people who didn’t have to scrape by working every second of their lives to get where they are. It’s gotten him this far—a million Instagram followers, a penthouse in L.A., a designer contract with Calvin Klein. A best friend in Texas who doesn’t speak to him anymore, a father who thinks he should be doing more, a trail of women whose bodies he remembers better than their names.

Henry is the first person who’s made Alex slow down enough to think. To clear his mind enough to understand what he feels. To fully experience a moment with all five senses.

Henry is the choice Alex wants to make over and over again.

“I’ve never,” Alex says, “been more sure about anything in my life.”

Henry’s smile is brilliant as he kisses him.

Chapter 16: Epilogue

Chapter Text

Alex wakes Henry with light kisses on the insides of his thighs.

“Good morning to you, too,” Henry says, sleepily but with a little cheek. Alex laughs, then sucks gently on the tender skin until Henry lets out a small whimper.

“I wanna f*ck you,” Alex murmurs, running his thumbs down the crevice where Henry’s groin meets his legs. Henry’s co*ck is slowly hardening; Alex presses a kiss to the tip, then to his stomach, then his hip bone, teasing gently.

“What time is it?” Henry’s breathing already sounds a little unsteady, and it makes arousal pool in Alex’s belly.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You know I’d never make us late.” Alex pauses his kissing to smirk up at Henry. Henry narrows his eyes in response.

“You make us late to everything. All the time. Even when I tell you we need to leave an hour before we actually need to leave, somehow you still—”

Alex manages to shut Henry up by wrapping his lips around Henry’s co*ck and sucking him to full hardness. Henry’s breathing goes from unsteady to ragged.

“I’d never make us late for this,” Alex amends when he pulls off, satisfied with his work. A low whine escapes Henry’s mouth.

“You promise?”

Alex doesn’t dignify the question with a response. Instead, he slings Henry’s leg over his shoulder, spreading his thighs further apart, and peppers kisses along Henry’s ass—what he can reach of it, at least. He presses his thumb into Henry’s perineum, hard, and rubs, grinning at Henry’s moan.

“You sound like a slu*t, baby.”

“You already know I’m a slu*t for that.” Henry’s leg curls around Alex’s back, tightening his grip. “Seriously, how much time do we have?”

“Enough time for me to f*ck you.” Alex closes his mouth around Henry’s balls, sucking lightly, and Henry’s hand finds his hair.

“I mean, I figured we had at least sixty seconds.” Alex shoots up into a sitting position, indignant, Henry’s leg sliding off his shoulder. Henry’s smirk is evil.

“What the f*ck are you implying, Wales?”

“It’s just that sometimes, by the time we get to the f*cking part—” Alex interrupts Henry with a hand over his mouth, crawling on top of him and pinning him down.

“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence.” Henry responds by aggressively licking Alex’s hand. Alex yelps and pulls it away.

“It’s okay, love. I’m always happy when you come before me. Means I did my job.”

“I swear to god—” Henry cuts Alex off by pressing their mouths together, and Alex harrumphs into the kiss. Henry distracts him, though, his tongue pressing into Alex’s mouth and his arms curving around Alex’s naked back. Alex moans when Henry’s hands move to his ass and start kneading there, long fingers slipping between Alex’s thighs.

“Maybe I should be the one to f*ck you today.” Henry massages Alex’s balls briefly from behind before sliding up the dip of Alex’s ass. Alex erupts into shivers, pressing back into his hands. “Would you like that?”

“f*ck,” Alex says, coherent thought out the window. It’s a rare occasion when Henry’s in the mood to take over this way, and every time it’s left Alex a trembling, gasping, pathetic mess. “Is—I mean—do you want to?”

Henry laughs and sucks a series of kisses down Alex’s neck. “How much time do we have, Alex?”

“We have an hour until we should start getting ready,” Alex groans. Henry’s tongue skims over his collarbone.

“Plenty of time,” Henry murmurs against his skin, then pulls back, eyes smoldering. “Get the lube.”

Alex doesn’t need to be told twice. He scrambles for the bedside table and presses the bottle into Henry’s hand, his body thrumming with anticipation. Henry moves his hand to the back of Alex’s head and pulls him down for a hot, messy kiss before breaking off to flip them over. Alex goes willingly, suddenly aching with how hard he is.

Henry keeps his eyes on Alex while he coats his fingers in lube. Alex can’t decide what to do with his hands, feels them itching to simultaneously fist in Henry’s silky hair and finger the soft bumps of Henry’s nipples and slide over the smooth skin of Henry’s sides. He settles for gripping Henry’s co*ck and giving a few slow pulls. Henry’s mouth drops open. He pauses, closing his eyes briefly and letting Alex make him feel good. Alex reaches up to suck a languid kiss just under his collarbone.

After a moment, Henry says breathily, “Stop distracting me,” brushes Alex’s hand away, and scoots between Alex’s legs. He gets one hand under Alex’s thigh and nudges him to roll back, exposing his ass. Henry grabs a pillow and shoves it under his lower back before rubbing his slick fingers against Alex’s hole, causing an involuntary whimper of desperate want to come out of Alex’s mouth as he flutters unders Henry’s touch.

“God, every time we do this, your arse is so f*cking rapacious,” Henry says, eyes bright.

“Quit stalling with your f*cking vocabulary lesson,” Alex groans. Henry smiles and starts to push inside. Alex takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, willing himself to relax. He feels Henry’s finger move easily, sliding in and out a few times to open him up before Henry begins to try out different angles. After a few more thrusts, Alex feels the acute sparks that mean Henry has found his prostate, and his hole clenches involuntarily around Henry’s finger as he moans.

“There?” Henry asks. Alex’s eyes fly open to find Henry watching him intently; the intensity of his eye contact makes Alex moan again.

“Yeah,” he rasps, trying to thrust back onto Henry’s finger, but Henry pulls out for a moment, tucking his hand behind Alex’s knee and pushing back for better leverage before adding another. Henry f*cks into Alex hard and fast, concentrating on hitting that same spot over and over. Alex throws his arm over his face as he groans in a stuttered rhythm that echoes Henry’s thrusts.

“Come on, I want to see you,” Henry breathes. Alex reluctantly uncovers his face, sinking his teeth into his lower lip. Waves of pleasure roll through his body, thunderous and all-consuming, little aftershocks rumbling through his limbs between each one. Alex forces himself to keep his eyes open, knowing Henry likes him that way, and tangles his fingers in the sheets next to him. He can’t tell how much time has passed before Henry's hand pauses inside of him. His legs fall open wide around Henry’s body as Henry moves up to kiss him deeply and thoroughly.

“Don’t stop,” Alex begs into his mouth, the sensation of pleasurable fullness almost unbearable with how much he wants more. His co*ck feels heavy and full, left untouched between them. Henry’s lips curve into a smile against his cheek.

“Are you ready for me?”

“Do you really have to ask?” Alex wriggles his hips, trying to get Henry to f*cking move. Henry laughs.

“Yes, I do. Are you?”

“Yes, please, baby, f*ck, come on. I want your dick.”

“I like it when you beg so nicely,” Henry says, his voice low, causing desire to tingle down Alex’s spine and unfurl deep inside him. He lets out a frustrated groan. Luckily, Henry seems to take pity on him and f*cks into him a few more times with his fingers before withdrawing. Alex hears the cap of the lube open again and his entire body starts trembling with desire and anticipation. Henry leans down to kiss him, slower this time, sweeter, like he wants to savor the moment before making Alex completely fall apart. Then he pulls back, lips parted, and just gazes at Alex.

“I love you,” Alex breathes, the words compelled out of him by the tender look in Henry’s eyes.

“I love you,” Henry murmurs back. Alex takes a deep breath in, another kind of heat coming over him at Henry’s words. Then he feels Henry’s co*ck press up against his hole and his mind goes blissfully blank, the only concept he can grasp just how f*cking good it feels to have Henry everywhere.

As Henry slides into him, Alex wraps his legs tight around Henry’s waist, linking his ankles and forcing him in deep. Henry kisses him again, the kind of kiss that’s just a mess of tongues and lips and shared breath between them. Henry’s hand cups Alex’s jaw so softly; Alex nuzzles into his touch. Henry might have a lot of fans who think they know what he’s like in bed from his writing, but Alex is the only one who gets to experience him like this, achingly gentle and raw, emotions all over his face, pouring out through his touch. Alex tightens his grip around Henry, thighs clenching against his ribs.

Henry starts to thrust, and Alex shudders deeply. Henry holds him through it, taking care of every single movement to make sure Alex’s body lights up with pleasure. Alex’s hands grip the back of Henry’s neck and hold him there, a breath away. It takes a minute for Henry to lose himself in it, to stop worrying about how Alex is feeling and experience it for himself, and the shift that takes place in Henry’s expression, his lower lip trembling as he cries out, is like an electric pulse through Alex’s body, breathtakingly beautiful and full of power. Alex gets lost, too, in the unbelievable intimacy of having Henry inside him, making him feel the way no one else is capable of.

When Henry’s slick hand reaches between them for Alex’s co*ck, the inevitable intensity of the blazing, pleasurable connection between them quickly becomes too much. Alex stills and comes in Henry’s hand, moaning Henry’s name, incoherence overtaking him as his hips start to jerk, snapping down, clenching around Henry’s co*ck. Henry’s forehead falls against his, breaths tearing through him in ragged gasps. A few thrusts more, and Alex can feel the pulse of Henry coming inside him. He lets his eyes fall closed and basks in the flaring pleasure still searing through his body as Henry collapses on top of him, clearly no longer able to hold himself up.

“Sweetheart,” Alex whispers, mouth somewhere behind Henry’s ear, and grips Henry’s hair. “f*ck.” He can feel Henry’s chest expanding and contracting against his own, both of them greedy for air. Henry is trembling; Alex holds him close.

After a few minutes, Henry murmurs, “Well, that’s one way to get my nerves about this day off my mind.”

Alex grins.

“A hickey, Alex!” Henry paces around the bedroom. Alex watches his hands approach his hair, likely to tug on it in frustration, but he stops himself at the last second. “You gave me a f*cking hickey!”

“You can’t even see it, baby,” Alex says, trying to sound soothing. He’s used to how Henry’s anxiety shows up in times like these and doesn’t take it personally. Henry paces over to him, leaning against the wall by the door, and gets up in his face.

“But I’ll know that it’s there.” He sounds anguished. Alex pulls him in by the small of his back and rubs a thumb down Henry’s spine.

“Just think, I’ll be in your photos with you even when you're alone.” Alex smirks and presses a kiss to his jaw. Henry pushes away from him in pretend disgust just as there’s a short knock, but he’s starting to smile. The door pops open.

“Mr. Fox, Mr. Diaz, are you ready?”

Alex raises his eyebrows at Henry in a silent question. Henry curls his lip in response, but he can’t stop the smile from breaking through. “Yes, we are.” David paws once at the crate door in protest, begging to be let out. Henry coos sympathetically as they go by him.

The magazine wants to take photos of them each individually, then together. Alex goes first so that Henry can see what they’re going to ask of him. They put him in some easy poses—looking out the window, sprawled on the couch. When it’s Henry’s turn, they ask him to sit at his desk and look to the side, but he comes across stiff and awkward. Alex tries to encourage him; Henry just glares at him.

“Let’s try the sofa,” the photographer says, narrowing her eyes at the display on the camera.

“All right,” Henry says, clearly still uncomfortable. Alex bites back the advice he’s dying to give. A few shots later, the photographer is not happy and Henry only looks frustrated.

“I have an idea,” Alex pipes up after several more minutes; the expression on the photographer’s face spreads into relief.

“Please,” she says.

Alex runs into the bedroom, ignoring the daggers Henry’s shooting his way. When he returns and plops David down in Henry’s lap with a grin, everyone in the vicinity breaks into delighted giggles, including Henry. David gazes up at Henry adoringly, perfectly at home in Henry’s arms, and reaches up to lick his chin. The photographer is already snapping photos of this more at ease version of Henry, the tension having drained from his posture with his arms around his beloved beagle.

“This is just beautiful, Henry, perfect. Alex, would you join him? I love this shot.”

Alex is all too happy to tuck himself onto the sofa with Henry; Henry’s arm comes up around his shoulders like it’s the only possible thing to do, pulling Alex closer into his side. Alex looks up at him, grinning, and Henry looks back, his eyes soft, his expression adoring. Alex hears the camera shutter and moves automatically, wanting to give the photographer multiple shots to choose from. He tilts his head up, clearly angling for a kiss. Henry laughs, embarrassed.

“Come on, baby, it’s just me,” Alex murmurs, looking up at Henry through his lashes. Henry sighs, then leans down to press their lips together lightly. The camera shutter sounds several more times in succession; Alex knows they’re getting a good shot. It’s not long before they’re interrupted by David, licking his way between their kiss—a not uncommon occurrence. The entire room erupts in laughter, and Alex and Henry pull back, still looking into each other’s eyes.

“That’s perfect. I don’t think we need anything else.” The photographer smiles at them, and the writer jumps in immediately as the team starts to pack up their equipment.

“Boys. Do you need a break? No? You’re good? Do you need some water? Can we get them some water?”

Bottles of water appear in front of them before Alex can even say anything. Henry looks at Alex with wide eyes.

“All right. Let’s do it. Take me back to where this all started.”

—

Vanity Fair
June 2021

The one year anniversary of Mr. Diaz’s June 30th transatlantic move to London approaches. “He arrived just in time to help me grand marshal the London Pride parade, which I had the honor of doing last year,” Mr. Fox says, looking bashful.

How has Mr. Diaz’s modeling career changed with the move?

“Henry was worried I’d be giving something up to be with him. That was his biggest fear,” Mr. Diaz confides. “But this move to the European scene has opened so many doors for me that never would have opened if I stayed in L.A., including a Vogue Italia cover, which was a dream of mine since my Teen Vogue cover as an eighteen-year-old, and headlining London Fashion Week this spring. I’ve also got Henry wearing Burberry on a regular basis, which is probably my biggest accomplishment.”

The wink that accompanies this statement is utterly charming.

“Alex has also been using his world platform to get involved in international political relations, working with the United Nations,” Mr. Fox chimes in, placing a possessive hand on the back of Mr. Diaz’s neck. Mr. Diaz smiles. “It’s absolutely incredible to see his reach and impact.”

And what about our beloved poet? It hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice that he’s been relatively quiet in recent months after an explosive North American book tour last year.

“I’ve been hard at work on my second book. It’s set to debut this winter. I’m close to sending in my final revisions, and I’m quite eager to share my new work.”

How does it compare to his first book, which achieved impressive and unusual international acclaim, even becoming a symbol for the LGBTQ rights movement?

“It’s a very different book, to be quite honest. My first collection of poems was the culmination of truly a lifetime of work, but also a lifetime of pain. From the death of my father, to coming to terms with my sexuality, to a difficult relationship, that work represents the struggles that have made me who I am today. This collection finds me at a very different point in my life. It still contains the blunt, queer sexuality and eroticism anyone who’s read my work will recognize, but instead of being tinged with sadness, the poems are mainly tinged with joy.”

What accounts for the difference, I ask? Mr. Fox’s eyes slide to the man at his side before responding.

“I know myself, and love myself, in a way that I did not when I was working on my first book. I also know what it is to be loved, unconditionally and for who I am exactly, no more, no less, by a partner, instead of used or dismissed or hurt. This has allowed me to fully explore, understand, and celebrate my queerness in ways that I was unable to before. Alex is a gift that I have the pleasure of receiving every day, and I do not take that for granted.”

Mr. Diaz gazes at Mr. Fox as he speaks, adoration plain on his face. By the end, his eyes appear slightly damp. Mr. Fox takes his partner’s face in his hands and kisses him gently.

“You’re not going to put that I cried in the article, are you? I have a reputation to maintain.” Mr. Diaz grins cheekily at me, while Mr. Fox shakes his head with a smile.