Work Text:
It’s late. Much later than he’d had planned on getting home, Henry reflects as he fumbles to unlock the front door.
He loves working with Pez–it’s kind of a dream actually, something he never thought he’d be allowed to do that he now spends most of his time on–but it can also be a lot. It’s just the nature of this kind of this work–things being pretty manageable and then suddenly incredibly fucking busy when the next event is around the corner. There’s so much to do, to organise, so many bits and pieces that no one attending the actual event will probably even think about but Pez says it’s important and Henry believes him because Pez has been doing this for–well, it seems like forever. Henry has some serious admiration for how Pez has never once lost himself in the struggle for balance between work and, you know, going home and taking a deep breath once in a while.
Then again, he supposes some people just work well like that; thriving on adding to an endless to-do list and far too much coffee. Alex is certainly one of them.
He makes his way through the living room, depositing his bag on the back of the couch to be dealt with tomorrow by a much less tired Henry. It’s quiet inside, well, as quiet Brooklyn gets, but the warm light spilling from their bedroom tells him that Alex must still be awake.
Alex is perched against the headboard, his laptop balanced on one knee, surrounded by a jumble of ruffled-looking papers. He’s wearing his reading glasses and Henry can see his lips moving, silently mirroring what he’s reading. Hall & Oates’ Essential Collection hums softly from the record player. He looks so beautiful doing nothing special.
“Hey, baby,” Alex greets him without looking up from his reading.
“Hey,” Henry murmurs, hanging back in the doorway. The record player crackles on. The paper Alex is reading from crinkles as he turns it over.
Though they’ve indulged in their fair share of dramatic, romantic gestures (read: an immense email thread comprised of pining, horny ramblings and analyses of historical queer romances), it’s often in the most mundane moments that Henry is stuck by an emotion of such depth and specificity its almost fearsome. This great bubble swelling inside his chest. A flower blooming in his throat. It’s new—has been thriving steadily alongside Alex’s presence in his life—yet it harkens back to sitting on the kitchen counter as a child, to Bea jerkily strumming a new guitar, his mother’s smile, his father’s laughter.
There’s so much he feels like he needs to say to Alex about it all, swelling behind his closed lips. Then there’s the need to temper that desire with enjoying the moment, living through it before zooming out to analyse it.
Henry used to feel self conscious about how he spends so much of his time trying to spend less of his time caught up in his own head. He feels a lot and needs a lot of time to understand it. Alex, in comparison, runs at a million miles a minute and is, more often than not, happy to narrate it aloud as he goes, best of luck to whoever can keep up. Henry always tries his best to. It’s seeing Alex, really seeing him in moments like these, when Henry knows for certain that there was never anything to be self conscious about.
The sun has long been set yet the curtains are still wide open as though Alex hunkered down and disconnected from the passage of time while it was still light out. Brushing his teeth, Henry watches through the ensuite mirror as Alex’s whispered narration of his reading is punctuated by ever more frequent yawns.
Alex has always found it difficult to switch off. Henry admires how he's never tried to remedy the parts of himself that are less structured, less ‘normal’. He shamelessly accepts that that’s just the way he is and powers on with a vigour that persistent overthinker Henry is perpetually in awe of. He knows Alex has had a tab about ADHD open on his phone for the past three months. He’d left it open thinking he’d want to go back and read it, to affirm what he already knows, but he hasn't felt the need. It’s comforting to see it sometimes, though, still open and waiting just in case he needs it’s support one day. He’d uncharacteristically shyly told Henry all of this when Henry had borrowed his phone to google variations on his world famous quiche recipe. He knows Alex gets shy when something’s really personally important to him.
“It’s getting late, love,” Henry reminds Alex gently as he pulls the curtains shut. David has settled into his bed under the window. Henry smooths his thumb along the white stripe running down his soft head and offers a welcome scratch behind the ear.
“Hmm,” Alex hums. There’s a long pause before he speaks again which Henry has grown accustomed to–a buffering period during which Alex’s brain shifts gears from intense immersion back to reality.
“I fucking hate this class,” Alex bemoans, thrusting the paper he’s been reading from onto the sheets.
"'Reading and Applying Academic Research?’ As if we don’t do that in every other fucking subject already! It definitely doesn’t warrant its own class, let alone what is both the longest and most incomprehensibly boring reading list the world has ever seen!” he laments, tossing his head back against the pillows for dramatic effect.
“I know, love,” Henry consoles, “Only…” he does some quick mental calculations, “Seven more weeks?” Henry cringes. Alex lets out an anguished, slightly muffled from where his face is now buried in one of the navy blue cushions, groan. Henry rubs his shoulder in sympathy.
“What do you say to calling it a night on the incomprehensibly dull reading then, darling?”
Alex offers an ambiguous, still muffled, grunting noise at which Henry chuckles and choses to interpret as an affirmative.
Alex surprisingly willingly allows Henry to chauffeur his laptop and collection of paper to the window seat while he stretches his neck, expression fixed in a pout.
“Sorry, H,” He says as Henry joins him on the bed, “How was your day, sweetheart?”
“It was good,” Henry reflects, enjoying the softness of the mattress supporting his tired limbs, “Sorry I’m home so late. Pez and I got carried away with the last minute details for next week and lost track of time.”
“I know the feeling,” Alex chuckles, gesturing to his own position on the bed.
In just the lamplight he’s handsome in an entirely different way, the shadows accentuating his sharp jaw and sloping cheekbones. His glasses reflect the light in a smattering of golden flecks over tired eyes. Henry simply must kiss him.
Alex’s lips are warm, purposeful yet gentle against Henry’s own, even when he’s tired. He tastes of coffee and persistence and home. It doesn't take long for the gentle fire between them to swell with intensity–it never does.
“Hmm, enticing me away from my studies for sex, eh? I’m beginning to think you might be a bad influence, your highness,” Alex teases with that cheeky quirk of his lips, slightly breathless when he pulls away.
“Please,” Henry scoffs, “Everyone can see from a mile away that if anyone’s a bad influence in this relationship, it’s you, darling.” Alex’s eyes ignite, as they always do, with the thrill of banter.
“Gonna take me off to the Tower for slander?”
“Slander, hey? Spreading such terrible rumours without a shred of concrete evidence? Sounds about right, love” Henry quips, grinning smugly at Alex before latching onto his neck.
“Shut the fuck up, baby,” Alex reprimands, but any heat in his tone undermined by the quiver in his voice under Henry’s assault on his neck. His gasp when Henry sucks at a particularly sensitive spot never fails to send a jolt of arousal through Henry.
Their kisses turn messy with urgency after that, yet never lose their sweetness. Henry relishes the feeling of Alex melting beneath him, the softness of his curls between his fingers. Alex wraps his legs around Henry’s hips to keep him there–as if Henry is going anywhere else. His hands slide up Henry’s back under the hem of his t-shirt, soft and soothing.
Henry pulls back, feels Alex’s breath ghost over his lips. Alex is flushed with their shared warmth. His curls are tousled and eyes are soft behind his glasses. The sight of him like that makes that same feeling from earlier surge inside Henry once more. Beautiful, strong and fucking incorrigible Alex who Henry gets to appreciate in all his softness and vulnerability.
“You’re gorgeous,” Henry can’t help but spill. Alex scoffs but the soft smile that tugs at his lips and the way he smooths Henry’s hair back off his forehead speaks for itself.
“And you’re a fucking sap,” Alex teases. And sure, Henry doesn’t mind taking the title of most sappy in the relationship–he does have a degree in English Literature after all, so it’s kind of a given–but Alex certainly has his own sort of sappiness, as it were. Henry has collected ample proof.
Alex surges up to capture his lips once more. This kiss feels more purposeful, moving them more rapidly to a destination with which Henry is incredibly familiar, yet has lost none of its novelty. He lets himself savour the hot slide of Alex’s lips, his tongue, his teeth pulling at Henry’s lower lip.
“You okay, love? I know you’re tired,” Henry checks in.
“Mmhm,” Alex hums his affirmation, “Just means you’re gonna have to do all the work, sweetheart.” Alex’s eyes twinkle behind his glasses which are still fucking there and may or may not be driving Henry slightly mad. It’s one of those things about your partner that is difficult to explain why it absolutely does it for you. Like a–one second they’re peeling potatoes together and the next Henry is simply forced to press Alex against the counter because holy shit forearms–kind of thing. An–Alex almost costing them their secrecy, and perhaps more than a little dignity, in his desperation to get his hands on Henry in his polo kit–kind of thing.
This one though, Henry doesn’t think Alex is really aware of. It’s not like Henry hasn’t been fucking obvious–whatwith being rendered positively speechless at the first sight of a bespectacled Alex–but Alex has, for reasons unfathomable to Henry, always been a little insecure about his glasses. In fact, Henry’s surprised he hasn’t taken them off by now. Of course they’re way past the point of Alex caring if Henry sees him wearing them but, when it comes to sex, usually they’d be long gone by now.
He strips Alex of his sweatpants, smooths his hands along Alex’s thighs and toys with the leg of his boxers as their tongues slide together. Henry can’t stop a hand from creeping up under Alex’s hoodie to grip his hip, his waist, smooth his thumb over Alex’s skin, rapidly rising and falling under Henry’s touch. Alex has begun pushing his hips up, so minutely Henry thinks it could be an unconscious motion.
Alex’s throat bobs when Henry breaks their kiss, his lips swollen and red and fucking gorgeous around his panting breath. His flush has deepened now and Henry can see sweat shimmering on his cheekbones under the warm lamplight.
“Jesus, come on, H. 'You do all the work’ didn’t mean string it out,” Alex huffs. Henry chuckles against Alex’s neck where he’s begun to press opened-mouthed kisses that never fail to make Alex quake beneath him.
“I’ve barely touched you, darling.”
“Uh, yeah that’s the–mmh–point, baby. Less teasing more actual touching,”
“Mmm,” Henry hums against Alex’s neck, feeling his pulse beat wildly under his lips, “So fucking bossy,”
“Just take my fucking shirt off, Henry,” Alex sighs.
Henry assents, working the soft fabric of Alex’s hoodie up his chest, pausing to press kisses to his warm skin for apparently too long if the way Alex grunts indignantly and pulls at Henry’s hair a little harder is any indication. Henry’s chuckle, as he finally moves to pull the offending garment off, is stunted when he notices Alex reaching up to remove his glasses.
“Uh,” Henry says eloquently, freezing his ministrations on Alex’s hoodie.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Alex’s tone is soft. Sure, they tease the fuck out of eachother most of the time, their effortless banter one of the things they both love most about their relationship, but Alex always knows when to turn it off. He’s put his glasses back on and has leaned up on his elbow to stroke Henry’s hair away from his face.
“Er,” Henry stammers, equally eloquent, brain ticking steadily into overthinking-mode.
He really fucking wants Alex to keep his glasses on but he can’t think of anything worse than asking Alex to do something that might make him uncomfortable or self-conscious. He doesn’t usually have trouble communicating with Alex about sex. Sure, he might have blushed his way through many conversations of the sort but he’s always felt secure in the knowledge that Alex won’t judge him.
Despite Alex’s occasional concerns that he talks too much about himself, the creeping insecurity that he’s too much, too loud, too enthusiastic, he knows exactly how to support Henry in moments like this. He’s so attuned to Henry’s needs that, regardless of what Alex might self-deprecatingly joke about, it’s clear as fucking crystal to Henry that it’s not accidental.
Alex is still soothingly stroking Henry’s hair, his eyes soft and full of love.
It rushes out of him in a burst, “I want to fuck you with your glasses on.”
Fuck. Okay, so probably not the most tactful but at least he’s… got the message across?
Henry certainly doesn’t expect Alex’s eyes to light up with a disbelieving chuckle.
"Really? ”
“Uh,” And, great, Henry’s apparently back to monosyllables.
Alex seizes Henry’s cheeks with both hands and draws him into a fierce kiss. Henry’s still rather frozen so he doesn’t exactly reciprocate but that doesn’t seem to deter Alex.
“Okay, baby,” Alex says in that drawl which Henry has learned from experience is fucking dangerous, then leans in to whisper "Fuck me with my glasses on, then."
Shit. Alex is never going to let this go now, is he? Henry thinks that may not be so bad, actually.
Henry seems to have finally thawed out because he’s tearing at Alex’s hoodie the next moment. It’s not without a brief tangle of too many arms and too much fabric which they giggle their way through. After an unsuccessful attempt at removing the hoodie with Alex’s glasses still in place, Henry reaches up to carefully take them off, fucking finally tossing Alex’s ( his, if you want to get technical about it) hoodie blindly off the bed. He brushes Alex’s mussed curls gently out of his eyes before reverently sliding his glasses back into place. He’s definitely not laughing as Alex stares up at him, cheeks pink and lip caught between his teeth.
The kiss that follows is searing. The way Alex works his tongue against Henry’s is positively toe-curling, leaving him panting for more. Henry feels the rim of Alex’s glasses press gently into the bridge of his nose. He pushes his hips flush with Alex’s, a thrill of arousal pulsing through him at the feeling of Alex’s harness against his own. Alex seems to appreciate the contact just as much, his breathing picking up as he parts his knees for Henry to settle more comfortably between them.
He makes the mistake (or the fucking opposite of a mistake) of looking up at Alex, his hips still, locked against Alex’s. He’s so fucking gorgeous and his glasses make him look so incredibly soft but also hot and shit, Henry might actually die, right here, as he lived–at Alex Claremont Diaz’s fucking mercy.
Alex, ever impatient, kicks his hips up against Henry’s, clamping down on his own lower lip at the rush of sensation and drawing a slightly embarrassingly desperate moan from deep in Henry’s throat. Henry can’t help but rock his own hips forward in return, dizzy with the onslaught of friction despite Alex’s boxers and his own sweatpants between them. He feels way too keyed up way too fast, like he could come in his fucking pants or something ridiculous. He hides his face in the crook of Alex’s neck, serving the mutual goal of muffling his own moans and making Alex squirm under his lips.
It's not long before Alex starts clawing at the t-shirt still covering Henry’s back, pulling suggestively at the hem.
“Doesn’t seem fucking fair that I’m nearly naked and you’re–ugh why are you still fully clothed, Henry?” Alex groans and Henry can hear how hard he has to work to keep his voice steady.
Henry sits up so fast he feels lightheaded, stripping off his own t-shirt as quickly as humanly possible before diving back down to meet Alex’s lips. Alex’s kisses are wet and open-mouthed and so fucking hot that Henry shakes with it.
Alex slides his hands down Henry’s back, leaving tingling skin in his wake, and under the waistband of his sweatpants. It takes him all of two seconds to discover that Henry’s not wearing any underwear.
"Fuck, Henry,” Alex whispers against his lips in a puff of hot breath. Alex doesn’t waste any time before he’s sliding the front of Henry’s sweats down just enough for his cock to spring free and wrapping his hand around him. Henry’s eyes slam shut and he melts under Alex’s touch, a deep moan rattling through him. Alex knows exactly how to move his hand to turn Henry into a panting mess, and he holds nothing back as he works Henry’s cock, grip tight, thumb kissing his tip on every upward stroke.
“Ah, Alex–fuck–you gotta stop, darling,” Henry manages, wrapping his own fingers around Alex’s wrist in a gesture which he’s not sure is intended to make Alex stop or keep going.
“So fucking worked up already, baby,” Alex purrs, lips pressed to Henry’s ear.
It takes a great deal of strength for Henry to sit back, distancing himself from Alex’s touch. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to settle himself in a bid to stop him from putting his normally perfectly-fine-and-adequate-when-your-boyfriend-is-Alex-Claremont-Diaz-stamina to shame.
Henry’s attempt to calm down a bit is all but nullified when he opens his eyes and actually sees Alex, though. He looks just as fucking wrecked as Henry feels, his curls a mess on the pillow, cheeks ruddy and eyes misty behind his glasses.
Shit. His glasses.
“Shit,” Henry says to the ceiling. Alex laughs breathlessly beneath him.
“This is really doing it for you, huh?” He teases, sounding dangerously delighted. Alex skims his hand up and down the side of Henry’s thigh in a gesture that is probably intended to be soothing but is only serving to bring Henry that much closer to spontaneous combustion.
“Shut the fuck up you absolute menace,” Henry bats Alex’s hand away to a chorus of giggles.
Alex’s laughter turns to a soft moan as Henry begins kissing his way down his toned stomach. He licks an indulgent stripe to the right of Alex’s naval, earning a breathless ‘ah!’ and fingers sinking into his hair. Just to give it back a bit, Henry presses a line of slow kisses just above the waistband of Alex’s boxers which he then traces with his tongue. He’s so fucking close to where Alex wants him that he can practically feel Alex vibrating with it.
“Motherfucker ,” Alex hisses, “Just fucking–do something!”
So, Henry just fucking does something indeed, latching onto Alex’s tip through his boxers. He can feel the heat of Alex’s cock beneath the fabric. The way he’s begun to leak a wet spot into the material is so blindingly arousing that Henry just barely stops himself from pressing his own hips into the mattress. Self-preservation and all that.
It’s a bit of a joint-effort to rid Alex of his boxers, but once they're gone, Henry doesn’t waste a second before he’s taking Alex into his mouth. Henry loves giving head–specifically to Alex, of course–loves the weight on his tongue, the taste, the fullness of his mouth, but most of all he loves how responsive Alex is. As soon as Henry gets his mouth around his cock, Alex miraculously loses the ability to form a coherent sentence, which is certainly saying something. Now is no exception and Alex is instantly reduced to a whiny mess, flexing his hips against the sheets and pulling at Henry’s hair in a way that's just this side of painful. Henry can’t get enough.
He swirls his tongue around Alex’s tip, letting the taste of him fill his mouth. Alex gasps at the way he digs his tongue gently into his slit, seeking more of that flavour that is so Alex . Alex’s hands in his hair encourage Henry to take more of him and he obeys willingly, using a hand to steady Alex at the base. The little shoves of Alex’s hips that he can’t quite get under control drill straight to Henry’s core, his own cock twitching at the possibility of Alex thrusting harder, making him take more.
"Fuck, baby,” Alex murmurs, his voice thick, when Henry pulls up to swirl his tongue around the tip of his cock and dares to peer up at Alex through his lashes. Wrecked is a fucking good look on him.
Henry sits back on his thighs and leans over to rummage through their bedside table drawer for the lube. He has to work pretty fucking hard not to get distracted by the toned lines of Alex’s body, golden skin flushed and inviting–made even more arduous by the way Alex whines in protest at the loss of Henry’s mouth. Thankfully, the shape of the bottle materialises in his hand and he pops the cap to coat a few fingers as he settles back between Alex’s spread thighs.
Alex’s head–which had unsurprisingly popped up to scrutinise Henry’s stalling–thumps back against the pillows at the first gentle circle of Henry’s finger on his rim. His hips flex as though he’s trying to work Henry inside immediately and breathy curses of ‘ah, fuck,’ fall from his lips.
Henry finds he needs to take a breath to steady himself at the sight of just the first finger pressing into Alex. He’s so fucking on edge already, cock throbbing untouched between his thighs. Alex always looks so beautiful like this, spread out and vulnerable yet still so powerful and self-assured. There’s something about Alex tonight–maybe related to his fucking glasses, Henry’s brain supplies helpfully–that’s driving him absolutely mad.
He locks his lips around the head of Alex’s cock again to distract himself from his own arousal.
It’s certainly distracting but, of course, no less arousing.
Alex doesn’t appear to be complaining, though. He wiggles his hips back and forth trying to simultaneously chase Henry’s mouth around him and fingers inside him. Henry presses a gentle yet firm hand into his hip, holding him steady as he adds a second finger, swallowing around Alex’s cock to distract from the initial sting.
“Oh my god, Henry,” Alex groans when Henry’s fingertips graze his prostate, his breathing picking up, "Oh fuck! ”
It's barely another moment before Alex’s hands in Henry’s hair pull him upwards. He releases Alex’s cock with a lewd pop, gazing up at him with hazy vision and heated cheeks, fingers halting inside him. Alex's head is still thrown back against their pillows and he’s breathing hard. His fingers have stilled in their grip tight on Henry’s hair, his lip seized between his teeth.
"Fuck, ” Alex breaths emphatically after a long moment, “Shit, baby. If you keep doing that so good I’m gonna come in like, 2 seconds,” he laughs breathlessly.
“Sorry, love,” Henry says, he tries to keep his tone light but his voice is, you know, understandably a little rough from their–recent activities, “I’ll try to be worse at giving head next time,”
“Shut the fuck up you smug bastard,” Alex scoffs but he’s still panting a little so it comes out all breathy and cute instead of chiding like he probably intended.
“Just get on with it,” Alex urges, then, quieter, “Need you in me,”
Henry’s breath catches in his throat at the words, the teasing edge to his previous tone dying on his tongue.
“Fuck, okay,” Henry promises and uncaps the lube to get to work. He finishes prepping Alex as quickly and efficiently as his hazy brain will allow, a third finger joining the rest and working to gently open him up. He catches Alex’s prostate a couple of times but the way Alex gasps and clutches at Henry’s shoulder tells him to save it for when it's his cock or they’ll both be falling over the edge before Henry even gets inside.
“Shit, baby,” Alex gasps, “Just- I’m good, I’m good–Just come on, sweetheart,” He knows Alex is rushing–hell, Henry’s own desperation is begging him to rush too–but Alex truly does feel ready Henry trusts him to know his own body.
“Want me to use a condom, darling?” Henry asks with a strained voice–he always does even though he always knows how Alex will answer. Alex shakes his head against the pillow, curls flopping into his face. He looks fucking debauched beneath Henry, flushed chest rising and falling rapidly, sweaty and perfect. His eyes are desperate behind his glasses which have started to fog up slightly where they touch his cheeks. Fuck.
Henry’s practically shaking as he sits back to slick himself up, fumbling with the lube in a way that would probably make Alex laugh at him if he weren’t just as desperate. The friction of his hand after so long with no stimulation makes him bite his lip. He lets out a deep breath in a rush and presses himself against Alex’s hole, imploring himself not to come before he gets inside.
Henry’s hardly finished positioning himself before Alex’s strong, lean thighs are wrapping around his hips and pulling him forward. They both gasp as the head of Henry’s cock pushes inside. The heat and tightness of Alex’s body is fucking unmatched and makes Henry’s eyes threaten to roll back. He has to brace himself on Alex’s inner thighs to keep from thrusting forward.
Alex’s eyes are squeezed shut, a frown creasing his brow as he adapts to the stretch. Henry might think he was in pain if not for the way Alex can’t seem to close his mouth around anything that isn’t a desperate moan. When Alex’s thighs around him squeeze, urging Henry to give him more, he does his best to stay composed and ignore the way he’s fucking tingling with the promise of a nearby orgasm.
Most often, they do this the other way around and there’s no denying that when they do switch, it can be really intense for both of them, consumed by new sensations from a familiar body.
After a few long moments–Alex adjusting and Henry trying-not-to-come-ing–Alex is ready. He tells Henry as much in a whisper which is so quiet in contrast to his moans that Henry almost misses it. He presses a searing kiss to Alex’s open, panting mouth because he can’t help himself and braces his hands against the backs of Alex’s thighs.
It isn’t long before the headboard is rattling with it. Alex is usually pretty vocal in bed but tonight he seems positively unable to shut his mouth, a constant stream of moans and nonsensical babble spilling out. Henry muffles his own moans into Alex’s neck and ignores how they’re probably being way too loud for politeness. Politeness can go fuck itself. Their neighbours aren’t even that nice anyway.
The crook of Alex’s neck might just be his favourite place to be. Henry feels like he’s burning up from the inside out. His chest feels too small for how hard his heart is pounding where it's pressed against Alex’s–like he’s trying to sync to Alex’s rhythm; a tide helpless to the influence of the moon. The feeling from earlier swells back to life. Loving Alex was never some sudden, shocking epiphany that tilted his world in an instant–it’s been a seed unfurling inside his chest from the first moment Alex entered his life that only seems to grow and grow. It’s steady and strong and so fucking certain that it feels unavoidable–like no matter his path, Henry would’ve always found himself drawn back into Alex’s orbit. It’s watching how Alex gets so consumed by his course work that he can hardly focus on anything else. It’s watching him eat an obscenely large burrito and get sauce all over his hands. It’s taking all of Alex’s relentless teasing and giving it right back. It’s waking up beside him when his curls are an unruly fucking mess and his cheek still bears the pillow’s creases. And it’s this–
“Fucking hell, Alex,”
Henry’s muscles burn with the exertion and he’s so fucking sweaty now it should feel gross but it’s just about the furthest thing from his mind right now because Alex keeps begging for ‘more’, ‘harder’ and who is Henry to deny him anything. He doesn’t think he could stop even if he wanted to, anyway.
His hands scrabble for purchase on Alex’s sweaty hips and he can’t stop himself from opening his mouth to taste Alex’s neck; salty and him. He can feel Alex’s pulse picking up against his tongue and his body starting to tighten around Henry. Alex’s legs squeeze Henry’s waist pulling him deeper, harder and Henry knows he must be getting close. He’s pretty fucking relieved at this development because he’s felt on edge from the moment Alex started grinding against him through both of their sweatpants and it feels like he’s been hard for hours. And once again, under the inevitable influence of Alex’s body, Henry feels his balls start to tighten and his cock throb inside him.
He withdraws himself from Alex’s neck momentarily to take in his expression and fuck maybe that wasn’t the most conducive to making Alex comes first because holy shit. Alex’s curls are in perfect disarray where they’re fanned out on the pillow and stuck to his forehead. His lips are swollen and a frankly obscene shade of red thanks to his own teeth and Henry’s lips. His eyes are squeezed shut, putting his ridiculous eyelashes on display and his glasses are slightly askew, sliding down the bridge of his nose as he jolts under Henry’s thrusts.
“Shit, darling, you look like fucking sin ,” Henry whispers hotly.
"Fuck! ” Alex gasps.
Henry goes to grab Alex’s cock to bring him closer to that precipice but Alex bats him away, leaving his own hand hovering above his cock where it leaks onto his stomach. Alex’s whines get progressively higher and Henry hears a garbled warning that he’s about to come.
Alex’s body stretches out like he’s taken a great, deep breath and he stills for a moment–apart from his hand which is now flying over his cock–before he snaps back like a rubber band, releasing a drawn-out moan as he shoots all over his own stomach. A drop even splatters as high as his cheek, just below his fucking glasses.
Henry’s own orgasm catch up to him in a fucking instant, powerless to the sight of Alex and the way he’s started to clench wildly around Henry’s cock. He presses himself as deep as he can and continues to shove his hips forward even when there's no deeper to go. His balls tighten and his breathing stutters before he’s finally coming with a breathless laugh. It feels like it goes on forever, his cock pulsing so forcefully it's near painful as he spills into Alex. His eyes blur and dark spots speckle the corners of his vision as he pants into Alex’s neck.
Henry’s still shaking slightly when he lifts his gaze to Alex.
“Oh my fucking god,” Alex pants like he can’t quite get his breathing under control. All Henry can do is nod. He’s not sure if he’ll ever regain the use of his legs on account of the way his muscles have spontaneously turned to jelly.
“What the fuck was that?” Alex laughs breathlessly, “I- oh my god,”
By some miracle, Henry manages to stumble into the ensuite to retrieve a washcloth to clean Alex up. Of course he runs the tap for a few moments to take the chill out of the water first–he’s not a complete monster–although he does need to do some pretty heavy leaning on the sink to remain upright.
When he returns, Alex is still trembling and making weird, breathy little laughing noises which descend into moan-territory as Henry starts cleaning the come from his stomach and between his thighs. Henry’s cock gives a traitorous twitch at the sound despite the fact that he’s just had one of the most intense orgasms–maybe ever–not two minutes ago.
Alex’s body seems to be sensitive all over if the way he gasps when Henry goes to pull him into his chest after–fucking finally–flopping down beside him is any indication. Henry’s all too familiar with the feeling–when you’re so high strung that a touch to the fucking elbow feels like too much–so he’s just about to pull back and give Alex some space when he relaxes into Henry’s touch. He experimentally soothes a hand over Alex’s back and Alex hums happily.
“So,” Alex says after a moment of stillness. There’s a teasing lilt to his voice that Henry can detect after just one word and he’s pretty sure he knows what’s coming.
“Me in glasses, huh?”