Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alex

"To conclude," Alex says grandly as he paces the floor of Henry's bedroom, "Soulmate Ceremonies are dumb and antiquated. I can provide a fucking bibliography if required."

He's been ranting about this for ten minutes, while Henry – who didn't actually mention Soulmate Ceremonies in the first place – watches him from over the top of a pile of marking. Once Alex is finished, he puts down his pen and leans back in his chair.

"I see," he says simply, still looking at Alex, who absolutely does not squirm. Then Henry's face breaks out into a fond smile and Alex feels his spine do that thing it does when Henry ramps up his gorgeousness another unfair few levels. "You'd like one, wouldn't you?" 

Alex groans and throws himself dramatically onto Henry's bed.

"I really fucking would, yeah," he says miserably. For fuck's sake, he's meant to be better than this; rational and totally over the soulmate shtick that every area of modern life tries to sell to him.

He fucking isn't though, is the thing. It's awful.

He hears Henry get up from his chair and a moment later the bed dips around his knees.

"I, for one," Henry says softly, one of his hands coming up to slide beneath Alex's t-shirt, "wouldn't mind everyone knowing we belong to each other." He punctuates this statement with a kiss to the newly exposed skin of Alex's stomach, prompting a full body shiver from him that's impossible to hide.

"Yeah?" Alex croaks, and Henry hums softly before pressing a kiss to Alex's hip bone.

"Why wouldn't I want people to know about my beautiful," he continues, pushing Alex's shirt higher and kissing his ribs, "passionate–" a kiss to the centre of his chest– "astonishingly sexy–" now his neck– "and aggravating soulmate?" Alex whines in the back of his throat and tangles his fingers in Henry's hair.

"I'm pretty fucking aggravating, huh?"

"Entirely," Henry confirms, before allowing Alex to drag him into a hot, open-mouthed kiss.

This part, at least, is easy; falling into bed with Henry had felt natural from the start, not just because of their connection, but because they fit together. Henry had known how to touch Alex to make him shake, had known exactly where his sensitive spots were and–

Well... Yeah, maybe part of that had been the soulmate thing.

"I had a dream once," Henry says conversationally, like Alex isn't desperate and speechless beneath his hands, trying to keep his eyes open just so he can watch the way Henry's pupils dilate; the way his chest rises and falls in time with his fast-paced breaths. "I couldn't see much, but whoever it was... I was taking them apart just by touching a spot right here." Henry brushes his fingers over where he’s just left a bruise with his mouth on Alex's inner thigh, and the noise Alex makes in response is both loud and embarrassing.

"Fuck you," Alex gasps eventually, somehow wrapping his tongue around the syllables even though that simple touch is making him want to scream.

"If you like," Henry says easily, and then he's taking Alex's cock into his mouth and making Alex forget his entire first semester of law school.

Now though? It's mostly just practice. Alex can't imagine ever getting enough of Henry, and Henry in return seems completely incapable of keeping his hands off Alex.

Right now is a pretty good example.

"I have marking to do," Henry points out, like he wasn't the one to crawl on top of Alex and kiss the breath out of his lungs – which he was.

"And yet you're still making a goddamn point right above my shirt collar," he grits out as Henry hums noncommittally and goes back to sucking an insanely large hickey into the skin of Alex's throat. He's not mad about it, but he knows Henry's going to do that thing later where he apologises for it for ages, even though they're both consenting adults. Alex is going to have to blow him until he shuts up, probably.

By the time Henry pulls away again, Alex is half-hard in his pants and his neck is stinging pleasantly; he's about to drag his boyfriend back in for more when Henry's phone starts ringing. They both swear, although Alex’s wording is definitely more colourful.

"Bugger," Henry says, but then he's climbing off Alex and grabbing his phone to answer it, so clearly he's not distraught. "Henry Fox speaking." Alex tries not to squirm on the bed, but Henry talking all professional and being professorial really fucking does it for him.

The day he found out Henry was a lecturer was a difficult day. He didn't get anything done. Neither did Henry.

"I can cover that, yes," Henry's now saying slowly, glancing over at Alex with something unreadable in his eyes. "I believe I've run the intro class before. Has Vega left his notes?" Alex eyeballs him; Vega is his professor, running ‘Introduction to Critical Reading’. It's a garbage class and Alex is kinda too good for it, but it's also mandatory. "Alright – send them over to me. Not a problem. Alright. Yes. My pleasure, Doris – take care now." Henry rings off and sighs deeply.

"Vega, huh?" Alex says, and Henry sits down heavily in his desk chair and levels Alex with a look.

"I'm covering your Critical Reading class and if you give me any sass at all, I'll rescind blowjob privileges for a month. Are we clear?"

"An empty threat if I ever fucking heard one," Alex says, snorting and moving his hands down to undo his jeans. "Just in case, though, we should probably blow each other now." Henry looks like he's about to protest, but then Alex pulls himself out of his underwear and starts lazily stroking his cock, and that seems to do the trick.

"Menace," Henry says in a low voice, rising again from his chair just so he can drop to his knees in front of the bed. "Plague."

"Fuck yeah, baby – talk dirty to me," Alex breathes with a grin, and then Henry's knocking his hand out of the way and going in with his mouth. Alex quickly forgets how to do anything but moan.

Henry

Henry is a professional. He's 32 – relatively young to be holding a permanent position in the faculty and to have already published two research papers in his field – and generally well thought of in the humanities department. He does his taxes on time, calls his mother regularly, and has never – not even once – punched his brother in the face, even when he's being the biggest tosser on the planet. He makes regular charity contributions and frequently looks in on his elderly neighbour, Frida, to make sure she hasn't had another nasty fall. He's not a bad person.

All this is to say that he can absolutely get through a forty-five minute lecture on Critical Reading, even if his soulmate is sitting three rows back. Even if said soulmate has a distinct bruise in the shape of Henry's teeth sitting just above his shirt collar. Even if this soulmate might be sitting in such a louche, messy way that Henry can tell – without even really being able to see anything below his waist – that his legs are thrown out in an obscene sprawl that reminds Henry of precisely where his mouth has been on a fairly regular basis recently.

"Professor Vega is off with carpal tunnel," Henry explains to the room at large, leaning against the desk at the front of the class as the noise of chatter dies down around him. "My name is Professor Fox and I'll be with you until he returns, which will hopefully be in a couple of weeks' time. I'll be doing roll call, but I sincerely doubt I'll be able to remember everyone's names in the space of forty-five minutes–"

"Prof Vega never bothered with roll call." It's a familiar drawl, and Henry raises his eyebrows in Alex's direction, ignoring the way his pulse quickens at the smirk on his face. He's such a shit.

"Well, as previously noted, I am not Professor Vega," Henry says drily, and a couple of the students laugh, perhaps a little nervously; they have no idea that Alex is purposely trying to rile him, and not in the way they think.

"No shit," Alex says, just loud enough that Henry hears him, which has Henry sighing and rolling his eyes before picking up the class register.

"I should imagine," he says pointedly, "I'll be remembering your name, at least."

"Yep," Alex says, popping the 'p' and grinning. "Probably."

"And now that my favourite game of 'who's going to be the most trying student' is out of the way," Henry continues with a sigh, pulling his glasses out of his jacket pocket and sliding them onto his face, "let's do roll call." He manages to ignore Alex's needlessly smug expression for roughly three names – Anderson, Blair, and Bunton – before he has to call out "Claremont-Diaz, Alexander."

"Most trying student," Alex confirms with a grin, and Henry makes a show of ticking off his name and pointedly circling it three times in red biro before moving on.

"Ellison–"

The class goes reasonably well after that. Alex seems to settle down once he's made his point – which is that it is literally impossible for Henry to ignore him – and they get through twenty-five minutes of relative peace before all hell breaks loose again.

"Critical reading isn't just a case of making sure you read the source material closely," Henry says, flicking to the next slide and glancing over his shoulder briefly to check that it's the right one. "It's also about ensuring you know the origin of what you're reading. Bias – unconscious or otherwise – is prevalent across all disciplines, and close reading of a text should encourage critical analysis of that, as much as anything else."

"Wouldn't critical reading be ingrained in all of us by now if the US adopted a standardised curriculum?" Alex interrupts, and Henry bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling; he really shouldn't find his boyfriend's desire for classroom chaos to be this diverting.

"Your point, Mr Diaz?" he asks calmly, eyebrows raised. Alex snorts.

"Claremont- Diaz. And my point is that an introductory class like this would be better placed earlier on in the education system, giving kids a better baseline for critical thinking when it matters."

"I'll let you know when the US education secretary starts asking for my take on things," Henry says drily. "I'll pass it on the next time he calls."

"I'm just saying–"

"You can say it on your own time," Henry says firmly, "when a plethora of other students – with fewer miscreant tendencies – aren't also trying to learn."

"I don't have miscreant tendencies," Alex says hotly, even though he absolutely does and they both know it. Right now, he's attempting to bait Henry into an argument, which he's literally only doing because he knows it will likely lead somewhere else entirely. Henry's trying to teach.

"Alex," he says with a beleaguered sigh, "just look at the slides, listen for the next twenty minutes, and try not to have an aneurysm at the lack of attention you receive in the intervening period." Alex stares at him for a couple of seconds, then shrugs and leans back in his seat, which is–

Suspicious.

Henry carries on with the lesson anyway because he has little choice in the matter and, in spite of Alex's earlier interruptions, they manage to finish five minutes before the class is due to end.

"If I don't see you next week, enjoy the semester," Henry says as he dismisses them with a wave of his hand, "and if I do, send up a prayer for Professor Vega, who will therefore still be struggling to stir his coffee."

"Heinous," a student Henry vaguely thinks might be named Hunter says from the back of the room, and then everyone is scrambling to put things back in their bags and leaving the room en masse.

Henry is completely unsurprised when Alex remains behind; this is primarily because there's a buzzing under his skin that tells him Alex hasn't left – even though Henry's looking down as he organises the papers on his temporary desk – but also because it's precisely what he'd known Alex would do. He hasn't been fucking with Henry for 45 minutes without a reason. Alex is very goal-oriented.

"Did you need something, Diaz?" Henry asks without looking up, his heart fluttering a little in his ribcage at Alex's answering laugh. They may have been together for only a couple of months, but Henry really is hopelessly in love with him, and there's nothing he can do about the way every atom of him leans towards whichever area of space Alex inhabits.

"It's Claremont- Diaz," Alex reminds him, sounding fondly amused, and then there are hands on Henry's waist and he's being pushed back into the unused chair behind the desk; he lands a little unsteadily, but has no time at all to right himself before Alex is falling to his knees on the floor and crawling between Henry's legs.

"Alex, we can't–"

"Free period in this room after ICR," Alex interrupts him, hands already on Henry's belt. "So, actually? We absolutely fucking can." Henry's mouth is dry, and he really isn't sure he's gone along with an idea this bad since he was in his teens, but Alex is looking up at him through long, dark eyelashes and sliding leather free of his belt buckle, and he's weak.

"Well then," he says after a moment, swallowing and reaching out to slide one hand tentatively into Alex's hair, "by all means... carry on." Alex grins up at him and speeds up a little, slipping the button of Henry's trousers free and dragging down the zipper before leaning forward to press his face to the front of Henry's boxers; he's starting to get hard – has maybe been a little on-edge since Alex started talking back to him, truth be told – and the contact has him biting down on his lower lip to stop from making a sound.

"Dating Henry is pretty fucking hot," Alex murmurs against the black fabric, pausing to drag his lips over the ridge of Henry's cock within the confines of his underwear, "but Professor Fox holds his own goddamn appeal, apparently." 

"Oh?" Henry asks, breathless and tense as Alex continues to map out the shape of his dick – rapidly growing more obvious – with his mouth. 

"Mmhm," Alex hums, then slides his fingers beneath the waistband of Henry's boxers, dragging them – and his trousers – down to mid-thigh and exposing his half-hard cock. "Yep." And with that, Alex is leaning forward again and taking Henry into his mouth.

Alex

Alex has never really had any particular fantasies about having sex with his professors; most of them are pretty old, and the ones that are closer to his age don't appeal to him either. Luck of the draw, probably, because now that he's seen Henry in action, he's not sure he'd have given a shit whether or not they were soulmates, because he'd have wanted to get his mouth on the guy either way.

Right now in particular – with Henry all flushed and looking down at him over glasses that are starting to slip down his nose, fully clothed except for where Alex has pulled his pants down to mid-thigh – Alex definitely sees the appeal. 

"You were gonna tell me," Alex says, taking a break from his lazily breathed-out sentence to run the flat of his tongue up the underside of Henry's dick, making him groan, "what electronics you had with my name. I think a couple of them were naughty." He sucks the tip of Henry's cock back into his mouth and then starts to take him deeper again, looking up at him with a question in his eyes; he's fully expecting Henry to keep up his side of the conversation here. If Alex can do it while blowing him, Henry can do it while being blown.

"Is that really a priority right now?" Henry asks breathlessly, hand spasming a little in Alex's hair as he hollows his cheeks and takes him all the way down, Henry's cock just bumping the back of his throat. "Oh, God–" Alex pulls off and frowns up at him.

"I'm giving you a pretty good blowjob right now," he points out, because he is and Henry should appreciate that; "the least you can do is tell me dirty things about the box under your bed, sweetheart." Then he takes Henry back into his mouth and does something with his tongue that makes Henry swear and buck up with his hips.

"Fine, oh Christ," Henry says quickly, visibly gritting his teeth as Alex takes him all the way down again and swallows pointedly. "I've got – fuck, alright, I have two toys. Both named Alex. Both electronic. Alex, fucking hell – "

Later, Alex is 100% going to grill Henry further on these mystery toys; he's going to beg and plead and bargain until Henry shows them to him and maybe uses them on himself. Or Alex. Or both – ideally while wearing his glasses.

Right now though–

"Okay, you should probably fuck my mouth," he says decisively as he pulls off Henry's cock one final time. "I have a seminar in, like, ten minutes?" Henry looks at him with a mix of hazy lust and bewilderment, but appears incapable of arguing once Alex relaxes his jaw.

Alex's lack of gag reflex gets Henry going a lot more than he thought it would, honestly, but he's kind of glad it isn't just him; the first time Henry fucked his mouth, Alex actually came in his pants, which had been pretty embarrassing. 

(Although every time Alex mentions it, Henry is immediately horny, so it has at least been useful.)

Alex closes his eyes and loses himself in the weight and taste of Henry on his tongue and at the back of his throat; he presses a palm to the front of his jeans and listens avidly to the way Henry loses his breath, feels the shaking in his fingertips where he's cradling Alex's head and jaw. When Henry comes it's with a breathless laugh that Alex could probably live a hundred lifetimes without tiring of; and then Henry's dragging him up and into his lap to kiss the taste of himself out of Alex's mouth.

"Five minutes till my seminar, baby," Alex says, maybe a little desperately, and Henry hums against his mouth and has Alex's cock in his hand in record time. "Oh, fuck me," Alex gasps, pulling away and looking down to watch Henry's hand moving over him, mesmerised by how hot it is just to see it.

Then Henry's taking his hand away – which is terrible – and hoisting Alex up onto the edge of the desk – which is decidedly not terrible. Then he takes Alex's cock into the wet heat of his mouth without ever leaving his chair, and Alex comes almost immediately, shaking and swearing as he grips at the edge of the desk.

"Fuck," he says eventually, fingers still anchoring him in place as Henry buttons them both back up and gets to his feet. "This was the best idea I've ever had." Henry laughs and runs his hands through Alex's hair, clearly vainly attempting to get it in some kind of order. Alex is, personally, completely fine with having sex hair for the rest of the day.

"How on earth do you look more tempting after you've sucked me off?" Henry asks, sounding almost frustrated, and Alex snorts and drags him into a kiss involving way more tongue than is strictly necessary. Henry pulls away much too soon – though his hands are still resting on Alex's thighs, which is promising – and fixes him with a look. "Right– we'll have none of that next week if I have to take this bloody awful class again, alright?"

"I fucking knew you thought it was bullshit too," Alex says delightedly, and Henry rolls his eyes and kisses him again, presumably to shut him up. In his defence, it works pretty well.

Alex maybe gets a few looks when he leaves the lecture theatre – and a few more when he enters his seminar with thirty seconds to spare – but he's honestly too fucked-out and smug to care. He's pretty sure everyone in his goddamn lecture group would tank that class if it meant getting to do what Alex just did.

Which they won't. Ever.

"Dude," Hunter says from the seat next to him, which Alex would have noticed and pointedly avoided if he wasn't still walking around in a post-orgasmic haze, "were you trying to get pulled up in ICR? You're nowhere near that antagonistic with Vega." Yeah, but Alex isn't fucking Vega, which is the primary difference. He shrugs as nonchalantly as possible.

"His hair was annoying. And he's too tall." Hunter looks at him disbelievingly.

"You're gonna end up with a warning... because the stand-in is too tall?"

"It's rude," Alex says brightly, pulling a notebook and pen out of his bag and thanking whatever higher power's at work for their input when the Prof starts the seminar off before Hunter can question him further.

Not that he's planning to learn anything from this experience, honestly.

Henry

"How's number 34 treating you so far?" Henry asks Pez as he shuffles papers and tries absentmindedly to remember where he put his favourite bookmark. Alex had found it on Etsy, apparently, and it's incredibly crude; he doesn't think the fox's arse really requires that amount of detail, but he remembers the smirk on Alex's face when he'd handed it over, the way his eyes had crinkled up at the corners… It's not really about the bookmark.

"Careful, I might start to think you listen to me, H," Pez says with a grin, lounging around on Henry's sofa like he doesn't have anywhere else to be. Henry knows for a fact that he does, given that he has classes to teach; however, his students appear to be more than used to their professor swanning into lectures five minutes after they've begun, wearing a Gucci blazer and sunglasses worthy of Elton John.

"I do listen to you," Henry insists, locating the bookmark and quickly shoving it into page 105 of Boyfriend Material before he puts it down on his desk. "Between you and Alex, I've heard every argument against the validity of Alignment Science it's possible to make and committed each one to memory, I assure you. I'm just asking if you've managed to smash your bloody phone or not yet, given that it seems to be your favourite activity– that is, after bothering me in my own home when we both have classes to teach in less than half an hour."

"Twenty-three minutes," Pez says helpfully, and Henry sighs and pushes his glasses up his nose before turning to him.

"Pez–"

“The phone is intact, my sweet prince," Pez says grandly, getting to his feet and rolling his shoulders. "And I continue to evade my fate through clever manipulation of the system."

"Naming everything a random number isn't manipulation," Henry argues, changing his mind at the last moment and shoving the book into his bag alongside his teaching material, "it's you being a stubborn twat."

"I've heard it both ways," Pez says solemnly.

They part ways at the doors of the humanities building, Pez swanning off to take his 'Thinking Theatre' class while Henry quickly finds the room he needs for his 'Victorian and Contemporary' class. He's about five minutes early, meaning he has enough time to briefly check his phone while the chatter dies down. Predictably, he has a few texts from Alex.

[From: Alex]

Hey, okay if I bring some of the jocks with me tonight? They're harmless, they just know I won't mock them for drinking margaritas like their other friends, even when they get weepy after 3 of them

3 margs I mean, not 3 friends

They might also cry after 3 friends though, I don't fucking know

Henry smiles in spite of himself; Alex texts like he speaks, which means Henry very often gets lost midway through a train of thought Alex thinks makes perfect sense, but which is in fact completely incomprehensible. They're going out with Pez, June, Nora and Bea tonight, and it's the first time that Pez has been able to join them in any capacity, what with his bustling social calendar. He does, however, love an audience, so Henry texts back in the affirmative.

[To: Alex]

Not a problem, love. Rest assured your 'jock friends' will only be mocked for not keeping up with Pez, who can put away margaritas like spring water.

[From: Alex]

Bring it the fuck on, sweetheart, I'm gonna mainline tequila until we all regret the existence of Mexico

Wait, hold on, I'm kind of from Mexico aren't I? I don't regret Mexico

Fuck, I can feel my abuela getting pissed with me and she doesn't even know why yet

She'll talk it out of me, send help

Henry sends Alex a string of laughing emojis – since it always seems to delight him, even if Henry doesn't understand the appeal of them in the slightest – and then silences his phone to begin the lesson.

After class, he has two unread texts.

[From: Alex]

Love it when you use emojis like you’re a human, it’s so hot

💕🍑👅🍆

Henry doesn't see how that's relevant, but he's looking forward to finding out.

"We need to talk about sex," Alex says, and Henry doesn't drop his glass of water as a result, but it's a close thing. He stares at Alex, who doesn't look like he's trying it on, but could very easily be doing so; he has a surprisingly good poker face for someone who wears his heart on his sleeve.

"Do we?" Henry says eventually, putting down the glass  so he doesn't spill anything when Alex inevitably says something else he's not prepared for. "Or do we in fact need to leave the flat in the next ten minutes?"

"I've been doing some research," Alex continues, clearly choosing to ignore Henry's very reasonable question, "and there's some stuff I wanna try."

"Research," Henry repeats faintly.

"Yeah, like– not just porn, but also that. I've done a spreadsheet–" Henry really doesn't know why it's the spreadsheet that does it for him but he moves before he even knows he's doing it, pressing Alex into the wall with his body and kissing him hard on the mouth. Alex opens up to it immediately with a surprised noise in the back of his throat, as though he didn't know Henry would have a sudden and visceral reaction to him talking about these things so casually.

"We don't," Henry says hotly, moving down to Alex's neck and pulling the collar of his shirt out of the way so he can get at the skin there, "have time for a spreadsheet right now, you absolute demon." Then he sucks a stinging mark above Alex's collar bone until he's whining and gripping at Henry's shoulders, his hips coming forward in an attempt to find friction.

Henry pulls back a second later, stepping away and out of Alex's grip; there's a bruise darkening in the wake of his mouth and Henry wants to fit his teeth back there now, but they really don't have the time for where that road leads.

"We need to leave," he says again, trying to sound as sure of himself as it's possible to be. Alex whines and lets his head fall back to thud against the wall.

"You're a bad person and you should feel bad," he says huffily, and Henry probably shouldn't think the word 'adorable' in conjunction with his soulmate quite this often, especially when he's being insulted, but there it is. Alex lifts his head to glare at Henry. "I made a pivot table cataloguing the intensity of my reactions to stuff – including repeat performances just to check – and you're telling me you still wanna leave the fucking apartment?"

Henry really does not want to leave, in fact; he would very much like to see this pivot table, and to find out exactly what made its way to the top of the list, and then do whatever the hell it is with Alex immediately. But they have plans. These plans do not involve his curiosity being satisfied anytime soon, and that is a damn shame, but he'll survive.

Probably.

"If you're trying to use pivot tables to get me hot and bothered," Henry says lightly, grabbing his jacket from the back of his desk chair and herding Alex towards the door, "it's not working."

"Yes it is," Alex shoots back, and Henry sighs as he pushes him out into the hallway.

"Well, yes, but I'm a grown man and I can control myself." Just about, he thinks to himself as Alex turns to raise an eyebrow at him. He really shouldn't have let Alex blow him in that lecture theatre last week. "That's not a challenge," he adds quickly, and Alex's expression morphs into one of wicked amusement.

"Sure fucking sounded like one, sweetheart," he says breezily, and Henry is left wondering if he's safe to let his guard down at all this evening.

He might stay off the margaritas anyway. Just in case.

Alex

“It’s called Junora,” Pez says grandly, pointing to his phone and winking at both June and Nora, who seem pretty amused by his attempts to convince them to, apparently, have a threesome. Alex really wishes this wasn’t happening in front of him. “It’s a sign! Who are we to deny the Fates?”

“Pez,” Henry says reproachfully, fingers sliding absentmindedly through the condensation clinging to the outside of his beer in a way that Alex finds very distracting.

“Can’t blame me for trying,” Pez says immediately, sitting back and grinning at Henry before taking a sip of his margarita.

“What is your phone called?” Bea asks curiously, stirring her lime cordial with a paper straw as June elbows Nora in the ribs, both of them dissolving into snorting laughter over their cocktails.

“34,” Pez says promptly, making something click in Alex’s mind.

“Hey, that’s the number on Liam’s lacrosse jersey,” he says, and it’s probably a coincidence but it’s a funny one, because Liam’s just entering the bar as he says it. “There he is– with the rest of the margarita-loving jocks who’re too fucking ashamed to drink them with anyone else. Goddamn cowards.” Pez nods gravely.

“A terrible state of affairs.” He looks around to follow Alex’s gaze for a moment though, going almost immediately back to his margarita once he spots the gaggle of lacrosse players coming towards them.

The evening gets considerably more interesting the more Pez drinks.

“13,” he says, necking his drink and seeming unsurprised when Alex immediately slides another one in front of him.

“Age I first named something Percy,” Liam says with a grin. “It was a Tamagotchi.”

“The inhumanity,” Pez moans, then takes a gulp of his fresh margarita before continuing. “Alright, smart-arse, how about 67?”

“Atomic number of Holmium,” Liam says easily, fingers curling around the stem of his own glass to pull it towards him. “Favourite element. Had the table on my wall growing up and the abbreviation is ‘Ho’ – that’s what passed for humour in the mind of a young Texan Liam.”

“And he was fucking right,” Alex says solemnly, clinking his glass with Liam’s. “Ho. Fucking brilliant.”

“29.”

“Favourite prime– don’t insult me.”

“3783.”

“Last four digits of my phone number.”

“34–”

“We’ve covered that one,” Alex says before Pez has even managed to get his tongue all the way around the number. “It’s on his lacrosse jersey. Face it, Pez, you’re outta fucking numbers.” Pez sighs dramatically and downs his drink; Henry hadn’t been kidding about that, apparently.

“I suppose I can accept a platonic soulmate,” Pez says with a grin that Liam returns instantly, and Alex feels something warm all the way down to his toes. Liam’s always had two soulmates – rare, though not unheard of – but he and Spencer had found each other pretty early on in the game. With them, it’s anything but platonic, and Alex honestly hadn’t understood until right now how it would work once – if – Liam found Percy.

Who is Pez. This is totally on Alex for not realising ‘Pez’ was a nickname.

“See what happens when you clear your schedule for us, Pez?” Henry says fondly, nudging him in the ribs with an elbow. “You get a brand new soulmate while several margaritas deep.”

“Oh, yes,” Pez says breezily, shooting Henry a look, “because it’s my overfull schedule that’s the problem, ever since you found your beau, mind-melded with him, and proceeded to spend all your time out of lessons indoors doing the horizontal rumba.”

“I can’t dance,” Henry says flatly, and Alex snorts so hard he’s surprised his drink doesn’t come shooting out of his nose.

“If you make even a single comment about my brother’s hips, I’m leaving,” Bea says seriously, and June says, “Hear, hear,” from the other side of the table while Nora cocks her head to the side.

“You know what? I’m good– go for it, Alex. Tell me all about Professor Fox’s hips.”

“Later,” he says with a grin, leaning across the table to clink his glass with Nora’s, ignoring Henry’s, “No you bloody won’t,” as he does so.

Eventually everyone’s had too much to drink – except Bea, who looks on with a superior smile as they all attempt to find their feet – and Pez wanders off with Liam to chat a bit more and maybe even meet Spencer, who will shortly be coming off his night shift. Henry watches them go with a pleased smile as Alex slides an arm around his waist, tucking himself into Henry’s side.

“I’m doing this because I want to hold you,” he says seriously, “and not because I’m having serious difficulty standing up straight right now.”

“Liar,” Henry says, soft and fond, and Alex squeezes himself in a little closer so he can stretch up to press a kiss to Henry’s waiting mouth.

“Can I stay at yours tonight?” he asks, and Henry slides a hand round to cup his jaw, smiling down at him in a way that makes Alex’s pulse jump.

“Of course, love. I sleep better with you there anyway,” Henry murmurs, and when Alex kisses him again, he feels so in love he doesn’t know how his body contains it.

Henry

Alex's sex spreadsheet doesn't come up again for another few days, by which time Henry has managed – somehow – to forget about it. This turns out to be an error, as it means he's completely unprepared for when the issue does rear its head once more. It really is something that he would have preferred to have been given a run-up to; perhaps some talking notes or an itinerary.

Instead what he gets is Alex knocking on his door on a Saturday morning, barging past Henry the moment he gets it open, laptop bag slung over one shoulder and a cardboard tray of coffees in one hand. Henry just blinks a little stupidly at him and closes the door behind him on autopilot.

"I know you usually do earl grey, but I figured you'd wanna be better caffeinated for this conversation," he says as he swings his bag onto the table and places the drinks down beside it. "I don't have a shift till later, but I swung by and got you an almond latte with like, two extra shots of espresso."

"And for what purpose do I need to be so robustly caffeinated?" he asks after a beat, watching in fatigued confusion as Alex unzips his bag and pulls out his laptop, setting it up on the kitchen table a second later. Henry's showered and dressed, but he's hardly awake; Alex is acting like he's had more than enough caffeine already, by comparison.

"We never got around to talking about the spreadsheet and pivot table I made–"

"Your sex research pivot table?" Henry clarifies, and Alex turns to him with a wicked grin that does things to Henry's insides. He's a grown man and this shouldn't still be happening to him, but Alex's presence always seems capable of turning him into a horny, reckless teenager almost instantly.

"My sex research pivot table," Alex confirms, sitting down at the table in an unnecessarily lewd sprawl and indicating the adjacent chair. Henry takes it – as well as the coffee with his name scrawled on the side – because he knows just how futile it is to argue with Alex when he's set his mind to something.

"Right," Henry sighs, taking a long swallow of his coffee and rolling his shoulders a little, "hit me with it then." Alex grins and turns the laptop towards Henry so he can see the screen.

"Okay, so I used a scale of 1-10 for intensity of reactions, with 0 being reserved for absolutely the fuck not." A quick scan of the page has Henry flushing already, even though he's neither virginal nor a prude; he's at least glad to see a '0' next to all of his hard lines.

"Right," he says, trying to keep his voice steady as he looks over the first ten or so items in the list. "Lingerie... Rimming; sex swings–sounds incredibly hazardous with your coordination." Alex snorts, but it doesn't detract from the way that there's a clear number 10 next to 'rimming' that Henry's having a hard time not latching onto. He clears his throat and continues through 'semi-public sex/exhibitionism' and 'spanking', but pauses when he gets to–

"Yeah, I thought you'd ask that," Alex says with a slight grimace; Henry's not sure why, since there's a '0' next to the word that's floored him – 'docking' – but a moment later Alex is pulling out a piece of paper and shoving it across the table at him. It turns out to be a printout from Urban Dictionary, defining the word in needlessly lengthy and reverent terms.

"Ah," Henry says, brow furrowed as he reads. "Well. Moving on."

"Yeah," Alex says, taking the printout back and shoving it into his bag. Henry's pretty sure his poker face is about as much use as a chocolate fireguard right now, but he struggles on past 'sensation play,' 'blindfolds,' and 'nipple play' with what he considers to be admirable fortitude.

He stumbles when he gets to 'restraints' and 'blindfolds,' and then–

"Toys," he says, voice a little rough. Alex hums and Henry swallows as he looks at the '10' next to it. It makes sense that his soulmate would have similar taste to him in the bedroom, but there's a gaping chasm of difference between knowing this and seeing it in Excel.

“Like, I already know what you think of those generally,” Alex says with a shrug, "but I don't know how you feel about us using them together. Like, you maybe using one on me? Or showing me–" Henry shuts the laptop with a snap and stands up, and Alex stops talking abruptly, staring up at him.

"Would you like to see the box under my bed?" Henry asks, and Alex stands up so fast the chair he's been sitting on almost clatters to the floor.

"Hell fucking yes I would," he says enthusiastically, and Henry takes his hand and pulls him through to the bedroom, pushing him onto the bed before squatting down to pull something out from beneath it.

"Right," Henry says, opening the box and placing the two toys on top of the duvet, right next to Alex. "Meet Alex the twentieth and Alex the twenty-first."

"Of course you kept track," Alex says, fond and a little breathless as he reaches out with one tentative hand to run a finger over the toy closest to him. Even seeing that does things to Henry's higher brain functions; he's not sure how he's going to survive anything more than this. "Which one's your favourite?"

"That one," Henry says quietly, indicating the toy Alex is actually caressing now, like he can't help himself. It's the bigger of the two, and the curve just happens to be a little more effective. Alex hums and picks it up.

"Nice. Wanna use it on me?"

"Yes," Henry says immediately, and then he pushes Alex back into the mattress and slides their mouths together with a feeling of dire urgency in his blood.

They undress each other and themselves with a total lack of coordination that Henry feels is probably understandable, given the circumstances. Alex very nearly elbows him in the face trying to squirm out of his shirt, and his knee ends up dangerously close to Henry's cock, but they eventually manage to get naked without any serious injuries.

"We haven't actually," Henry pants against Alex's neck, trying not to rut too obviously down against the hardness he can feel pressing against his own, "talked about–"

"I know I usually love talking," Alex interrupts, reaching out to the side table and fumbling for the lube while he strains into the scrape of Henry's teeth, "but right now I need a lot more shut the fuck up, and for you to use that thing on me. Like, now."

"Alex, we've never done it like this before," Henry says, pulling back and hovering over Alex on his hands; he's trying to be patient, even though literally all he wants to is whatever Alex asks of him. He's being responsible.

"I finger myself plenty," Alex says with a wave of his hand, letting his legs fall open around Henry's thighs. "Also, a couple of my ex-girlfriends pegged me and I was pretty into it, so–"

"Jesus Christ," Henry says faintly, leaning down immediately to kiss the smug satisfaction off Alex's face as he closes his fingers around the lube where Alex has abandoned it on the bedspread.

He believes Alex, he really does, but it's only when Henry gets one slick finger inside of him that he truly understands just how much Alex had not been joking; his body responds to it with beautiful immediacy, and he's not quiet as he takes it. He moans and pushes back against the intrusion, pressing his head back into the sheets and sucking his lower lip into his mouth while Henry works him open. Alex only gets louder, his body more demanding, as Henry gives him more, and Henry's really not sure Alex is going to have to touch him at this rate; seeing this happening under his own fingers might be enough.

“That’s enough,” Alex says eventually, barely managing to force the words out past the gasping, laboured breaths his lungs are currently struggling with, working back against three of Henry’s fingers now and breathless with it. “C’mon, sweetheart, give me what I want.” Henry has no idea if Alex took an online course on dirty talking when he was researching gay sex acts or if it just comes naturally to him, but either way it takes Henry apart like plasterboard in the path of a sledgehammer.

When Henry replaces his fingers with the curve of the vibrator, the noise Alex makes is obscene; it’s not even turned on yet, but he’s writhing under it anyway, squirming and fisting his hands in the sheets as Henry fits the toy snuggly against his prostate.

“Oh fuck,” Alex says faintly, circling his hips while Henry holds the vibrator in place for him; he’s not really doing it on purpose, but he’s so transfixed by Alex’s open desperation that he can’t bring himself to pull away yet.

“I’m going to turn it on now,” he says eventually, licking his lips and swallowing just to try and combat how desert-dry his mouth feels. “Let me know if it gets too much.” He then turns the toy onto its lowest setting and takes his hand away, watching with an almost painful level of arousal as Alex whines and his eyes flutter shut.

“That’s – fuck, that’s really good,” he moans. “How the fuck? I want one. I want twelve.”

“Might be a bit of a stretch,” Henry says hoarsely, and Alex chokes on a laugh and digs his fingers into his thighs like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Professor’s got jokes,” he says through gritted teeth, and Henry tries to pretend that Alex referring to him as ‘Professor’ does absolutely nothing for him. “More– I want… I can take more. Please.” Henry leans forward to grip the base of the toy, which Alex shamelessly uses to his advantage, pushing back a little more and groaning when he gets some resistance. Henry promptly switches it up to a higher setting.

“How’s that?” Henry asks, and gets his answer in a series of almost pained expletives as Alex starts to shove himself back against the pressure like he can get more of it if he only tries hard enough. This time, Henry keeps one hand on the toy and leans forward to set his teeth against the inside of one of Alex’s trembling thighs, right where he’s most sensitive.

He’s not really expecting Alex to practically wail before coming all over himself, but that’s precisely what happens.

“Oh,” Henry says faintly, then wonders briefly if it’s possible for him to resign directly from this bedroom and spend the rest of his life making Alex’s face and vocal cords do exactly what they just did, until they both pass away from dehydration and overexertion.

It’s probably not feasible. 

Henry turns the toy down once Alex is too sensitive to take it anymore and slowly eases it out, setting it aside and moving to hover over his boyfriend as he gets his breath back. Alex opens his eyes after a minute or so and stares up at Henry with something close to wonder in his expression, before he lets out a startled little hiccup of laughter.

“Well, fuck me,” he says, and then pulls Henry down and into a hot, messy kiss that serves to remind Henry that he’s still very much hard and as-yet untouched.

Then Alex wraps a hand around his aching cock and moves his mouth to Henry’s ear to whisper, “Can’t fucking wait to eat you out one of these days, sweetheart,” and Henry comes about thirty seconds later, breathless laughter bubbling up in his throat as he fucks into Alex’s fist.

His gravestone will read ‘Death by Sexy Pivot Tables’ and he can’t find it in himself to be too concerned about that.

Alex

Alex is fine. This is fine. He's never been 100% invested in this class – because it's bullshit, mostly, but also because it's something he could pass with his eyes closed and one of his fucking arms cut off – but that has changed ever so slightly with the difference in teaching arrangements. With Henry at the helm (Vega's surgery having been scheduled now and requiring him to take further time off), the lively debates, and Alex being the biggest shit he's capable of being every time he enters this lecture theatre, it's become distinctly more entertaining.

However, this was always meant to benefit him, not cause him to go out of his goddamn mind.

"Describe and explain," Henry's saying to the class at large, leaning against the desk at the front of the room with his ankles crossed. Everyone's looking at him avidly, but Alex is pretty damn sure nobody's listening to a word coming out of his gorgeous goddamn mouth. "This is hardly amateur hour, but not knowing how to assess the needs of a question and provide an answer within those parameters has been the downfall of many a student across all disciplines. You cannot manipulate the question to your will; the question and the text to which it pertains own you, not the other way around." His eyes flick to Alex for a split-second, and Alex is going to fucking kill him because he knows exactly what he's doing.

He's definitely going to fuck him first though. Fuck him then kill him. They'll write a documentary about his decline into lust-fuelled madness.

Henry's sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, which means everyone can see his forearms; Alex can barely tear his eyes away, and he's literally had them wrapped around his neck as Alex fucks him into the mattress. He should be used to this by now. It turns out he is fucking not.

Henry's still talking but even Alex has given up on trying to discern individual words by this point; Henry's wearing his glasses and his hair looks like fucking gold, even under the shitty strip lights, and Alex wants to be ruined by him. He's pretty sure he's not the only one.

Then there's the shirt.

It's one of Alex's favourites already, alright? It's plain white but it feels soft under his fingers, and the fabric clings to Henry's arms just right. He always pairs it with a waistcoat, and today's chosen colour is a deep purple that matches the bruise Alex left just below Henry's collarbone this morning.

Which he can see. He shouldn't be able to see it; it should be fucking hidden, but Henry's slutty, slutty shirt has the top few buttons undone, and Alex is going to perish. He's going to waste away, die with an awkward boner four rows back from the love of his life, all because he can almost see the shape of his own teeth from here.

"Does anyone have any questions?" The room is deadly fucking silent, but they all look at the clock as one, like a murmuration of starlings; the class is over. Alex barely fucking remembers it starting. "Splendid. Claremont-Diaz, would you mind staying behind? Vega had a question on the last paper you submitted and wanted me to pass it on. Don't worry, you're not in trouble."

Alex is struggling with the way Henry's tongue wraps around the phrase "in trouble" and Henry fucking knows it. He nods, not trusting himself to speak, and eventually it's just him and Henry in the room.

Well... Not quite.

"Sorry, sir, I just needed to speak to you about something. It's pretty important." Okay, it's just him, Henry, and WASPy fucking Hunter, apparently.

"Hunter," Henry says pleasantly, smiling in that way he does when he's being friendly, but not overly so. There's so much diplomacy behind that smile; something that really isn't in Alex's repertoire. It would be impressive if he didn't just want Henry to tell Hunter to get fucked so he can shove Alex across the desk and do stuff to him that Alex hasn't fully decided on yet. There are options. "How can I help?"

"I'm sure you know my father is the Dean," Hunter says solemnly, and Alex resists the urge to roll his eyes, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and rocking back on his heels. Henry's face remains pleasantly interested.

"I wasn't aware, though I'm not sure how that pertains to your issues in this class...?" He trails off, raising his eyebrows slightly. His arms are still crossed, his forearms still on show, and Alex really needs Hunter to leave so he can do some very dirty things to Henry in a place where he should absolutely not be doing them.

"Well," Hunter says, doing that thing people do when they're pretending to be sensitive about something, when in fact they're super fucking stoked to have gossip, "I couldn't help but notice that you and one of your students seem to be engaged in some kind of relationship? And I'm just letting you know that I'm going to have to take these concerns to my father." His eyes flick to Alex as he says this, and Alex is trying so, so hard not to grin like a maniac, but it's actually very difficult.

He's fucking the hottest professor in the entire fucking college, okay? His name pushed its way out of Henry's throat before he'd so much as laid eyes on Alex, and he's allowed to be goddamn smug that he now gets to make that a regular – often very loud and breathless – occurrence.

"Hunter," Henry says levelly, "while I appreciate your concern, I'm not sure this is something that would benefit from a trip to the Dean's office."

"Relationships between teachers and–"

"I'm going to stop you there," Henry says firmly, and – surprisingly, all things considered – Hunter actually shuts the fuck up. Henry sighs and uncrosses his arms (which is a damn shame) before straightening up. "I presume you're talking about my relationship with Alex?" He nods briefly to where Alex is standing, eyes flicking between Henry and Hunter like he's watching a fucking tennis match. Hunter looks surprised, like he hadn't been expecting Henry to admit to it.

Which is, honestly, kind of offensive? Alex is a hottie, okay, and Henry is lucky to be breaking off a piece of this. Jesus fuck.

"I just don't think it's appropriate, irregardless of the fact that you're only the temporary lecturer for this class," Hunter says solemnly, and Alex watches Henry's eye literally twitch at the use of the word 'irregardless.' Oh man, Hunter just left some goddamn blood in the water.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Henry says calmly, "but I'm afraid it's quite out of my hands. If we're to ignore entirely the fact that I am, as you rightly said, not actually Alex's teacher, and therefore in no way responsible for his grading in this class; I'm also his soulmate. This is, of course, not anyone else's business, but I feel I should remind you of the exceptions in place as a result of the draw of the soulmate bond. There are special dispensations written into the regulations in all educational organisations due to the sanctity and unpredictability of the bond – which, as the son of the Dean, I'm sure you know."

Hunter looks like he's been slapped in the face. Alex wants to kiss Henry, and also do much less PG-13 things to him. Immediately.

"I see," Hunter says eventually, as Henry continues to look at him with something approaching sympathy. Alex is pretty sure the expression on his own face is not that, but then again, he's not really trying very hard. WASPy Hunter is a fucking dick.

"Was there anything else?" Henry asks pleasantly, and Hunter straightens up minutely and shakes his head. He is, Alex thinks, a bit flushed. Good, let him be embarrassed. Let him be confused and horny thinking about him and Henry going at it; they're both pretty fucking hot, it's not like Alex could blame him.

"That was everything," Hunter says gravely, turning to Alex. "Sorry about this, Alex–"

"Claremont-Diaz," he says pleasantly, grinning and pointedly ignoring the hand that Hunter is half holding out to him. "My friends call me Alex."

Hunter leaves the room pretty sharpish after that.

Alex is on Henry even fucking sharper.

"Fuck, that was so hot," he says against Henry's mouth, not giving him a moment to respond before he's licking inside and swallowing up his answering groan, Alex's entire body singing with the pressure of Henry's fingers on his hips.

"Not here," Henry murmurs, but then Alex is turning him and pressing him against the desk, hands pushing into Henry's pockets, looking for something he knows he'll find there.

"Yes here," Alex breathes, fingers closing around a goddamn travel bottle of lube; as if he's the horny, irresponsible one in this relationship. Nobody fucking knows Henry but him, okay, and he will die on this hill.

"Alex–"

"Baby," Alex interrupts him, and then Henry's fucking melting into him and in no time at all he's giving into the press and thrust of Alex's fingers and the want in his own veins.

"This," Henry gasps, gripping the edge of the desk and shoving back against where Alex is fucking into him with an urgency that's probably warranted, all things considered, "is a terrible idea. Oh – God, there–"

"Fucking great idea, shut up," Alex hisses, gripping Henry's hips harder as he continues to move his own; he has apparently now found that very specific angle that makes Henry's breathing and speech erratic, if the desperate stream of nonsense now coming out of his mouth is any indication.

Everything about this situation is completely obscene: the way Henry's fingers are curled around the desk in front of him; the fact that neither of them are undressed past what was required to get Alex inside Henry; the sheer heat and insanity of them doing this where anyone could just come in, could see Henry in his fucking waistcoat and rolled-up sleeves, glasses sliding down his nose as Alex drives into him.

That's what tips Alex over the edge in the end – the idea that they could get caught – but he has just enough presence of mind to reach around and wrap his hand around Henry, to bring them off together, before he's crying out and coming.

"Fuck," Alex gasps, his movements turning sharp and uncoordinated as he shakes with the force of it, his whole body going hot and almost liquid. He brings Henry with him through sheer force of will, twisting his wrist on an upstroke and feeling something bone-deep and satisfied at the breathless laugh that accompanies the heat of Henry's release over his fist.

Which does present some logistical issues.

“I can’t believe you came to this lecture dressed in a fucking waistcoat, with lube in your pocket, and didn’t bring any fucking wet wipes,” Alex complains as he buttons his pants up with one hand and looks around desperately for something appropriate to wipe his other hand on; he’s pretty sure Henry wouldn’t appreciate Alex using the hem of his shirt.

Henry sighs and, having already tidied himself up enough that he doesn’t look like he’s just been railed across a desk, reaches out to wrap his fingers around Alex’s wrist. Alex, confused and maybe a little bit come-drunk, watches blankly as Henry brings Alex’s hand to his mouth and – very slowly and deliberately – starts to clean him up with his tongue.

“I–” Alex says weakly, but then Henry takes two of Alex’s fingers into the heat of his mouth to suck them clean, and suddenly he doesn’t have any words left in his head. He can only watch as Henry solidifies his place as Hottest Person On The Planet, while Alex’s body tries to convince him that it is actually within the realms of possibility for him to get hard again.

It’s not. He’ll die. 

“Thanks,” he says when Henry eventually drops his hand; his voice is hoarse and Henry looks very pleased with himself, but Alex guesses that’s fair. He probably should be pleased with himself. Alex is pretty fucking pleased with him, when it comes right down to it.

“Don’t mention it,” Henry says easily, then raises his eyebrows. “No, really – don’t mention it. I’m not awfully keen on anyone else getting a glimpse at the content of my soulmate’s sex pivot table.” Alex has a brief flash of ‘cleaning up come with tongue’ and the number ‘9’ that he’d inputted next to it, and swallows.

“That sounds like a weird euphemism,” he says, throat still a little dry, and Henry laughs.

“I think it’s plenty weird without any euphemistic connotations.” Alex kisses him just so he’ll stop saying long words, and it takes him seven minutes to successfully leave the lecture theatre after that, wandering around campus in a sex-drunk haze as he tries to remember where he’s meant to be going.

Henry

[To: Alex]

Come over for dinner tonight? I was planning on making carbonara, if that sweetens the pot for you at all.

[From: Alex]

I fucking love pasta, and you’re okay too I guess, but I’m actually babysitting tonight??? Raincheck on delicious pasta and further discussions on my sexy, sexy pivot table.

[To: Alex]

Babysitting? I’m not sure you mentioned this when we talked through your laundry list of skills and talents.

[From: Alex]

No gag reflex, makes good Mexican food, babysits his boss’s kids on the side for some extra cash. I think that’s it actually?

[To: Alex]

You forgot kind, funny, impressively high GPA, alarmingly good at pivot tables…

[From: Alex]

Stop complimenting me when I can’t get my fucking hands on you. Pick me up when I’m done later? I’ll miss dinner but I wanna see you anyway

Ugh, that’s disgusting, I can’t believe I just said that

Delete these texts, nobody can know

They haven’t been together for very long – soulmate bond aside – so Henry tries very hard not to imagine Alex around children, even if he knows it’s a lost cause. They haven’t actually said ‘I love you’ yet, though Henry has implied it in every brush of his fingertips across Alex’s skin; in every weak, helpless smile that forms on his mouth when Alex is ripping the piss out of him for something, Alex staring him down with a grin and daring Henry not to laugh along with him. He always fails.

Henry thinks Alex feels the same way, no matter his initial reservations about soulmates, but he doesn’t actually know for sure; he really needs Alex to say it first, and he’s willing to wait.

Alex sends him a picture message a couple of hours later of him and two blond-haired girls – identical twins, by the looks of it – engaged in a very intense game of Monopoly over bowls of pasta. The girls are obviously aware of the camera and are wearing exaggerated expressions of concentration as they stare down at the board; Alex is feigning a similar level of intensity, even though he has a piece of spaghetti trailing out of his mouth.

[To: Alex]

I hope you’re teaching them how to play properly, with loan interest and proper bail procedures.

Alex sends another picture after that in place of a verbal response. It’s shaky, but Henry can just make out Alex lying on the floor, both of the girls sitting on him with the board raised above their heads in victory. There are tiny plastic hotels in Alex’s hair. Henry’s so in love he wants to cry.

At 7.30pm, Henry gets a call from Alex and answers it immediately; he’s just taking a pasta bake out of the oven, having decided on something that Alex could heat up later if he changed his mind about dinner (Monopoly spaghetti notwithstanding), so he has to put it on speaker with one hand while he tries to find a trivet.

“Done already?” he asks, finally locating one and managing to get the hot pasta dish onto it without burning himself or the countertop in the process.

“Not for a couple of hours, actually,” Alex says, and he sounds calm but there’s something in his voice that has Henry sitting up and taking notice.

“Everything alright, love?”

“Amy’s not very well and I can’t get hold of her mom – she’s at the theatre but I think I just missed the interval? Anyway, I was just wondering if you could come over and help me out with Kate while I try to get through to the out of hours service – they’re great girls but they can be a bit of a handful.” Henry’s turning off the oven and looking around for his shoes before Alex has even finished his sentence.

“Of course, Alex – what’s the address? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, H,” Alex breathes, sounding grateful, and then there’s a noise on the other end of the line that sounds like crying and his voice goes distant for a moment. “I know, Ames, we’re gonna fix it, alright? Remember I told you about my soulmate, Henry? He’s coming over to help out and he knows lots of long words and the proper rules for Monopoly. He’s going to give me a hand with you crazy kids and we’ll see what we can do about making you feel better.” Then Alex is talking to Henry again, rather than about him. “I’m over on Clifton – number 182. You think you can find it okay?”

“Should take me ten minutes,” Henry confirms, trying to ignore the way his heart is pounding in his chest at the almost painfully soft moment to which he just bore witness. “Do you need me to stay on the line?”

“Nah, I’m good - gotta try out of hours again anyway, and I’m keeping the line free for Martha as much as possible. See you in ten, hotshot. Probably eight, if you use the legs the Lord gave you.”

“Noted,” Henry says, not bothering to keep the amusement from his voice as he grabs his keys and takes Alex off speaker to press the phone to his ear. “With you in a mo.”

“Godspeed,” Alex drawls, and then he’s hanging up and Henry is taking his tangle of emotions and soft heart out of the door and towards where they’re needed.

It takes him nine minutes to get there, which he feels is an acceptable compromise, and when Alex answers the door, he suddenly feels incredibly guilty. The thing is, he’s so horribly glad to see Alex, and the sight of him smiling warmly in a doorway with a child clinging to him like koala causes Henry’s heart to do something complex and acrobatic in his chest; however, he owes the sight of Alex like this to said child, who is unwell, and it isn’t fair that he feels grateful for the opportunity.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Alex says softly, beckoning him in with the hand holding his phone; Henry steps inside and shuts the door quietly behind him, following Alex through to a small living room he recognises as the site of the evening’s Monopoly massacre. 

“Still trying to get through to someone?” Henry asks quietly, and Alex nods and grimaces, hoisting Amy a little further up on his hip. She must be nearly seven, but both of the girls are very slight, so while it’s obviously not easy, Alex seems more than capable of handling it. Henry tries not to feel anything about that right now, as it doesn’t seem appropriate. “Anything I can do?”

“Yeah – allergy issues, but I need a little guidance because of how bad she’s feeling this time,” Alex says with a smile, nodding over to where Kate is curled up in the corner of the sofa, looking on the brink of tears. “Can you help her pick something on Netflix and just talk to her for a while? You deal with me on a regular basis so I figure you can deal with kids – you’re nowhere near as bad as me, eh chica?” He directs this final part towards Amy, his voice softening again, and she presses just a little closer to him with a wet little laugh; Henry tries not to melt on the spot. Instead, he smiles and nods, walking over to where Kate is sitting forlornly on the sofa.

“Hi, Kate,” he says calmly, watching as she tenses up just slightly before relaxing; he is, he reminds himself, a complete stranger to her. “My name’s Henry – I’m Alex’s soulmate. I hear he’s told you a bit about me?” She looks at him then, arms around her knees where she’s brought them up to her chest, and nods.

“Said you were a professor,” she says quietly, and Henry smiles and nods encouragingly. “You don’t look like a professor though.” 

“And what do professors look like?” Kate shoots him a withering look.

“They have glasses and they wear sweaters.”

“Well,” Henry says slowly, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out his glasses case, “I can certainly help a bit with the image there.” He takes out his glasses and slides them on – which is probably a good idea anyway, unless he wants to be squinting at whatever they end up putting on the TV – and watches as her face lights up.

“Okay,” Kate says, “so you’re a professor. Tío said you were handsome too.”

“Not sure there’s much I can do about that if you disagree,” Henry says with a laugh. “I’ve only got the one face, I’m afraid.”

“Hey, sobrina,” Alex says warningly from the doorway, “don’t go giving away all my secrets now. Your tío is a man of mystery and he’d like to keep it that way.” Kate giggles and Henry tries to not to show how deeply affected he’s been throughout this entire interaction.

“You’re okay looking,” Kate confides, and Henry smiles at her, taking the TV remote when she pushes it across the sofa at him.

“That’s very kind of you,” he says, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “but I think your tío is much more handsome than me. Don’t tell him I said that though – wouldn’t want him to get a big head.” Kate stifles another giggle and then they spend five minutes having a very serious conversation on the merits and pitfalls of Shaun the Sheep.

“It’s stupid though,” Kate argues, “because sheep don’t have thumbs.”

“A very good point,” Henry concedes, “although these are cartoon sheep, so we can probably make allowances.” Kate frowns.

“I wanna watch Carmen Sandiego.”

“Excellent choice,” Henry says smoothly, immediately clicking on the first episode and settling back into the sofa while Alex’s voice filters through from the other room. He’s obviously managed to get through to either the out of hours service or the twins’ mother, which is at least a step in the right direction.

“How do you become a professor?” Kate asks a moment later, her eyes still fixed on the TV as the episode begins to unfold in front of them.

“Well, there’s lots of hard work involved,” he says slowly, “and I had to write a couple of books about the things I love and get someone to publish them. I also had to do lots of qualifications before I could teach people.” Kate nods gravely.

“Tío Alex is doing a qualification,” she says, barely stumbling over the word, as though she’s had quite a lot of practice saying it. Henry feels his heart swelling a little in his chest.

“Alex is very clever,” he agrees, “and he’s going to help a lot of people when he’s finished with his degree.” Kate looks at him then, eyes wide.

“Does he not help people already?” Henry smiles at her reassuringly.

“All the time. But he’ll be able to help more people eventually – especially people who can’t help themselves.”

“Cool,” Kate says, going back to Carmen Sandiego, expression oddly resolute.

Alex comes back into the room around ten minutes later, looking relieved; Amy is still attached to him but she’s sagging, half asleep and barely able to hold on as a result.

“She seems to be feeling a little better now her allergy meds have kicked in,” Alex says quietly, sliding his phone into his pocket. “The doctor isn’t too worried about her symptoms but I’ve made sure she has an appointment first thing in the morning – even if Martha can’t take her, I’ll make sure I can.” 

“That’s good news,” Henry says warmly, and Alex smiles at him.

“Yeah, we’re all good. Thanks for this though – I’m gonna put them to bed now, since we all wore ourselves out playing Monopoly earlier, right sobrinas?”

“I’m not tired,” Kate protests, then ruins her argument by yawning so widely Henry swears he can see past her tonsils.

“Lying to your tío won’t work,” Alex says firmly, “because I know a whole bunch of stuff. Stuff like ‘Kate and Amy are tired’ and ‘they don’t want me to tell their mom about how they tricked me into opening her fancy gelato’.” Kate squeaks and stands up from the sofa so fast she wobbles slightly.

“Please don’t tell mom,” she says quickly, glancing at Henry. “I’ll go to bed if tío Henry reads me some Harry Potter?”

“You’re in no position to be bargaining,” Alex says loftily, while Henry’s heart flip-flops in his chest at Kate calling him tío. “But, since I also wanna hear tío Henry reading Harry Potter in his silly accent, you’re in luck.”

“Silly accent, eh?” Henry says lightly as he follows Alex and the girls towards their bedroom, Amy still sleepily clinging to Alex like he’ll stop existing if she lets go.

“Hey, I call ‘em as I see ‘em,” Alex says, flashing him a grin, and then it’s a whirlwind of teeth-brushing, face washing, and forced pyjama-wearing before Henry can open The Philosopher’s Stone where it’s been bookmarked previously, and pick up where Alex or Martha left off.

"The escape of the boa constrictor earned Harry his longest ever punishment," Henry begins, and lets the familiar words form in his mouth without thinking too hard about how good this all feels.

Alex

Two things happen to Alex in the weeks following Amy's incident that have an effect on him.

The first – and probably the most important – is that Henry very graciously lets Alex eat him out.

“Christ,” Henry croaks out, sounding utterly wrecked after Alex has spent maybe five minutes licking over his hole, steadily pressing harder and starting to work his way inside. Alex is kind of obsessed with this already, with the way it makes Henry shake and swear and push back against Alex’s face like he can’t get enough of it. He hasn’t even touched Henry anywhere else yet and he wonders vaguely if he actually needs to; it kinda seems like he might be able to come just from this, honestly.

By the time Alex has worked two fingers in alongside his tongue, Henry’s practically sobbing, and it’s pretty much the hottest thing Alex has experienced to date. Henry isn’t quiet when they fuck – not exactly – but he is a lot less surround sound than Alex himself is; this is totally fine, and Alex is already learning to read the movements of Henry’s body, the changes to his facial expressions and the way his voice goes tight when he says “there” and “please.” It’s not like he’s insecure about their sex life or anything; he knows he makes Henry feel good.

But there’s something about how desperate he sounds right now, the way he’s writhing and begging whenever he can get his mouth around the words, pushing back against Alex’s tongue and fingers like he’d pass out or away without more of it. It’s incredibly fucking gratifying, is what it is; and when Henry comes with a groan that sounds like gravel on broken glass, Alex thinks he’s maybe allowed to feel a little bit fucking smug, actually.

Alex leaves Henry panting into the sheets while he cleans up and brushes his teeth, and by the time he’s back, his boyfriend looks about ready to fall asleep.

“Did I break you?” he murmurs, grinning a little as he presses up against Henry’s side and pushes his face into his shoulder. Henry hums.

“Very nearly,” he says, quiet and a little slurred, “but we may have to have a number of repeat performances to test out its efficacy.”

“If you can still use words like ‘efficacy,’ you’ve got the brainpower to get me off, Your Highness.” Alex had mostly been kidding – he gets enough out of making Henry come that his own orgasm doesn’t always matter to him very much – but then Henry’s making a noise of polite agreement and moving so quickly that Alex doesn’t even have time to react. Henry’s suddenly on top of him, thighs bracketing his, fingers wrapped around Alex’s wrists where they’re now pressed into the sheets. He stares up at Henry, open-mouthed, and tries to remember which way is up.

“Restraints,” Henry says calmly, “had a ‘10’ next to it, if I recall correctly.” He does recall correctly, and Alex’s mouth is suddenly drier than the Sahara when he realises what Henry’s suggesting.

“Um, yeah,” he says dumbly. He isn’t sure if Henry knows he’d had just as strong a reaction to it both ways, but he probably wouldn’t be surprised to find that out. “Definitely a ten.”

“How did you figure that one out?” Henry asks conversationally, still pinning Alex firmly in place in a way that reminds him of the strength he holds in his body; it makes Alex ache.  

“Porn,” he says as sarcastically as he can, and Henry just raises his eyebrows and cocks his head to the side like he isn’t gonna take that from him. It’s annoyingly hot, actually. “Okay, so some guy was getting tied up and edged–” (also a ten) “–and I came in about thirty fucking seconds? It was pretty easy to work it out.”

“Well,” Henry says slowly, “we can save the latter part for another day, but one of my ties should do the trick for the former, if you’re amenable?”

Once Alex is tied to the headboard and Henry gets his hands on him, Alex comes so hard he cries; Henry then spends twenty minutes kissing him and telling him how perfect he is until Alex is a puddle of goddamn jello on the bed, like his spine has just given up the fucking ghost and left him completely boneless.

“So far this sexy pivot table has a 100% success rate,” he points out later, yawning widely as he tries to put his shoes on and accidentally gets the first one on the wrong foot. “Fuck. Why am I so fucking tired.”

“Because it’s two in the morning,” Henry points out from the bed, where he’s reading a book and wearing his glasses, bare chested and tempting in a way that makes Alex’s throat go dry and his stomach drop out. “I did say you could stay.”

“Yeah, I know,” Alex says with a sigh, eventually getting his shoes on right and standing up to roll the tension from his shoulders, “but I’d have to go back to mine before class anyway – got a full day and none of my books, and the professor currently taking Vega’s morning lecture is a hardass.” Henry smiles at him and Alex’s heart melts like butter in the fucking sun.

“Is he indeed?”

“Yep,” Alex says brightly, taking a few steps over to the bed so that he can kneel on the mattress and give Henry a brief kiss goodbye. “It’s cool though – I know his weakness.”

“Do you?” Henry says indulgently, and Alex’s grin widens.

“Totally. Mouthy Americans with sexy pivot tables.”

“You might be onto something there.”

“I will only use this knowledge for evil.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

The second thing that happens that week is that Alex is so fucking tired from his late night shoving his tongue up Henry's ass and being tied to the fucking headboard that he ends up being too sensitive for his contacts – which he really needs for a full day of lectures and seminars – and has to wear his glasses instead. He turns up thirty seconds before his ICR class starts – which Henry is still covering – and only resists face-planting on the desk because he's pretty sure he'd end up with glass in his eye.

He manages to get there first somehow, and Alex finds himself loathing Henry for a split-second when he does arrive; he looks well-rested, the absolute fucking asshole, and not at all like he was up until the asscrack of dawn writhing on Alex’s tongue.

Henry starts the lecture as usual, but five minutes after he starts speaking, his eyes meet Alex’s and he stammers. He looks a little flushed, but he recovers well, and he doesn’t look at Alex for the rest of the lecture.

Alex is… confused. He’s always in this class; Henry is used to this by now. Also, he looks a fucking mess, having shoved a hoodie on over an old t-shirt he’s been using as PJs, and he’s wearing his glasses, which… Oh.

Oh.

Henry hasn’t seen him in his glasses until now. The realisation hits him like a double shot of espresso and he straightens up a little, staring at Henry like he’s never seen him before. This shouldn’t be a surprise, but it fucking is for some reason; he loves Henry in his glasses – like literally right now and at every other goddamn time – but Alex has never thought of himself as looking good in his.

Apparently Henry disagrees.

At the end of the lesson, Alex stays behind again – no longer caring what people think about that, given that WASPy Hunter has probably spread the news about their relationship like it’s anyone’s fucking business – and when Henry catches his eye, he knows he was right about this.

“This wasn’t on my spreadsheet,” he says quietly, once it’s only him and Henry in the room again. Henry reaches out to pull him in and Alex goes easily, settling between Henry’s legs where he’s leaning back against the desk.

“While your spreadsheet is comprehensive,” Henry says softly, lifting one of his hands to Alex’s face and brushing his thumb just under where his glasses rest, “it fails to take one very important thing into account.”

“Yeah?” Alex replies quietly, leaning into the touch and trying not to close his eyes; he’s tired and soft, and Henry’s touch always seems to close a circuit in him somewhere that he hadn’t previously realised was open. Henry hums and leans forward to press a soft kiss to Alex’s mouth before pulling back again.

“There’s not a single facet of you I don’t like,” Henry says simply, and Alex is too fucking tired for this; he’s too tired for the way his heart is now in his throat, for the way his lungs are working to draw in more air, even though it feels like there isn’t enough to go around. He’s too tired not to say everything he’s thinking, letting ‘I can’t breathe’ crystallise into something a little more honest.

“I love you,” he says, and Henry blinks at him for a split-second before smiling, warm and wide, and leaning down to press their foreheads together.

“I love you too,” he says, like it’s simple. Alex guesses it is.

Henry

“Okay,” Alex says, rolling his shoulders and closing his eyes for a moment, like he’s centering himself. When he opens them again, he looks straight at Henry and breathes out a lungful of air, long and steady. “Let’s fucking do this.”

“And you’re sure about this?” Henry asks him for what feels like the hundredth time, trying to keep the want out of his voice. It’s Alex’s choice and it will always be Alex’s choice. “You don’t think it’s–”

“It’s bullshit,” Alex interrupts him flatly. “It’s antiquated and ridiculous, and I want it with you so fucking badly I can’t breathe when I think about it. So shut up and give me my goddamn token.” Henry can’t help the smile that stretches across his face at that, and he holds out the carefully wrapped gift he’s been handling like glass all morning. Alex takes it and puts it down on the table between them, and then takes a breath. “I accept this token for what it represents, and not for what it means to others.” He then swallows and passes Henry’s gift to him, waiting with a facsimile of patience for Henry’s turn.

“I accept this token for what it represents,” Henry repeats, “and not for what it means to others.” Alex nods and then picks up his gift, unwrapping it like he’s trying to save every piece of sticky tape and straightening out every crease in the paper as he goes like it’s a test. When he eventually gets to what’s inside, he sucks in a breath and meets Henry’s eyes.

“Is this–”

“Not exactly, no,” Henry says quickly, and he’s blushing; can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, even though this isn’t anything he needs to be embarrassed about. Not anymore. “I think I must have known, even then, because I… Well, I kept the first one. After you bumped into me at the shop? I kept it and I didn’t really know why, and then of course I did know why–”

“Henry,” Alex breathes, looking suspiciously misty-eyed as he stares at the perfectly preserved coffee cup in his hands. “That’s – fucking hell, okay, this is a lot.”

This is the part of the Soulmate Ceremony that matters to both of them, and Henry’s now outrageously glad they decided to keep it private. The exchanging of tokens is deeply personal, and Henry’s not sure he’d want anybody else to see this; to see them.  

“If it’s too–”

“It’s not too anything,” Alex says fiercely, wiping furiously at his eyes and glaring at Henry. “Just – fucking hell, just open yours, okay?” Henry swallows down the emotion threatening to choke him and does just that, picking up the small, messily wrapped gift like it holds the lost treasure of the Sierra Madre.

What it actually contains is a pen, although Henry’s reaction to it is similar to the one he’d have if it were the lost treasure of the Sierra Madre. His breath catches and he can feel tears stinging at the corners of his eyes.

“The first time I touched your fucking hand,” Alex says, and his voice comes through sharp and clear even with the static currently overwhelming Henry’s senses, “I knew you were it. Like, I obviously already sensed it, but… Holding your hand still while I wrote my number on it was almost fucking impossible because I felt like I was vibrating with this new knowledge, and then you stood outside the window and just looked at me. It was like you were lost the second there was a pane of fucking glass between us, and I felt that, and I was texting you with this fucking pen still right in front of me, and it suddenly seemed important.” 

Henry swallows.

“You stole a pen,” he says hoarsely, and Alex chokes out a laugh and nods.

“Yeah, I stole a fucking pen, Henry. Martha can dock the thirty cents from my wages. Are we done? Can I kiss you now?” Henry leans across the table and pulls Alex towards him by his collar, pressing their mouths together with a slow, sweet urgency that makes him feel like all his nerve endings are lighting up at once; he feels like, should anyone look at him, they’d see the human equivalent of a light-strung Christmas tree, glowing gold and glittering under Alex’s mouth.

They have to stop eventually – if only because they still have to do the legal bit, and it will be seriously delayed if Henry tries to take Alex on the table – and when Henry pulls back, Alex looks beautifully pleased and flushed.

“Okay,” he says, voice low and gravelly, “let’s go sign some fucking paperwork so we can go home and do things that don’t involve other people in any capacity.” Henry nods wordlessly, offering Alex his free hand – the other still clutching tightly to a pen that is so much more than a pen – so that he can tangle their fingers together and pull him towards the door.

Bea, Pez, June, and Nora are waiting for them on the other side, along with a bored-looking registrar who’s holding a large leather-bound book.

“Finished,” Alex says brightly, and Nora whoops, leaning over to give Pez a fistbump. Bea smiles and offers her congratulations and June darts forward to hug Alex, almost crushing his token in the process.

“Watch it, Bug,” he says with a beleaguered sigh, but he hugs her back fiercely and nearly starts crying again, so Henry’s pretty sure he’s okay.

“I’m so glad he wasn’t called Florian,” June says tearfully, and Alex’s answering laugh is equally wet, and Henry’s a little lost but found all the same.

The rest of the ceremony is in fact just five minutes of signing various legal documents confirming that they will now legally be soulmates, and aren’t lying for the perks, and appreciate that someone might throw them into a dark cell with no windows if it does come to light that they’re lying for the perks. The registrar tells them, “Congratulations,” once they’ve signed the final piece of paperwork – voice filled with all the joy and enthusiasm of a pre-recorded Underground announcement – and then they’re free to go.

“That was anticlimactic,” Pez comments as they leave the office and walk out onto a busy street full of people who don’t know or care that Henry’s heart is the lightest it’s been in his entire life.

“You missed the part where Henry railed me in the back room,” Alex deadpans, June shrieking and hitting him on the arm while Bea covers her ears and grimaces; and Henry is so happy he doesn’t know what to do with it all.

Later, Henry ties Alex to the bed and murmurs the words, “I love you,” into his skin over and over again until Alex is begging and writhing, achingly hard and desperate. He takes Alex apart with his mouth, licks him open with Alex’s ankles locked behind his neck, and makes him come untouched with just the press of Henry’s tongue inside him.

Alex comes again with Henry pressing into him for the first time. It’s slow and intimate and theirs; just like the coffee cup and the pen knocked askew on the bedside table; just like the promises they made behind closed doors and the tangle of their fingers in creased bedsheets. Henry bites a laugh into Alex’s neck and comes to the sound of, “I love you, baby, c’mon,” in his ear, and feels whole.

He’s still never going to be able to look at a pivot table the same way again though.