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“Take anything you want and know you deserve to have it.”
- Alex Claremont-Diaz, ‘Red White & Royal Blue.’
So Henry Fox is an asshole
It’s a very well known fact. Henry Fox, son of the legendary actor Arthur Fox and thereby the poster child of nepotism, is a certified Hollywood diva. There are countless Twitter threads and tabloid articles that support this theory; Henry Fox is irritable, and cold, and he thinks he’s better than everyone else. He never makes time to speak to his fans, he’s never seen out socializing with any of his castmates, and once — during the production of a baseball themed coming-of-age movie — he’d made one of the extras cry.
If Alex had kept a collection of all the evidence that Henry Fox is in fact an absolute dick, he could’ve filled several scrapbooks.
(He’d have made the cover blue.)
The worst part of the universally acknowledged truth that Henry Fox is a jerk on a good day and a douche on a bad one is that Alex is about ninety-five percent sure it’s incorrect.
“I don’t know, man, he gives me serious asshole vibes.”
“Rich, coming from you.”
“What did you say?”
Alex rolls his eyes. He’s not in the mood to play nice with Hunter today — and actually, that ties in pretty nicely with the point he’s trying to make. “Look, nobody walks through life as their best self every single day, but most of us aren’t constantly scrutinized the way people like Fox are. Half the stories about him being a dick are people complaining that he didn’t stop to talk to them. I swear people lose their entire sense of judgment the moment their favorite celebrity walks into the room — suddenly ‘he was in a hurry’ translates to ‘he’s the rudest man alive.’”
“Uh-huh.” Hunter Huntington III, assistant location manager on the high-budget romcom they’re about to start shooting, sounds unimpressed. “And you're sure you’re not just making excuses for Fox because of your giant crush?”
Alex startles. “I don’t have a giant crush on Fox.”
Hunter gets an unpleasant look on his face. “He’s gay, isn’t he?” he points out, like that’s some sort of evidence — like there’s no gay man in the world Alex wouldn’t have a crush on. Fuck, Hunter is such a dick. “Didn’t he use to date that Burberry model, what’s his name, Parsley or something—”
“Basil.”
Hunter leers. “You really are obsessed with Fox, aren’t you?”
“Don’t you have props to go spill coffee on?”
Hunter stops leering. “That was one time. Why don’t you go make a sandwich?”
“Made them already.”
“Oh,” Hunter says. “Any chance for smoked salmon?”
“Not for you, there’s not.”
Hunter flips him off. And blissfully, he also wanders off. Alex fucking hopes he’ll stay the hell out of crafty during this whole production.
It’s hard work, running the craft services trailer. Alex has to make sure it’s always stocked up with enough snacks and beverages to satisfy the entire cast and crew, and also that it’s pleasantly soothing to walk in there. Everyone who comes to crafty should leave not only with a coffee and something tasty to munch on, but also with their spirits lifted and their problems forgotten. Crafty basically has to be magic. And Alex is deeply committed to making it so.
He’s been at this gig for a couple years now. It’s not exactly good money, nor is it a riveting career prospect, but it is a chance to make good connections. Alex is putting his film degree to use in the evenings and sometimes late into the night, revising scripts written by his former classmates and doing freelance edits for anyone who’ll give him a chance. Someday soon, he hopes to break into the industry for real. Maybe he, like Hunter, could get his start as an assistant location manager? Or maybe even as an assistant producer? If someone would give Alex a shot like that, he'd work day and night.
The day that Alex actually gets to hold the title of producer on a movie, he knows exactly who he wants on the crew. And who he doesn’t want.
(Hunter. He doesn’t want Hunter.)
He’s also learnt a thing or two about how to wrangle A-list talent.
The romcom ‘Rae, My Darling!’ has a star-studded cast: Emily Faux, Henry Fox, Zahra Bankston, Pez Okonjo. Alex has worked with Emily and Zahra before, so that makes things easier. It leaves him unsurprised when Zahra arrives earlier than anyone else, popping into crafty for a double espresso and a protein bar. Emily doesn’t make her appearance until a little later, but Alex is ready with her oolong tea and a fresh croissant. He’s got Zahra and Emily covered — it’s everyone else he’ll need to fine-tune for.
Thankfully, most of the cast and crew seem pleased with what Alex has prepared for them. Which is unsurprising, really; Alex is a pro at this. He’s got fresh fruit, cookies, sandwiches, boiled eggs, protein bars, trail mix, smoothies… he’s got fucking waffles. If he added much more, he’d be encroaching on the caterers territory.
Alex has just sent the movie’s director — the one and only Rafael Luna — off with an extra large coffee when, suddenly, Henry Fox enters the trailer.
Fuck. He really does have extraordinarily blue eyes.
He also looks… tired? Which is basically the signature look of everyone who comes to crafty, but Henry Fox looks tired tired. Like he’s more in need of the magic of crafty than anyone else on set today. So Alex brings his A-game; he offers a smile, but he also retreats a bit, busying himself with an unopened box of protein bars. “Welcome. Let me know if you’re missing anything, yeah?”
This usually works. The stars of the movie often appreciate a little space.
Except Henry Fox is apparently a man of contradictions. “Thank you,” he says, his voice loud in a way that compels Alex to meet his eyes again. Henry smiles, but it looks sort of forced. Huh. “I really appreciate everything you do here.”
“Thanks, man.” Alex nods at him, then goes back to his box.
It’s only then that Henry actually takes a look at what’s on offer. Alex watches out of the corner of his eye as Henry moves past the cookies and the fruits and even the waffles. He looks like he’s about to reach for a smoothie, only to change his mind. Damnit.
Henry peruses for a little longer before he — seemingly reluctantly — looks back at Alex. “Sorry, I don’t suppose you have tea?”
“Of course. There’s hot water and tea bags just there behind the coffee.”
Henry’s expression brightens. He locates the aforementioned box of tea bags and picks it up; his face falls.
He puts the tea bags back down again.
Fuck. Alex is gonna have to intervene. “Is there anything you’re missing?” he asks, in a way that hopefully doesn’t say ‘I have been watching you this whole entire time.’
Henry startles, then shrinks. “No, no, I’m fine. Thank you, though.”
“You sure?”
Henry smiles feebly. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”
Suddenly, it clicks in Alex’s mind; this is the same guy who regularly makes the headlines just because he’s not in the mood to offer pleasantries to strangers. Right.
Alex puts down the box of protein bars.
“Look, I signed a novel-length NDA when I took this gig. I’m not gonna go crying on social media about what a jerk you are just because you think my tea selection sucks. Okay?”
Henry, for whatever reason, looks embarrassed. “I don’t think your tea selection sucks.”
“You’re not drinking it, though, are you?” Alex points out. “We’re gonna be here for three whole months. It’s perfectly reasonable for you to want tea you actually like at your place of work. That doesn’t make you an awful person, it just makes you a person in need of caffeine. Like the rest of us.”
Henry stares at him. It’s the most unguarded his expression has been since he entered the trailer; Alex kind of loves it.
So much so that he keeps going. “I get paid to make sure I’m stocked up on every snack anyone on this crew could possibly crave — ‘guy who makes tea happen’ is literally my job description. So if you think you’re being a dick to me by daring to have preferences, then for the love of God, go ahead and be a dick to me. You have my permission.”
That actually has Henry smiling — for real this time. It’s quite a sight. “Is it possible you could stock up on some Earl Grey?”
Sweet, sweet victory. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Maybe tomorrow, we could work on finding you something edible.”
"We'll see," Henry says. Then he tilts his head to the side in a way that feels downright dangerous. "What's your name?"
"... Alex."
"Thank you, Alex," Henry says. It sounds way less performative this time. "Will you be on craft services for this entire production?"
"Until we wrap, yeah. You'll have plenty of time to get sick of me."
"Oh, I seriously doubt that," Henry says, smiling again. "I'll see you, Alex."
He leaves the trailer with literally nothing.
Alex is going to make damn sure that never happens again.
—
There are too many brands producing Earl Grey tea.
Alex dawdles in the tea aisle for longer than he'd care to admit. Four o'Clock? Twinings? Dilmah?
After a frantic Google search, he settles on Twinings; it’s apparently very British, which seems promising, and they've manufactured Earl Grey tea for more than three hundred years. If they were doing something terribly wrong, they probably wouldn't have remained in business.
Choosing a new snack option is more of a gamble. Alex grabs a package of shortbread — that should go well with tea, shouldn’t it? — and then, on a whim, he picks up a couple other options from the same brand. They're all vaguely British-looking cookies (sorry, biscuits) but there’s absolutely no guarantee that Henry will actually like them.
Maybe they'll at least make Henry smile.
—
"Are those Jaffa Cakes?"
Alex hides his smile behind his cup of coffee. Wow. That was almost too easy.
“Yeah,” he says, looking up to meet Henry’s eyes. “Got a special request for them.”
Henry, who’d very clearly been about to reach for one, freezes. “Oh. Who are they for?”
“... You. Obviously.”
Henry’s lips part. “How did you know they’re my favourite?” Alex, in all honesty, did not know that. “Did Pez put you up to this?”
Alex grins at him. “Give me a little more credit.”
He almost tacks on a ‘sweetheart’ at the end, but like, they’re at work. There are boundaries. Henry doesn’t come to set to be flirted at over tea — he comes to set to flirt with Emily Faux on camera.
Still, for all that Alex tries to reel himself in, he’s still got Henry blushing. Huh.
—
Pez Okonjo is a highly unpredictable snacker.
During the first week of shooting he seems addicted to the cookies (and, once they’re available, the variety of British biscuits), but the second week he does a total one-eighty and goes for the fruits. By week four, he’s worked his way through the sandwiches and the protein bars and has turned his attention to the waffles. Nobody else has gone as crazy with the waffle toppings as Pez, and Alex is starting to suspect that’s the essence of what Pez considers the perfect snack: variety.
“So,” Pez says sometime towards the end of week four, during one of the many breaks while everyone waits for the rain machine to stop acting up. “You’re the guy.”
Weird way to put it, but okay. “Sure. Pronouns he/him.”
“Not a guy,” Pez says, as if that makes any sense. “I mean, I’m sure you are ‘a guy,' too. Well done. Cool pronouns.”
“Thanks?”
“You’re welcome.” Pez smiles over his strawberry-nutella-whipped cream-marshmallow waffle. “Don’t think I’m letting you off easy, though. Cats or dogs?”
It’s so abrupt, it actually takes Alex a second. “Dogs.”
“Good,” Pez says. What? “New York or LA?”
“New York. My sister lives there, and I don’t see her nearly enough.”
“Meet-cute or meet-ugly?”
“In fiction or in real life?”
“Real life.”
“Meet-ugly,” Alex says. “I’ve never met anyone I’ve really liked who I didn’t think was a dick for at least the first fifteen minutes of knowing them.”
Pez hums. “You didn’t think Henry was a dick, though, did you? You told him so.”
“You say that as if I really like him.”
“Don't you?”
Fuck. Alex quickly latches onto Pez’s previous statement. “Maybe I thought there were already enough people in the world walking around thinking Henry was a dick. There sure were enough for me to have to specifically inform him that I hadn’t assumed as much. Which is pretty fucked up, actually.”
“Fair,” Pez says. He raises his waffle in some sort of salute. “You passed, by the way. Congratulations.”
Movie stars are so fucking weird. “Y’all are friends? You and Henry?”
“Thick as thieves. He’s got the cheekbones, I’ve got the charm. Together, we’re unstoppable.”
“I hear you work well together on camera.”
“Henry is an amazing scene partner. Literally everyone does better when they act opposite him.” There’s a protective edge in Pez’s voice that Alex is only just realizing has been there this whole time. “Anybody would be lucky to be paired up with him."
Right. The puzzle pieces that make up this conversation are slowly falling into place. "Does Henry talk about me? What’s he said?"
Pez grins. "Do you really think I'd tell you?" Except in the next instance, Pez does. "He said you figured out his comfort biscuits using some sort of sixth sense. You get points for that, by the way."
"That’s literally just being good at my job. I do the same for everyone."
Pez finishes off the last of his waffle. "Sure you do."
"No, really."
"And what bespoke food item have you acquired for moi?"
"I haven't needed to yet," Alex says. He makes a gesture towards the very long, very well-stocked snack table. "You're still working your way through what I've already got. By the time you are through, I'm switching things up. But the croissants are specifically for Emily, the protein bars are Zahra's favorite brand, and the Earl Grey and biscuits are for Henry."
"Bloody hell," Pez says. He sounds pretty intrigued. "Do you keep a list?"
"Lists are for amateurs." Alex keeps, like, five of them. Not least to make sure he's got all the allergies covered. "I simply love y'all so much, I just remember everything."
“Cute,” Pez says. He reaches for the waffle batter again. “I can see why Henry likes you so much.”
Well, well.
—
Pez tires of the waffles within the week.
Alex is quick to deploy his next strategy. The very moment Pez steps inside the trailer only to regard the entire snack buffet with mild disinterest, Alex pulls out a special tray with a theatrical flourish. Today, it’s a charcuterie board. Tomorrow, who knows?
To say Pez is delighted is an understatement.
—
“I hope Pez hasn’t been bothering you too much?”
Henry is warming his hands on yet another cup of Earl Grey. It really is chilly outside.
“Not at all. Pez is fun.”
“You don’t have to get him all those surprise snacks,” Henry says, like Alex doesn’t know that. “Really, he likes a bit of everything.”
“He’s no trouble.” Alex gently knocks his shoulder against Henry’s. “You’re no trouble either.”
Henry bites back a smile. He’s been doing that a lot lately, like he doesn’t want to get caught at it. Like he thinks he’s actually being subtle.
“This week is already bloody awful,” Henry continues, apparently switching gears. Although this is actually Henry’s most frequent mode of conversation: candid rants. “They barely let me do half a shot before my stunt double is called in, and then I just stand there until they need my face again. I’ll freeze to death at this rate. And tomorrow I have to go all the way to London just to read out names on the telly for all of thirty seconds — and then they need me back here by Friday for another bloody closeup.” Henry drinks from his tea. He’s actually shivering. “What if I just send my stunt double to the BAFTAs?”
Presenting an award at the BAFTAs is a pretty big deal. So is starring in a movie that’s high-budget enough to involve stunt work.
“Man, that sucks,” Alex says. Henry’s not the only one who knows a thing or two about playing your part. “You should totally call in sick.”
“And watch them just hand Angus my part? I’m sure they would in a pinch. He’s got quite the face, for a stuntman.”
“That’s perfect. You’ll no longer be suffering in the cold.”
Henry taps his chin thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, I’m suspecting Angus might have a bit of a thing for Emily. And we do have several kissing scenes left to shoot."
“Does Angus have a thing for Emily, or for her stuntwoman?”
“Emily does nearly all her stunts herself. She’s got a background as a trick rider.”
“Huh. I didn’t know that.”
“Yes, well. You learn quite a bit about your on-screen partner during three weeks of intimacy workshops.”
“What’s that like?” Alex asks, before he can think to stop himself. “I mean… um.”
It’s not a forbidden subject, exactly. Alex just usually wouldn’t ask. He keeps breath mints at crafty at all times, but whenever those scenes are on schedule, he makes sure to get extra.
Henry turns his head to meet Alex’s eyes. “What's what like?” he asks. “Intimacy workshops? Kissing Emily Faux? Finding out your co-star can somersault off the back of a horse?”
“Emily can do what?”
“Trick riding. It’s bloody mental.”
“Whatever they’re paying her, they should pay her more.”
Henry drains the last of his tea. “If it’s any consolation, she makes the same amount I make. I insisted.”
Fuck. That is one of the sexiest things anyone has ever told Alex.
“You didn’t answer my question, though,” Henry continues. “Which was: which part were you inquiring about?"
Right. That question. “The kissing part. Although not so much kissing Emily Faux, just… kissing on camera?"
“Ah,” Henry says. He pauses for a moment, as if to gather his thoughts. “Well. It’s fine. Quite comparable to any other physically demanding scene — not that I have many of those on this production, thanks to good ol’ Angus, but still. It’s all choreographed, of course, and we’ve had endless sessions on how to set and maintain boundaries even when one comes to work to take most of one’s clothes off. Emily is a wonderful scene partner, so that helps quite a bit. We approach the whole endeavor with a similar mindset."
“You’ve had worse on-screen partners, then?” This is, in fact, not Henry’s first turn as a romantic lead. Far from it.
Henry’s lips twitch into another not-quite smile. “Do not ask me to name names. I will not.”
There it is again: that impressively stubborn commitment to being annoyingly decent. For all that Henry has made a habit of speaking freely with Alex about his day-to-day frustrations, he's really not complaining much at all.
He's just… being.
It's nice.
—
Alex goes on YouTube to catch Henry’s appearance at the BAFTAs. Henry is on screen for a grand total of forty-five seconds, but somehow Alex still spends fifteen minutes replaying it.
It's fine. It's totally fine. It’s just a crush — a huge crush, admittedly, but still.
He’s handling it.
Henry returns from the UK sleep-deprived and irritable. He eats his way through two whole day’s worth of Jaffa Cakes in ten minutes. Then he gets called to set.
Except he returns within the hour. “Angus is falling off a cliff.”
“Like, actually?”
“I wish,” Henry says. There’s no bite to his tone, he’s just not got much of a filter left. “They’re either sticking my face on his in post this time, or they’re angling the shot just right. I don’t actually care which.”
“Nice little break for you, then.”
But Henry grimaces. “Hunter is looking for me. He thinks I’ve stashed part of my costume from last week somewhere — I haven’t. I wish I had, but that’s hardly the same.”
Alex nods. “D’you wanna hide backstage?”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
“No, backstage backstage.” Alex makes a gesture towards the back of the trailer, where a flimsy fabric curtains off the area Alex uses for prep and storage. “I’ve got a couch back there. You can nap if you want.”
Henry startles. He eyes Alex in a way that almost looks suspicious. “Really?”
“No, Henry, I said that as a cruel joke.”
That has Henry looking flustered. “It’s just, you’re being so nice to me.”
Fuck. There are several reasons for that, but the fact that Henry feels compelled to question it is absolutely awful. “Why in the world shouldn’t I be?”
“Because I just come here to eat your food and complain at you,” Henry says. Wow, he’s got even less of a filter than Alex had thought. Maybe it's the jet-lag?
“Again, providing snacks is my literal job. And practically my love language.”
Fuck. That was too much. Except Henry lets it slide. “But you certainly don’t get paid to listen to my fairly trivial misfortunes.”
“No, but that’s a big perk.” Henry stares at him — right, he’s not going to wrap his mind around that. Alex frantically searches for another way to put it. “I told you, on our first day, that you’re allowed to be a dick to me. I wasn’t kidding.”
“I don’t want to be a dick to you.”
“You’re not, though. You’re just being a person in the world, and I get to see so much of you. That’s the perk.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Henry’s gaze sharpens. He suddenly looks significantly less jet-lagged. When he speaks, his words come out with startling precision. “Is that couch of yours big enough for two?”
God. This is probably not such a good idea. “We’re, uh, technically working—”
“Alex.”
Yep, that’ll do it. “This way.”
Alex yanks aside the curtain to his little backstage area, and Henry moves past him, and then Alex is pulling the curtain back in place with Henry already gravitating into his space.
"Come here," Henry says, like there’s any goddamn distance left between them, but then Henry gets a hand on Alex’s chest and another in his hair, and okay, yes. That feels closer. "Is this okay?"
"Fuck, please."
It's one hell of a kiss.
Henry's mouth is wild and urgent against Alex’s. He seems to pour everything he is into this. It's all Alex can do to keep up with him, but he absolutely goddamn does. Gladly. He gives Henry just as much of himself in return, meets Henry’s fervent energy with abandon. Which is why it's all a little messy, and a lot amazing, and when Henry starts to pull Alex towards the couch, Alex first thinks Henry’s trying to back him into a wall. Would've been nice. Still, Henry guiding him to sit on the couch and then actually straddling him also has its merits.
"Oh my fucking God."
Henry instantly shushes him, like he’s not completely responsible for every sound that's crossed Alex’s lips in the past minute. "You still good?" he asks, his tone hushed.
"So good."
Henry smiles. He threads a hand tightly in Alex’s hair. God, he's perfect. "I'm expecting I'll have a whole crisis about how unprofessional this is. Just not right this second."
He's right. This is colossally stupid of them, no matter how you look at it. "We should, um, probably not actually…"
"No," Henry agrees. Absurd statement to make for someone who just put his crotch that close to Alex’s, but okay. "Although we could certainly—"
He cuts himself off. Someone has entered the trailer.
Fuck.
They both sit completely still as someone — fuck knows who — moves about on the other side of the curtain. At least they’re out of sight. Barely. God, there will be no plausible explanation for this if they get caught.
Mercifully, the person leaves.
Henry lets out a breathy exhale. Almost a laugh. "Christ."
Alex, for his part, takes a very deep breath. This is going to take him every last ounce of his willpower. “We should stop.”
Henry instantly lets go of his hair. He starts to move out of Alex’s lap, too. “I apologise. I shouldn’t have—”
Except Alex grabs Henry’s thighs with both of his hands — that effectively shuts Henry up. Good.
“Here’s how we’re going to do this,” Alex says, his eyes locked firmly with Henry’s. “You’re going to get the hell out of here, and we’re both going to get through this goddamn day, and the second we wrap tonight, I’m going to come to your personal trailer and you’re going to lock the door after me.”
Henry swallows visibly. There’s a look in his eyes that’s somewhere right between fascinated and pleased. Like Henry hadn’t expected that, but couldn’t be more thrilled. “I’ve got a private shower in my trailer. Did you know that?”
Alex all but shoves him out of his lap. “I hate you so much right now. Go away.”
Henry straightens on wobbly legs. He’s grinning. “Have a good day, Alex. I’ll see you later.”
He leaves.
Alex spends the next half-hour furiously whisking waffle batter. It’s not one bit sexy, and it helps him keep his mind blank.
He’s not sure what he’d do if he actually let himself think through this.
—
The shower in Henry’s trailer is fucking tiny.
“Is this all they got you? I thought you were, like, A-list.”
Henry is leaning in the doorway to the tiny, tiny bathroom, his hands in his pockets. “I actually offered to share a trailer with Pez.”
Alex rolls his eyes. “Of course you did. Get over here.”
Henry doesn’t. Instead he tilts his head to the side. “I think, if I cram myself in there with you, you wouldn’t actually be able to get me out of my clothes. Logistically speaking.”
Henry is, unfortunately, correct. Alex puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him out of the bathroom, then tugs insistently on Henry’s shirt. “Come on. Logistics, chop-chop.”
“You’re not very patient, are you?”
He’s right again. But he’s also full of shit. “Bold words for someone who almost fucked me in almost-public this morning.”
“I wouldn't actually have done that,” Henry says, just a little too quickly. Ha. “And there’s merit, I’d say, to not rushing through something one has truly looked forward to. To savoring the experience.”
God. Alex is not going to be the same person when this is over. “I’m down for that. But I’m very down for taking all your clothes off.”
“In a second,” Henry says, which is both clear and a bit confusing. “I’d like to mention that I’ve got both condoms and dental dams.”
Alex stares at him. He’s not sure if Henry could’ve surprised him any more. “You keep dental dams in your set trailer?”
Henry smiles. “Oh, but the condoms were fine?”
“How often do you do this?”
It’s not exactly what Alex meant to say. He’s grateful that it came out curiously, rather than accusatory, and he's even more grateful when Henry’s smile only widens. “I keep the aforementioned supplies in my personal backpack. There’s a reason I’ll never do one of those ‘What’s In My Bag?’ type interviews.”
“Too bad. I love those.”
“Sucks for you,” Henry says. Then, without preamble: “I’d like to eat you out.”
Alex’s knees do a whole, entire, ridiculous wobble. “You, uh… yeah?”
“Yes.” Henry holds his gaze carefully. “Please see it as an option, Alex. If you don’t like it—”
“No, I love it,” Alex says. He really fucking does. It’s maybe why he’d zoned in on the dental dams in the first place. “I’m extremely down.”
Henry grins. “Alright. Now you can take my shirt off.”
Fucking finally.
Henry is… well, he’s a movie star who goes to the gym. A casting director would call him 'conventionally handsome.' But despite all that, Alex doesn’t find himself lingering on Henry’s abs, or even on his ridiculous biceps. Instead, Alex can’t stop reaching for all of Henry’s softest parts; the curve of his hips, the underside of his arms, his ass — definitely his ass. What a goddamn ass. Sublime.
And there’s something to be said for the look on Henry’s face, too.
"Enjoying yourself?" Henry asks breathlessly, after Alex has spent a good few minutes just touching, and kissing, and maybe scraping his teeth a little just to hear the soft moan Henry makes every damn time.
"You said one should savor," Alex points out, then presses another kiss to Henry’s abdomen. "I'm savoring."
"All the same—" Henry starts, only to cut himself off with an actual whimper. Alex can’t not feel smug about that. "All the same, Alex, we're very much still right where we started."
He's correct yet again. Alex does sort of have Henry against a wall, though, so there is that. "Would you prefer me horizontally, sweetheart?"
Henry slides a hand into Alex’s hair, then takes a firm grip; oh God, yes. Absolutely. "Alex, I would much prefer you wet."
Yeah. That'll work, too.
They do both fit in the shower — only just, which is actually perfect now that they're both undressed. Henry carefully turns Alex around so that he has his back to Henry, and Alex instantly fumbles for purchase against the wall. They both know exactly where this is going.
“Alright,” Henry says behind him. He trails his hands down Alex’s back — fuck, that already feels so good — and brushes his lips against Alex’s shoulder. “Why don’t you get the water running? I’ll take it from there.”
God. How is that so impossibly sexy? “You gonna take good care of me?”
“Darling, I’ll do you one better. I’m going to take you apart.”
And he does.
It very quickly becomes very clear that Henry loves wet skin. It’s gotta be one of his biggest passions in life. Henry’s hands roam eagerly over Alex’s body, sliding fervently under the hot spray of the water. He seems to revel in the exploration even more than Alex had earlier; he’s very, very thorough. It’s not long before Alex can’t point out a single inch of him that Henry hasn’t touched.
By the time Henry actually starts paying special attention to Alex’s ass, Alex is already so goddamn hard.
Henry spreads Alex’s cheeks with practiced precision to get the dental dam in place. The latex only feels cold against Alex’s skin for a moment. Then Henry’s hands are back on his ass, kneading his skin as he licks a slow trail from the base of Alex’s spine down to his cleft.
“... Fuck.”
“You feel so good,” Henry murmurs, lips still against Alex’s skin. “You’re perfect. I’m going to make you feel every good thing in the world.”
He pulls at Alex’s cheeks again so he can flatten his tongue over Alex’s hole, then swirls the tip of his tongue over the puckered skin. God, he’d actually meant all those filthy things he’d said. He’s going to make Alex goddamn expire.
Henry licks repeatedly over Alex’s rim until just the tip of his tongue slips inside — just briefly, but Alex still loses his entire purchase against the wall. He’s a little afraid that his helpless moan can be heard outside the trailer.
It’s a haze from there; Henry’s hands spreading him open, his tongue doing absolutely obscene things against Alex’s exposed skin, the running water making everything hot and smooth and deliciously steamy…
Alex is never going to experience a shower that tops this one.
He thinks Henry hears when he gets close, because Henry really doubles down with his tongue. Then Henry takes Alex’s hand in his and guides it towards Alex’s cock. He closes his hand around Alex’s and starts to move, setting a quick pace — still engaged in every facet of Alex’s pleasure, even when he’s getting Alex to touch himself — and while all of that is absolutely blowing Alex’s goddamn mind, it’s Henry suddenly biting down on his skin that finally does it for him.
Alex shudders through his orgasm, riding the high of it as Henry keeps doing everything he can to make every part of it better.
He sure is one generous bastard.
That’s largely why Alex barely lets himself recover before he turns around to get his hands on Henry. It takes a little creative maneuvering to get Henry exactly where Alex wants him, though, and then there’s the fact that the goddamn condoms remain outside of the shower, but Alex quickly finds that he can actually reach them while staying exactly where he is. Long live tiny bathrooms.
He only thinks to use his words when he’s already on his knees before Henry, a condom in a tight grip. “I wanna blow you. Thoughts?”
Henry breaks into a surprisingly giddy smile. He reaches out to touch Alex’s cheek, then thumbs gently at the corner of Alex's mouth. “God, please. You’ve no idea— please.”
Alex has a pretty good idea, actually. He's full of good ideas. Such as: taking Henry’s hand and pushing it into his hair. “You can pull if you want,” he says as he efficiently rolls the condom on Henry’s cock. “Actually, let me be clear: I fucking want you to pull. Please.”
Henry closes his eyes and shudders out a breath. Alex grins widely. Yeah.
This is gonna be good.
Henry is already wonderfully hard. That definitely says something about how much he’d enjoyed getting Alex off a minute earlier, which is kind of insanely flattering. But it’s also something Alex completely understands, because it’s not like he doesn’t enjoy the hell out of doing the same for Henry — because it is, truly, a joy; getting to listen to Henry’s moans and whimpers as Alex works his lips up and down the length of him, feeling the tremble in Henry’s body when Alex takes him as deep as he can, relishing in the tight grip of Henry’s fingers tangled in his hair — and oh yes, the occasional firm tug. It’s all absolute bliss. Alex could do this all night.
It doesn’t take him all night to get Henry off, though. Far from it. He’s not sure how long he’s actually at it — it’s not like he has the brainspace to count the minutes — but it feels like no time has passed at all when Henry lets out a loud groan and his grip on Alex’s hair goes slack, his cock pulsing in Alex’s mouth. Jesus, that’s good. That’s goddamn amazing. And it’s not even Alex’s orgasm.
If Alex plays his cards right, maybe he'll get to feel that inside his ass next time.
—
Cleaning up is incredibly easy, because they’re in the shower, but also somewhat difficult, because they’re in the shower. Now that both of them are blissed out and pleasantly loopy, the slippery floor suddenly feels absolutely lethal. It’s a wonder neither of them fall over on their path out of the shower and back to the non-bathroom part of Henry’s trailer.
Henry only has one towel. Hilarious. “You really need to get better at asking for things, you know that?”
“I’m one person,” Henry argues, his cheeks a little pink.
He then valiantly lets Alex have the towel and refuses to take no for an answer. Alex watches, in some sort of actual pain, as Henry tries to dry himself off with a goddamn t-shirt. “I can’t believe this. Having more than one towel in a place you regularly shower is not that big of an ask. I swear we’ve gotta get you to therapy.”
Henry pauses. He meets Alex’s eyes. “What on earth makes you think I’m not going already?”
Oh. Well, shit. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like— I didn’t know that.”
But Henry waves a hand, smiling. “You’re fine. Nobody knows about that — publicly, that is. People who don’t know me have no right to know.”
That, finally, sounds like a healthy attitude towards something. “I can’t argue with that.”
“I’m very protective of my private life in general,” Henry continues. He gives up on wiping himself down with the t-shirt, even though he’s unquestionably still wet, and pulls on his boxers instead. “It seems, no matter what I say or do, the media will always twist it into something truly awful. I have no incentive to give them more material to work with.”
Alex — now pleasantly dry — reaches for his own underwear. “That’s a pity, though.”
Henry pauses again, his shirt still unbuttoned. “Which part?”
“That people don’t get to see more of you.” Alex hops into his boxers, then grabs his jeans. “I get that you don’t want the world to know every little thing about you. That sounds healthy. But the way people constantly misunderstand you pisses me the fuck off.”
“Ah,” Henry says. He carefully fastens his top button. “I’m not sure if it’s always a misunderstanding, exactly. I don’t… I’m not sociable. Or charismatic. People generally like me better when I’m pretending to be somebody I’m not — and while I’m rather good at that, it’s far too exhausting to keep up every second of my life. And I suppose people simply perceive me accordingly. I can’t exactly help it if they don’t like the person that I am.”
Fucking hell, Alex wants to commit some murders. A whole bunch. “Counterpoint: you’re, like, one of my favorite people in the world. Top five. Actually, scratch that, top three—”
Henry’s lips curl into a smile. “Do you keep an actual list?”
“With references,” Alex says. It’s only partly untrue. “Look, I just think that if people knew you, they’d think differently. And I get how that’s not compatible with keeping your private life super private, but I don’t know. Maybe there’s a way to find a balance there. Do you have a good publicist?”
“I have a very expensive publicist.”
“Right, but do you actually like them? Can you talk to them about this stuff? Do they understand how difficult this is for you?”
Henry is quiet for a long moment. He’s still in only his shirt and boxers — Alex is already fully dressed. Henry’s shirt is visibly damp.
“Well,” Henry says finally. He smiles briefly. “Perhaps I’ll run that by my therapist, first.”
“Sounds good,” Alex says. But he can’t quite leave it at that. “Sorry if I overstepped? I’m not… I don’t actually know you that well.”
He wants to. Desperately. But that’s an entirely different matter.
“You’re fine,” Henry says again. He turns around to pick up his pants, then pulls them back on without looking at Alex. “We should probably… I should let you get going.”
Right. Alex quickly puts on his shoes. He’s not gonna overstay his welcome. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”
That makes Henry meet his eyes again. He smiles. “Lots of action shots, tomorrow. They’ll mainly be putting Angus to work. I might consume your entire supply of tea.”
Alex grins. “I’ll make sure to get extra.”
—
The next morning, when Alex passes the tea section on his grocery run, something stops him in his tracks.
There's a new shelf filled with little square boxes. Alex is sure he's never seen them before. They’re metal tins, clearly meant for storing loose tea leaves. Among them, there’s a pale yellow, absolutely perfect little ‘Twinings Earl Grey’ tea tin.
Alex puts it in his cart with a smile. He already knows Henry’s gonna love it.
Except Alex barely sees Henry that day. The whole crew is insanely busy with a complicated fire stunt, but someone still has time to drag Henry away for a behind-the-scenes interview. They’re really on the home stretch now, finishing sequence after sequence. The production won’t run for much longer.
But it’s fine. There’s no way Alex won’t have the chance to speak to Henry, properly, before they wrap.
—
The day Henry wraps ‘Rae, My Darling!’ Alex isn’t even there. Henry does his final take during an on-location excursion: a balcony scene in New York, just Henry and Emily, for which director Luna apparently insisted on a minimal crew. By the time Alex hears of it, Henry is already on a plane to London to start filming his next project.
They’re still shooting in LA, so Alex still has to get up every goddamn morning and make coffee and sandwiches and stock up on fucking trail mix. He’s never been so desperate to wrap a project.
At least Pez is still filming. Alex manages to catch him alone on his very last day. “Hey, uh, weird question, but could you give this to Henry sometime?”
Pez accepts the tea tin with a funny little smile. “Of course. I can take a message as well, should you have one?”
“No, no, it’s just— I got that for him. I just wanted him to have it.”
Pez watches Alex for a moment. Then he pulls out his phone with a flourish. “It’s been a joy having you on set, Alex. Would you perhaps permit me to follow you on Instagram?”
Alex can’t see any reason why not.
“Henry isn’t on Instagram, is he?”
“Alas, no. He avoids social media like the plague.”
Alex smiles feebly. “Yeah. Makes sense, I guess.”
Pez’s brows furrow. “You know,” he starts, “I’m sure Henry would like—”
“Pez? You’re needed on set.”
Of course. Who else but goddamn Hunter?
Pez leaves.
But Hunter lingers. “Hey. Are those donuts?”
Alex grabs the plate filled with donuts, holds Hunter’s gaze, and dumps them in the trash.
“No,” he says. “We’re fresh out.”
The look on Hunter’s face is absolutely priceless.
—
Finally, they fucking wrap.
Henry doesn’t come for the wrap party; he’s too busy shooting in London. Alex spends the whole evening side-eyeing the catering buffet and making a mental list of everything wrong with it.
“They should’ve gone with waffles, shouldn’t they?”
Alex turns around. It’s Rafael Luna, their director and all-around fearless leader.
“Maybe not for a wrap party,” Alex admits. “But I’m not sure they’ve got anything Amy can actually eat. And she doesn’t even have that many allergies.”
Luna smiles. “I know we’re at a literal party, but would you mind if I talked shop for a minute?”
That’s intriguing. “Sure, go ahead.”
Luna sips from his glass — red wine, going by the color. He’s watching Alex with an intensity that’s a bit unsettling. “I’m in pre-production for the pilot of a TV-show I’m set to produce and direct. We’re still ironing out the details, but we’re about to start thinking seriously about casting.”
That doesn't make much sense. “I’m, uh, not an actor. I’m not even an aspiring actor.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Luna says. Huh. “But in order to find the right actors, I’m going to need a very good casting director.”
Alex stares at him. This is turning increasingly more bizarre. “I’m also not a casting director.”
“Have you ever wanted to be one?”
“Not… not exactly?”
“I think you’d be great at it,” Luna says. Fuck. He’s actually serious. “You’re so good with people, Alex. We’ve had some sensitive scenes to shoot on this movie, some really vulnerable stuff, and yet I’ve never had so many actors come in so utterly relaxed — and they’ve all said the exact same thing: ‘we’re so well cared for on this set, you’ve got the best guy at crafty.’”
Fuck. Alex had no idea about that. “That’s so nice of everyone.”
“It’s primarily you being good at your job, and those skills would translate so well to casting. You have this incredible ability to make people feel seen in a way that brings out the very best in them. That’s absolutely critical when you’re working with actors at auditions. I genuinely think, if I had you with me through this process, I’d get the best possible results.”
Alex taps his glass thoughtfully. Luna’s proposal doesn’t actually sound half bad. It’s a new angle, one Alex admittedly hasn’t considered before, but one that appeals to him the same way producing always has; Alex would get to influence exactly who’s going to get to be in the room and help mastermind a whole production.
Maybe this could be a good start? Just focusing on the people in front of the camera, and letting everything else come later.
Although Alex definitely isn't above bartering a bit. “If I take you up on this, is there any chance I could have a go at assistant production when the time comes?”
Luna smiles. “Sure,” he says. Wait, what? “If you still want to, by that time. Casting is really fucking fun.”
Alex has to bite his tongue not to accept instantly. He doesn’t even know what the hell this is. “Would this be a salaried position, or freelance? What’s the compensation? And what availability do you need from me?”
Luna grins in satisfaction. “Why don’t we set up a meeting to discuss the details? That’ll give me the chance to tell you about the show as well. It’s about a group of first responders — firefighters, police and ambulance — and it has a number of LGBTQI characters. Takes place in Texas. We’re looking to cast it very diversely.”
Fuck. If Luna had led with any of that, Alex would’ve begged to be a part of it. “That sounds really special.”
“We hope it will be.” Luna raises his glass towards Alex. “Thanks for your time tonight. I’ll be in touch.”
—
Alex spends the following week curled up in bed. He’s fine, mostly, but he’s just so fucking tired. He’s come to set earlier than anyone else and left last of all for three fucking months. He desperately needs sleep.
He also needs to stop thinking about Henry. There’s no way Alex’s whole thing with Henry will actually go anywhere, now that they’re not seeing each other every day. Henry is all the way across the ocean, drinking cups of tea made by someone else. And it was always going to be that way. Actors go where their work takes them — they don’t stick around to live happily ever after with the guy who makes tea happen.
Rafael Luna calls to set up a meeting, so Alex reluctantly drags himself out of bed and into the shower. Once he’s under the hot water, he completely fails at putting Henry out of his mind. He suspects that’s going to be a thing for some time.
The meeting with Luna goes amazingly well. Alex starts working with him the next week.
—
It’s months and months before the cast of ‘Rae, My Darling!’ start doing press before the premiere.
Alex avoids it all to the best of his ability. He doesn’t need to watch Henry on the couches of all those late-night talk shows, Henry’s smile plastered on as he tries to put on a relaxed, easy-going persona — one that’s pleasant enough to make the viewers second-guess whatever they’ve already assumed about him. That would only make Alex’s heart ache in a way he’s nowhere near ready to unpack.
Which is why Alex almost misses Henry’s most important promo clip: ‘Inside Henry Fox’s Everyday Backpack,’ posted by British Vogue.
What the fuck?
Alex has never clicked on a YouTube video that fast.
There are two goddamn ads — one for an online retailer that sells performance outfits for pole dancers, the other for a local dog groomer specializing in poodles — before Henry’s face finally shows up on Alex’s screen. Henry looks… unusually relaxed. He’s wearing jeans and a plain gray t-shirt, and his smile actually looks pretty genuine. “Hi, British Vogue. I’m Henry Fox, and I’m about to show you what I carry in my everyday backpack. Are you ready? Alright. Let’s get going.”
Jesus. Henry is really doing it.
But at least there’s no way Henry will actually be pulling condoms and dental dams out of that backpack. Alex works in Hollywood, alright; he can recognize a scripted concept when he sees one.
The first item Henry reveals is a pair of headphones. “They’re noise-canceling,” Henry explains to the camera. “I really love these, I wear them almost every time I’m out and about somewhere. I actually don’t do all that well with crowds, and these help me shield myself from the world a little bit.” Henry looks away from the camera briefly, as if to make eye contact with someone over on the side. Then he keeps going. “If you’ve ever met me in a place like that — somewhere really public, with a lot of people around — then I probably didn’t say that much to you. I think it’s something that can happen to everyone in different situations, that we can get really overwhelmed. We all have things that are difficult for us, you know? For me, one of those difficult things is crowds. And these headphones help immensely with that.”
Henry puts the headphones down on the table with a small smile. He looks… relieved, actually. But also exhausted. Like it cost him everything to say all that, but felt really good, too.
He’s trying so goddamn hard. Alex has to force himself to unclench his hands in his lap. He’s never felt this protective over a celebrity giving an interview.
Henry’s next item is more of a softball: dog treats. Henry smiles easily as he reaches for his phone to show off pictures of his dog; David, a beagle, five years old. He talks about taking David on morning walks in central park, about how that is what he misses the most whenever work takes him away from home. “I always know David is well looked after, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss him every single day. He’s my best friend.” Henry's smile widens slightly. “Just don’t tell Pez Okonjo I said that.”
Next is a book: ‘Pride and Prejudice.' “It’s my absolute favourite novel. I read a few pages in it every day. Of all the writers throughout history who have written about love, I don’t think anybody has nailed it quite like Austen.”
Alex sits up a little straighter when Henry pulls out his next item. It’s… it’s a pill case. Oh.
“It’s for my anxiety medication,” Henry says, completely fucking casual. He puts it on the table next to the book, like it’s just as normal. “I like that it has seven compartments — one for each day of the week. Makes it easy to remember to take it.”
The case is blue and sleek and entirely unlabeled; Henry isn’t actually sharing exactly what it is that he takes. In fact, he’s already moving on.
Henry’s next item makes Alex fall off his couch.
“This is a fairly recent addition,” Henry’s voice is saying through Alex’s laptop speakers — Alex, meanwhile, is scrambling to get off the floor. “I drink a good amount of tea in a day, and Earl Grey is definitely my go-to."
Finally, Alex is up on his feet, his eyes back on the screen — and there it is. The little yellow ‘Twinings Earl Grey’ tea tin. Henry is holding it.
He’s holding it like it’s something precious.
“This specific box of tea was a gift,” Henry continues, his voice all soft. “It was given to me by someone who taught me something really important: that it isn’t selfish or rude to want to have one’s needs met.”
… Oh.
“You’d think my therapist would’ve taught me that — but no, it wasn’t her.” Henry smiles briefly. “And it really all started with tea. Everyone has preferences for things like tea or coffee — what kinds we like, or whether or not we take it with milk. It's normal to have those preferences and just as normal to make them known to people around us. But for a very long time, I had a real fear of asking for any preferences of mine to be accommodated, in any context. And sometimes, the things that I didn’t dare ask for were far more important than just tea.”
Henry glances over to the side again — yeah, there’s definitely someone Henry is looking at there. Good. Alex desperately wishes it was him, but it’s still good; Henry deserves all the moral support in the world.
"I don’t think anybody should be drinking tea they detest every day of their lives," Henry says, his eyes back on the camera. "Nobody deserves that. There’s a real dignity in being allowed to make choices for oneself without being asked why you would take up someone’s time with that, or why you deserve to have any right to choose at all."
Fuck. Alex would very much like to get his hands on all the people who ever made Henry feel that way.
"There’s also a real care in truly listening when someone shares something they need with you, and then doing your best to meet that need. There’s— there's compassion in that, and affection, and…"
Henry trails off. He looks a little flustered. "There’s care in that," he repeats, like that’s what he was working towards all along. "And I think everyone deserves that. If we all tried to see each other that clearly, without judging or making assumptions, the world would be a much better place for it."
Alex leans a hand on the back of the couch — for support, really — his eyes still glued on the screen. There’s a look in Henry’s eyes that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. A look that Henry never actually let him see. It’s all fond, and… maybe even longing? Oh.
“It’s been a while since I last saw the person who gave me this,” Henry says. He turns the tea tin over in his hands, his eyes fixed on it. “I hope they’re doing well. And I hope they know how much they meant to me.” Henry looks back at the camera. His gaze doesn’t waver. “How much they still mean to me.”
Jesus tits.
There’s a fairly obvious cut, because in the next shot Henry is grinning like he just had a good laugh. He’s still holding the tea tin, though. “Here’s a fun little fact to wrap things up: there’s not actually any tea in this. I’ve drank it all. These days, when I want a good cup of Earl Grey, I simply ask for it.” Henry opens the tin, smiling cheekily as he pulls something out of it, and Alex very nearly falls over again. “I’ve found this box to be the perfect size for bringing certain supplies on-the-go. Safe sex is important, folks, so let me leave you with this parting message: if you want to pack condoms and dental dams discreetly, an empty tea tin really does the trick. Now you know.”
Someone laughs in the background, and Henry’s eyes flick away from the camera again. “We’re using that, right? Not a bad take.” His smile widens, turns knowing — maybe even a little daring. Alex fucking loves it. “Aren’t you glad you signed on as my new publicist, Shaan? We’re going to have so much fun together.”
There’s more laughter. Then the video cuts off.
Alex finally sinks back down on the couch.
Fuck. That was amazing. That’s the best thing Alex has seen on a screen in years.
He shouldn’t look at the comments. It’s the first rule of the internet for a reason. He absolutely should not, under any circumstances, look at the comments.
Alex looks at the comments.
But they’re actually… not bad? There’s a lot of surprise, but in a good way: ‘cinnamon roll Henry Fox?? since WHEN,’ ‘local asshole turns out to be romantic disaster with crippling anxiety, more at eight,’ ‘oh my god somebody protect this man at all costs.’
People actually seem to get it.
Alex does a quick Google search next, scouring the results for headlines. The video hasn’t been up very long, but so far the media doesn’t really seem to have a solid grip on what it is:
‘Henry Fox Opens Up About Mental Health Struggles And Caffeine Addiction,’ ‘HENRY FOX TALKS SEX IN NEW BRITISH VOGUE EXCLUSIVE,’ ‘What’s in Henry Fox’s bag, you ask? A whole lot of baggage — and also condoms. Yes, you read that correctly.’
After those earliest articles, though, there are actually some more nuanced takes popping up. There’s an essay on Variety titled ‘Spilling The Tea: What Henry Fox Is Actually Talking About When He’s Talking About Earl Grey,’ and another one on Entertainment Weekly titled ‘What The Contents of Henry Fox’s Backpack Can Teach Us About Empathy.’ Alex opens both of those in new tabs to read later.
Right now he’s got something way more important to do.
He’s looking up flights to London before he realizes he’s got no clue if Henry is even there anymore. So he changes the destination to New York, but stops for the same reason. Goddamnit. Where is Henry?
Pez. Pez will know where he is.
Pez gets back to Alex’s Instagram DM within minutes: H is in LA. We both are, for an early press screening of RMD.
Then, less than a minute later: Do you have anything in your wardrobe that says ‘red carpet?’
—
Alex is wearing a glittery bomber jacket, Doc Martens, and a look of false confidence that Henry’s gonna see through within seconds.
Henry is wearing a tailored three-piece suit.
“How are you here?” is the first thing Henry says. He’s already stepping close to Alex — too close to fool anybody. Good. It’s exactly where Alex wants him. “I mean, it’s lovely to see you. I’ve missed you. I just never imagined you’d… oh, never mind that. How are you?”
Alex exhales. Smiles. Reaches carefully for Henry’s hand. “I’m in love with you.”
Henry startles. That’s probably understandable. It probably doesn’t mean, at all, that Alex is alone in this.
“Do you mean that?” Henry asks with a smile that lights up his entire face. Oh. Wow. “It wouldn’t be very like you to say it as a cruel joke, but all the same—”
“Do you realize how fucked up it is that you’re just leaving me hanging right now?”
“Darling, in all fairness, you did once give me explicit permission to be a dick to you.”
Alex can’t fight his ecstatic smile for a second longer. “Mean. I’m never sleeping with you again.”
Henry grips Alex’s hand tightly, like he has absolutely zero intention of letting go. “Alex. How could I not be in love with you? Do you not see how impossible that is?”
… Oh.
Yeah. He really did need to hear Henry say it. “Plenty of people are not in love with me. I can make you a list.”
“Literally everyone I’ve met who have also met you absolutely love you. I can make you a list.”
“Not everyone. There’s Hunter Huntington III—”
“Isn’t he something of a bellend?”
“... Okay, fair. But you can’t actually think that every person who’s ever met me are in love with me.”
“No,” Henry says. His thumb brushes gently over Alex’s knuckle. “But I am.”
Alex exhales shakily. His knees are, like, practically fluid. He swears he can hear orchestral music playing as the credits start to roll.
“What are you doing after the screening?” Henry asks. His grip on Alex’s hand turns even tighter. Possessive, even. Fuck yes. “Would you like—”
“To take you home? Yes. Absolutely.”
That startles a laugh out of Henry. “I was going to suggest dinner?”
“... We can do that. We can do literally anything you want.” God. It’s frighteningly true. “I just want to be where you are. With you. For as long as possible.”
Henry smiles again. He leans in to kiss Alex on the cheek. “I’d love to accompany you home, Alex.”
—
It’s pretty weird seeing Henry in Alex’s studio apartment.
But it’s the opposite of weird seeing him in Alex’s bed.
They order in afterwards, before going for another round. Then they remain exactly where they are — still naked, legs intertwined, speaking in hushed tones until the early hours of the morning. Alex never wants this night to end.
The next day, he wakes to the smell of coffee.
Henry is in his kitchen, making toast and frying eggs and mushrooms. He’s wearing the fancy leather apron Alex’s dad got Alex for Christmas. Only the fancy leather apron.
Alex could definitely get used to this.
His heart does some sort of high-risk stunt in his chest when Henry pours him coffee and puts a plate down in front of him. “Oh my God, thank you. This smells so good.”
Henry smiles at him over his tea. “Do let me know if you’re missing anything?”
Alex grins. “I could do with a plate of you?”
Henry contemplates that for a moment — clearly just for show — before he nods slowly. “How would you describe the shower situation in your lovely home, Alex? Think there’s room for two?”
“God, yes.”
By the time they actually get back to their breakfast, it’s all gone cold.
Henry reheats the food.
Alex makes them coffee and Earl Grey tea.