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There’s a faint stain on the ceiling of Alex and Henry’s house that looked vaguely like a dick from a certain angle.
Alex discovered it a few months ago, when he overestimated his alcohol tolerance by about three shots, attempted to stand up, and promptly found himself lying on the ground. His head was swimming, the lights were bright, and through it all there was the stain that made him laugh so fucking hard Henry had to bring him a trashcan to make sure he didn’t throw up all over the rug if needed. He managed to keep the contents of his stomach inside until he made it to the bathroom, and the stain was forever immortalized as Richard Balls the Third, on account of the strange protrusion that resembled a third ball.
Now, lying on the floor in a similar position, Alex finds himself tracing the lines of the stain with his fingers, squinting his eyes every few seconds to get it right. He isn’t nearly as drunk as he was back then, but now his head rests on Henry’s thigh, gentle fingers combing through his hair and untangling the knots, and that simple touch alone is enough to wrap him in the warmth of a bottle of wine or enough glasses of whiskey to last him through the night. Considering all that, he thinks he’s completely justified, as he stares at the tip of Richard Balls, that he blurts out the next words without a semblance of a filter.
“You know, I always thought dicks were kind of attractive.”
There’s a sputter above him, and only when Alex feels a few droplets on his face that he realizes Henry spurted out a mouthful of gin and tonic all over his face. Another time, he would’ve yelped and jumped into his feet, but the part of him that’s quite comfortable in Henry’s arms just tilts his head enough to find Henry’s eyes, brows arched to his forehead. “What?” he says, suddenly self-conscious. “You’re gay. You know I’m fucking right.”
Henry makes a wounded noise and downs the glass of water on the coffee table as if it’s a lifeline, knuckles white around the glass. “Well,” he chokes out, eyes flickering anywhere but Alex, “well, yes, that’s an astute observation.”
Alex lets out a snort. “Why do you sound like a professor even when we’re discussing the aesthetics of dicks?”
“Christ.” Henry stares at the ceiling as if he’s praying for strength—or, as Alex likes to think, admiring Richard Balls the Third—before he continues. “You’re a heathen.” Alex grins, but doesn’t try to argue. Henry isn’t wrong. “I don’t sound like a professor. I just meant… I thought you’re… I was under the impression that you were straight.”
Alex tilts his head, looking up at the stain again. “I mean, sure,” he says with a shrug. And he is. The Earth is round, the sun rises from the East, and Alex is straight, no matter how many times Nora rolls her eyes whenever he calls himself an ally. He loves Nora to bits, and Henry is practically his platonic soulmate, and he’ll support their rights to love whoever they want to the ends of the worlds, but he likes to think that if he were queer, he would’ve figured out when his mother first pinned the rainbow flag on their balcony or Nora told him she was bi and he should suck it up. Finding dicks aesthetically attractive, Alex firmly believes, doesn’t change that itty bitty fact. “But I’m talking, like, aesthetically,” he amends his statement, though when he meets Henry’s eyes, he doesn’t look even a fraction less confused.
“You’re gonna have to be a tad bit clearer than that.”
Alex huffs out a breath and runs a hand over his face. “I don’t know,” he says, and when Henry snorts he shoots him a scathing glare. “Don’t you fucking dare make fun of me, Fox. It’s just… It’s not easy to explain. You’re fucking gay, you should know.”
“Alex,” Henry says, and he sounds so goddamn unimpressed that it’s a feat, “I like dicks because I like how they feel when I’m being fucked within an inch of my life. I have a feeling you have a rather different answer .”
Alex doesn’t quite choke on air, but breathing does become difficult when the images of what Henry describes fill his mind. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. Alex was a teenage boy once and porn sites were never quite out of reach, and he’s dipped his toes into gay porn as, he imagines, most other teenagers have. He’s familiar with the mechanics, familiar with the looks, except it isn’t quite one of those videos that flash in front of his mind. It’s blonde hair that’s spread over silken sheets, an expanse of white skin covered in splotches of pink Alex is too familiar with, freckles dusted over the skin like constellations, and blue eyes piercing into his like a goddamn weapon, bright under the hazy white light of his imagination. Please, Henry whispers as Alex thrusts into him, blunt nails digging into Alex’s skin. Please, Alex—
“No,” Alex chokes out, trying to dispel the images from his mind. “No, that’s… That’s not what I was talking about.” Henry arches a brow, disbelief coloring his face, and Alex makes a face at him. “I wasn’t considering it, H. You just fucking caught me off-guard.”
Henry’s lips quirk into a smile. “I never claimed you were.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Alex blindly reaches up and pushes Henry’s face away with his palm, though it doesn’t really erase the smile from Henry’s face. He laughs as he ducks away from Alex’s hand, and then grabs his wrist before Alex can accidentally slap him in the cheek. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re looking at me weird.”
“Looks are quite different from words, darling.” Alex narrows his eyes, and Henry has to fight a grin. “If you would like to know, I fully believe you can be aesthetically attracted to dicks without being gay.”
Alex narrows his eyes. “That sounds sarcastic.” Henry raises his hands innocently even though there’s nothing fucking innocent about his expression, and something in Alex snaps. He doesn’t think. The idea crosses his mind—brilliant in how goddamn stupid and damning it is—and he doesn’t consider the potential consequences, doesn’t question the fluidity of his own sexuality when he’s already on uneven footing, and blurts it out. “I can fucking prove it to you if you take off your pants.”
That, at least, erases the smile from Henry’s face. “Excuse me?” he says, half horrified, and Alex uses the opportunity to push himself into a sitting position. He faces Henry and vaguely gestures at his legs.
“Take off your pants, show me your dick, and you’ll see. I’ll pleasantly admire it from afar, I can even offer a few compliments about the size if you want a boost to your ego—”
“I don’t need—”
“But,” Alex presses before Henry can continue, “I’m not going to touch you because, as I made it incredibly clear, I’m not gay. So.” He waves his hands in a gesture that he hopes conveys, go on. “Take off your pants.” A beat. “If you consent to it, of course.” He wrings his hands together and tries to stay still as he waits for Henry’s answer even though he feels seconds away from buzzing out of his skin. It’s like an itch he can’t scratch, like excitement and fear all rolled into one, though he doesn’t even understand why. The whole point of doing it is to prove Henry he can keep his hands to himself—and he will. It’s not even a question.
So why does he feel like he’ll need to sit on his hands to make sure he doesn’t move?
It takes Henry some time to answer. He searches Alex’s face with an unreadable expression, long enough that Alex starts picking out the colors from his eyes, navy and indigo, sapphire and ocean, cerulean, and beyond it all the bright yellow of the sun, twinkling even in the night. “Okay,” Henry says eventually, and Alex barely hears him at first, still too preoccupied with his eyes.
“What?”
“Okay.” Henry gulps and shifts on the floor so he can sit against the front of the couch. “I’ll… I’ll do it.” He searches Alex’s face as if he’s looking for a sign to stop, but Alex keeps his jaw locked and his eyes focused, and finally Henry reaches for the button of his jeans, fingers shaky against the fabric. And Alex can’t quite look away from the sight of it.
It’s obscene, he tells himself—it would’ve been obscene to anyone, gay or straight or bi or ace. It’s an obscene sight, slender fingers wrapped around Henry’s waistband, a thumb pushing at the button until it pops. Alex’s heart jumps to his throat with the sound, and he has to dig his nails into his thighs so he doesn’t do something goddamn stupid. It would’ve been obscene to anyone, and yet, as Alex watches Henry pull his zipper down with the rapt attention of a cat watching its prey, he vaguely thinks that straight men probably don’t feel the need to watch another man take their pants off with quite an undivided attention.
“Let me know if you want me to stop,” Henry says hoarsely, and he has no fucking right sounding as hot as he does. Alex gulps but doesn’t say a word—he doesn’t even think he could’ve made a sound if he wanted. He watches the zipper hit the bottom, and then watches Henry’s fingers part the lapels of the jeans until he can see a pair of black boxers peeking out. Maybe it’s his goddamn imagination, but already there’s a bulge against the flimsy fabric that makes Alex’s mouth go completely dry. He watches Henry’s fingers slide along the curve of it, so slowly as if he’s trying to torture Alex, and then finally they dip inside, pushing both the underwear and the jeans away until, as promised, he pulls his cock out. And it takes Alex about a split second to realize he’s utterly fucked up.
It’s…nothing special, really, he tries to tell himself. It’s nothing Alex hasn’t seen before in the many porn videos he’s watched. Henry’s cock isn’t particularly big or long, though as it rests in Henry’s hands Alex imagines that might be because he isn’t fully hard yet. It’s a pretty shade of pink that matches Henry’s flush whenever it climbs up to the tips of his ears, with an elegant curve that’d filled Alex’s wet dreams before. The tip is just slightly flared and Alex notices now that there’s a glistening bead at the end as Henry grows half-hard, like the barest touch of his hand and a look from Alex is enough to get him going, and Alex vaguely feels the bite of his nails vanish from his thigh as he reaches forward just so he can make sure he’s not imagining things, aching to feel the weight of Henry under his own fingers, trace the curve as he fills up under Alex’s hand—
His fingertips touch the tip of Henry’s cock, just long enough to feel the slick underneath, until he snaps back to his senses. He jerks his hand back and curls it over his chest as if he touched a furnace instead. “Sorry—” he chokes out, though it takes him another few seconds to rip his gaze from Henry’s cock. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—I just—” The explanation dies on his tongue when he finds Henry’s eyes, properly sees them for the first time, and dark hot arousal shoots down his spine. It isn’t disgust or fear he sees in Henry’s eyes, even though both would be completely appropriate, considering Alex didn’t even fucking ask before reaching for his cock. Instead, there’s Alex’s own expression mirrored in his—widened pupils, parted lips, flushed cheeks, and a dark pleasure he couldn’t hide, not even behind his eyelids if he were to close his eyes.
Slowly, Alex uncurls his hands. Slowly, he shifts closer to Henry, giving him ample time to say no, to push him away if he wanted to. Slowly, he reaches again, and this time, instead of jerking back in fear he gingerly wraps his fingers around Henry’s cock, solid and warm against his palm. Even with his heart pounding in his ears, he doesn’t miss the sharp inhale of breath coming from above him. He lets his eyes flicker up. “I can stop.”
There’s a beat of silence, but then Henry shakes his head. He moves his hand so it covers Alex’s and squeezes. “Please,” he whispers—it’s one fucking word, but it’s enough to break Alex’s defenses, to reach all the way into his heart and unlock something he didn’t even know existed. Alex lets his fingers move along Henry’s hardening length, ghostly touches following in the wake of his fingers until he reaches the tip, pressing his thumb down on the underside of his cock just like he knows he likes it. Henry’s breath hitches again, fingers curling along the floor as if he's desperately trying to hold onto some semblance of control. “Alex,” he says, and the name sounds so goddamn reverent on his tongue that whatever hesitation Alex might’ve had, it doesn’t quite matter nearly as much as this beautiful man under his fingertips, who’s staring at him like he holds his entire being in his hands.
He throws his leg over Henry’s thighs to straddle him and tilts Henry’s head with two fingers. For a split second, there’s him, there’s Henry, and tension between them stretching like an invisible string. Then, Alex’s eyes flicker to his lips and he captures them between his in a scorching kiss, burning the remaining hesitation between them like a flint.
This, Alex vaguely thinks, probably isn’t how a straight guy reacts if they ever saw their best friend’s dick. He doesn’t quite have the energy to care.
Henry moans into Alex’s mouth, cradling the nape of his neck with one hand as if he’s scared Alex is going to leave at the drop of a hat. His other hand, Alex realizes now, is still wrapped around Alex’s over his cock, and when Alex starts moving he squeezes like he can’t quite get enough, like his entire world has reduced to that one point of contact between them. “Is this—” Alex tries to ask, but then Henry is kissing him again, urging Alex to go on, and he realizes it doesn’t fucking matter. It’s good—it’s all good, and the last thing either of them need is meaningless questions flung into the space between them when they already have each other.
Alex bites down on Henry’s lips as he drags his palm along the length of his cock, teasing the tip until he feels another bead of precum on his thumb, and only then he lets go just so he can look at Henry’s cock, the red skin disappearing under Alex’s hand with every pump along his length. “Fuck,” he whispers and presses his hand on the couch next to Henry’s head so he doesn’t topple over. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking beautiful—”
Henry moans and throws his head back on the couch, hips canting up in chase of Alex’s hand. Alex pumps his length before he reaches with his free hand and takes Henry’s face in his, tugging until Henry lifts his head again and finds his gaze. The darkened eyes look delirious, pupils so wide it’s impossible to tell where the irises are, and Alex finds himself mesmerized by the sight of it—by the sight of Henry, usually so goddamn collected, breaking apart under his hands, like one word from Alex would be enough to tip him over the edge, to tilt his world until nothing’s left but the two of them. “Stay,” Alex whispers, digging his thumb into the corner of Henry’s lip. “I wanna watch you.” And somehow, impossibly, Henry manages a nod.
Another pump. Alex traces a line down Henry’s chin, to the column of his neck, letting his fingers graze the skin right over his palpitating heart, another sensitive spot if Henry’s moan is anything to go by. Alex wonders how it’d look like with a blossoming hickey, bright against the white skin, standing out even when he’s flushed up to the tip of his ears. “Next time,” he whispers hoarsely, and Henry lets out a whine before he can even get another word in, “I’m gonna get my mouth on you, and then everyone will know who you belong with.” Henry’s eyes are wider when he finds them again and Alex finds himself smiling, tugging at his chin so he can press a lingering kiss on his lips. “Next time.”
“Alex,” Henry cries, hips canting up under Alex in a desperate need to search for friction. His hands scramble to hold onto Alex’s back, digging so harshly into the divots of his spine that it hurts, but Alex doesn’t care. He squeezes Henry’s cock and teases the tip until it’s twitching under his fingers, and he knows. Henry is close.
“Next time,” he repeats, pressing his forehead against Henry’s just so he can inhale his scent, “I’m gonna get inside you.” He twists his wrist and pumps Henry’s length until he earns another moan. “And I’m gonna be the one fucking you within an inch of your life.” His lips tilt into a grin. “Promise,” he whispers, leaning in to bite down on Henry’s lower lip, and that’s all it takes. One last pump, and a breathless laugh escapes Henry’s lips as he comes. Alex holds onto his shivering body until he’s spent, and holds onto him even afterwards, Henry’s face tucked into the crook of his neck, like he needs a rock and Alex is all too willing to provide it. Alex holds him as he comes down from his own high—the next times , the weight of Henry on his hand, the swollen lips and faint taste of iron on his lips—and he stays, staring at the wall behind the couch, the paintings dotting each corner, and a smile stretches out on his face.
He could stay there forever.
Alex wakes up wrapped inside the warmth of two strong arms and a mouthful of blonde hair against his nose.
This, by itself, isn’t weird. There’s been many a night Alex found himself clinging to Henry after one too many drinks, seeking the warmth of his embrace to fight back the demons lurking in the shadows. Henry has always been his safe haven, even when Alex thought he was completely straight, even when the ache in his chest whenever Henry smiled felt completely platonic.
Now, Alex inhales the familiar apple and cinnamon shampoo, feels Henry’s heart beat against his palm in the minimal space between them, and he wonders whether any of it was platonic in the first place. There’s a lot Alex doesn’t understand about himself, but another piece fits into place now, fills a hole in his chest he didn’t even know existed.
He isn’t straight, and if the heat along his skin wherever Henry touches him is to go by, the man in his arms is half the reason.
Alex shifts carefully, trying not to wake Henry up, but it’s a lost cause when he feels the muscles underneath his fingertips tense. He stops, curling his fingers around Henry’s shoulders. “Henry?” he whispers, gently pushing Henry’s hair back so he can tilt his head back. There’s no answer, and Alex thinks he’s imagining the whole thing until he hears muffled words against his collar. “What?”
“Don’t leave,” Henry finally says, and there’s such a deep desperation in his voice that Alex feels his heart break. He tightens his grip around Henry and nods, lips pressed along his scalp, and stays there, right there until Henry isn’t shivering, until he’s sure his heart has settled right back into his chest. He clears his throat then and stares at the ceiling, blissfully stain-free now that they’re in Henry’s bedroom.
“So,” he starts, trying to talk through the knot in his throat. “I’m not straight.”
Henry doesn’t say anything, though from the way he stills under Alex’s fingers he must’ve heard it. Alex gulps and tangles his fingers in Henry’s hair to ground himself, running them through the soft locks until he can’t hear his heart pounding against his ears. “And I…” he starts, trying to find the right words. “I think I like you more than just as a friend.” He tightens his grip around Henry and shuts his eyes, waiting for the inevitable blow that’ll break his heart, but it never comes. It’s Henry’s palm that he feels first, climbing up his back so he can cup his cheek. And then his fingertips along his lashes, coaxing his eyes open, tracing the crinkles around them until Alex finds himself looking at bright blue irises, watching him with a kind of vulnerability he's not used to from Henry.
“You mean it?” he says in such a small voice the knot in Alex’s chest dissolves. He lets out a laugh out of sheer relief, and then shifts just until his head is resting across from Henry’s. His palms ghost over Henry’s face.
“You’re a goddamn idiot,” he whispers. Henry snorts and rolls his eyes at first, but the corners of his lips are twitching, and his legs are still tangled next to Alex’s, so Alex imagines he can’t be too upset. “You turned me gay with your magical dick—”
“I wouldn’t call it magical.”
“And now you’re asking me whether I meant that I liked you?” Alex brushes Henry’s hair away from his forehead and searches the bright blue eyes. “The answer is yes, dumbass,” he says finally, though there’s no venom in his voice. “I like you. And maybe that makes me the goddamn idiot since it literally took me touching your dick to realize that, but… If you’d have me—”
Alex doesn’t get the chance to finish. Not because Henry leaves the bed or he runs out of words, but because Henry’s lips are over his, robbing him of breath. Fingers slide into his curls and Henry tugs until Alex is whining into the kiss, clinging to him so hard he’s sure there’ll be nail marks etched into Henry’s skin before the morning ends. Henry doesn’t quite seem to care.
“You know,” Henry murmurs onto his lips then, teeth teasing the line of his jaw, “if I knew pulling out my dick would’ve turned you gay, I would’ve done it ages ago.”
“Oh my fucking God, I hate you.” A laugh escapes Henry’s lips and Alex shoves him away, but it lasts all of five seconds before they’re kissing again, Alex’s legs thrown over Henry’s hips, fingers tracing the lines of Henry’s face. Because at the end of the day, it’s Henry. And no matter how insufferable he is, Alex knows he’ll like this man for a long, long time.