Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

September 27th – six days earlier

Tony 💖
ofc askin for ur number was all an excuse to get my tank top back

Husk The DILF
Of course. I filed a complaint, they found my wallet.

Tony 💖
oh good! was everything still there??

Husk The DILF
There wasn’t even the laundry card.

Tony 💖
good ol nyc never disappoints ~

September 29th – four days earlier

Tony 💖
should be illegal workin on sunday

Husk The DILF
According to what rule?

Tony 💖
the i-want-to-sleep rule 

Husk The DILF
Oh, I see. I don't think it exists.

Tony 💖
it should, we’d all live better
[...]
like, rn imma walk 3 dogs cause their rich families are spendin $$ at some mexi-resort for the we

Husk The DILF
Are you a dog sitter?

Tony 💖
guilty, your honor
[...]
watcha doing?

Husk The DILF
Getting ready for work.

Tony 💖
oof u too! condolences, whiskers 💔

October 3rd – one day earlier

Tony 💖
soooo what’s ur job?

Husk The DILF
I’m a bartender.

Tony 💖
nice, where??

Husk The DILF
In a club.

Tony 💖
… idk if ya know how conversations work, sweetie, but unlike interrogations i’d ain’t to force words out of ur mouth

Husk The DILF
But I am talking.

Tony 💖
okaaay let’s play like this then
[...]
where were u last night around 10:43 pm?

Husk The DILF
Behind the Coffre counter.

Tony 💖
ah so if i treat ya like we're in an interrogation room ya do answer me
i could almost get turned on ~
[...]
hey i searched for this place but it doesn't exist
r u fuckin with me, whiskers? watch out i'll get offended

Husk The DILF
It doesn’t exist cause technically it doesn’t exist.

Tony 💖
… i’m confused

Husk The DILF
I can't talk about it.

Tony 💖
oh so we’re keepin the detective fantasy??
next time i’ll have a pinstriped suit and handcuffs
i always have my 🍆 with me

Husk The DILF
Anthony.

Tony 💖
fyi it’s detective scavo, mr. husk
[...]
srsly where do ya work? i could pop by for a drink

Nothing.

Again, no answer.

“Viewed three hours ago.” Anthony repeated, mouth half full, chewing the straw of his almost-finished strawberry and cream frappuccino, his elbows resting on one of the rickety tables of the crowded Starbucks where he and Cherri had arranged to meet that afternoon.

Cherri – Cheryl, theoretically that should have been her name but he had never heard anyone call her that – was a girl he met in rehab, who had been in the Center less than him. No overdose, just one foster home after another and a conviction for manufacturing narcotics in the basement of the rental house she’d been living in for three years.

Making it to twenty-three and paying a rent in New York City was no small feat – apparently, meth business paid off. When she started consuming the products to test them, the problems started and Cherri found herself sitting in one of the chairs in the Soft Room at Mountainside Treatment Center because the judge had kicked her there.

Oddly enough, Anthony was sitting right next to her. The rest is history.

“Oh my god Tony, how much of a pain in the ass are you from one to a-fucking-lot?”

Cherri – a mane of blonde hair with pink highlights always tied back in a long, high ponytail, right arm covered in tattoos and a strong Aussie accent – was a true princess.

Anthony glared at her, still chewing on his straw with a pout and going back to scrolling up and down the chat with the contact he had saved as ‘ Husk The DILF. ’ And after realizing that he was really a daddy, the title was never more appropriate.

“We exchanged, like, four messages in a week and I practically had to tear them out of his mouth.”

Cherri listened distractedly, drumming her fingers on the coffee table and eyeing a girl behind the counter with an interested look.

“Besides the fact that he writes like a boomer–”

“He is a boomer.”

“Details.” Anthony cut her short, waving his left hand lazily as if shooing a fly. “He’s about forty-something. Anyway, that aside, how come three weeks ago I was about to suck his cock and now he barely tells me where he works?”

At the table next to them, an older woman stirred her coffee with a slightly scandalized look.

The phrase didn’t have the same effect on Cherri, who stopped looking at the girl behind the counter and focused on her friend.

“Three weeks?” she asked, both eyebrows rising under her pink-streaked tuft. “And you haven’t gotten over it yet?”

Anthony muttered something unintelligible, without looking at her, his hazel eyes still fixed on the phone screen as if staring intently at it could bring up a reply to the message.

The repeated click of Cherri’s tongue, tasting of disappointment, made him blink and slide to look at her. He was met with a wary half-smile.

“Is it because you want to scratch that itch or is there something else there? Because frankly, Tony.” the pause did not give him hope for anything good. “Okay, listening to your words he seems like the ultimate daddy, but–” she shrugged, nodding at his phone. “Open Grindr and you’ll find as many as you want like that.”

“Yes, but–”

“So there is more?”

Anthony remained silent, opening his mouth like a fish a couple of times before closing it again.

No, there wasn’t anything else.

There was something , though, something he had wondered about several times over the course of those weeks – some kind of inexplicable connection.

Make me feel better , Husk had murmured against his ear, and those little words had dug a worm deep into his brain, into his stomach.

It had been like looking in the mirror and finding someone just as messed up on the other side. For different reasons and situations, of course, reasons Husk hadn’t even told him – not entirely, because Anthony wasn’t stupid and he knew perfectly well that ‘ divorce ’ wasn’t the only demon chewing away at the man’s conscience.

But still, despite being different, there was the same, desperate need to hold on to someone in a sea that was dragging them both adrift.

Finding themselves on the same raft hadn’t been that bad, right?

He should have analyzed with Charlie his penchant for always having crushes on complicated, emotionally unstable, walking-red-flag men.

He wrote that down somewhere in his memory.

And yet, something told him that Husk wasn’t really a red flag – not like Valentino. Certainly not like Valentino, the thought of which made him darken and frown, as he locked his phone screen and put it on the table to return to the conversation.

He hadn’t seen him at the club since the night he’d almost had a panic attack and had to perform on stage while Val was in the privè with his hand on Vox’s dick, just to make him look.

“Let's just say I don't like to leave things hanging.”

“Since when?” was the bored reply from Cherri, who in the meantime had gone back to looking at the counter in search of her prey.

“Since I tasted it, and I’d like to know at least if these weeks of practically jacking off only on him were worth it.”

The lady at the nearest table, this time, nearly choked on a sip of coffee.

Cherry sighed with exasperated fondness.

“Okay. So let’s call it more than an itch a– Matter of principle?”

“Let’s not call it anything, because this asshole doesn’t– OH GOD HE REPLIED HANG ON!”

Half Starbucks turned to look at their table, but while Cherri friendly flipped the bird to the scandalized lady next to them, who finally decided to get up and change table, Anthony dove back into the conversation.

Husk The DILF
Look for The Cave, it's in Greenwich.

Tony 💖
welcome back husky ~ d’ya know that sms ain’t letters? they’re immediate
but i forgive u, detective scavo is merciful

Husk The DILF
I don't live attached to my cell phone, kid.

Tony 💖
oh yeah i heard the place, they do live jazz
[...]
y is it called smth else??

Husk The DILF
I told you, I can't talk about it.

Tony 💖
so what if i pop by there then?
[...]
detectives investigate better on the field 🔍

“Wow, you sure are desperate.”

Anthony was belatedly aware of Cherri’s judging look; meanwhile, she had stood up and stopped to peer directly over his shoulder.

He flipped her the bird, not paying much attention, focused on the three bouncing dots writing on the other side of the chat.

For a time that was actually decidedly longer than normal.

Husk The DILF
Okay. But there is a dress code, otherwise they won't let you in.

Tony 💖
r u sayin my look doesn’t suit the place where ya work??

Husk The DILF
Exactly.

Tony 💖
judgin by how hard u got last time, u didn’t mind at all

Husk The DILF
Yeah, that’s not what I said.

Oh?

It had only taken six days of scattered and drawn-out messages to get some sort of half-flirtation out of Husk. And imagining it whispered in his ear, in that low, husky tone he remembered so well, threatened to make an innocent Thursday fall afternoon at Starbucks something quite embarrassing.

Not for him, of course: ‘Anthony’ and ‘modesty’ were two concepts almost impossible to find in the same sentence.

Tony 💖
awww ~ so ya did like it

Husk The DILF
Yes. But still, you need a tie to get in here.

Anthony repressed the bad joke and the wave of excitement that stirred his lower abdomen at that very lapidary ‘ yes ’ as he continued to write.

Tony 💖
np! so what do i do, i go to the cave and find ya there servin scotch to people chillin with jazz??

Husk The DILF
I work on Friday night. Ask the bartender behind the counter to see the Chest. Say Henry gave you the Key.

He frowned, vaguely puzzled this time. Chest? Key? Henry?

This sort of date was becoming more complex than expected – and with the fact that Husk couldn’t talk about his work place, Anthony wondered if there really wasn’t something not exactly legitimate behind it.

His thoughts ran to his family, to the money Molly used to pay Anna’s school fees and the Center. He thought of his brother’s brass knuckles falling clanking to the floor, an evening who-knows-how many years ago, when he had looked into his father’s study even though they had specifically asked him not to.

The image of the teeth of the guy papà Scavo used to have coffee with at the bar downstairs, every morning, scattered on the floor like pearls from a broken necklace hadn’t left his thoughts for a long time. Before he drowned himself up to his neck in what was truly the Famiglia , only to be kicked out not so much time later.

No Mafia Boss wants a frocio as son.

Was Husk involved in something similar too?

Tony 💖
who’s henry?

Husk The DILF
I am.

Anthony blinked and then crooked a smile at the screen.

Cherri was now farther away, at the counter, chatting with the girl she’d been ogling before. She probably hadn’t even noticed a young man in line, long black hair and a goth look, uncomfortably twirling a hat in his hands and glancing at her friend; the perfect image of a crush.

He chuckled, shaking his head and going back to writing.

Tony 💖
nice name, it suits u

Husk The DILF
Thanks. Anyway, say that and you won’t have any problems.

He played silently with the ball of his piercing, fiddling it between his teeth. Thoughtfully. He looked at Cherri’s back, at the counter, for a couple of moments.

Tony 💖
can i bring a friend of mine along??

The writing three-dot bubble remained suspended in the chat for a while longer as Anthony’s heart banged stupidly against his ribs.

You idiot. Why do you want to bring some sort of a nanny with you?

Did you see, amorcito? You don’t really want to date this guy, you’re not good enough.

Valentino’s voice disappeared the instant he read Husk’s reply.

Henry’s reply.

Husk The DILF
Sure.

That’s it, no other comments.

No retractions, no strange phrases that hinted at annoyance – and no, that period wasn’t annoyed. Anthony imagined a quiet smile deep in Henry’s amber eyes, the softness of his tone as he left the roughness aside and became the big cat that had purred at him.

A burst of hungry desire sank its teeth into his lower belly, tearing a noise from his throat that he couldn’t control.

Behave, Anthony.

Tony 💖
yayyy ~ perf! i’ll tell her too to dress hot, even if she always is

Husk The DILF
I have no doubt about it.

Tony 💖
but not too much, you'll only have eyes for me 2morro

Husk The DILF
I have no doubt about that either.

God, Husk couldn’t text but damn did he know how to flirt when he started.

Anthony cleared his throat, again, composing the last few replies.

Tony 💖
you better. cya soon whiskers 💗

His pink heart remained unanswered on display but that didn’t dampen Anthony’s even brighter-than-usual grin.

He finally stood up from the table, grabbing his empty Frappuccino to throw it in the trash can and join Cherri, who eyed him as he stopped next to her – forced to lift her chin to look him in the eye.

“Are we ready to leave? Are you done moping about your daddy ghosting you?”

The glint of his golden canine was already an eloquent answer.

“Oh yeah, tomorrow night you’ll see if I was right to insist.”

Cherri's eyelashes fluttered, taken aback.

“Tomorrow night?”

“You and me, The Cave. Do you have a dress that looks good in a jazz club?”

The girl looked at him with an eloquent, vaguely sarcastic look.

“No shit mate, can’t you tell? People who cook meth in their basement go to jazz clubs regularly.”

“Who cooked meth.”

“My closet hasn’t changed anyway.”

Anthony grinned, delighted, taking her by the shoulders and leading her out of the Starbucks.

“That’s why we’re going shopping.”

“Hey, wait a minute, that girl was about to give me her–”

“Nah, you had another suitor lined up, you could have had more play with him.”

“Huh?”

Dragging his friend away, Anthony turned to look at the goth boy who was gazing sadly at them from the window as they walked away down the sidewalk.

Sorry, buddy, next time.

October 4th – present

Anthony thought that if Francis Scott-Fitzgerald were alive, he would surely have appreciated the Coffre, which turned out to be the speakeasy attached to The Cave – after all, every cave has its treasure chest, right?

And the Coffre was exactly that: a little gem nestled in the heart of Greenwich Village, well hidden between live jazz clubs and simple, rather quiet-looking pubs. The libertine and decidedly tolerant setting of the neighborhood helped the whole atmosphere and the prohibitionism that could be felt inside the Scrigno was delightfully in tune. Perhaps prohibitionism was more of a facade than anything else, although the secrecy with which Henry had handled the matter suggested that it was something more juicy.

Cherri’s admiring whistle brought him back down to earth. He stopped to scan the environment they had just entered – going down a flight of stairs hidden behind a door that the bartender upstairs had lazily pointed towards – and focused on his friend.

“I didn't know about this place.” she commented, running her fingers through her forelock – that blonde and pink mane, for once, had been left loose on her shoulders and disciplined in a low ponytail; the sobriety of the 1920s-style pearl gray dress – lots of fringes, short to the knee, clearly rented – was undermined by the quantity of tattoos that Cherri sported on her right arm and which gave her the look of an Aussie Daisy Buchanan from the Outback.

A very fascinating contrast.

“Yeah.” Anthony agreed, sliding again to peer inside the club: a riot of dark woods – from mahogany to walnut – polished and finished, a counter positioned against the wall in front of which stood an army of perfectly lined up stools. Dim lighting, a symphony of warm tones, which concentrated in pools of light clustered around the various tables scattered in handfuls throughout the basement.

Between this almost intimate atmosphere and the green velvet-padded sofas that surrounded each table, the impression was that at the Coffre one could seek the right amount of privacy to discuss any kind of business to the jazz soundtrack provided by the musicians on stage.

Judging by the patrons who populated it that evening – several, who had all ignored the two new arrivals – the business ranged from stock market trading to matters that danced on the edge of legality, if not actually sunk into it.

Anthony loosened his dusty pink tie, knotted at the collar of a white shirt; he wouldn’t have been surprised to see, in those islands of dim light and suspended cigar smoke – because yes, smoking was permitted – one of his father’s associates or some old acquaintance.

He smoothed down his blond tuft, vaguely nervous, then cleared his throat and motioned for Cherri to proceed toward the bar.

The girl seemed perfectly at ease, despite the fact that she and Anthony usually frequented completely different types of venues; they were more ‘clubbing, neon and drugs’ than ‘jazz, soft lights and luxury alcohol’.

“So, where’s your daddy?”

Anthony slid his hazel eyes along the bar, a hint of annoyance etched between his furrowed brows, considering that the first bartender he’d lingered on didn’t look a bit like Husk.

He told you some bullshit to get rid of you, Angelito.

He ignored Valentino in his mind, continuing his investigation.

On the leftmost part of the counter, the one away from the stage on which a quartet of piano, trumpet, drums and a singer warbling sensually to a cover of All That Jazz , was Henry Husker.

He was wearing what Anthony assumed was his uniform, considering it was the same as the bartender who’d greeted him upstairs: a white shirt with black buttons, a dark red bow tie, equally black suspenders and pants. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his waves of dark, silver-streaked hair were decidedly more orderly than the last time he’d seen him in a bar. His beard and goatee were also carefully trimmed, just as salt-and-pepper and even more appetizing than the last time – the wave of pleasure tugging at his lower belly threatened to force a sound from him that he managed to mask with a thicker breath.

Jesus, the man gave him the hormones of a twelve-year-old.

“What the fuck, Tony, did you get a boner?”

Exactly. Cherri and her inimitable tact.

“I mean, did you see him?” he whispered, not even bothering to deny it, as they walked the distance to the bar – Husk, busy mixing a couple of cocktails for a pretty waitress waiting to take her order, hadn’t noticed them yet.

“I admit he’s remarkable, although he’s definitely not my type.”

“That’s better, bitch, keep your fucking hands off.”

Cherri giggled, eyeing her friend from under the blonde bangs with an eloquent expression.

Anthony clicked his pierced tongue, an amused twinkle in the depths of his hazel eyes, adjusting the jacket of the dark gray pinstriped suit he was wearing – vest included – and putting on a big smile; the golden tooth glistened in the soft lights.

“So, Henry Husker!” he began like this, stopping right in front of the counter, with his hands on his hips and the air of a detective engaged in who knows what The Untouchables-style investigation. “What’s a detective gotta do to get you answer his questions, anh?”

Husk finished pouring the last shaken cocktail into the martini glass without even looking at what he was doing, distracted by Anthony and Cherri’s arrival. His amber eyes slid to frame the girl, just behind the blond, before blinking and focusing on Tony.

That smile that couldn’t be seen on his lips – not really – but was all at the bottom of the golden gaze threatened to make Anthony’s knees melt where he stood, in spite of his bravado.

“Detective Scavo.” Henry played along, bowing his head in a calm greeting and clearing that deep, velvety voice to get the waitress’s attention who, understandably, had stopped to watch the scene with a vaguely wary air.

“Millie.”

The girl – short, with bob-cut dark curls and dark skin – shook herself and slid to look right at Henry, who signaled her to go with all the calm in the world.

“I know him, he’s fine. You can go.”

She looked one last time at Anthony – who in response politely took off his gangster fedora in a greeting – and Cherri, before snorting a half-laugh and swaying away into the room, to reach the table that had requested the order.

Anthony looked back at Henry, who in the meantime had raised his left eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. The sight of the white fabric stretched across his thick biceps threatened to distract him once again.

“Coming to a speakeasy and introducing yourself as a detective doesn’t sound like the brightest idea in the world.”

Anthony opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by Cherri’s laughter, who had slid onto a stool right in front of Henry.

“Daddy here can cut through your bullshit, Tony, I’m officially impressed. Hey–” Cherri held out her right hand, which Husk took in a quiet, firm shake. “I’m Cherri, this douchebag’s babysitter.”

Tony’s exasperated snort preceded his plopping down on the stool next to his friend, just in time to catch Husker’s amused smirk, who now focused on Anthony and his outfit, scanning him from head to toe.

Had he dreamed it or had there really been a languid flicker in those amber eyes?

“Nice to meet you.” he replied, looking back at Cherri. “I guess I don’t need to introduce myself.”

“Oh yeah, he told me everything.” she lazily waved her left hand. “Absolutely eeeeverything .” she specified in a delighted smirk, making Henry raise both of his thick eyebrows and shot Anthony a rather gruff look.

“What?” he replied, shrugging innocently. “There was no confidentiality clause on our almost-fuck.” an exasperated sigh from Husk didn’t even interrupt him. “And anyway, other than nothing fucking happened, the clause wouldn’t apply to the best friend.”

“Relax, darling.” Cherri reassured him, leaning her elbows on the bar and leaning forward a bit on the stool to peer at the bottles lined up behind it. “So, what are we drinking here? Tony, clearly you’re the one offering.”

Anthony caught Henry’s eye again, watching him curl yet another wry smile into an unreadable flicker.

Oh, it was going to be a looong night.

*

The musicians on stage had been playing until twenty minutes ago, even accepting a couple of requests from the audience – the few people at the speakeasy who had actually gone to the place with the intention of enjoying the evening without any illicit business purposes.

Cherri, about ten minutes earlier, had slipped off the stool, stood on tiptoe and tugged Anthony – who was sitting there at the bar – a little lower to reach his cheek, leave him a goodbye kiss and a ‘be a naughty boy ’ muttered in his ear in a sneer that was nothing short of devilish.

She had also saluted Husk, index and middle finger to her forehead, before turning on her heel and leaving the place not empty-handed: during the evening, she had picked up a ride and a joyride.

Anthony, his cheek resting on the freckled knuckles of his left hand – his elbow propped up on the polished wood of the counter – lazily watched Henry dismiss the waitress; the place was closing and the man who it turned out was her husband had come to pick her up.

A pale, blond, obliging fellow in a rather elegant outfit smiled smitten at Millie, who welcomed him with a kiss and a wide smile. She said goodbye to Husker and gave Anthony a knowing wink as well, before disappearing.

The blond watched them go up the stairs of the speakeasy, reflecting in the silence of the closure while the remaining staff swept the floor and went to turn off the various lamps at the tables.

The last time he had come home early from work to surprise Valentino – who had told him he couldn’t pick him up because he was too busy – he had found him crouched in front of the armchair in the living room, busy giving a head to Vox.

The only thing his – now ex – boyfriend had been able to say was ask if he wanted to join the party.

Anthony blinked, coming back to the present.

You’ve always been a fucking simp.

He turned on the stool, watching Henry fumble behind the counter to tidy up his share.

“... Henry, anh?”

The man caught his gaze, peering at him over his left shoulder for a moment, before turning again and resuming tidying up.

“Henry.”

“So Husk–?”

“Husker. Henry Husker.”

He sounded so much like James Bond, thought Anthony, if James Bond would have had a Nevada accent.

“My last name has become Husk over the years, they’ve called me that for as long as I can remember.” he shrugged, nonchalantly. “Only my mother called me Henry. And–”

The pause and the bobbing up and down of his Adam’s apple left Anthony free to interpret that silence without too much trouble.

“And your ex-wife.”

Henry nodded, without adding anything else and placing the perfectly dried glass back with the others, in the neat row lined up behind the counter.

“So what should I call you?”

The soft thud of Henry’s bar rag into the sink after he’d finished drying everything was preceded by a sort of amused snort, the usual husky sound.

“As you want, Anthony. Or do you prefer Tony?” he replied, tilting his head slightly toward his right shoulder as if he wanted to observe him from a different angle.

Anthony thought that hearing his full name spoken in Henry’s voice was enough to make his cock stand up – and no, judging by the movements against his crotch, it wasn’t just a thought.

He swayed from side to side on the stool, adjusting the fabric between his legs.

“Just call me the fuck you like, whiskers.”

The last pool of soft light went out behind Anthony, plunging them both into the reddish semi-darkness of the counter lights; in the dark, detecting the dilated pupils in Henry’s amber eyes was surprisingly easy.

Without thinking, he reached out with his right hand, catching one of the other’s suspenders and tugging it a little toward him without much resistance – he felt Husk’s shoulder muscles against the taut suspender, the half step to lean against the bar, and that thick breath that tickled his ear last time.

Anthony also leaned on the counter with both elbows, hunched forward, not letting go of the suspender but rubbing it between his fingertips – his hazel eyes searching a path from Henry's to his mouth, undecided where to look.

He settled for a smirk and a glint of gold.

“I want you to take me to your place.”

I want, not ‘I would like’.

Usually, when Anthony Scavo wanted something, he just went for it.

Henry, who had also rested his elbows on the counter, arms partially crossed and the amused look of someone trying to figure out the other’s intentions, scratched out another low laugh from his vocal cords.

“Whatever happened to ‘you could be a serial killer’?”

“You forgot sexy.”

Husk chuckled again, shaking his head softly and reaching out with his right hand to find the wrist of the hand gripping his suspender; if his intent was to get him to let go, he failed miserably.

“Come oooon, Husky.” Anthony singsonged, half-tantrum. “We’re both sober tonight.”

The sobriety imposed by the program – by Charlie, by the NA meetings – was starting to have some positive sides.

“I’m perfectly capable of giving my consent to whatever you want to do to me.”

Anthony couldn’t say for sure if Husk’s reaction was provoked by the word ‘ consent ’ or if something else went off; he could only intercept a sort of click at the bottom of those amber eyes, which darkened pleasantly in a brushstroke of hungry, rugged pleasure.

The fingers around his wrist rubbed with rough slowness the delicate skin – Tony had already rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows for hours, considering the temperature – of the inside of his wrist, absentmindedly tracing the bluish tangle of veins beneath.

The heart quickened its pace, like his pulse under those same fingers.

“Anything?”

Oh Henry Husker, you will drive me to an early grave.

Anthony swallowed, making his Adam’s apple bob as well, and tightened his grip around the suspender – the tendons twitching under Husk’s fingers, around his wrist.

His gaze locked on Henry’s eyes and a grin that was nothing short of sharp.

“Anything.”

I won’t even make you pay – oh yeah, Valentino really would have ripped his head off.

“It’s still the same complicated situation, kid.”

“I don’t fucking care.”

This time Husker looked for his free hand, the one not clinging to his suspender, to bring his wrist to his lips and rub them against the bluish path of veins, between the beaded bracelets. His amber gaze fixed on Tony’s who, in the meantime, was busy holding back a wave of excitement that had made him instinctively hold his breath.

He was blushing. Him. Anthony no-modesty Scavo was really blushing - he could tell by the warmness of his cheeks.

That sort of a kiss on the inside of his wrist had been the most hot and obscene thing someone has ever done to him in years.

Fuck me.

The bartender glanced around the now empty speakeasy – one remaining bouncer waiting discreetly by the door.

Something told Anthony that Henry’s silence was making a lot of noise in his head.

After some thick and low breaths, he returned to Anthony with a brush of determination.

The visceral hunger of someone who has just absolved himself.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”