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“I’m just saying, I have a pretty good left hook! I could take him out for you, just say the word, baby.” Alex picks up the takeaway container that held his dinner. He ambles to the kitchen to dispose of it in the trash, phone cradled between his shoulder and ear.
“Well, thank you for the offer, darling, but I quite think MI-6 would take you from me if you were caught sucker-punching the future King of England.” Henry’s smooth voice comes through the receiver of Alex’s phone and for a second, he closes his eyes and pictures Henry standing in the kitchen with him and not somewhere in London.
It’s been 6 days since Henry left for his two week trip back to London and Alex doesn’t want to admit to himself that he’s become a shell of a human being since the second Henry walked out the door. David, his sole companion, comes trotting through the kitchen at the noise, hunting for any food dropped in Alex’s lingering, self-pitying haze.
“Yeah, well. You know I’d take ‘em all on in a second for you, baby.” Alex states.
Henry sounds off an indignant squawk across the line and tries to pass it off as a cough — Alex knows him better than that.
“What was that? You like to know that I’d fight for you, sweetheart? You know it's the truth.” Alex croons.
He plays it off as a joke, forever wanting to present as everlastingly cool, but it’s true. He knows this truth at his core, deeper than anything else he’s ever felt in his life. Alex has fought for a heck of a lot, and knows what it feels like to cling to something you want so deep in your soul that you can’t distinguish it from your own self. But Henry, and their love — it's deeper than his soul, deeper than the very core of his being. Alex’s love for Henry sprawls like ancient tree roots across a forest floor, so strong and grounded that it feels like they’ve been there forever and will be there forevermore.
Sometimes, before they really knew each other, the depth of his feelings almost scared Alex. His anxiety forever niggling in the sinew of his frontal cortex telling him that he was wrong, that Henry doesn’t love him as much as he loves Henry, that one day, Henry will go back to London and never return, will just have David couriered back to Kensington without a word said otherwise. He knows better, now, with a bit of therapy and a lot of serious conversations with Henry, that they’re one another’s forever — future, past, present, always.
“I know, darling. You love to show off those forearms whenever you can, hm?” Henry replies, fondly.
“Oh, you know it.” Alex grins, loving the mention of one of Henry’s favourite parts of him.
“Other than that, how’s it been?” Alex inquires.
“Oh, you know, the usual — being paraded about, pretending that Philip’s drone doesn’t make me want to pluck my own eyeballs out and have them for supper.” Henry comments, his voice dripping with distain.
Henry is stressed. Alex can tell he’s being pulled thin, as is the usual treatment when he’s back under his grandmother’s benevolent stare. He can hear it in his voice, the slightly higher pitch, clipped words.
Trying to lighten the mood, Alex says, “Anything I can do to lend a hand, baby? Emergency evac helicopter? I’m sure there’s a billionaire in NYC who wouldn’t mind us borrowing his helipad for the night.”
Henry laughs for the first time on the call and it soothes Alex’s aching heart to know that he’s cracking the facade, one stupid joke at a time.
“Yes, well, half-way through the trip, now. Nearly there.” He sighs through the phone, his tone convincing no one, especially not Alex, of his feigned resilience.
“What’re you doing now? Surely you’re in bed.” Alex inquires.
Years of dating someone who frequents a different time zone means that Alex never has to complete the calculation of what time it is in London, anymore. 7PM New York time, 12AM London time.
Henry sighs, replying, “No, I’m just in the sitting room. Dinner was quite late tonight, and with everyone there it just took everything out of me.”
Alex’s heart breaks for what feels like the one hundredth time this week, picturing a sullen Henry sitting all alone in some big, dark, empty room, in a palace that reflects all the previous adjectives ten-fold. He wants Henry here, with him, in their home. Cooking dinner for him, even when he knows Henry won’t eat much out of stress or tiredness, just allowing him to fully relax into Alex’s care. Alex, the one person that knows Henry better than he knows himself, knows when Henry’s had a hard day and just needs to be cared for. When Bea isn’t there, there’s barely anyone in London to look out for Henry, and Alex tries to not let that thought boil over his melting pot of love for his boyfriend, his innate need to care for and protect him.
“Are you still in your suit?” Alex inquires, trying to make his words come out gently, despite the bubbling frustration of the knowledge that Henry is out of his grasp, despite them both needing each other, so desperately, twin flames waning without the other to brighten them.
“Yes,” Henry replies and Alex hears the guilt in his voice. They’ve talked about Henry taking care of himself more, especially at times like this when Alex physically can’t be there to rock him to sleep, or make sure that he’s showered.
“Hm, well that’s no good, is it?” Alex says, his tone lilting.
“No — I better change, hm?” Henry replies, thoughtfully.
There’s some rustling, and he can hear Henry’s Oxford-clad feet drag across the meticulously polished palace floors. A door squeaks open and Henry mumbles something about setting his phone down. There’s silence for a minute or two and Alex potters about. He cradles his phone between his shoulder and ear again, utilising both hands to squeeze a glob of toothpaste onto his toothbrush. Whenever Henry’s away, Alex finds it difficult to sleep — not that sleep has ever really found Alex, historically, but if he could graph the changes in daily REM cycle length since their move into the brownstone, he’s sure there would be a difference. There’s something about Henry’s body heat, the weight of him clinging to Alex’s side, soft, little puffs of air into his ear that lull him to sleep better than any stupid ASMR YouTube video ever could. He hears Henry pick his phone up again accompanied by more rustling across the line.
“Better?” Alex mumbles through toothpaste foam and the vibrating of his toothbrush.
Henry hums and replies, “Quite. Thank you, love”
There’s another small amount of comfortable silence as Alex finishes up in the bathroom, nothing but Henry’s slight shuffling in the bedclothes and David’s small wuffs at Alex’s feet, ready to curl up in his bed. There was a time where Alex never thought that he could experience comfortable silence, forever needing to fill the void with thoughts, ideas, mindless rambling — but with Henry, it’s as easy as breathing.
Alex is about to launch into a line of questioning when Henry says, “Do you remember that phone call, right before we went to the lake house that first time?”
A wave of nostalgia crashes over Alex as the memory floods back. He remembers it well — he was trapped, for all intents and purposes, in the White House (who knew you could feel claustrophobic in a house with 132 rooms?), after being fired from his first and only campaign job. His heart aching for a person he desperately loved but didn’t realise it yet, he had just poured his soul out into an email to Henry, and needed some semblance of connectedness to the outside world. He had called Henry after receiving his reply, after inviting him to the lake house. To get him out of his funk, Henry had talked him through it, describing in vivid detail what his plans were with Alex next time he arrived on American soil. That call holds a special place in his memory, and saves as good material for when he’s alone, just him and his left hook.
“Of course, why?” Alex questions.
Henry is silent for a little while longer. Alex, not wanting to press, lets it linger.
“It all just feels so different now. I apologise, again, for my behaviour. I just had no idea that we could have this, that I could have you, and-”
“Hey, hey. Hen, baby, it’s all right, yeah? Please, it’s been years now. How many times have we talked about it?” Alex cuts Henry off, knowing that when Henry can get like this, contemplative and much too much in his head, the thought needs to be nipped in the bud if it's not productive.
“…A few,” Henry murmurs.
Alex takes a deep breath, saying, “More than a few times, by my count. It’s okay, baby. I know why it all happened the way it did, and it’s okay. Yeah?”
Henry makes a sound of forced agreement and lets out a sigh.
“But, hey, don’t you remember how that call ended up?” Alex teases, letting the memory flood his senses, toes curling at the recollection of the way Henry sounded that night.
Henry makes a little inquiring sound and says, “As a matter of fact, I do. I’m not too ashamed to admit that I think about it often.”
“Really? I mean, me too,” Alex says bashfully. He still has no idea how Henry continues to render him flustered even after years together and all the things they’ve done to eachothers bodies.
“Care for a repeat performance? I know today was tough, so no pressure, really,” Alex says, pushing out his hands in a shrugging gesture, forgetting that Henry can’t see him.
Henry lets out a querying hum, and Alex is proud of him for properly assessing how he’s feeling instead of giving into his people pleasing tendencies.
“Hm — no, let’s do it,” Henry says brightly.
Alex replies with an ‘“Alrighty then,” settling himself against their pillows.
He clears his throat and leans in and covers the speaker of his phone with his left hand, drops his voice comically low and says, “What are you wearing?”
Immediately, Henry bursts into laughter, a deep belly laugh that sets Alex off, too. They laugh for what feels like forever, their cackles setting eachother off.
“What the bloody hell was that?” Henry exclaims through his laughter, breath heaving as he calms himself down.
Alex chortles out, “What? You don’t appreciate my efforts to seduce you?”
Henry lets out another laugh, sighing.
“I don’t know why this feels so awkward,” Alex confesses, fiddling with a loose string on their bedsheets.
“It’s been a while since we’ve done this over the phone, I understand.” Henry replies softly.
Alex lets out what feels like the thousandth sigh since Henry left and scrubs a hand down his face, rubbing at the stubble that sits on his jaw.
“Yeah. God, I miss you so much. You’re my person, Hen.” Alex chokes out, closing his eyes and moving his hand to card through his curls, trailing to the back of his neck. His fingertips playing with the stray baby curls that sit at the nape, ministrations reminiscent of Henry’s touch.
“God, you can’t say ghastly things like that when I’m not there to kiss the life out of you.” Henry squawks out, and Alex hears his desperation over the phone. He knows the feeling well.
“I’m serious — It feels like even breathing is different when you’re not here. And I thought that we’d kind of fall out of this honeymoon phase after we moved in together and I started law school, but honestly, it just keeps getting better and better.” Alex says wistfully.
“I know,’ Henry agrees, emphatically. ‘I feel like I’m so used to catastrophe that I expected it to all fall apart sooner or later, but here we are.”
“Here we are. Now, what are you actually wearing? Now that you’ve gotten my heart hard you can return the favour to my dick, please and thank you.” Alex says lightly.
Henry let’s out a chortle, a laugh mixed with a snort that should be unattractive but is the most beautiful sound Alex has heard all fucking day. “Hmm, just my pyjamas.”
“Oh? Not your ‘candy cane jimjams’?” Alex shuffles his shoulders when he says the phrase, and mimics Henry’s Received Pronunciation.
“No, you oaf — it’s May. They have little penguins on them, if you must know.”
“Hmm, cute.’ Alex says enticingly. “Do you have a shirt on?”
“Yes, just my grey Henley.”
“Ooh, one of my favourites, despite its colour.”
Henry hums, making a small happy sound.
“Well, aren’t you gonna ask me what I’m wearing?” Alex huffs, feigning annoyance.
“Oh, right, yes,” Henry sighs out, and Alex swears he can hear him rolling his eyes through the phone.
“What are you wearing, my love?”
“One of your Oxford shirts and a pair of my black boxers.”
He hears Henry’s interest pique at the mention of Alex wearing his clothes. Alex loves how it feels, especially now when Henry is an ocean away and the smell of him is slowly drifting from his side of the bed. His old, soft, worn in Oxford shirt will forever carry the scent of Henry, its too big shoulders dwarfing even Alex’s broad frame. He makes a fuss about how tall Henry is and their height difference, but he secretly loves that the other man’s clothes can make him feel so safe and comforted.
“Are you in bed?” Henry queries, his voice dropping, slightly.
“Yeah, on your side. I always sleep on your side when you’re not here. Can’t get enough of how your pillows smell.” Alex confesses.
“Alex,” Henry all but whines and he hears shuffling on the other end.
“Getting comfy for me, baby?” Alex sighs breathlessly, his eyes closed, letting the pure scent of Henry along with the lilt of his voice carry him. He’s already straining in his pants, giddy from the mere idea of getting to have some part of Henry when he’s been deprived of it for so long.
“Yeah,” Henry confirms, and the rustling comes to a stop. ‘God, but I love it when you wear my clothes.” Henry answers. The confession makes Alex’s heart swell as he palms himself through his boxers, trying to take the edge off.
“Yeah? Me too. I’ll try to not get cum all over your shirt, sweetheart.”
Henry huffs out a little laugh, mixed with a slight moan.
“What are you doing?” Alex inquires, letting his hand dip underneath the band of his boxers to fist his cock.
“I’m- my fingers- God, they’re never the same as yours,” Henry stutters, his breath hitching. Alex can hear the desperation in his voice, the sheer expression of wanting translating through the tinny phone speakers.
“Fingering yourself for me already, baby? We’re moving quick today.” Alex lets his head fall back against the pillows - Henry’s pillows - inhaling deeply.
“Oh, don’t tease, I’m not ashamed of wanting.” Henry whines out.
“Me too, baby. God, I’m fucking desperate,”
Alex lets go of his dick momentarily to shove his boxers down his legs and kicks them off, somewhere to be found later, by a much less sex-drunk Alex. His hand returns, thumbing at the head, trying to mimic the mastery of Henry’s tongue.
“God, I miss you so much. Need your mouth on me, baby.” Alex says exasperated, bucking into his fist at Henry’s whimpering response.
“Mhm, please, Alex -need you,” Henry croaks, as Alex picks up his pace.
Alex wishes he could reach through the phone and aid Henry in his journey to orgasming, replace his fingers with Alex’s, let him take over and truly allow Henry to let go, to feel the tension seep away beneath his palms.
“Gonna make you feel so good when you get home, sweetheart. Don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of you.” Alex rucks his shirt up, tucking it under his arms, tugging at his nipples. He brings his hand up to slick his thumb and index finger with saliva, bringing them back down to rub at the nubs. His head whips back at the sensation, allowing himself to imagine Henry’s fingers instead of his own.
“You always do, love. Always.” The tenderness of Henry’s response tugs at Alex’s heartstrings as he sighs into his own touch, closing his eyes as he envisions Henry here, in their bed. On top of him, beneath him, all around, encompassing him.
“What will you do? When I get home.” Henry rushes out, and God, Alex can hear the squelch of Henry’s fingers, picturing their pumping in and out of him, reaching for something just out of his grasp, something only Alex can reach.
“God, baby, whatever you want from me, anything,” Tens of scenarios come rushing through Alex’s mind, letting himself get carried away in the feel of Henry, Henry, Henry, all of the ways he can fulfil and please him, all of the ways they can take each other.
“Will you rim me?” Henry, asks boldly, letting out a high pitched whine, Alex imagining him twisting his fingers just right to hit his prostate.
Alex groans, his hand speeding up now, unable to control his bucking, his fist meeting his snapping hips. At Henry’s suggestion, one of the many scenarios floating around in his head comes bursting its way to the front, and suddenly, it’s all Alex can think about.
“God, of course, Hen, I’ll take you over the island in the kitchen, won’t be able to wait to get you to the bedroom,” He hears Henry’s breathing quicken as he lets himself ramble, his mind running wild as a vivid picture of Henry spread out beneath him appears behind his eyes.
“Strip you down, right there, bend you over and have you pinned between me and the bench, just let you fucking squirm under my tongue.” He can picture it so clearly. His knees hitting the cool tiles of their kitchen floor as he pries Henry’s cheeks apart with both hands, spitting on his hole, watching it quiver in response. Henry’s curling toes and reaching hands as Alex swipes and nips and sucks at his rim, all while holding his hips down, Henry’s cock pinned against the cool granite of their kitchen island counter.
“God, please, Alex,” Henry gasps, a high pitched wail breaking through Alex’s phone speaker.
“Get you nice and wet and stretched and take you right there, naked in the kitchen, taking my cock. How's that sound, baby?” Alex can feel that deep gnawing in the depths of his gut, that shooting spark of adrenaline zipping up his spine from its bubbling base in his groin.
“God, yes, Alex. Fuck me, please, take me,” Henry cries, Alex’s heart soaring from hearing Henry let go for probably the first time since he left Alex’s arms a week ago.
“You giving your dick some attention? Or just letting it lie there, useless? You need me there, don’t you, baby?” Alex croons as he lets the adrenaline and dopamine fuel his thoughts and words, desperate to give Henry everything and anything he wants, as much as he can whilst being 3400 miles away.
Henry whines whilst replying, “Ngh, yes, my fingers can’t reach deep enough, need yours, ‘Lex,”
Alex’s imagination supplies a picture of Henry laying face down, ass up on that stupid fucking gold monstrosity he dares call a bed. His cock leaking, dripping down onto the perfectly made bed. He pictures Henry’s gorgeous, flushed face smushed into the pillows, his head tilted to one side as he pants and whines and drools, left hand spreading his cheeks whilst three fingers deep with his right, wrist working overtime to pump them in and out, never deep enough, never fast enough.
“You gonna come for me, sweetheart? I know you want to.” Alex growls, on the precipice of his orgasm, not wanting it to end, wanting to hold on to Henry and their shared pleasure for as long as he can. Not wanting to return to the silence of an empty house just yet. He grips the base of his cock, trying to stave off his inevitable climax for just a little longer.
“Yes, Alex, please, can I come?” Henry’s words can barely be called words at this point, his need overtaking his engrained desire to enunciate. Alex loves when he gets like this, desperately needy and pliant with an ache that only Alex can cure, letting the facade completely slip away, just letting himself be Alex’s Henry.
“Of course, baby, let go for me. Let go,”
He hears Henry’s voice break on a moan, deep and whining as Alex fists his cock, imagining Henry’s perfect face as he lets himself come, toes curling and fingers gripping at the sheets. His last working brain cell reminds him to quickly pull up Henry’s shirt, tucking it under his chin as he spills over his chest. He can hear Henry’s breathing as he comes to, still heavy and heaving as he comes down.
“You doing okay, sweetheart?” Alex asks, sighing as the post-coitus clarity comes marching its way through, stomping on his sweet, hazy disposition.
“Mhm, yeah,” Henry manages to mumble and more shuffling can be heard as Alex imagines Henry pulling himself up off his knees, reaching for something to help clean up his mess.
“Nice and relaxed? You were so good for me, baby.” Alex strips the shirt off his shoulders and lays back against the pillows, picking up his phone on the way, drying cum be damned.
Henry garbles a little residual moan at the unabashed praise.
“Maybe a little too relaxed. I need to be up in five hours.” Another reticent reminder of their current lives, the constant tugging of Henry back and forth from his life in New York, with Alex in their home, back to London in stuffy suits and everlasting days with Philip in his ear. Alex won’t even scold Henry for staying up so late — he knows how much he struggles to sleep, even on his good days.
“No, baby, that’s good. You need to relax more. Just make sure to set an alarm and get some good sleep, okay?” Alex murmurs.
“Alright.” Henry whispers and Alex can see him snuggling up in the plush bedclothes, turning out his lamp and letting himself drift off.
“I love you so much, sweetheart. Can’t wait ‘til you’re in my arms again.” Alex whispers, matching Henry’s tone.
He hears Henry’s little answering hum and in the next beat, he knows he’s asleep.