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“The first time I saw you, it was like seeing a prince who had just stepped out of a fairytale.”
“Alex, you’re very drunk.” Henry was laughing, laughing, red mouth and white teeth. Alex wanted to touch them. He wanted to touch all of Henry. He wanted to lie in bed and cry as Henry played him the piano. He sighed sadly as Henry deposited him on the plush hotel bed, unwrapping his arms from around Alex. He stepped towards the dressing table, then, taking off his silver watch and undoing his cufflinks, soft clattering as they landed on the table. The dim yellow light of the hotel room and the sight of Henry bathed in said dim light; those broad shoulders, golden hair, the nape of his neck, his slope of his waist he looked like a vision to Alex.
“And you’re so beautiful.” Alex said, voice soft, carrying on the string of conversation from a moment ago.
“Hm?” Henry turned around, sleeves undone, rich mouth lifted in a smirk that was oddly sweet.
“C’mere, c’mere.” Alex was saying, and reaching for him, his waist, slipping his hands around him, the sound of fabric rustling. He looked up at Henry; keened in a way he probably wouldn’t have if he was sober, when Henry pushed one hand into his hair, leisurely wrapping Alex’s dark curls between his fingers.
“I can’t stop looking at you.” Alex murmured, hands moving gently, reverently, over Henry.
“I don’t want you to.” Henry said in a voice just as soft as Alex’s.
The red flush of Alex’s skin, his audible breathing, his parted lips. Henry tried to commit it all to memory. He would paint him. In shades of violet and blue. That bottomless yearning in Alex’s dark eyes; he wanted to step inside his head and find out what he was thinking.
“Want my mouth on you,” Alex said, then, quiet, urgent, hands already moving. “please, please.”
So that was what he was thinking.
Henry laughed breathlessly, clutching at the bridge of his nose. Alex already had Henry’s zip undone, nosing at his cock, head swimming with the scent of him. He looked up questioningly at Henry, what’s so funny, and Henry was still grinning, looking down at him with amusement in his eyes. Alex only got as far mouthing at Henry’s clothed, hardening cock, before he was being pushed back onto the bed, then, up, up, up, until he was pressed to the headboard. And then Henry was leaning down valiantly over him, pressing a slow and dirty kiss into his mouth, tongues mingling, pulling at his lip. Alex moaned, crossing his leg over Henry, trying to pull him closer to himself, using all his limbs, then; arms and legs and all, lover’s embrace. But Henry held himself over Alex, caught his wrists against the headboard. Continued to kiss him, messily, noisily, not giving in to the frantic motions of Alex’s hips, his intermingled moans and noises of protest. Fuck, fuck, Henry, Alex was cussing. He felt like he was trapped in some deranged delicious nightmare. It was just this. The endless probing of Henry’s tongue, his half-smiles and the way he moved his chin, pushing Alex, taking him where he wanted to be; needed to be.
The prince would be the death of him, Alex knew that; he resigned to it, letting Henry’s tongue fuck his mouth as much as he wanted, giving up the struggle for more. He was achingly hard. His head felt like a million butterflies were flapping about wildly. There was only this, only Henry, only him. It was a revelation; he had known all along. There was only Henry, only ever him.