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“Christ,” Henry curses quietly, lowering the camera. “You’re beautiful.”
Kneeling on the bed, his ankles crossed behind him, a hand tucked into his briefs, the other carefully weaved through his hair, is Bea’s friend Alex. The light sits on his skin, a delicate shadow of eyelashes fan over his cheeks, and when Henry speaks, he opens his eyes and looks at him from beneath those eyelashes, a careful smirk slipping over his lips. He doesn’t move from the pose, though, as he says, “You’re not so bad yourself, sweetheart.”
Henry forgets how to breathe.
But then, he’s been having trouble breathing since the moment he walked into the room and Alex with all his frenetic energy transformed into this. He swears he’s never modeled a day in his life, but Henry’s camera tells another story.
The angles of his body tell another fucking story.
Gingerly, he lifts the camera and snaps a photo of Alex’s soft smirk. He swallows and lowers the camera again, taking a step closer. “You could do this professionally,” he says. “Ill have you lay back now, up against the headboard.”
The smirk sharpens. “Whatever you want.” And then he’s falling out of the pose and falling back into the bed, somehow smoothly sliding backwards until his back is pressed up against the headboard. “How do you want me?”
Christ.
Even his voice is sinful.
“One knee up,” Henry says, positioning himself at the end of the bed and, tucking one knee up over the edge. “The other leg stretched out in front of you. Put your arms up along the top of the headboard.”
Alex follows his instructions, the smirk never slipping. Once he’s settled, he quirks a brow at Henry. “How’s this?” He asks.
The cool, calm, collected part of Henry’s mind that’s slowly losing a battle with the caveman in his head allows Henry to professionally sweep his gaze over him. He’s long and lithe, and when he’d appeared in Henry’s studio, he hadn’t expected the abs now sprawled out beneath the light, but they’re there, and they somehow make the whole image all the more erotic. Which is kind of the point, but it makes Henry’s mouth dry.
“Perfect,” Henry manages to say before lifting the camera. He has to move to get the framing right, but then he’s staring through the lens at the single most beautiful human being he’s ever seen, and he knows these photos are going to be the standout in the series. There’s something nearly ethereal about Alex.
And, Christ, has he mentioned the bloody eyelashes?
Because they’re there and they’re more distracting than anything else and the man is practically naked on the bed.
“Your right hand,” Henry murmurs, sliding to the side of the bed and moving closer, “Can you—delicately drape it over your clavicle?”
Alex doesn’t respond, but his gaze follows Henry as his hand slowly, pointedly, falls to his clavicle. Henry swallows; Alex runs his finger back and forth over his collarbone, eyes locked on Henry. He tilts his head to the side, and oh. “Don’t move,” Henry murmurs, quickly moving to set up the shot.
Alex’s Adam’s apple bobs, but he stays still, watching Henry from beneath his lashes.
Henry lowers the camera, looks him over under the guise of planning the next pose. Alex’s eyes follow his every movement, silent, calculating. His chest rises and falls softly, and Henry snaps a picture on the edge of the exhale, his own breath snagging in his chest.
“When Bea asked if I’d model for her brother,” Alex says, “I definitely didn’t expect you to look like a model yourself.”
Henry chokes out a laugh. “Yes, well.” Flustered, he moves to the other side of the bed. “Close your eyes and tilt your head up. If you can—slide your hand down the line of your chest to your belly button. I want to see if I can get a good shot of the action.”
“So. . . “ Alex does as he’s told, head tipping back as his eyes slide shut. “Go slowly?” He asks, delicately moving his hand to the center of his chest and slipping an index finger featherlight down the line between his pectorals. When Henry doesn’t answer, or snap any photos, Alex peaks at him with one eye. “Henry?”
Henry blinks back into himself, “Right, sorry, was—settings.” He hadn’t been doing shit but staring at his sisters very kind friend who volunteered to help Henry with his portfolio. He holds the camera up helplessly, and Alex nods, closing his eye and bringing his hand back up to the edge of his collarbone.
Alex moves just so , and the line of his bloody jaw is art in motion. “Stop,” Henry rushes, moving in to snap several photos. He kneels on the edge of the bed, leaning in to get a close up shot of Alex’s hand delicately caressing his own skin; the edge of the line of his jaw cutting the photo.
“Christ,” Henry whispers, not bothering to check the images to see if he got the shot—whatever shot he got is going to be a masterpiece because his model is.
Slowly, Alex blinks at him. And Henry finds himself staring into the softest whiskey eyes. This close, they’re magnetic. Henry wants to swim in them. He very nearly allows himself to get lost, feels himself leaning closer, but he catches himself and smoothly slides off the bed. “I think,” he says, turning his back on the bed and heading over to the table with his lenses. “I’ll have you by the window next.”
“Yeah?” Alex asks. There’s an upward tilt to his voice that Henry can’t decipher, but then he hears the tell-tale shuffle of fabric that says Alex is climbing off the bed, and then the padding of feet as he walks across the floor of the studio towards the large window overlooking the space. “How do you want me?”
“Um,” Henry picks up the lens he thinks will work best with the lighting from the window and turns around. Alex is already draped against the window frame, leaning up against it, legs kicked out in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s cast in a soft glow from the setting sun beyond the window, and Henry nearly drops the fucking camera at the sight of him.
Alex watches him expectantly. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”
“Are you certain you’ve never modeled before?” Henry asks, stepping in. “Don’t answer that—don’t move.” He sets up the shot and carefully snaps several photos of Alex leaning casually against the window as if he isn’t the most beautiful thing Henry’s ever seen. He swallows and drops the camera, looking him over. He tells himself it’s so he can figure out the next pose, but he’s a dirty rotten liar, and Alex is simply so fucking stunning that it physically pains him.
With the camera now hanging from Henry’s fingers at his side, Alex says, “Never modeled before.” His voice is light, but his eyes are dark, and his stomach rises and falls with heavy breaths. “Kinda really enjoying it, though.”
“That’s good,” Henry murmurs, brows furrowing as he takes several steps in. “Tuck your thumb in the waistband, and—“ He trails off as Alex’s hand slips down to the waistband of his briefs and pulls down just so ; the v of his hip peeking out from beneath the black fabric. “Yes, perfect.”
“I kind of like you telling me what to do,” Alex says, softly.
Not for the first time since Alex emerged from the dressing closet, Henry curses mentally. “See?” He manages to say, voice tight with thoughts of everything he very well could imagine telling Alex to do. “You’d be an excellent model.”
“Mm,” Alex hums, dipping his head in a move that sets Henry’s heart racing. “I don’t think so.”
“Trust me,” Henry replies. “The modeling world would love you.”
Alex tilts his head back against the window and brings his free hand up to caress the column of his throat. Henry short circuits. “That’s the thing, though,” Alex says.
“What?”
“I don’t think I could do this professionally.”
Henry steps forward, holds the camera up and zooms in on the hand on Alex’s throat. Deftly takes the picture. “Whys that?” He asks quietly, stepping even closer.
Alex’s jaw clenches, the line of it creating a shadow across his skin that Henry immediately steps in to snag another photo of. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel it too,” He says once he’s heard the click of the camera. He dips his chin to look at Henry. “Or am I fucking crazy?”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Henry replies, lifting the camera to capture the soft downturn of Alex’s lip.
He feels something, but there’s no way—
“How are you so fucking professional?” Alex groans, dropping his head back against the window. Henry’s breath hitches and he quickly takes a snapshot of the elegant line of Alex’s throat punctuated by the sharpness of the light reflecting through the window. “I’m dying.”
“Why are you dying?” Henry asks, dropping the camera to his side. “Are you uncomfortable?”
Alex lifts his head; gives him an indecipherable look. “Brutally,” he says.
“Oh,” Henry breaths, taking a step back. “We can take a break, or if it’s that bad—I have enough. If you’re still amenable to my using the photographs in my portfolio, that is. If not, I can delete—“
“What the hell are talking about?”
“You’re uncomfortable.”
Alex blinks, sitting up. “Yeah.” He draws the word out on a long breath, raising his eyebrows.
“I’ve made you uncomfortable.”
“You could say that.”
“I don’t aim to, but there’s no excuse.” Henry turns his back on him and heads to the table with his equipment guilt and worry pooling in his gut. “As a photographer it’s my job to ensure you feel safe and comfortable on my set—“
Alex laughs, a delighted little sound that has Henry spinning on his heel and looking at him with confusion. “Oh,” Alex says, grinning. “You’re misreading literally everything I’m saying.”
“I am?”
“Henry, I’ve been flirting with you since opened the fucking door .”
Henry blinks. “You—what?”
“And I can be oblivious,” Alex adds, ignoring him as he pushes away from the window. “But you—even with my eyes closed I can feel the way you’re looking at me. So, tell me if I’m wrong here, but I really don’t think I’m in this alone.” Henry stands still as stone as Alex approaches; looking like an angel emerging from the ether, with the light backdropping him.
He swallows. “I just—can you—“ he lifts the camera, and Alex tilts his head, but freezes, his grin slipping into a soft smirk. “Thank you,” Henry murmurs, carefully taking three pictures of him standing there. His hands are shaking and the lighting is just shy of right but he still thinks they’re good shots, and with a little bit of editing magic they might just be the highlight of his portfolio.
Alex tilts his head at him. “Got your shot?” He asks.
Rendered mute, all Henry can do is nod. Alex nods, then slowly approaches him, carefully plucks the camera from his hand and sets it on the table next to him. “You keep calling me beautiful,” he says softly. “When you’re standing there with those eyes and cheekbones and that little mark by your lip. I’m supposed to be acting all cool and collected or whatever when you look like that. How?”
Henry flounders beneath the praise, shrugging helplessly. “You’re doing an exceedingly good job. A photographers dream, really. You could get a job with any studio, I think.”
Alex gives him a dumbfounded look. “Sweetheart, you’re the only photographer I care about right now.”
Henry swallows. “Yeah?”
“I like you looking at me,” Alex murmurs, reaching up and running a finger over Henry’s cheekbone. “I like how it feels to have you watching me.”
Henry stops breathing.
What is happening?
“I think you like looking at me. Do you?” Unable to form words, all Henry can do is nod. Alex grins. “Can I take you to dinner?”
“What?”
Alex rolls his eyes, “I mean, I’d love to get my hands on you, but also, like. I’ve had like some kind of crush on you just from what Beas told me about you, and I’d really like to get to know you, too.”
“You,” Henry breathes, “Are unreal.”
“Need me to pinch you?”
“Yes, actually.”
Alex laughs, full and loud, his head tipping back and Henry’s scrappling for the camera all at once to capture it. He barely manages to get it up in time, catching the tail end of the laugh. “Sorry,” he says, lowering the camera.
“Don’t apologize,” Alex replies, “this is a photoshoot, isn’t it?”
“Right, but we were discussing important matters.”
“I like the way you talk,” he says. “You’re so fucking proper. It makes me want—“ he breaks off, shaking his head.
“Want what?”
His whiskey eyes meet Henry’s like a bulldozer. “I’m not answering that until you tell me whether or not you’re interested in—“
“Yes,” Henry interrupts, flinching as he realizes he hadn’t let him finish the sentence.
“Thank god,” Alex replies. “We could get dinner now?” He offers.
Henry swallows. “Or.”
“Or?”
“We could order in?”
A quirk of a brow. “Yeah?” His voice goes silky smooth, and Henry’s worried his knees are in danger of buckling at the sound of it. “You wanna get some more pictures?” He asks, stepping in. “Or do you have different plans for me?”
Henry clears his throat. “If you’re amenable—“
“Definitely fucking amenable,” Alex interrupts. “Whatever you’re about to say, I’m in.”
“You don’t even know—“
“I fully trust that whatever you have in mind, I’ll be down for.”
“Even if it’s a few more shots for my portfolio until dinner arrives?”
Alex gives him a slow smile. “Definitely,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking down to Henry’s lips and then back up. “And after dinner?”
“Whatever you want.”
“That’s dangerous talking,” Alex says. “ Whatever I want.”
“I mean it. Anything.” Alex can have whatever he wants .
“What if I want you?”
“Like I said,” Henry clears his throat, jutting out his chin. “Whatever you want.”
Alex takes in one more step until he’s standing in Henry’s personal bubble. “However I want?” He asks, huskily. His eyes follow the movement of Henry’s nod, mouth falling open, likes he’s as in awe of all this as Henry is. “Don’t tempt me with a good time, baby.”
All the air rushes out of Henry’s lungs at that, and Alex’s eyes narrow deviously.
“You should take your pictures now,” He says after a beat, falling back a step. “Boss me around while it’s your turn. Because when you’re done, I’m going to have so much fun with you.” He blinks, slow, and adds, “How do you want me?”
God, Henry thinks as Alex backs up towards the bed, how doesn’t he want him?
He lets himself be pulled by an invisible tether that connects him to Alex, following him back towards the bed. Alex sits down on the edge of it, and looks at Henry expectantly.
He makes a mental note to thank Bea before kneeling before Alex and holding the camera up in front of himself. And then he forgets about his sister entirely in favor of telling Alex, “Spread your legs.”