Work Text:
New York City 1885
“It’s quite a shame, you know.”
Henry hadn’t even heard Alex come up behind him, but when he glances up from his neck-tie and into the mirror, Alex’s dark eyes greet him warmly. The smile that ghosts his lips is gone in a fit of seriousness as he straightens the shoulders of Henry’s suit, mussed from his fidgeting with the tie and in need of a good adjustment. “What’s a shame?” Henry’s head tilts, his full lips pursed and blue eyes bright with the question, and moves on to buttoning his waistcoat which is tailored perfectly to his fit torso and made in the most gorgeous blue, gold and green brocade. It matches the bright blue of his dinner jacket perfectly, and Henry thinks this might be his tailor’s finest work yet, though of course it’s necessary to have the best when one attends Madame Claremont-Diaz’s balls.
“Hiding your gorgeous face.” Alex’s arms come around him then, and he’s holding up the gold-gilded silk mask Henry’s chosen for the evening. The plumage on top makes his costume impossible to miss with bright sapphires and emerald greens dancing through the air on whimsical peacock feathers. Alex adjusts the mask to frame Henry’s eyes just so, and ties the ribbon around back so the piece sits snugly against his nose and forehead, cutting off directly above his lips and wrapping around his cheekbones. It isn’t the most comfortable thing he’s worn, but fashion comes first, and he has to admit – he looks rather stunning.
Henry’s eyes, alight with enthusiasm for the upcoming evening, meet Alex’s through the glass again, and Henry’s fingertips brush along the bottom golden edge of the mask. “Mmm, I do think this mask is rather beautiful, though,” he counters with a mild shrug.
Immediately, Alex is vehemently shaking his head. “What's underneath is the real beauty,” he insists, words thick with charm as his fingers dance down Henry’s arm, tips brushing against his knuckles temptingly.
They’ve been dancing around this for days now, since Henry and his family arrived from London to stay with the Claremont-Diazes for their masquerade to shepherd in the New Year. The truth is, since Henry met Alex all those months ago over tea, he’s been rather enamored with the other man, but it’s all a little hazy considering the rumor mill has been perpetuating the notion that Alex will be married to Miss Nora Holleran by the end of the next season.
The thing is… Henry’s known since he was young that he’s attracted to men; and while it’s not the most conventional thing, he has never been shy or dishonest about it with his mother and father. Outside of their house, however, a certain level of subtlety is required, and while Henry has found plenty of private mens’ clubs to cater to the kind of crowd he feels most comfortable in, he’s learned to be careful with where he lays his affections.
Alex is a flirt, generally. It’s something known to the population at large – he’s always quick with kind words and bold smiles, and when he gives someone his attention it’s unwavering and indulgent, like falling into a hot spring and savoring the warmth. Where his affectations land is not determined based on sex, Henry has noticed. So he could just be overly friendly, the kind of man who isn’t afraid of what people might whisper behind his back. But there’s a way Alex’s fingers linger, how his gaze alights on Henry like he could eat him up for dinner and still beg for dessert. Each day they’re together Henry falls further into Alex’s charms, and he’s worried that if this goes on for much longer he will be completely and hopelessly lost for a man with no real interest in him, who is only interested in the attentions he can get and the strings he can pull to make people fall at his feet.
He doesn’t think Alex is like that, but one can never be too sure. Henry’s been burned before, and he isn’t in the market to experience it again.
“Shouldn’t you go get dressed yourself, sir?” Henry asks, his lips quirking up as his hand pulling away from Alex’s. Henry’s ensemble is complete with his mask in place, and he turns to Alex, leaning against the vanity and crossing his arms over his chest as he takes in Alex’s dressing gown and slippered feet. “Your mother is the host, you’d imagine you should be the first one ready, no?” Henry’s eyebrows arch loftily as his eyes scan back up Alex’s body unabashedly.
There’s a glimmer of mischief in the depths of Alex’s coffee brown eyes, and their gazes linger for a moment before Alex nods. “Too right. My mother will surely start looking for me soon, and I don’t want to get into too much trouble before the night has even begun.” Alex turns and starts for the door, then stops with his fingers on the knob, turning back for one last look at Henry. Henry looks towards the floor as he tugs at the cuffs of his sleeves, and when his eyes stray back up, Alex’s lower lip is between his teeth, his gaze dark and lingering, and god , it’s really doing something to him right now.
“Go,” Henry’s voice breaks on the word as he shoos Alex, and Alex’s dimples pop as his grin widens hungrily.
“Fine. I’ll see you down there.”
Alex slips from the room and tugs the door closed, and Henry deflates, feeling his chest hollow out as the tension leaves the room with Alex. Alex has to know how he’s feeling – it’s impossible to miss the static electricity that buzzes between them, and Henry wonders if he also feels this empty when they’re apart. It’s like Alex is the sun, and his golden rays warm every inch of Henry, but when he’s gone, when he falls behind the Earth and hides away, Henry feels the harsh coolness of an empty evening.
They’ve not known each other long enough for Henry to be pining so, yet here he is – love sick like a school boy with his first crush.
Henry shakes himself, realizing he’s been staring at the door for longer than necessary, and he stands up straighter, turning to take one last glance into the mirror. Satisfied with the reflection he finds there, Henry slicks a stray strand of blond hair back into place and strides for the door, determined to go and check on the women before heading downstairs for the start of the ball.
Henry raps sharply three times on June’s door, and from behind it he hears a burst of giggles, a small cry of surprise, and a few soft thuds before the door is yanked open by a breathless, laughing June. Her hair is pinned back in a gorgeous up-do, and her cheeks are flushed with both rouge and enthusiasm. A lady’s maid has Bea seated in front of the vanity, and his sister’s head is thrown back in laughter despite the maid braiding strands of her hair carefully.
“Ma’am, if you could please , please stay still!” the poor woman begs, and Bea’s hand covers her mouth as she looks towards Henry and waves him in.
June follows suit, tugging Henry into the room and shutting the door swiftly behind him. Nora’s also here, another lady’s maid tugging at the strings of her corset, and she waves at Henry, giving him a big grin as the strings are tied off.
“Henry! You look so handsome! ” June cries as she touches the corner of his mask then runs her fingers through the plumage coiling over his hair. She’s the only lady fully ready, though she’s still missing her mask, despite it being the easiest piece of her costume to don. Her costume is obvious and elaborate, but nothing less is to be expected from Catalina June Claremont-Diaz. While she’s still in full skirts that billow out in silky steel gray, her bodice is made of metal, a perfect depiction of medieval armor, and chainmail drapes down over her skirt. A costume scabbard and sword are buckled at her waist, and her heels kick as she turns to walk over to Bea, instructing the lady’s maid on the style she should be following for her hair.
Nora, in her corner, is stepping into a black gown with frills billowing from the sleeves, a red velvet bodice, and a quilted panel in the front of her skirts. Likewise, her hair is twisted elegantly but wildly into an elaborate braid, cresting along the back of her head, accentuating her long, elegant neck that is adorned with a lace choker. With her bodice and skirts secured, Nora reaches for a pointed witch’s hat that’s encircled also with crimson velvet, the bow on back trailing it’s tails down behind Nora as she secures the hat and then reaches for her lace mask – a deep scarlet that matches her bodice, hiding enough of her face to leave her looking mysterious while still showing off the natural curve of her cheekbones.
“How do I look?” She asks as she flutters her full sleeves and does a twirl for the room at large. Nora is met with cheers from June and a little clap from Bea, whose hair is still being wrestled with and is finally minding the maid and sitting still.
“Fantastic as always,” Henry concedes, and he moves further into the room, stopping at the vanity to kiss his sister’s cheek, which earns him a small swat due to the make up she’s already applied to her pale skin. She’s wearing her gown for the evening, all silky blues of sapphire and cerulean, a mix of lights and darks to mimic the playful waves of the depths of the ocean. Her water nymph costume consists of full bodied skirt made of a multitude of different fabrics from silk and lace to brocade and chiffon all blended together to give texture, and her bodice is silk worked with some green and blue lace overlays, as if she were wrapped in coral and seaweed. Pearls sit at the hollow of her throat and encrust her ears, and the fairness of her skin pairs with the perfectly made dress, lending themselves to the illusion. Like Nora, her mask is fairly simple – blue silk with some lace around the edges and some pearls embedded within it as well. She’s quite a sight to see, and he feels a swell of pride to call Bea his sister at this moment.
“All three of you – absolutely stunning!” he cries, throwing his hands into the air and laughing as they all cheer. The lady’s maid finally finishes up with Bea’s auburn locks, twisted into a chignon at the base of her neck with curls loosely framing her face, and the girl bustles off, collecting dressing gowns and slippers as she goes, trying to bring a bit of organization to the chaos that is June’s room.
“Should we head down? I think I can hear the band starting up –” Bea lets her words be interrupted by the heady sound of violins tuning below, and from the open windows of June’s room the sounds of carriages arriving float in, horse hooves clopping merrily, guests murmuring to each other as they see neighbors and friends. The air is bright with excitement, and the girls all crowd around June’s full-length mirror, Nora and June adjusting their masks and Bea finally tying hers on. June’s mask has a weathered iron look to it, made of gray silk and pieces of chainmail draping over her cheekbones. Henry comes to stand behind them, preening a bit himself, assuring his mask is straight and flush to his face, before offering his sister his arm. “Shall we?”
“We shall,” June and Nora chorus, falling once again into a titter of giggling as they all make last minute adjustments to their costume on the way to the door.
Alex barely makes it into the ballroom before the first guests flood in through the front doors. Cloaks and overcoats are dropped with the staff, and while the trickle is mild right now, he knows that in about thirty minutes it will be a steady roar of the best and brightest of New York’s society streaming in. He recognizes a few of the early-comers’ faces, and nods his head which causes his jaunty red cap, long and pointed with bells adorning the end, to jingle merrily, and when a one Miss Davis stops to laugh with him and meaningfully put her hand to his forearm, Alex gives her a bright grin.
“Miss Davis, so lovely to see you again,” he greets. Her cheeks flush prettily, and Alex can’t help but think one day she will make some man rather happy. He’s had multiple conversations with her the last few months, and she’s bright as well as pretty, two things that will work to her advantage in society. And while he knows that Elizabeth has had a thing for him for quite some time, Alex is not interested in wedding her. It isn’t that she’s not enough for him, it’s just that… his attentions have been laid elsewhere, lately.
Miss Davis’s mother was one of the first to accept Ellen Claremont-Diaz into society when they moved to New York five years back, despite their label as ‘new rich’ and the lavish mansion his mother had insisted be built by a new architect, one who was famous in his own right but was still a breach of the traditional, thus setting mouths running to dismiss them as gauche and too over the top.
Now, Ellen Claremont-Diaz’s balls are the talk of the town, and her name is no longer one that is shamefully whispered behind hands. Tonight’s New Years Eve bash had people begging for invitations, and with 400 people in attendance, it’s one of the biggest events this holiday season. Alex watched his mother’s struggle, watched the toll her initial exile took on her, but instead of letting it beat her down, Ellen only rose from the ashes like a phoenix, fed by the flames of those who felt strongly against her, determined to rise bigger and better. And indeed – now she’s a beast to be reckoned with, beautiful, fierce, a queen in her own right.
His father Oscar, a self-made man from Texas who got in on the oil industry early, may pull the purse strings, but Alex knows that Ellen is the real head of household, the one who holds all of the power in the Claremont-Diaz family.
It’s like his thoughts were a beacon, and Ellen enters from the main stairs in all of her glory. Alex excuses himself from Elizabeth Davis’s company to stand at the base of the stairs, his grin prominent as he waits for his mother to descend. She’s dressed in a pristine white gown, one shoulder bare, the other wound about with silk chiffon that pleats perfectly across the bodice, cinches at the waist, then drapes over her abundant skirts, floating dreamily to the floor. A golden crown is nestled in her glistening strawberry blond curls, an easy twist holding her hair from her neck, and she’s the picture of Hera with her statuesque frame and the angle with which her chin juts up, daring anyone to question her. Framed on the marble staircase in the main foyer, Alex can picture her bust forever encrusted in marble and gracing the walls of the Metropolitan for the rest of eternity.
Breaking the spell she’s cast on all who were entering at the same moment, Ellen descends the stairs and comes to stand beside Alex, her sharp blue eyes taking in his costume as he ducks, bowing deeply to his mother.
“You look like a fool, Alex,” she murmurs, a sigh on her lips as she takes in every bell that jingles as he moves on his court jester outfit. It’s cut into four quadrants, and half of his jacket is red, the other half black. His breeches are the mirror opposite, checkering him fully, and his hat sits at a cheeky angle, as if it might fall off his head with one sharp movement. A pair of golden bloomers are overtop of his breeches, jaggedly cut in a zigzag pattern with more bells affixed at the lowest points, and he quite thinks the shoes may be the best part – cherry red slippers with pointed toes that curl up and end, as everyone may guess, in bells. His mask is a checkered red and black affair with the outline of it decorated in gold ribbon, and cuts his face in half, leaving his lips exposed but his cheeks covered.
“Well, then, my court jester costume is spot on if you guessed it so easily,” he points out with a minimal pout. He offers his mother his arm, and the two of them make their way into the ballroom. It’s grand, with its soaring ceilings and arched doorways and windows; decked out in the French style, the walls are white with gold gilt, giving the whole room an open, airy feeling and allowing the music to soar above the chatter of the smattering of guests. Alex’s bells jingle out the upbeat tempo of the spring in his step as they walk past familiar faces, stopping to say hello to the important names and making small talk as necessary. Alex grabs them both a flute of champagne, handing his mother one before taking a long drink from his own.
His eyes dart across the room as Ellen chats with a one Mrs. Bingham, a very high society lady who she worked very hard to win to her side, about the upcoming season, and it’s like a magnet, the way his gaze is immediately drawn into Henry’s from across the room.
“Excuse me, ladies, I’ve got to go say hello to my lovely sister,” he interrupts, and ducks out of the dry society talk to hurry across the room to his gaggle of friends crowding around each other. With the loud colors and different textures of fabrics, the room is alight with costumes as people buzz about, but it’s impossible to miss June and Nora, Henry and Percy and Bea, all chatting animatedly and pointing at different costumes as they fly by.
Immediately, Alex envelopes June in his arms and kisses her cheek. “Ah, the brave and noble Joan of Arc!” He cries as he holds her at arms’ length to take in the full ensemble.
“Did you not think you were loud enough already?” Percy teases. He’d arrived with his parents only a few minutes ago when Alex had been mingling with his mother, and he’d tried to catch the other man’s eye without much luck. Percy Okonjo’s mother was close with Ellen, and had been the catalyst that had brought Catherine Fox, and all the subsequent Fox children, into their lives.
“Of course I’m not loud enough,” Alex snorts, and his eyes catch on Henry’s again, to whom he sends a playful wink. “I need my presence announced fully and noisily always ,” he insists as he bats at the end of his hat, causing the bell to jingle loudly, obnoxiously . Henry’s full lips quirk up, and Alex’s heart soars at the fact that he was responsible for it, that he can make Henry smile when sometimes those are things that live so far from his serious face.
Now that enough time has passed and the room is full, couples have started trickling onto the dance floor. A lively quadrille is playing, and while Alex is enjoying himself talking with his small group, his foot is tapping enthusiastically along to the beat. Dancing is one of the few things he thoroughly enjoys about these social events, and it isn’t long before his dance card is full and he’s tugging at Nora’s arm, pulling her towards the dance floor and grinning over at Henry as he nods towards his own dance card. “Are you dancing or what?” Alex calls over the soaring violins and lilting flutes. He watches Henry’s hesitation as he looks down at his dance card, and the relief that seems to overtake him when he sees who Alex penciled in for his first dance – June.
While the Foxes aren’t in America to find a suitable marriage for Henry, it seems that Catherine and Ellen have put their heads together when it came to matching up a pair of their children. The women’s relationship started only about nine months ago when Catherine and the whole Fox clan were in New York for a season. After marrying beneath her status, then losing her husband at an astonishingly young age, the pool of people available for Catherine’s children to wed in England seemed small, and riddled with mothers who wanted to spread nasty gossip about Catherine and her offspring to their daughters and their friends. It was high time that Philip found a wife, and with few prospects for him across the pond, coming to New York City had been an easy answer.
Martha Aster’s family is one of the highest in society here in New York, and as the youngest of five, who she married mattered , but not as much as her oldest brother’s match did. So when she and Philip seemed a fine match at a ball that spring, Catherine had been quick to seal the deal for her son. They courted for a suitable amount of time, and while the proposal was quick , Miss Aster was marrying into an English title, which delighted her old money mother immensely.
And while Catherine had no intention of moving to America, due to her elderly mother still back in London, it would seem that with each visit she becomes more and more enamored with the idea.
June and Henry and Nora and Alex take to the dance floor, and as the band strikes up a new tune they join in the fray, dancing and twirling, heads thrown back in laughter as their hands meet and they step together, then apart and down the row. Alex knows he should only have eyes for Nora – they’re a natural pair, both from well off families in high standing, both attractive young people who enjoy each other’s company. Nora had been his first kiss; it had seemed right, and he’d wanted to experience it with someone who wouldn’t laugh or jest if he stumbled, and so his best friend made the most sense.
While the kiss had been fine , it hadn’t sent him spiraling into oblivion with need, hadn’t set his heart aflame with tongues of desire. He wished it had – he knows his life would be easier if he was in love with Nora, that his path would be straight and narrow and set if she were the person for him. But alas, he wants passion – stuttering staccato heartbeats and blood pounding like a storm through his veins. He’d thought maybe that was impossible for him – until he’d met Henry, and his whole world had flipped upside down.
Henry with his crystal clear eyes and swift fingers, Henry whose gaze lingers longer than necessary, who actively listens when he speaks and who writes him the most beautiful letters from overseas, full of words Alex could only imagine, full of imagery he wants to see, and to experience with Henry. There has never been a man, or person for that matter, who enraptured him quite like Henry had. It isn’t that he’s disinterested in women; he’s had his fair share of crushes and lusting after some of the beautiful girls who parade about the society functions. For a while he thought he would die with grief when Georgianna Brook married another man. But none of those fleeting crushes would ever hold a candle to the flame that is Henry.
He hadn’t meant to fall in love, but does anyone ever really mean to stumble upon the world’s most complex emotion? He doesn’t think so.
As the sun must call to the moon every night, Alex finds Henry across the dance floor. Henry’s sure and steady, lips parted in laughter, as his hand snags June’s lower back, and Alex wonders wickedly what his sister could say that would make Henry laugh like that, because he knows he can make Henry laugh harder, knows he can bring out the slight dimples in his cheeks, make his eyes light up like the sunshine glaring off of the ocean each dawn. God , he wants to be the one spinning into oblivion, Henry’s hand on his waist, Henry in his space, Henry buzzing on the same frequency as they waltz across the dance floor, steps in sync in a way that can only happen when a couple is dancing.
At that moment, Henry’s head tilts infinitesimally, and their eyes finally meet and – it’s so trite, but Alex could swear time slows down, and all that matters in that moment is him and Henry, the way his breath catches in his throat and his step falters, causing him to tread on Nora’s toes and earning him a slap to the chest. As the turn takes them out of sight, Alex’s neck cranes to catch the backside of Henry, his blond hair blazing in the low lamp light, his lips full, his nose straight and proud in his silhouette. God, he’s gorgeous, and Alex can’t even imagine saying it enough times, expressing it enough ways, until Henry understands that his whole being is Alex’s church and chapel, prayer and doctrine.
The song breaks, and Alex finds his chest heaving from the exertion of dancing and the imagery of Henry held in his arms. People have started to gather around the large clock at one end of the hall, and from afar Alex can make out that they are ten minutes away from the New Year. And while the ball is only just beginning, Alex feels an urgency surge through him and grip his mind with an unrestrained anxiety. He needs his hands on Henry now, has this dire need to touch him in a way that will only ever belong to them. As he and Nora step off of the dance floor, June and Henry follow closely, their heads bowed as they talk quietly between the two of them. Alex stops a passing server and grabs two glasses of champagne, handing one to Nora as she chuckles and continues her waltz steps despite the musicians moving on to a two-step.
“Enjoying yourself?” Alex teases as he sips more of the champagne then cranes his neck to look at the clock. The crowd around it is growing, and people buzz with excitement of ushering in 1886 in such style.
Nora’s eyebrow arches, and she tugs at Alex’s sleeve, pulling them both to a halt a ways away from their group. “Of course. Are you?” she arches one eyebrow at him, and Alex sighs as he tugs on an errant curl that’s escaped the confines of his hat.
“Yes, definitely…” his eyes skitter back to Henry, their gazes meeting again, and Nora lays a hand on his forearm. He knows what she’s asking, but he’s going to make her spell it out.
“You’re distracted, Alex,” she accuses him, not unkindly, her tone light and joking, but he sees some concern in the depths of her eyes as she looks at him. “It’s Henry, isn’t it?”
He wonders vaguely, as Henry’s eyes flicker to a door, and then back to Alex before he heads for it purposefully, if she means it’s Henry who has distracted him or… It’s Henry. He’s it. He’s the one. Nora’s perceptive like that, smart as a whip and wiser than anyone their own age, and he hates that she can see right through him, like he’s nothing but a window pane filtering in the afternoon light.
“It’s Henry,” he sighs in agreement, though to which statement he’s not sure. Maybe both. Henry’s enraptured him in a way he hadn’t known was possible, and now he’s stuck stumbling, free-falling, head over heels for a man society will never let him love freely.
Nora glances over her shoulder and catches Henry as he slips through the door. “Go to him, then,” she encourages him with an eye roll and a tap to his forearm. “But try not to miss the countdown!” She crows as Alex surges forward in the crowd, drawn by the pull of Henry’s presence just beyond the door. He grabs another champagne flute from a passing waiter before ducking into the stairwell, his footsteps echoing on the tile as he closes the door with a soft click. For a moment, Alex just leans there, back pressed to the sturdy walnut, grounding himself in this moment and allowing himself to feel it all – the rush of excitement as he hears people call out “Five more minutes!”, the way the champagne has loosened his inhibitions leaving him feeling like he’s free falling through life. It’s like the heady buzz of the fizzy beverage has caused him to shed society’s skin they insist he wears, allowing him to see what could be , if the rules weren’t so stringent and insipid.
Henry is beautiful as he sits on the second stair, golden hair molten in the soft light, plush lips parted on the words he’s yet to speak, shoulders thrown back, maybe because he’s so confident he’s caught his prey. Alex feels a little bit like a gnat stuck in the spider’s web as Henry’s eyes rove across his face, sizing up the emotion there, and he wonders what he finds. Can he read plain as day the desires that burn thick and fast through Alex’s veins, running rampant and wild, unhinged and loosened by the prospect of everything this night might bring?
It must be so, because Henry stands, straightening up to his full height, chin tilted up ever so slightly, radiating confidence.
“You followed me,” Henry says, tone colored with curiosity as he turns and faces Alex, plucking the full champagne flute from his fingers and taking a long sip. “I wasn’t sure if you would, with the countdown coming and all.”
Alex’s shoulders involuntarily shrug, like that’s the best he can come up with at this moment. He clears his throat and takes a long drink of his own champagne. His tongue wets his lips, licks the sticky sweet substance from them, and Henry’s eyes track the movement, something, it would seem, both of them are all too aware of.
“I don’t really have any interest in counting down with anyone out there,” he admits, head tilting to the side as he pushes off the door and paces towards the stairs. His bells jingle as he goes, and they both laugh, Henry’s a soft huff of an entertained chuckle, and Alex’s a minor sound of depreciation at his own foolishness for choosing this damn costume.
Henry’s eyebrow arches and he leans against the bannister, eyes trained on Alex. “Not even Miss Holleran?” His words aren’t harsh or ugly; if anything they’re colored with a mild surprise that Alex isn’t chomping at the bit to spend every minute available with Nora. “With the way the women gossip, I’d expect you two will be married by the end of next year, no?”
Alex flinches imperceivably at that, the corners of his lips ticking down, a small v creasing between his brows. “No…” he’s thoughtful as he says the word, and stops his pacing to face Henry head on. “I love Nora, but not… it isn’t like that. We’ve kissed once, when we were young, but I don’t – that’s to say, I’m not in love with her.”
“I see.”
Alex shrugs again, as if he’s impartial about everything except Henry right now, because that’s how he feels. This conversation is useless; they could be spending this time together better, though Henry must know that Nora isn’t anything outside of his closest friend. “Though, at this rate she’s my best prospect.”
Henry’s silent for a long moment, and someone in the other room shouts “ THREE MINUTES! ” probably in hopes of quieting the crowd so they can all count down together.
“Surely not your only prospect, though?” Henry questions mildly.
Alex’s eyes meet his, and a moment of understanding passes between them on an electric current. “What about you? I’m sure our mothers are gunning for you and June to…” Alex gestures vaguely, his hand floating between them like a bird lost in flight, confused off of its intended path.
“I don’t love June.”
“Well, it’s not like everyone’s marrying for love these days, is it?” Alex asks, and it’s his turn to quirk and eyebrow and level a smirk at Henry.
“The people who interest me… Are probably not in my best interest,” Henry says, words convoluted enough that Alex’s champagne-soaked brain has trouble chewing on them. He feels his heart drop at the idea that there’s someone who interests Henry and it might not be him, like any other option is going to be less than what he could give to Henry, like no one could desire him quite so thoroughly and wholly.
“But there are people who interest you, then?”
“Yes, Alex, there is someone who interests me quite a great deal,” He agrees, mild amusement coloring his tone. Both of them stop to take sips of their drinks, and Henry lets the words marinate between them before pressing on. “It’s just… well, it’s not like I can be candid. When your interests are taboo, you must be careful of who you’re honest with.”
It’s so close to an admission that Alex feels reassured and justified in his feelings. There’s a low rumble of cheering from the ballroom, and suddenly a raucous countdown has started.
“ TEN! NINE! ”
Both of them take another fortifying sip of their champagne, and the bubbles that fizz through Alex’s system only help to heighten the anxiety twisting in his gut. He’s drunk on the excitement of standing on a cliff and preparing to take the leap, though into what, he’s unsure.
“ EIGHT! SEVEN! ”
“And where does this taboo interest lie, then?” Alex pushes, because he wants to hear the words from Henry’s lips. He wants the satisfaction of being right in this one thing, wants to fully be made aware of the situation before he does anything rash.
“ SIX! FIVE! ”
“Do you really need me to spell it out? I was so sure you understood, upstairs when you…” Henry doesn’t finish the sentence, lets his voice, which was already so soft and reverent and full of confusion, trail off and allows his fingers to touch the back of Alex’s hand, a very slight advance, but one that if shaken off will give both of them their answer. He sets his champagne flute down on the stairs, and turns back to meet Alex’s gaze head on.
“ FOUR! THREE!”
Alex’s hand turns, palm splayed out, intertwining their fingers together, and places his own champagne flute beside Henry’s. Then he tugs, pulls Henry into his space, inhales the heady scent of bergamot and lavender that lives on Henry’s skin. They’re only inches away from one another, and Alex can count every freckle scattered across the bridge of Henry’s nose. This up close and personal, it’s a miracle to watch the blush that creeps up Henry's cheeks and colors the tips of his ears rosy red, like witnessing the most glorious sunset at the end of the best kind of day. Henry’s lips part, like he’s going to say something, and his eyes dart down to Alex’s lips once more as Alex’s free hand splays against the small of his back, firm and strong and reassuring, like he’s been waiting for this moment all night.
“ TWO! ONE! ”
The infinitesimal space between them is closed so surely and readily that Alex wonders how Henry ever doubted him. Their lips find each other, soft petals unfurling into a bloom, a beautiful amalgamation of skin on skin and hands tangling in hair and soft teeth prying, begging for more. It’s like once the kiss has started there’s no stopping it, and Alex practically moans into Henry’s mouth when Henry’s fingers tug through his curls, dislodging his jester hat, the bell jingling as it clatters against the tile floor. Their fingers are still intertwined, and Alex’s free hand travels lower, caressing the curve of Henry’s ass, squeezing ever so slightly and earning a gasp which he eats up, chasing the high of Henry’s lips for more.
There’s something that feels so daring about this – kissing in a stairwell, masks between them and hiding the truth of their identities, the world moving on as they sink deeper into this moment. Alex pulls back, and his chest heaves as he takes a deep breath, trying to right himself, trying to wrap his mind around what’s just happened. Henry tastes thick and sweet like the champagne they’d been drinking, and he thinks he’s further gone on this man than he ever will be on any wine or liquor, and it’s the most freeing feeling, to feel all of the desires he’d harbored in secret openly and freely returned.
“Well, Happy New Year, then,” Henry huffs out a small chuckle with his words, and his hands come up to bracket Alex’s face. He’s a good few inches taller than Alex, but the way he fits snuggly against Henry’s chest, makes him not care (too much) about it.
Alex leans into Henry’s hand, tilting his head slightly, taking in the lock of blond hair that’s worked itself free from Henry’s perfect part, the flushed cheeks and his kiss-stained lips, and thinks that he could spend every minute of forever trying to memorize Henry and find something new and exciting with each pass across his face. Alex surges forward and up again, then, and Henry’s hand drops to his shoulder, the other cupping his chin so firmly that Alex is sure he can melt against Henry and he’ll be completely supported. So he tests the theory, presses their bodies flush against each other, letting his muscles relax as his body acquaints itself with Henry’s, learns how perfectly his hand fits into the divot of Henry’s waist, how their hearts seem to thump in time while their lips press so lushly and fully together.
Melting isn’t enough – Alex is burning up, his skin growing crisp and sensitive to touch from the desire that flames beneath his skin. He’s lost to the sensation of Henry , Henry’s fingers bruising his stubbled chin, Henry’s hips pressing against his with just enough pressure to work him up and turn him on. His heart sings Henry’s name, and he finds the call and response answered so thoroughly and beautifully in Henry meeting him head on, not scared or shy or afraid, but bold and brazen and gorgeous .
They separate again, both of them breathing heavily this time, and Alex chuckles at how unkempt and undone Henry looks. His face is flushed, his expression open and honest and so full of adoration that Alex feels like he could die from the overwhelming feeling of being wanted by Henry. Plenty of people want him, in a multitude of ways. He knows he’s attractive, knows he’s funny and a great conversationalist who wins everyone over with his smile. What he doesn’t know is how he managed to win over Henry, so steadfast and a little withdrawn, so tied to the traditions he was raised in. And yet…
Here they are, two men , kissing in a stairwell like it’s nothing out of the ordinary.
Henry wanting him is the rush of the sea’s tide pulling him out, singing its siren song and pleading with him to join its depths. Henry’s desire is a hot flame that licks at his palms and feet, surges with a roar through his bloodstream, overwhelms him in a way he didn’t think possible. No one’s ever made him feel quite so alive , and it’s heartbreaking to know that this is never something they could take out into the light, show off with shiny wedding rings and sparkling smiles.
So Alex pretends like maybe they could be happy, because now, he’s ecstatic. He continues kissing Henry, his satin-soft lips a familiar melody now, continues the exploration of Henry’s hair and neck and shoulders and waist with his greedy hands, wanting more, no, needing more, because what they have today might not exist tomorrow.
They break apart again, and a canyon forms between them, an uncrossable gap that Alex knows means this is the end of their stairwell rendezvous, because Henry’s eyes are sad, his lips swollen and pink from kisses, his smile gently heart-breaking.
“Happy New Year, Henry,” Alex finally murmurs, and his eyes look down before he bends to pick up his champagne flute and drain the contents in one long gulp. Henry’s eyebrows arch loftily, and he grabs his own glass, takes a small sip, and uses his other hand to smooth down Alex’s wild curls. His fingers carding through Alex’s hair is maddening, and Alex bends to get out of their grasp, grabs his hat, and tugs it back onto his head with a lopsided grin.
“Let’s go dance,” Henry suggests, and Alex nods, sure Nora is wondering where they are.
They make their way back into the party, their hands a hair’s breadth from touching, their hearts pounding in sync now. The rainbow of colorful costumes swirl by and aren’t much more than a blur; everything is dull compared to how bright the world was when he was kissing Henry. Nora and June join them once they’ve re-entered the throng, and Alex places a kiss on Nora's temple, then one to June’s cheek, as he gives them both a shameless grin. “Happy New Year to the two loveliest women I know. Just don’t tell Ma I said that,” he teases lightly.
They dance until dinner is served, where Henry and Alex are seated across from each other at the long banquet table. Alex tries to remain subtle as Henry’s foot strokes at his ankle, and he knows his cheeks are flushed but thankfully Nora has the wherewithal to remain silent on that front. The group of them, six of his closest friends, chatter through the courses, and Alex thinks that if he can’t have Henry fully, this would be enough.
(He knows that’s a lie, but he’s determined to force himself to believe it.)
After dinner, the party rages on, and Alex tempers himself, slowing down on his consumption of champagne, dancing with other women, swirling through the night on the euphoric high being near Henry has brought him. Whenever he can meet Henry’s gaze while they dance he does, bold and impertinent and not quite caring if anyone notices. With each new woman he holds in his arms his heart wishes more and more that it could be Henry. With every subtle glance a woman gives him from beneath their coy eyelashes, he wishes it were Henry’s deep gaze he was meeting. None of them will ever stack up, he thinks, to reach the heights he and Henry have soared to.
The ballroom starts to empty when the velvety navy sky is starting to lighten, the stars are starting to wink out, and the moon sits bright and low against the horizon, ready to relieve her duties and hand the show over to the blazing sunlight. Alex is cheery as he says goodnight to Nora, who kisses his cheek and leans in to whisper into his ear.
“Be careful, Icarus, don’t fly too close to the sun.” She squeezes his hand and gives him a bright wink, then nods her head at Henry who's waiting for him on the stairs.
Most of the other members of his family and their guests retired much earlier. Henry and Alex are the only two left, and the servants turn off the lights behind them as they go up towards their rooms. The hallway leading to Alex’s bedroom is empty, and when Henry leans back, as if to make off to his own room.
“Come have some brandy and… relax in my room. Just for a bit.” There’s a wicked gleam in Alex’s eye, and he knows he’s being forward, but he doesn’t really care. Adrenaline is still spiking through his system, and Henry makes him feel emboldened, brave, and he wants to touch Henry again, badly enough that he’s willing to risk it all and bring Henry to his bed.
“This isn’t a good idea, Alex,” Henry’s words are soft, and he halts over them like saying it is physically difficult.
“No one else is staying on this floor. You can go back to your room in a bit if you’d prefer but I can’t… I can’t leave tonight to end on a wish.”
“And what do you wish for?” It would seem Henry didn’t need much convincing, because he’s closing into Alex’s space, crowding him in the best way possible, his closeness sending Alex buzzing with the prospect of touching him, holding him, being close to him for longer than a snippet of stolen time.
“You. Is that such a big ask?”
Henry starts down the hall, knowing which door belongs to Alex, and pushes into the room, his own wolfish grin spreading across his lips.
“No, I shouldn’t think it’s too much to ask.”