Work Text:
Alex is tired.
It’s obvious as soon as he walks through the front door. There’s a slight crease between his brows, the hint of a few sleepless nights coloring the skin underneath his eyes, and the weight of a seemingly never-ending week bearing down on his shoulders. He was slammed with more work than he originally anticipated; a plethora of new cases that required his attention, research that needed to be conducted, and meetings with clients that couldn’t be rescheduled. Now, as he toes off his shoes and loosens the tie around his neck, he just wants Henry.
Henry’s chest aches at the sight. He’s familiar with Alex’s ambition and his intrinsic need to work until he’s accomplished the tasks set before him. His inspiring determination, his persistence to remedy the wrongs of the world, his drive to do more. Alex’s dedication to his education and budding career inspires Henry’s efforts at the shelter, after all. He admires Alex for it.
But it eats at Henry, too.
He hates the remnants of stress that linger on Alex’s face after long days at the firm, and the way Alex’s feet drag along their floors, carrying the burden of responsibilities that, frankly, can’t be handled with lethal doses of caffeine and sheer will power in the dead of night. Alex works, and works, and works until he burns out. A blazing fire that’s quickly extinguished by a smother of everything, all at once.
So, when Alex crosses the threshold of their entryway and attempts to wring the day’s worries from his hands, Henry meets him in the middle with soft eyes and unwavering arms.
Alex falls into his embrace with a content sigh, like Henry’s touch alone will rid him of the anxious nerves tightening his chest. Comforting palms rub along the expanse of Alex’s back, intent on alleviating the tension in his muscles. Alex reflexively nuzzles his face into the space between Henry’s neck and shoulder, a stretch of skin he’s become quite fond of over the years. Henry nudges Alex’s curls with his nose before pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of his head.
“Hello, love,” Henry murmurs gently, holding Alex close. He doesn’t bother asking Alex about his day, because he already knows. At this point, Henry can read him faster than he’s ever been able to read anything in his entire life. Even his most favored novels.
“Missed you, baby,” Alex mumbles in response, a mere breath of words against Henry’s collarbone. He snakes an arm around Henry’s back and fists the fabric of his button-down shirt, perfectly tailored and expertly ironed. Alex holds Henry closer, as if he might disappear.
More than anything, Henry wants Alex to rip his shirt apart by the seams, if only to bear his beating heart to him. To show Alex he isn’t going anywhere, not now, not ever. Henry is tethered to Alex, like the soil and earth.
“I missed you, too. Even when we fell into bed together at the end of each night this week, I missed you.” Henry passes his hands along the length of Alex’s arms, squeezing at his biceps, his shoulders. He feels Alex begin to truly relax in his arms as the seconds gradually pass by. Alex lets out another sigh, broken on the exhale, his lashes kissing the sensitive skin of Henry’s neck with every syrupy blink of his eyes. “Now that you’re home, I’m going to take care of you. Okay, darling?”
Alex’s curls tickle Henry’s chin as he bobs his head in silent assent. He’s exhausted, spread thin from the mountain of obligations awaiting him on his desk, and he doesn’t have the energy to string together coherent thoughts, much less sentences. Typically, Henry would tell him to verbalize his response, maybe whisper “use your words, Alex” in a tone that’s commanding enough for him to follow. But right now, Alex needs to be caressed with gentle touches and even softer words. He needs to be taken care of and adored in ways only Henry can accomplish.
Because Henry understands Alex better than he knows himself.
Recognizing what Alex needs has become second nature to Henry.
Tonight, Henry makes the majority of the decisions. He ushers Alex through their typical evening routine, carrying half his weight. Henry does so willingly, hoping that Alex’s work is pushed to the back of his mind and he forgets about everything else, if only for a few hours. He thoroughly enjoys taking care of Alex. Henry appreciates that Alex trusts him enough to let go completely.
It makes him feel cared for, in a way.
Henry begins by leading Alex to their en suite with a hand anchored around the dip of his waist, knowing that he appreciates the touch, especially when he’s this strung out. The awareness of Henry’s fingertips holding Alex in place, guiding him, helps soothe the erratic thoughts in his head. When Alex’s clothes start to feel heavy on his skin, like a reminder of the demanding week he’s had, Henry undresses him with care and slowly coaxes him into the shower. Henry joins him, making sure the temperature of the water is to Alex’s liking.
He takes his time washing Alex’s hair, uses his own shampoo on him, the one Alex always compliments, and massages his scalp. After rinsing it out, Henry lathers Alex’s body in soap, kneads the knots from his shoulders and his back, and maneuvers him under the spray of water. He turns the faucet off and encourages Alex out of the shower, immediately wrapping him in a fluffy, oversized bath towel.
They meet each other’s gazes, and Henry can’t stop the surge of emotions he feels at the sight before him.
His tired, beautiful Alex. Henry is relieved to find that he looks less tense than he did when he arrived home. All he wants is for Alex to relax, to fall into the space he seeks when he wants to feel like a smaller version of himself, safeguarded from the rest of the world.
A tender smile brightens Alex’s face, softly dimpling one of his cheeks.
“Thank you,” Alex says, almost too quiet for Henry to hear.
The only words Alex has spoken since he uttered a small “missed you, baby” earlier. Gratitude that seeps through Henry’s ribcage, curling around his heart.
He blinks away the pricking sensation behind his eyelids, makes quick work of drying himself off, and leads Alex into their bedroom. Henry gets dressed, then pulls a worn, Oxford jumper over Alex’s head, mussing his curls. He helps Alex into a pair of sweatpants, noting the ever-growing softness lining his features.
Good, Henry thinks, his heart swelling within his chest, the space infinitesimal in comparison to the love he feels. He’s okay.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Henry says later, after feeding Alex leftovers from the night before. He hands Alex a glass of water and gestures for him to drink, nodding at each resounding gulp. When Alex places the empty cup on the table, Henry looks at him, through him, and nourishes in the delicate bliss he finds. Alex is there, warm and calm and full, but there’s a haziness clouding his eyes. Henry cups Alex’s face and rubs the pad of his thumb along his cheekbone. “Not for taking care of you. For loving you. I can only hope that I’ll get to do this again, with you, in another lifetime.”
“Sweetheart,” Alex exhales shakily, his breath warming Henry’s open palm.
The unfettered adoration glinting in Alex’s eyes is unmistakable, and Henry’s resolve threatens to crumble.
Alex is cocooned in their bed, pressed to Henry’s side cozily, snug and safe. He’s hidden in Henry’s neck with their arms and legs wrapped around one another fondly, a mess of tangled limbs and quiet breaths.
Moonlight peaks through the curtains, illuminating Alex in a swath of the lustrous night. Henry clings to him, his arms holding Alex near, as his fingers tangle in his hair. He scratches Alex’s scalp mindlessly while they lay together, two pieces of an ornate puzzle, a fit so right that it startles Henry sometimes.
Aside from the sweet nothings Henry whispers in Alex’s ears, delicate, familiar words like “you’re good” and “I’m proud of you,” there’s a comfortable silence that hangs in the air between them. It pacifies Alex’s stress even further, calms his usual too-fast brain and settles his bones, shaping him into something more pliable. Henry rubs Alex’s back in soothing motions and he melts under the welcome pressure, feeling like honey.
“Hen,” Alex finally says, soft and warm against Henry’s neck, “wan’ a kiss.”
Henry’s cheeks bloom at the sound of Alex’s voice. He’s entirely too cute like this, uninhibited in Henry’s arms. There’s a smile on Henry’s face when he replies, so enamored of Alex, overcome with the inclination to give him anything he desires, “Come here, love.”
Cool air brushes Henry’s neck when Alex lifts his head, and he looks at Henry through his fluttering eyelashes. He blinks a few times, allowing his eyes to focus, and grins when Henry’s hand slips from his curls, traveling down to caress his face. Alex leans into the touch instinctively.
“Pretty,” Henry mumbles, almost to himself. He leans in, nudges the tip of his nose against Alex’s gently, lovingly, before whispering, a ghost of words against his closed mouth, “You’re so pretty, Alex.”
Alex whimpers, broken and meager, before Henry chases the sound, muffling it with his lips. Their kiss is syrupy and sweet, the barest hint of teeth clashing. Alex tastes like the mint toothpaste they share, and a hint of cinnamon lingers in his mouth, likely and acquainted with Henry’s tongue. Henry kisses the corner of Alex’s mouth, his cheeks, the delicate skin beneath his eyes, his forehead, the bridge of his nose, and finally, his chin.
Henry tilts his head to look at Alex, admiring the way his face has softened, completely adored by his brown doe eyes and the smile lines that frame his mouth, evidence of the joy he’s experienced throughout his life. Henry traces one of them, lost in imagining the happiness he yearns to share with Alex in the years to come.
A handful of seconds pass before Henry’s thoughts are interrupted. Alex rests his forehead against Henry’s, breathing him in. His hand furls around Henry’s shirt, tight and insistent, when he speaks up, his voice small, “Every time I feel like I’m too much, you remind me that I’m not.”
The clutch Alex has on his shirt tightens, a sure mimicry of Henry’s heart.
“Darling,” Henry breathes, leaning back. “Look at me.”
When Alex’s eyes find him, Henry barrels forward, needing Alex to understand the depth of what he feels, no matter how far into their relationship they are.
“You’re everything, my love. Whatever “too much” of you entails would hardly be enough. Not for me.” Henry strokes Alex’s temple with his thumb before continuing, “All that you share with me, every part of yourself that you divulge, is beyond precious to me. I want all of you, even the parts of yourself you haven’t discovered yet.”
Alex’s eyes are glassy with tears from the onslaught of Henry’s reassurance. The lump in his throat is as prominent as the wedding band around his ring finger. He rests his palm across Henry’s broad chest, feels the steady, strong thump of his heart, and nods, feeling thankful to have found someone who understands him, someone who cares for him without reservation.
“Love you,” Alex manages, his throat constricting around the words. “Always.”
Henry places his hand over Alex’s, admires how their matching rings align, and squeezes, acknowledging what more he knows Alex wants to say.
“I love you.”
A reverent promise. Always and forever.
They spend the rest of the night wrapped around each other, counting their tandem heartbeats. When Alex eventually succumbs to his dreams, Henry follows closely behind, a hushed repetition of “you’re good” on his lips.