LA PETIT MORT

20s | All things The Secret History

[nympholomaniac]

๋࣭ ⭑ NYMPH; 20s, she/her

Mentally at Francis' house drinking champagne from the teapot.

divider by @kodaswrld

[earthlydevotions]

thinking a lot about that part of the book where Richard calls Henry in distress, and the only advice Henry gives him is to sit in front of a white wall and have the discipline to stay still

[talkshowboyluvr]

richard making henry coffee as a way of thanks every morning they lived together… henry being accustomed to the taste that he finds he almost misses the shitty coffee when richard moves back into the dorms

[nahmann]

Richard: They’re just so sophisticated and ethereal, I’m utterly bewitched by their apotheotic synergy blah blah blah

Meanwhile what Judy sees:

[macau1ay]

long time no henrymilla

[earthlydevotions]

— silhouettes .

pairing; henry winter x reader

genre: fluff

wc: 1,280

req; need something abt henry dressing you up, i mean come on, this man would only let you wear good quality stuff…

henry winter is the most elegant and sophisticated man you know. he would certainly believe that clothing is, in part, intellectual architecture. so presentation matters to him not as vanity, but as curation.

he has good taste and knows how to dress well; he knows famous brands, which fabrics are the best and, above all, he knows his body perfectly in order to buy what suits him. what matches his personality, but also what makes him comfortable.

he's always impeccable; whether going to university, or tending to his plants in the garden. whether reading a greek text at 2 a.m., tired and where nobody can see him, or attending an evening event filled with important and admirable names. his clothes are of the highest quality, with dark and solid colors that convey confidence, mystery, and elegance.

and he has never cared about price, only satisfaction. he admires the fabric, the comfort of the garment, future occasions he could wear it, and then buys it without regret. his closet is almost severe in its restraint; charcoal, black, cream, deep navy, muted browns, forest green, oxford blue. cashmere, wool, silk. linen.fabrics that feel expensive before they look expensive; tailored coats, camel overcoats, impeccably cut trousers, crisp shirts, dark turtlenecks, soft sweaters that cost a disturbing amount of money while pretending to be modest.

no fads.

henry doesn't follow fashion, he follows patterns.

but the way he would dress you is entirely different; he wouldn't try to transform you into a female version of himself. that would bore him. henry admires individuality too much, so instead, he'd refine what is already yours.

first, he would observe in silence; which silhouettes make you feel most like yourself. which colors wrap around you beautifully - and which ones he would love to see on you. which fabrics you absentmindedly touch while shopping. whether you instinctively choose soft knits, structured blazers, flowing skirts, masculine shirts that exude elegance instead of following trends.

then, the gifts begin.

not extravagant surprises, but rather specific things typical of henry. beautifully wrapped gifts left on your bed and, when you find them, he simply says, “i saw this and thought of you.” and upon opening it, it's a vintage silk blouse in exactly your shade.

or a beautifully bound book beside a cashmere scarf. or a wool coat that fits so perfectly it seems as though it was made exclusively for you.

and, my god, henry would be demanding when it comes to materials. you mention that a sweater pills after two washes and he sighs deeply without taking his eyes off the book he's reading.

“that's because it was poorly made. you deserve better.”

he says it while turning a page.

you think he doesn't care, but in reality he's already thinking about where to buy a new sweater in the same color but with impeccable quality so you never have to deal with that problem again.

when the cold weather approaches, he's quick to buy coats, scarves, and gloves for you. all so beautifully packaged and lovely that they soften not only the one wearing them, but also the one looking at them.

“henry…”

you say his name in a mixture of surprise, delight, and disapproval as you open the new coat he bought for you. the fabric and the color are beautiful, exactly the way you like them. but when you notice the brand name, you're caught by surprise.

he's leaning against the doorframe; one hand in his pocket while the other brings a cigarette to his lips. he inhales slowly and exhales the smoke while continuing to watch you; his gaze serious, penetrating.

“how much did you pay for this?”

you hadn't intended to ask, but you couldn't help yourself.

“that doesn't matter, darling.”

he walks slowly toward the table, calmly extinguishing the cigarette in the ashtray.

you continue staring at him, unconvinced.

“is there a problem?” he asks as he approaches you. his hands are still in his pockets, his white shirt rolled up to his elbows, the watch on his left wrist gleaming beneath the room's light.

“no, it's perfect. it's just that... how much did you pay for this, henry?”

you look at him while holding the coat, but he remains silent. he sits on the bed in front of you, admiring you.

“henry.”

one of his eyebrows rises, indicating that he's listening.

“you're avoiding the question.”

“what question?”

“i don't know if i like you spending so much money on me, my love.”

you say while carefully folding the coat over your arm.

“it doesn't matter how much i spent.”

his voice is serious, but gentle.

“it matters to me.”

“no,” he says calmly, reaching for the coat. “it doesn't.”

before you can protest, he takes it from your hands and gives it a brief inspection, as though he is analyzing once more the texture, the color, the cut.

then he steps closer to you and looks directly into your eyes; his blue eyes are so perfect that, for a moment, they make you forget the nervousness in your chest.

“arms.”

“what?”

“arms.”

you stare at him, and he waits patiently. he could stay here all night waiting for you to let him.

eventually you sigh and hold your arms out.

“you're impossible, henry.”

“so i've been told.”

you smile and the corners of his mouth twitch.

he places the coat around your shoulders carefully; the coat settles around them perfectly. henry adjusts it immediately, not because it needs adjusting, but because he can't help himself.

in silence, he smooths the lapels, straightens the collar, and pulls one sleeve slightly. finally, he fixes your hair.

he takes a step back and admires you.

then another step forward and adjusts something invisible, as though something is out of place.

you smile.

“you're very detail-oriented.”

“i have no idea what you're talking about.”

his hands are gentle against the fabric of the coat. his gaze is focused, calculating, meticulous, as though searching for every tiny detail.

“henry.”

“hm.”

“you're doing it again.”

“i'm ensuring the proportions are correct.”

his voice comes out low, as though answering automatically.

“the proportions are fine.”

you can't stop the smile forming on your lips as you look at him; he's so close, so beautiful...

“they are now.”

you laugh and his gaze lingers on you.

most people see clothes, but henry sees details; patterns, small things, but most importantly how certain colors brighten your expression. how certain silhouettes alter your posture. the things that make you feel comfortable when you don't even realize you're searching for comfort.

henry notices everything. always.

“you like it.”

he says it as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. his fingertips trace gently along your cheek to your chin, tilting it upward.

you look at him with love in your eyes.

his expression is one of genuine curiosity, but also pride, as though congratulating himself on a good choice.

you smile, and it's all he needs to know.

“i love it, henry.”

a small smile of quiet satisfaction appears on his face and he leans slightly toward your lips.

a subtle kiss. so gentle; filled with words he'd like to say but prefers to let his love speak for him instead.

“i knew you'd like it.” he murmurs against your lips.

“that confidence is concerning.”

“it's rarely unfounded.”

you roll your eyes and he smiles again, this time pulling you a little closer.

[talkshowboyluvr]

richard and bunny being the only non smokers of the greek class… much to consider

[apolloniansorrow]

and actually one more thing i do NOT think that henrymilla were the picture perfect happy couple outcome and maybe they were the healthiest but they weren’t healthy.

i think sometimes about how francis says camilla led henry on for some time, and while i dont think what francis says in that scene should be taken at face value (he’s clearly pissed off at charles, and clearly unhappy with their dynamic and how it affects HIM), i do think there’s some merit in that which leads me to wonder WHY she suddenly decided she wanted henry.

and in part i think it was borne of a mutual understanding of each other, i mean she’s described to be so like henry in many ways, but it would also be incredibly interesting to explore the fact that their relationship seems to blossom at a time when both of their closest relationships (bunny/charles) seem to falter in some way. and maybe there’s some aspect of falling to each other because they don’t know what to do about that. how the only other people that understood them better than anyone else have turned out to not be good for them.

and how they manage that grief not in actually managing it but in finding comfort in each other and that eventually blooms into love. and i NEED to explore that more actually

[samlovesjake]

yeah bro sex is cool but have you ever read the secret history

[earthlydevotions]

— teacher!henry winter having a soft spot for you.

a/n: in these headcanons, Henry Winter is a university professor. that being said, both the reader and Henry are of legal age.

henry winter is terribly respected in academia. by other professors and students; even those who have never taken one of his classes know his reputation as a rigid, composed, and extraordinarily intelligent professor.

his seminars are infamous. not because he yells or argues - henry almost never raises his voice - but because disappointment coming from him is significantly worse than anger. hearing him shout, curse, or complain would be far preferable to his look of disgust and disappointment. his students rehearse before speaking in his class countless times, spend nights obsessively quoting texts because, god forbid, they cannot quote something incorrectly in front of professor winter.

he remembers everything; every weak argument, every lazy citation, every student who approached his seminars carelessly, every student who read the text superficially instead of truly understanding it. which is why he’s a little surprised when he remembers you differently.

he doesn’t remember you as “the student in the third row.” he doesn’t remember you only academically, but remembers you as you.

he remembers your essays, your calmness while listening to his lectures as the other students obsessively copy every word that leaves his mouth. he remembers your look of curiosity and doubt - which, unconsciously, makes him explain things better.

however, he’s harsher with you than with anyone else. at least publicly, because he refuses to let anyone suspect favoritism. your papers come back covered in annotations written in his impeccable handwriting: “explore this point,” “imprecise,” “you are capable of a more incisive argument than this,” “excellent observation.”, “you abandoned your strongest argument halfway through.”

but you begin to notice something unsettling: his comments on other people’s work are short, most of the time something cruel. yours have pages and pages, as if he had written an essay on your essay. he develops subtle nuances regarding you and your work as though he wants to stimulate you intellectually. he wants to read more, know more about your thoughts and points of view.

he hates being interrupted during class. he prefers having a specific moment to let students ask questions and clear their doubts, but with you it’s different. if he notices your confused expression, as if you wanted to ask something in that very moment, he stops and asks, “any questions?” and even with several hands raised, he chooses you to speak.

no one notices, but you notice the slightly softer tone when he answers your questions. his curious, attentive gaze at every word you say, the way his expression softens - very slightly - when you challenge him intelligently. you’re one of the few people who can genuinely surprise him intellectually.

henry is accustomed to being the smartest person in the room. the person who always has an answer ready and an even more provocative question that would make anyone fall silent trying to answer it. then you say something thoughtful, layered, unexpected, and he falls silent for a moment. he becomes genuinely interested in your questions, your doubts, in the way you see things.

he would never admit or show it publicly, but he looks forward to classes with you. to hearing you speak, to reading your essays and delighting for a moment in your brilliant mind, one he could listen to all day.

at the end of classes, he asks you to stay behind to discuss your paper or a specific doubt you had earlier. it was supposed to be something quick, but you leave ninety minutes later, after an intense conversation that covered classical tragedy, french poetry, memory, aesthetics, and the moral architecture of grief. because he wants to hear everything you have to say. one subject ends up leading to another, he asks brilliant questions and your answers make him lose track of time, as well as his composure.

but he acts as though everything is perfectly normal. it’s merely a way of sharing knowledge with someone he admires intellectually, but deep down he knows what this is.

henry isn’t naturally demonstrative, he expresses tenderness more practically than emotionally. so his care manifests like: a book discreetly left on the desk where you always sit because he thought you would appreciate a passage. a recommendation letter written specifically around your interests.

he becomes quietly protective of your mind. if another professor or student dismisses your work unfairly, henry dismantles the criticism with frightening politeness. “with respect, i believe you have underestimated both the argument and the student.” the person falls completely silent, not knowing what to answer considering henry winter never missteps, which means that if he defends someone, it’s because he trusts that person.

or when someone interrupts you inappropriately during a seminar. henry lets people interrupt each other all the time, he knows ethics are not taught, but created within each person. but when someone interrupts you, he listens for approximately twenty seconds and then, with coldness and precision, says; “that interpretation would be considerably stronger if it demonstrated at least a superficial knowledge of the assigned text.” absolute silence in the room. he adjusts his glasses calmly, slips his hands into his pockets and says; “please, continue,” he says, looking at you. not at the other student. at you.

he notices things he shouldn’t notice; your favorite authors and books, when you’re overwhelmed, when your sense of humor grows weaker because of overwork, important dates to you such as the days you are presenting an important seminar - and he always remembers to ask you afterward how it went.

the university knows the severe professor, you know the version who loosens his tie after a long day, leans back in his office chair exhausted and admits very quietly that he’s tired. the privilege of that trust does something dangerous to your heart - and his.

[glittercupcakeunicornpuppy]

gay person: i’m gay

society: ok

your strange vaguely bisexual friend you try to ignore: hey have you read the secret history yet

[strrvnge]

okay but we have agreed as a fandom that bunny gained all that weight in Rome because of too much tiramisu right?

For whoever doesn’t know how to read <3

[strrvnge]

and Henry would obviously be into that because “I don’t mind if my wife puts on a little weight it makes sex hotter”

[ddeerslayer]

Ten pounds gained is just ten more pounds for Henry to pound

[ddeerslayer]

Yep Henry would whisper ‘cuniculus molestus’ in Bunny’s ear during sex and that’s one of the reasons why Bunny was so upset, because he realized it was an insult

[ccuniculusmolestus]

But does anyone actually have any guesses on what Henry’s bitchass wrote abt Bunny in the journal like. What could’ve made Bunny flip out that bad. Any guesses please

[ddeerslayer]

In all seriousness, it had to have been something saying he wasn’t as smart as he presented himself, something about how his family wasn’t as important or powerful as they made themselves out to be (both because of money and social standing), and/or something about how Henry didn’t even really want Bunny (in general, or more specifically at the bacchanals).

We know he’s insecure about his family not being very wealthy or important. I mean, he lies (sort of indirectly) about how much money he has by presenting himself as wealthy (using Henry’s money). Yeah, he’s a dick and steals things (kleptomaniac </3). Yes, the jacket he wears all the time has rips and stains. Yeah, he’s always getting money, things, and information off of the others in the Greek class. But, look at the way he presents himself to others people, the way he looks down on others (for example, Richard) for not having money and lying about it. Insecure. Henry saw that.

Henry also saw (I highly doubt he didn’t, having known Bunny so well and having been his roomate previously) the way Bunny played himself up to be some Classics genius, when he constantly needed help on assignments.

And he most definitely saw how Bunny wanted to feel important to other people. Bunny grew up in a big family, and was tossed into some school without money to pay for books or food. His behavior during what we see of him, considering what we know about his past, just screams ‘guy who’s used to being tossed aside and not helped by the people who’re supposed to care about him, so he resorts to not actually getting close to anyone’. (By helped I mean him being financially taken care of (as a child), having a stable home life, helped mentally (because he had some issues), etc) I feel like this is also shown in how Bunny seemed to be very insincere (lots of examples, but remember what Richard said about how the more you thought you knew Bunny the less you actually did?).

And Bunny told Henry the most about himself!! We learn a lot about Bunny from Henry, and vice versa. Point is, if Bunny was being vulnerable with someone, it was Henry. Henry’s the one he fought so goddamn loudly with, the one he broke down to (crying and sleeping in his bed) when he was losing it, even though he was pissed at him. Henry was the one who knew about his family and had spent time with them (I think Francis and some of the others did too, but if I recall correctly, Henry spent more time with Bunny’s family). Henry was the one who knew him best. He even made it a point to Richard that he did.

I think in Rome, Bunny was mentally dealing with ricocheting between being incredibly pissed off at Henry, and thinking, ‘he’s still my best pal, he killed a man, but he still cares about me, he wouldn’t do that to me’. Like… he was social, but who really knew Bunny? Henry. Not that Richard’s the best source, but he said something about how the more you thought knew Bunny the less you actually knew him (or something??). Which. I mean. That just tells me that Bunny letting Henry actually know him was incredibly personal, especially for a guy who (like any person) wanted to feel cared about, and didn’t get that from his family. I don’t feel like, anyway, from what we know about them. So, when he read the journal and felt betrayed by the one person he might’ve felt cared about him, the one person who really knew him, he went ballistic.

To me that means Henry must’ve said something about how Bunny was frustrating him, about how he wasn’t as ‘amused’ with him anymore. About how he knew Bunny best and he didn’t like what he saw. I mean, can you imagine reading from the journal of the person who you let know you best, and them saying they don’t really care anymore? Bunny felt betrayed, and I don’t think much but Henry saying he saw who Bunny truly was and didn’t like him, pointing out his flaws (even the things he only knew because Bunny whispered them to him in the dead of night when they shared a dorm) could’ve done that. He wasn’t wanted anymore, not the true him he’d let Henry know, nor the him he let everyone see.

PUT SIMPLY: Henry attacked Bunny’s character, self, and security in their relationship on a personal level only Henry knew Bunny at (no one else could’ve said such things because no one else knew Bunny that well), and Bunny… didn’t like that someone he had let in more than most, had done that. He didn't like that he was being called out for his absolute horendous bullshit and being personally insulted.

This isn’t entirely specific on what he said but I do find it fun to think about. (In a less serious, more fun and not an analytical way, I stand by my ‘Henry whispered ‘cuniculus molestus’ in Bunny’s ear when they fucked, and Bunny was just then realizing it was an insult not a playful nickname’ statement)

[ddeerslayer]

Driving! Cars!!

I’m just. The way Tartt uses driving and vehicles in this book. Ah.

For Henry, it’s showing how he’s not as as calm and collected as Richard perceives him (I’d argue that given his actions and general state of being it’s easy for us readers to see how he’s not what Richard paints him to be, but Richie still see him that way so). He’s unsafe when he drives, he doesn’t have much regard for his own safety OR the safety of others. I also feel like this is a manifestation of him being… passively suicidal. Passively until the end, of course, and I could get more into that but not right now.

For Francis it’s his mindset that he’s better than others/above others. The whole parking tickets fiasco. AND it highlights how he’s wealthier than the others in the group (and at the college in general) because he has a car in the first place. That bit also goes for Henry.

For Charles it’s him getting worse mentally. That shows in him letting his license expire and his unsafe driving (when he crashed Henry’s car, when he took Francis’ in the rain, when he took the truck).

For Richard it’s his attachment to these people (especially Henry) that will haunt him for the rest of his life. He’s already going to be stuck with the memories, the drives he took with them, but he will also always have that physical reminder of that part of his life because he gets Henry’s car. And we all know that even if it stopped working he would never part with it, because he wants that reminder, even if it hurts.

Then Camilla… doesn’t drive. She doesn’t own a car, and unless I’m remembering it wrong, she never drove anyone else’s. She was driven around by the others or paid for a ride, and she also seemed pretty passive in how things played out. Not that she didn’t have a part in everything, she most definitely did, but she was not Henry in the sense of leading them to kill Bunny, and she didn’t object like Charles did. She felt big emotions throughout her story, but she wasn’t the person… driving it forward. Besides, look where she ended up. Taking care of her Nana, and feeling stuck like she couldn’t go anywhere. We see the connection, right?

And there’s Bunny. I feel like this one’s pretty obvious. He mooched off others. He didn’t have a car of his own, he didn’t even drive. I mean, who would’ve taught him? If he had learned it would’ve been through school, his family, or paid lessons. No matter what, he’d have to learn and have it stick. And he’s Bunny, so I wouldn’t put it past him to have not learned, or to have not passed his driving test and not care much because he’d have others to drive him around. Friends, family, taxis, etc. Or it didn’t stick. Or he still had people drive him around just because. No matter what: a reflection of his character.

PLUS. The big hitter. Henry (and the greek class) getting stuck while trying to drive away from the scene of Bunny’s murder. Henry very forcibly getting the car moving forward again, being the one who’s driving them, leading them to and away from the crime (in more ways than one). Oh yeah guys, Bunny’s haunting them already. They thought they could escape, and that murdering Bunny wouldn’t haunt them forever, but they will always get stuck. They will always remember seeing him fall, it will never leave them, it will always weigh them down.

(Edit: Somehow I failed to mention the fact that the twins parents died in a car crash, and that they’re wary when traveling. So there’s that too!!)

[ddeerslayer]

Francis Abernathy cleaning out the country house after the year ended and finding a tie Henry mistakenly left behind that still smells like him. Francis going on a trip after it all to clear his mind and buying gifts for people almost as if on autopilot, accidentally starting to look for something old and perfect for Henry without even realizing he won’t have anyone to give it to at first. Francis cleaning and getting rid of old papers and finding an assignment with Henry’s writing on it correcting him at points. Francis packing up his apartment and having to toss out the deck of cards he kept on the side table to the left of his couch in the perfect spot for Henry to grab easily and play solitaire as he liked to on nights when he found himself staying over but couldn’t sleep. Francis being home and with family and wishing Henry was there because unlike his family the man could sit in a room and keep quiet and read, just staying for the company they gave each other. Francis getting a parking ticket years later and unexpectedly breaking down because it reminded him of Henry telling him again and again to pay them. Francis having been the only one of them to go to his funeral. He mocked the decor in his head by the way, critiqued everything based on what Henry would’ve thought, and dropped the roses Henry never got to see bloom into his grave. He had to pull over on the drive home because he started having a panic attack, and ended up vomiting on the side of the road.

[earthlydevotions]

— desire.

pairing; henry winter x reader

genre: smut

wc: 1,543

req: i just know henry winter is a BIG FAN OF FACESITTING

the first time it happens is when his blood is boiling, his heart pulsing with desire and his mind clouded by that pleasurable haze where he finds refuge in you.

nothing seems to be enough. he wants you in a way he has never wanted before, or rather, he needs you.

your warmth, your body, your scent, and above all, your taste.

he keeps kissing your body while you run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, moving your body along with his rhythm. you close your eyes and lick your lips, savoring the pleasure of having him, of being loved and adored by him.

“i need you…” he whispers against your skin, warm and damp from his saliva.

you smile faintly, your eyes still closed.

“i’m right here, love.”

“no…” he stops and looks at you intently. you open your eyes and notice his blue eyes shining with lust, pleasure, and desperation.

“i need you,” he emphasizes the word need as though saying it weren’t enough, as though he must demonstrate it. “let me love you, my darling,” he whispers against your lips while his hands slide over your waist, squeezing you lightly.

you simply nod, eager to finally have him.

“good…” his voice is husky, delicious to hear. “just obey me.”

he gently pulls your hand as he sits on the bed, indicating for you to sit as well. he kisses your lips and lies back exactly where you had been lying before. the warmth you left on the mattress makes him shiver; his desire is tangible to that extent.

still holding your hand, he pulls you toward him. you think you will be on top, that you will be able to find your pleasure at your own pace over him the way he has always loved, but this time is different.

“no, dear. here,” he says, pointing softly toward his own mouth.

you look at him for a few seconds.

“are you sure?”

“absolutely.”

he says it, and his hands go to your hips, gripping them firmly until you move your legs around him and position yourself over him.

he doesn’t take his eyes off yours for even a second. you moan and he sighs as, guiding your hips, he draws you closer.

you try to manage your own weight, afraid of hurting him, but without saying a word, he makes you relax. his hands explore your body; he squeezes your hips, your waist, your breasts, your throat… god, everything is so perfect.

his mouth is warm and wonderfully tender against you. he knows the right places, knows how to love you with pleasure and with so, so much hunger.

“god, henry…” you murmur, and he looks at you; his pupils are blown wide, his desire fierce enough to warm the entire room.

but he doesn’t let you move away. no matter your concern for him, no matter if you want to give him pleasure too, the only thing that matters is the way he devours every part of you. what matters is him satisfying this hunger he has for you. what matters is the pleasure gathering in your stomach again, heating your veins.

you throw your head back, close your eyes, and delight in the pleasure moving through you. his hands, large and strong, grip your waist firmly - something you know will leave marks later, and he will be quietly proud of that. his right hand rises to your breast and holds you there with devotion. your hand meets his, resting over it.

the pleasure he feels in seeing you overwhelmed with pleasure, in feeling you so comfortable, in having you so close to him, is so strong that he feels small shockwaves running through his entire body while his heart races. all rationality leaves him as though he were moving through fog, guided only by his feelings toward you; you, his only light, his only way out.

at the end of the night, when you’re lying beside him with your body still trembling, damp with pleasure, sweat, and saliva, your eyes closed, lost in a paradise of desire, he lets out a deep sigh, knowing that now he is addicted.

the sensation of feeling your weight against him and your warmth makes him shiver. even though it happened only minutes ago, he misses it already. and he knows he will not get over it anytime soon.

in the following days, his mind betrays him with memories of that moment.

he’s studying and suddenly remembers you moaning his name. he tightens his jaw and closes his eyes. “focus…” he mutters to himself, quieter than intended. the book remains open in front of him, unread. he presses two fingers against his temple, as though discipline alone might restore order to his thoughts; absurd and completely useless. his concentration has been unreliable now, splintered by intrusive recollections of you.

he hates losing control of his mind. but he hates, even more, how little he wants this delightful memory of that moment to stop.

he’s arriving home, unlocking the door, when he remembers the way you were so wet, so soft for him and the way you trembled while he gave you so much pleasure. he closes his eyes; still with his hand on the doorknob, he rests his forehead against the door and breathes deeply. once. twice.

but he doesn’t think twice before calling you.

he restrains himself. you don’t hear his desperation through the phone, don’t notice the hunger, the desire, and the longing dripping through his voice like honey.

but you notice when you see him.

he tries to behave normally when you arrive; a hug, a kiss to your forehead, then to your lips. his large hands gently holding your face while he asks how your day was, how you are.

“are you alright?” you ask, kissing his wrist.

“yes, dear.” his voice comes out weaker than he intended. not much, but enough for you to notice.

you look at him and notice his dilated pupils, the way he doesn’t take his eyes off your face, the way he breathes deeper, heavier.

“is something going on, henry?” your voice is sweet and calculated. you know exactly what you are doing.

he swallows.

“no… no, my love. i just… haven’t stopped thinking about you.” he confesses, an unmistakable gleam in his eyes.

you smile and he closes his eyes.

“i want you again... please.”

you don’t answer him. you simply keep looking at him until he opens his eyes again and looks back at you, searching for an answer or any sign.

“how do you want me, darling?”

that hits henry exactly where it hurts.

he exhales against you and begins kissing your jaw, behind your ear, your neck, while his hands hold you against him.

“i want you close to me. i want to feel you again… i need-“ he stops for a moment, holding you tighter. “i need you. i need to hear you say my name.” a soft kiss against your neck, making you tilt your head slightly, giving him more space. “i need to taste you” his voice is rough with longing.

you surrender to him almost instinctively.

he guides you toward the bedroom with quiet certainty; hands gentle against you, careful and unbearably attentive. there’s restraint in the way he touches you, but beneath it, something restless, incredible difficult for him to conceal.

he takes your hand and pulls you toward the bed. he lies down and keeps looking at you.

“come here, my love.”

and you do.

your sound is one of relief, as though his tongue and warmth were soothing something that had been aching deep inside you. his hands are strong and steady against you while he loses himself in the closeness of you.

his mouth is warm and his wet tongue knows exactly where to leave you weak. he licks, sucks, and nibbles lightly in a hungry way that makes you close your eyes and moan his name, losing yourself in this paradise, in this incandescent desire.

“henry, love-” you say as you run your hand through his hair. his blue eyes, full of lust, look at yours differently; seeing your pleasure, feeling your pleasure, is the best thing he could ask for.

you feel your heart pulse and that familiar, delicious sensation begin forming in your stomach.

but he doesn’t stop. he can’t. he’s so consumed, so addicted, that he could spend the whole night here, lying beneath you and lost in your taste.

minutes become hours, warmth invades every part of your being and leaves no space for the cold room to reach you. he exhales against you; his face damp with sweat, delight, devotion. god, henry knows how to bring heaven to you.

“baby… god, i can’t anymore-“ your voice comes out hoarse and tired, but full of warmth and pleasure.

he looks at you. his hands glide along your back down to your thighs. he kisses your clit one last time, then you collapse beside him, undone by exhaustion and pleasure.

he looks at you with so much love and care you could cry.

“are you alright?” his voice is soft as he brushes strands of hair away from your forehead. you simply nod, still trying to recover your breath. your legs are trembling and, involuntarily, you draw them together.

he smiles, though you don’t see it. his smile is broad, as though he had won a prize he had desperately longed for.

“i love you, my dear, i love you so much” he whispers against your forehead before kissing it. “stay here, i’ll be right back, alright?.” he rises from the bed and walks toward the bathroom to prepare a warm bath for you.

you smile to yourself, satisfied and exhausted, but immensely loved.