Alex knew Henry was upset. He knew it the instant he turned around in the storm of confetti and saw the look on his face. He would have thought Henry was about to be sick, if he hadn't been grinning like the sun just 2.1 seconds ago. Alex knew it in the way Henry pivoted into the crowd to get out of the tent. He knew it as he followed footprints in the snow to the slope of the linden tree, where the branches created a broad umbrella. Thankfully, Alex didn't need to look any further.
And okay, Alex is drunk. Maybe insensitive. He wants to go back to that instant right before midnight, the final seconds of last year, when Henry was beside him, smiling bigger than Alex had ever seen, swaying stiffly because the silly Englishman didn't know how to cut loose...
Alex knew Henry was upset. But he didn't know just how much until he stormed down to him on the little hill of the tree, and narrowed in 2.1 centimeters from Alex's face. Zero, in fact, as Henry gripped Alex's head and captured his lips.
Alex is in no way prepared for how soft Henry's lips are. Nothing has silenced his overactive brain like this before. It tries to catch up and fumbles, wondering if this is some sort of joke but also Henry never jokes like this -
Their mouths open. Their heads tilt in harmony and they slot together like they never left. Alex feels the tip of Henry's tongue on the seam of his lips, and then he's sliding into Alex's mouth. And Alex's jaw is going slack, letting him in. This is like...like smelling food and realizing he's hungry. Realizing he's been ravenous for a long time.
Alex's hands found Henry's waist and swooped around to hold his floating ribs. Henry shuddered and reared back, eyes unfocused while alarm swam in the intoxicated pools.
"I'm. Sorry," he stammered, and Alex could see, one by one, as thoughts and recoil began to slam through Henry's brain. His hands started to fall away from Alex as his eyes diverted to see his way out, to hide from Alex who stood way too close for hiding distance.
Henry begins sliding out of his hands, when Alex tightens his hold. Henry's eyes dart up, mouth on autopilot as he repeated, "I'm sorry."
"I'm not," Alex breathed, and pressed his thumb into the knot of that silly copper tie, holding Henry in position as he claimed his mouth again.
A weak little moan escaped Henry, and Alex was lost, burying that sound into his dreams and chasing for more. Henry took a moment to feel Alex's sincerity, but when he did, his hands raked into Alex's hair. The tingles across his scalp and nape combined with the blunt intimacy of having fingers in his hair and a moan of his own flew right out of his chest as he broke the kiss long enough to turn his head for another. He briefly saw the effect of his voice on Henry, whose brows tilted together in agony, like he would die if Alex didn't keep kissing him.
Alex stepped up the slope, regaining the precious inch he had on the golden boy and being rewarded for it by Henry's hands tugging him ever closer. Like he wanted Alex inside his suit with him, inside his veins.
Their bodies rocked together until Henry's arms slid firmly around Alex's shoulders, holding on as the latter walked them back towards the tree. An exclamation blurted out of Henry when his derriere landed on the arm of a low branch. The surprise opened his legs and Alex stepped between them, hands slipping underneath Henry's suit jacket. One of Henry's hands grasped Alex's lapel, only to splay across the fabric of his shirt over his chest.
Alex had already been hanging heavily between his legs but as his erection began to kick to standing, it moved along Henry's thigh and groin. That hand slipped down Alex's torso as Henry gasped for air--"Oh, fuck,"--and looked vaguely down to follow the sensation between them. That hand moved around Alex's waist, pulling him right against Henry as a leg hooked behind Alex's knee.
Which was good, because at this point, Alex had no idea how to proceed. His brain, or lack thereof, wanted to rut between Henry's legs like a feral teenager, but dry-humping seemed a bit beneath one of Henry's stock...right?
Henry's panting breath was hot on his face, making Alex completely forget that it was, in fact, snowing. Alex's body needed more of him, and as much as he wanted to be some sort of Casanova with better tact, Alex's hips rocked against Henry's pelvis.
Good news: Henry was not above dry-humping.
Less good news: the effect of him gazing at Alex with low lashes, chest heaving, as his hands found the hillocks of his ass to encourage more, fried Alex's brain beyond all reckoning.
He plundered Henry's mouth, more teeth than lips sometimes and Henry took it all. Alex felt Henry's erection and had never wanted something more in his life. He wanted to see it, to feel it on his bare skin, maybe even taste it -
Henry ripped a moan right out of him when he gripped Alex by the hair and drew him down to his throat. Alex was more than happy to kiss, suck, and bite that neck, only regretting not getting the tie and buttons open first.
Alex didn't know if Henry was even aware he was talking, but he heard Henry exhale, "Alex-ah! I want this. Hahh...I want you to remember me. I want to still taste you tomorrow."
Henry's pelvis was trembling. The reality that Alex was making him cum gave him the biggest power trip and the most humbling desire for servitude, he couldn't think. He could only press his forehead to Henry's and watch, trying to keep his own eyes open as Henry's wrecked face and blissful voice ripped his own orgasm from his control.
One might think post-nut clarity would lend some assistance here, but as they panted in each other's faces, and Alex's lips began to drag along Henry's hairline, he decided, "My room. I want to do this all over again."
"Aren't you the host?" Henry blinked at him. Alex understood his meaning: Aren't you supposed to go back to the party?
I need a story about an ancient noble person's journey through the afterlife, accompanied by the people sacrificed and buried with them to be their staff or servants in the next life, except everyone's equal in death and that's where shenanigans ensue.
This might be a bit sappy but I want to thank everyone for not only shipping Mungrove and Harringroveson, but like...immediately throwing Billy and Eddie together.
I hope Silent Hill f goes down in history for excellence instead of getting ignored because of how focused it is on women and women's experiences.
The way it handles female rage, the bonds of society, and how those bonds create their own sort of sexual trauma and body dysphoria on both women and men, is delicious.
