Chapter Text
Alex’s eyes glaze over once Philip and Martha arrive in the box. He was all but ignored outside of a glance from both parties, which was more than fine with him. And he’s well aware that a conversation is occurring beyond him, but Philip’s voice has an impressive ability to be both sharp and incredibly dull at the same time.
A couple of things catch his attention, though. The first is a direct comment in Alex’s direction, something about Alex replacing Percy’s presence. Alex doesn’t really hear what he says, outside of the phrase our American friend, but Philip is presenting him with an expecting expression, so Alex agrees and rolls his eyes, and calls it a day. He spends the rest of the time watching Henry–how his body slowly presses closer to Alex’s, how his mouth thins out as the conversation continues.
The tension in the man doesn’t really sink in until Alex watches Henry stand up, his program falling behind him. Alex has to wrack his brain to pull specifics from the monotone pestering from Philip, but the words wife and right circles stick out. Alex follows shortly after, but isn’t quite sure where he’s going.
He wanders the halls for a few minutes in a fashion he’s sure would have everyone on his mother’s staff rolling in their graves. There are a few faces before Henry’s, but none he recognizes, since the action is happening on the court and not back here. But eventually, he comes across a familiar set of shoulders and hips and sandy blond hair with uncharacteristic strands falling over his forehead.
They make eye contact at once, and Alex would swear that he can see Henry’s eyes focus like a camera lens, shifting toward its target. They snap up once Henry hears the click of the heel from Alex’s dress shoes approaching. His cheeks are pink, eyes outlined in frustration, lips redder than the Union Jack that’s decorating his pocket square. Henry’s been biting them–they’re the same shade that Alex has gotten used to seeing when he bites them himself.
Alex stops before Henry, the toes of their shoes an inch apart. He crosses his arms, mirroring Henry’s own pose.
“Hello, Alex,” Henry says, voice flat and unamused, jaw still tight.
Alex smiles, deciding to mimic the man. “Hi.”
“Has anyone shown you around the clubhouse yet?” Henry’s focus leaves Alex, eyes flitting around the space they’re in. He’s likely checking to make sure they’re alone.
“Nope,” Alex replies, popping the end of the word. Henry’s gaze darkens.
“Well, then.”
Henry swings around, back no longer to a wall, his hand finding the back of Alex’s elbow. A shiver rolls down Alex’s body at the touch, looking around the halls himself. But Henry pushes him, and Alex folds immediately, following his lead.
Henry guides them away, down some stairs, opening a hidden door reminiscent of the panel in the Solarium Alex is so fond of. Behind it is another, shorter corridor. At the end, on the side is a small room, one which Henry hastily opens and shoves Alex into. Alex has about four seconds to register that they’re in a supply closet, with stacks of chairs and tablecloths and one lonesome racquet tucked into the back of the space before Henry flips Alex by the shoulder and shoves his spine into the door.
A breath escapes Alex’s lungs, pushed by the force on his back. Henry crowds up close to him, his hands migrating down the curves of Alex’s torso. Through his shirt, he can feel Henry’s fingertips, hot and insistent, though he’s distinctly not kissing Alex yet, which doesn’t feel quite right.
He nudges the tip of his nose against Alex’s jaw, tucks it just below his ear, then drags it toward Alex’s hair. His chest presses forward, hands tight on Alex’s hips as he whispers, “D’you know what I want?”
Henry’s voice ricochets along Alex, a sound that rumbles through Henry’s chest and into Alex’s, settling deep at his diaphragm so he felt it with every inhale he could manage. It’s heavy and lights a spark through his veins.
“What?” he answers, a little breathless. Henry kisses his neck again, down a couple of inches before pulling back.
“I want to do the absolute last thing I’m supposed to be doing right now.” His hands grip that much tighter on Alex’s hips, thumbs finding a home beneath the belt loops on Alex’s slacks. The fabric–all of it, his shirt included–is far more suffocating than anything Henry is doing.
Alex swallows, smirks, and tips his chin forward until he accidentally knocks against Henry’s cheek. The motion rolls through his body until his hips press insistently forward into Henry’s lower abdomen. “Then tell me to do it, sweetheart.”
Henry’s hands–those deft, magical hands–immediately move toward Alex’s belt. They demand access to his buckle and make quick work of undoing it enough for him to work the button and zipper of Alex’s pants done, as well. Alex’s last straw is the quiet, no-nonsense words on Henry’s tongue immediately after.
“Fuck me,” he says, and Alex has to fight everything in him to keep it civil, to keep his motions appropriate and not just topple Henry down to the ground.
Henry finally gets his mouth on Alex, hungry and open. Alex amuses him for a moment, almost about to let himself fall into the pit that is kissing Henry, but he grunts instead.
“Well,” Henry kissed him again, smiling into it. “When at Wimbledon.”
His quip got a laugh out of Henry, earnest and brighter than Alex really thought the joke deserves, but he won’t deny himself the pleasure of reveling in it. He kisses Alex again immediately, even shorter this time, as Alex brings his hand up the length of Henry’s arm and grips it before spinning them so Henry’s facing the door and Alex is behind him.
Henry laughs again, hidden amidst an airy exhale, but not so much that Alex can’t hear it. He kisses the nape of Henry’s neck while his hands work their way under Henry’s shirt, one palm against his chest while the other works on getting Henry’s pants undone, too.
Henry moves one hand to the center of his body against the door, holding his weight up while he moves to fish into his jacket pocket. Their hands knock together for a moment, as Henry’s jacket covers mid-thigh, but Alex gives him the time he seems to need, removing his hands entirely once the zipper has been yanked open.
“Just so we’re clear,” he says, hand finding the edge of his pants and fingers dipping below them once Henry’s hand has retreated back to the door, one hand clenched. “I’m about to have sex with you in this storage closer to spite your family. Like, that’s what’s happening?”
He says it quietly, like it won’t be true if he says it too loud. Like they’ll be heard all the way in the corner of a hallway when the main event is happening far from them. Henry nods. Alex can see his mouth is slack-jawed, just a little, as Alex attempts to shimmy the fabric down. Henry tries to help, moving his hips in what ends up in the opposite direction that Alex is moving. It works well enough, so much so that they get Henry’s pants and underwear down to his knees and call it a day.
“Right,” Henry agrees. His hand drags down the door, enough to give him a good enough angle to toss something behind him to Alex. Luckily, Alex catches it, and, upon turning his palm up, finds that Henry has supplied a travel pack of lube.
He can’t help but chortle at the idea that the prince himself is carrying such scandalous items around with his family so close. That he fucking planned this, even. The spark in his gut lights into a full-blown flame, then. He swallows, but is far too aware that they’re on a short time frame, and that he’s suddenly far more turned on than he was two minutes ago.
“Awesome, fuckin’ love doing things out of spite,” Alex says, voice suddenly hoarse as he brings the packet to his mouth. He takes the corner between his teeth, and rips the rest away, spitting the corner of plastic out of his mouth in the process.
In one smooth motion, Alex uses his feet to kick open Henry’s as much as he can with the fabric pooling at his knees, and rucks up Henry’s shirt and jacket with his free hand to be out of his way. Henry gasps below him, his back folding in on itself just a little as he arches his hips back. It all goes to Alex’s head, and he’s cursing himself, wishing that he had just a little more time.
Unfortunately, Alex has an undetermined amount of time that is decidedly too little, and also only two hands, so he takes the clean, top corner of the lube into his mouth again to free up his hand, and gets his own underwear down. Not nearly as much as Henry’s, but enough that he can pull his dick out and give himself a few relieving strokes.
He would be embarrassed by the amount of precum already beading at the tip, but now really is the best time for it, and the stupid almost-but-not-public scenario of the thing really is doing more for him than he’d originally given himself credit for. He makes a mental note to update the presentation he’d prepared, all those months ago. He knows Henry still looks at it occasionally.
After a moment, he reaches for Henry’s cock, too. Always a giving lover, Alex is, so he’d be damned if Henry’s going to go untouched. Henry seems to short-circuit, not knowing which way to push himself. Forward gives him more contact with Alex’s hand, but back brushes his ass against Alex’s cock, which is an entirely different kind of need for Henry right now.
Alex doesn’t stall for long, though. He takes the packet back into his hand, careful not to spill too much of what appears to be their only good source of lube.
“Do you have a condom?” Henry shudders below him, pauses for a second, but shakes his head slowly. Alex can’t help but jest, thrusting his hips forward as he asks, “Didn’t think that far ahead?”
“Christ, Alex,” Henry spits out. Alex can’t tell if he’s frustrated at himself, at Alex, or both. He kisses between Henry’s shoulder blades to try and soothe him, to pull whatever tension he knows still resides in the man. He knows Henry needs this, so he doesn’t continue trying to tease.
“It’s alright, baby. Just gotta reorient a little, yeah?”
Some kind of sound escapes Henry, a mix of a groan and a whine, and it would be music to Alex’s ears if that didn’t also mean that Henry wasn’t having a good time. And fuck that. This was supposed to be a good time specifically for him.
“Nothing bad, sweetheart,” Alex mutters low into Henry’s ear. He lets his hand grab Henry’s hip, fingers curling into the groove leading down his hips. Henry’s breath hitches, so Alex knows he’s doing something right. “I’m not gonna fuck you here without a condom, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do anything.”
Henry’s head drops. Alex moves his hand down, past the curve of Henry’s hips and the muscle of his glutes until he reaches the back of his thigh. His fingers dig into the meat there, his thumb brushing along the top while the rest of his hand curls inward. Henry’s leg twitches, his knee buckling, but he doesn’t lose balance.
“Can I fuck your thighs, Hen?” Alex moves his hand entirely inward, squeezing at the flesh in hand. Henry nods, slowly, but when it sinks in what Alex asked, fervently. Alex kisses his shoulder. “I promise that when we get back to your castle, I’ll make it up to you and fuck you properly.”
Kisses Henry’s neck, where his collar allows it.
“Fuck you slow.” He pulls his hand back to get lube on his fingers, then begins rubbing it so that it’s warm when he touches Henry again. “Fuck you deep, and kind, and worship you like you deserve.”
Alex nips at Henry’s hairline, not enough to leave a mark, but still so that he knows Henry can feel it.
“I don’t like how they’re talking to you out there,” he continues, finally getting his lube-soaked hand between Henry’s legs. Alex taps the outside of Henry’s foot, telling him to close his legs around Alex without so many words. Henry obliges. “Don’t like how they’re disrespecting you to my face.”
Henry doesn’t say anything, but his legs squeeze tighter when Alex’s hand starts having less resistance. He has to pull it back, get himself lubed up, but the sight of Henry’s legs all shiny and ready has his mouth watering and his cock twitching.
“You think they would say that kind of shit if they knew?” Alex doesn’t know where he’s pulling this from, if he’s being honest, but Henry’s flushed red down past his collar, so far that Alex can’t see where it ends, and his breathing has gotten shallower. He must be doing something right.
Once he’s got a hand on himself, lathered up his length as quickly as he can, he steps closer. He drags the tip along the seam of Henry’s thighs, and relishes in the strong limbs against him, but the thought of being surrounded by them has him thrusting in faster than he’d intended.
“Think that if they saw us in here, saw me taking you like this. If they saw the pretty picture you paint; all needy like a whore for me. You think they’d dare act like that again?”
“Alex.” His name is barely a whisper on Henry’s breath, but it sends Alex’s heart pounding, blood rushing through his ears. Henry’s head has dropped, his arms raised above to keep him steady. Alex has found a nice home, his pelvis set comfortably against Henry’s ass. He’s almost inclined to stay there, forever–Henry’s thighs are as magical as he’s always thought.
Alex would stay there, he thinks, except that Henry’s pushing back against him, using his weight to his advantage to get Alex to move even a little. To get some kind of friction, some kind of contact that’s not stagnant.
“Sorry, baby,” Alex murmurs against his back. He gets one hand on the door beside Henry’s, another on his hip, keeping Henry in place as he pulls back until it’s just his tip sandwiched between Henry’s thighs. He waits, one, two seconds, before thrusting back in. It’s a full motion, one that pushes Henry forward, nearly making him lose his balance. The moan he lets out is consolation, though. Tells Alex that he’s more than fine.
So he continues like that for a bit, fucking forward into a tight heat he didn’t think he’d have the blessing of learning. It’s working wonders for Alex, their cocks brushing against each other more than he thought they would. Every time they do, Henry has to stifle a moan, turning his head into his bicep on the off chance someone walks by.
Some kind of pride bubbles up in him every time. Something about Henry, not even being properly touched, being so gone that he’s struggling to contain his moans, really gets Alex going.
“God,” he says when a particularly hard thrust from him sends Henry keening. “Sound so good for me, baby. So perfect.”
Each word was emphasized by a thrust, some of them stronger than others, but all filled with as much endearment he could manage given the situation. Henry shook his head, bit his lip, but Alex could see that his eyes were blown out so much that he doubted there was any kind of clarity in his vision.
Eventually, which really was only a few minutes later, Alex moves his hand from his hips down Henry’s front. He pointedly avoids Henry’s cock, which is standing at attention, and, from previous experience, is probably leaking like a faucet. But he makes his way down to where he’s fucking. The wet sound gets a little louder as he presses his hand along Henry’s legs. He manages to cup the head of his cock as he fucks forward, swearing all the while at the feeling.
His stomach is tight, abs pulling and thighs burning as he keeps fucking forward. Alex knows it won’t be enough for Henry, even as needy as he is. There’s a sort of fog surrounding Alex’s brain, telling him to keep chasing, to go for it, but he hasn’t forgotten their current whereabouts.
Somehow, as the heat in his stomach curls into something tighter, and Alex knows his orgasm is closing in, he manages to slow his motions a little bit. But that lick of possessiveness from earlier rears its head again, tugs at him until he can’t deny it.
“God,” he repeats, thrusts slowing to a more uneven pace. “Gonna paint your thighs, baby. Want you covered in me so you know that I’m the only one allowed to treat you any kind of way-”
He cuts himself off with a groan, a clench of his jaw as he does just that. He comes hard, stopping so that the head of his cock is engulfed by trembling muscles. It’s wet, and sticky, and molten, and Alex almost laughs hysterically as he pulls out.
Alex takes a step back, sweaty and hot, but fucking satisfied, except for the fact that he knows Henry’s probably dying of need. Henry doesn’t immediately turn, nor does he move his hands from the door in any capacity. He seems to be catching his breath. Alex puts a hand on his hip, another around one of his wrists, and slowly turns him so his back is solid against the door and he’s facing Alex.
Henry’s eyes are shut, his fingers quaking. Alex kneels immediately, and begins kissing a line up one of his thighs, starting at his knee. Instinctually, Henry spreads his legs to accommodate Alex, which he takes advantage of.
As slowly as he’ll let himself, Alex works his way up Henry’s thigh, first his left, until he’s reached the spot he was fucking–covered in lube and cum. He licks up the mess, using his hands to help massage Henry’s legs while he’s at it. Henry’s hand finds his hair, while his other is up by my mouth, wrist covering anything that may come out.
Once finished, Alex repeats the process on the other leg, licking and kissing up and up until there’s not a trace of anything that happened, besides some residual lube that Alex isn’t sure is safe for consumption.
“Henry,” he says, voice rough. Henry doesn’t dare look at him, but as Alex perches himself up a little more on his legs, he watches as his cock twitches again. Alex gets a hand on the base, strokes it twice just to hear Henry hiss above him, before he puts his lips to the tip and licks. “Want you to fuck my mouth.”
“God, shit, Alex,” Henry sputters, his grip tightening deliciously in Alex’s curls. “Are you sure?”
Alex nods, and opens his mouth, not really wanting to stall any further. His tongue sticks out, trying to encourage Henry, who seems remarkably hesitant despite everything.
“I–you haven’t…”
“I’ll figure it out, Henry; now go.” He taps the side of Henry’s hip thrice, nods, and, with his mouth hanging open, that’s all it seems to take for Henry to comply.
He’s still a little slow, at first, tentative with Alex, who, sure. Maybe he hasn’t been on the giving end of a good face-fucking. But he’s gotten substantially better at giving head, and Henry seems about two seconds away from blowing, so he can’t imagine this ending in catastrophe. Plus, he enjoys making Henry feel good–kind of his whole thing–and Henry’s eyes somehow got even wider when he suggested it.
It takes two thrusts for Henry to pick up speed, and three more for him to use any force. Alex stares up at him all the while, batting his lashes like he knows Henry loves. Henry almost slumps against the door, except his hips are working magic to keep him upright.
His thumb pulls at the corner of Alex’s mouth, and Alex can feel himself drooling a fucking mess. But Henry seems to be losing his mind above Alex, so any tightening of his throat and slight gagging are entirely worth it.
“Stunning,” Henry says, holding his cock at the front of Alex’s mouth for a moment longer than he normally would. Alex’s eyes water, and Henry swears, but continues. “You always look so good on your knees for me, love.”
Alex keeps his hand on Henry, just in case he needs to tap out, except his eyes are rolling back into his head deliciously, and he’s floating a little higher than he thought he would. It’s not quite like Henry’s described subspace, so Alex is more than willing to blame the lack of oxygen he’d normally be getting over anything else.
“Maybe–” Henry has to breathe for a moment. He’s slowed down a bit, and Alex takes full advantage to lick around the crown and move so his nose is nestled in the curls at the base of Henry’s cock. His hand migrated back, just a little, to push Henry forward into his mouth. He swallows what he can, and licks what he can’t.
“Maybe I am a whore for you, but, God–” He fucks forward once more, nearly throwing Alex’s world off its axis. He smiles as best he can around the cock in his mouth, tries slurping up some of the spit that’s escaped, but it does the opposite. “If you worship me tonight, love, that’s your place.”
There’s something about Henry’s words that Alex can’t quite place. Except he knows that they’re sending his vision spiraling, and his dick is making a valiant effort to get hard again. He’s sure it would if he didn’t literally just come.
Henry keeps one hand in Alex’s hair, just to hold him in place. The sting is nice, a solid grounding point for him that he almost leans into. Henry’s thrusts become more erratic, his breathing coming in short, tight inhales that Alex knows from sound alone. He’s trying to look up at Henry, but his lids fall heavy over his eyes.
“Face or mouth, Alex? Tap once or twice.”
Alex is, quite frankly, amazed that he’s still getting out comprehensive speech, given everything else about him seems to be losing all function entirely. Alex takes a moment to register what Henry asked, but taps against his leg twice. In a perfect world, he would have Henry come on his face, marking him like Alex did to Henry. Eye for an eye, orgasm for an orgasm.
But it’s not a perfect world. They’re in a supply closet at Wimbledon. They don’t have any towels. Also, Alex has no issues swallowing. He just cleaned up his own come, so maybe Henry isn’t as lucid as he initially thought.
Henry lessens his thrusts into Alex’s mouth, focusing instead on keeping half of his cock under Alex’s ministrations, while his hand works over the rest. Alex relaxes his jaw a bit, lets it hang slack, and his tongue sticks out a bit further, while his free hand meets Henry’s and helps it to strip along the length.
That seems to be enough for him, as his eyes shut and he almost doubles over, uncontrolled laughter falling from his lips. Alex can taste the salty tang of Henry on his tongue, accepting it gladly as the man works himself through the motions.
A few moments later, Alex makes an attempt to stand up, his knees creaking as he does. Alex laughs at himself once he’s steady.
Henry has a hand on Alex’s shoulder for stability, catching his breath when Alex looks, head still hanging down. But he’s fucking grinning, proud as hell, and cheeks flushed red, and Alex thinks he’s the single hottest thing he’s laid eyes upon.
Alex laces a hand through Henry’s hair, loosened from sweat and easy enough to work through. He brushes it off of Henry’s face, which brings the man’s head centered above his spine in one motion. Alex smiles, briefly, matching Henry’s, before he leans in and kisses him.
They both have no air. They’re sharing what little they’ve managed to keep. It’s desperate, Henry’s hands on the small of Alex’s back in an instant as he holds Alex close.
“Sorry I called you a whore,” Alex manages against Henry’s mouth. Henry just chuckles, and shakes his head, tells him it’s okay. They stay like that for a bit, until Alex gets light-headed and Henry hisses when they accidentally brush together, oversensitive.
“I am going to make good on my promise, though.”
“Oh?” Henry asks, still smiling. He looks so fucking proud, and Alex can’t help but be, too. Alex tucks himself away and buttons his slacks up again. They’re restrictive and uncomfortable, but he supposes he can manage. Henry has to suffer just the same, so.
“You know. Treat you right, respect and worship you like you deserve.”
Alex’s back is to the door, now, maybe half a foot away from the door. He takes a step back and puts his hands behind him, palms open as they press against the surface. It’s remarkably cool. It’s pretty nice.
“What am I going to do with you?” Henry muses fondly. He reaches a hand to cup Alex’s jaw again, kissing him soft, slow, all kinds of lovely. When they separate, his cheeks have settled to a soft rose, not overwhelming amidst the other features of his face.
Alex presses his shoulders against the door, too, though his feet jut out and just barely touch Henry’s.
“Take me home, baby,” he says, half-joking. Except something falls over Henry’s face. It’s nothing dark, though potentially reserved. He inhales deep, and blinks a couple of times before kissing Alex again. It’s an in-between of what he’s given Alex so far today. Not so hurried, but not so languid that Alex could be convinced to stay there forever.
Maybe that’s a lie. He could probably be swayed if Henry tried hard enough.
Both of Henry’s hands are on Alex’s face, his fingers past his ear and peeking into the scruff on his neck. Alex leans forward into the touch. But Henry doesn’t deepen the kiss at all, keeps it close-lipped and sweet. It would be serene if Alex didn’t still have the lingering taste of cum on his lips.
“I’m rather finished with tennis, aren’t you?” Henry says after a moment too long. But Alex could never deny him, not when he’s holding Alex as though he’s the most precious thing he’s had the pleasure to observe. Alex nods, and hurriedly moves a hand to the doorknob, twisting it slow enough that Henry has time to steal one more kiss.