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Henry hadn’t even wanted to come. They could have gone to Paris, or Barcelona, or Florence, or Prague, or Vienna, or Athens. But it had been Bea’s turn to choose the destination for their annual summer holiday trip, and she wanted to visit a very close online friend that she’d met in a support group. That person lived in Washington, DC. Henry supposes he should be grateful it wasn’t somewhere like Kansas.
To be fair, it hasn’t been as bad as he feared. He’d scoffed at the idea that American museums could compare to European ones, but he had to admit, they’d been to some very nice ones. The Native American museum in particular had been a highlight. He hadn’t been that enthused about visiting the White House, no more than he cared to tour Buckingham Palace, but Bea’s friend had planned an entire itinerary, so here they were.
Specifically, here Henry was, faced with one of the most beautiful men he’d ever encountered in his life.
He’d say it’s made the tour more interesting, except he’s not sure he’s really taken in much of what the guide—Alex—has been saying, distracted as he is by big brown eyes framed with obscenely long lashes, a perfectly cut jawline, a chin dimple, and those forearms. Even his voice is deeply sexy, which is not helping Henry’s predicament. That being, arguing with himself about whether it’s completely mad to ask out your tour guide when you’re a tourist and leaving in two days.
Normally, he’d just appreciate from a distance and go about his life, perhaps write some rueful poetry about missed chances. But Alex keeps looking at him, and not in the way his eyes skip across the other tour group members as he talks. He looks at Henry with intention, with the kind of heated gaze that would usually lead to a very enjoyable night if someone fixed him with it in a club. Not that Henry goes to clubs much anymore. The music is always too loud and he is not a dancer, and after sowing no shortage of wild oats in uni, he’d kind of gotten tired of one night stands as a rule.
He’d be willing to make an exception for Alex.
The tour is over far too soon. They finish in the State Dining Room, then Alex is leading into a grand entrance hall on the north side of the building and thanking them for visiting. He invites anyone to stick around if they have more questions, and the way he stares directly at Henry when he says it has Henry rooted to the spot.
“You two go ahead, I’ll catch up with you later,” Henry says to Bea without looking away from where Alex is now talking with some other visitors.
“Henry,” Bea sighs with a chastising note in her voice. “The tour guide? Really?”
Henry sticks his nose in the air. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just have a question.”
“Right. Well, text me when you have your questions answered.”
Unfortunately there are some visitors with actual questions. A family from Topeka has a seemingly endless supply, which Alex, to his credit, answers patiently. The entire time, his eyes keep flicking over to Henry like he’s afraid Henry might leave before they can speak. Not that Henry has any bloody clue what he’s going to say. He wonders if he should make up a question, just so he actually has some reason for sticking around. Can’t seem to come up with anything that’s not just can I have your number?
Finally, the last person files out, and Alex hurries over to Henry’s side. Then, unexpectedly, he takes hold of Henry’s elbow with a low, “Come with me,” said under his breath, and walks him determinedly back through the corridor. Pausing at a door, Alex looks around to make sure they’re alone, then pushes Henry through it.
They’re back in the Red Room. It’s strangely silent now, just the two of them among the ornate furnishings. Alexander Hamilton stares down at them judgementally from his portrait, as if he knows they’re up to something untoward.
“Wha—” Henry starts, but he doesn’t get far because Alex shoves him back against the table in front of Hamilton’s portrait and crowds up close, until their noses are only centimetres apart.
“How dare you stand there the whole tour, being incredibly fucking distracting with your eyes and your lips and your fucking cheekbones, and give me those fucking looks,” Alex practically growls.
“What looks?” Henry tries weakly, not completely certain he’s not about to be punched.
“Fuck, your voice, too,” Alex groans, the muscle in his jaw clenching as he closes his eyes and exhales heavily, and Henry comes to the strange realisation that although he’s just spent forty-five minutes listening to Alex talk, he’s said a grand total of three words. Two and half, really. Not that it seems to matter. Alex huffs, “You know what looks. Like you wanted to fucking devour me.” He meets Henry’s eyes steadily. “Am I wrong?”
This time, Henry can’t find his voice at all. He shakes his head, and Alex doesn’t waste any more time before kissing him soundly.
It’d be easy to say he’s never been kissed like this—by a man he’s barely spoken to, pushed against a portrait in the bloody White House—but that’s not even the most remarkable part. Because Alex kisses him with a confidence that’s dizzying, like he already knows exactly how Henry likes to be kissed, like they’ve kissed a hundred times before and he’s staking a claim on Henry’s mouth for the next hundred as well. He teases Henry’s lips open with a slide of his tongue and tests the cut of his teeth against the fullness of them, then bites down harder when Henry whimpers in response. And for a moment Henry loses himself in it, gets his hands in Alex’s curls, hooks a leg around Alex’s thigh and pulls him even closer, grinding their hips together.
Then his head thunks back against a heavy gilt frame, and he abruptly remembers where they are.
“Shouldn’t we—” Henry starts, only to be cut off by Alex’s mouth on his. He tries again. “What if someone comes in—”
“We’ve got twenty minutes until the next tour gets here,” Alex pants into his mouth. “So unless you’ve got somewhere to be…”
His hands tighten where they’re clenched around Henry’s waist and on top of his thigh and he leans in again, like he already knows the answer to that question. But Henry decides that if they’ve got twenty minutes, then he does have somewhere to be, so he shoves Alex backward and ignores his yelp of protest as Henry flips their positions, pushing Alex against the table as he drops to his knees.
“Fuuuck,” Alex groans as Henry tugs his trousers open. “Are you actually gonna…”
He trails off, but he doesn’t make any moves to halt the proceedings.
“I am,” Henry confirms. He slides a palm over Alex’s cock, straining against his boxers, and watches as Alex’s eyelids flutter as he presses his thumb just under the head of it. “Unless there are any objections…?”
Alex’s eyes snap open and he licks his lips. “Nope, none. Please, uhh, continue.”
Right, then. No time to waste.
Alex’s cock is just as pretty as the rest of him, long and curving and leaking at the tip, and Henry mourns the fact he won’t be able to take the time he wants with this. That he won’t be able to take Alex apart piece by piece, to draw whimpering moans from his throat and leave him writhing in desperation, to make him yell until he’s just as hoarse as Henry will be after this. Still, there’s something incredible about this moment—here, in this place, on his knees for an American boy he’s just met. The ghosts of the American founding fathers must surely be conflicted, if any were around to witness.
Henry shoves the thought out of his head and focuses instead on the heavy weight of Alex’s cock on his tongue and the ache in his jaw. On the slide of smooth skin under his palm as he works the base of the shaft, and on the musky scent that fills his nose and the little bursts of salt that trickle out onto his tongue. Above him, Alex is breathing heavily and making little bitten off sounds every time Henry swirls his tongue just so. Clearly, he’s trying to stay quiet, and Henry doesn’t want them to get found out, but he also can’t quite help but try to make Alex unravel a little further.
Also, the clock is ticking. Quite literally. There’s an ornate one on the table next to Alex’s hips and nearly at Henry’s eye level, helpfully marking time until the spell they find themselves under crumbles apart. And that’s assuming Alex’s ‘twenty minutes’ was accurate. Henry pushes a little harder, hollowing his cheeks and taking Alex deeper, and is rewarded with a hand in his hair as Alex’s hips hitch forward minutely.
“You are—ah—way too good at that sweetheart, fuck,” Alex murmurs, keeping his voice low. One of his thumbs presses to the corner of Henry’s mouth, brushing over the mole there as saliva dribbles unchecked down Henry’s chin. “So fucking pretty down there for me.”
Desire curls almost painfully in Henry’s gut at the words, his own cock throbbing where it’s trapped in his trousers. It’s so tempting to reach down and give himself some kind of relief, but he abstains. Partly because he doesn’t want to risk any telltale spots on his clothes, and partly because the delicious ache of it—in combination with that of his jaw and the pressure of Alex’s hand in his hair—is making him almost lightheaded.
“Fuck,” Alex whimpers softly again, “fucking— fuck. Holy shit, I’m gonna—” His grip tightens in Henry’s hair and he tugs, just the right side of painful, but Henry takes him down to the root and swallows. Then Alex moans a broken “baby,” and Henry doesn’t have the time to process what that does to him before he feels sudden heat and bitterness filling his throat. He keeps working, swallowing, until Alex lets out a hiccupping laugh and all but collapses back against the table like all his strings have been cut.
He laughs again, a little helplessly, as Henry licks him clean and tucks him away again. “This didn’t just fucking happen,” he says. “I’m fucking dreaming.”
“I hope it was a good one,” Henry rasps, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth.
His voice is a wreck; he’s never going to hear the end of this from Bea. He lets Alex tug him back to his feet and into another kiss, tongue sweeping into Henry’s mouth like he wants to taste himself there.
“Best one I ever had,” Alex murmurs against his lips. Christ, it’d be so easy to get lost in this. Alex’s hand presses against his lower back, urging Henry’s hips against the crease of his thigh, and Henry shudders at the pressure.
Then they both freeze. Voices, in the next room over. Another tour. They spring apart, and Henry’s still shoving at himself, trying to make his erection less noticeable, when the door between the Blue and Red Rooms swings open.
“Oh,” the other tour guide says, an older woman with her grey hair pulled into a bun, as she looks between the two of them. Henry cannot imagine what’s going through her head right now. “Alex. What are you still doing in here?”
“I—” Alex starts, but Henry must have sucked his brain out through his cock, because his voice fails and he just looks at Henry blankly.
“My sister lost an earring, and I told her I’d go look for it,” Henry lies. “Alex volunteered to help me.”
The other guide’s eyes narrow. “That was good of him. Did you find it?”
“Ah,” Henry says, well aware that his cheeks are far too flushed. “No. Unfortunately not.”
“I’ll keep an eye out for it,” Alex says, having apparently recovered some of his faculties. “You should give me your number, uh—”
Christ, he doesn’t even know Henry’s name. “Henry.”
Alex doesn’t look the least bit abashed by this fact. “Right, Henry. So I can text you if I find it.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Alex offers. He nods at the other guide, who’s still looking at them suspiciously, and the collection of tourists behind her. “Have a good rest of your tour.”
They don’t speak until they get back to the north entrance. Alex follows him outside and stops on the steps under the north portico, then turns to Henry and holds out his hand palm up. It takes Henry a moment to realise Alex is asking for his phone.
“Oh,” Henry says as he fumbles for it in his pocket, “you were being serious about the number.”
Alex scoffs and looks at him like he’s crazy. “Of course I was fucking serious.” He takes the phone from Henry and sends himself a text. When he’s done, he holds it out again, though he doesn’t let go when Henry’s hand covers his to take it. “I’ve got a few more tours to do today, but I’d like to see you later, if you’re not busy.”
Technically, Henry has plans to go to a show with Bea and her friend. Plans that he will be entirely abandoning. He rubs his thumb along the side of Alex’s hand and watches as Alex takes a deep breath. “And what exactly does ‘see’ entail in this case?”
“Actually, I want to get you in my bed and do some very bad things to you, but I was trying to be polite. Since we’re in public.”
Henry swallows. “Ah. Well then. I’m free.”
“Yeah?” Alex says, smiling like he’s won the lottery. “We could do dinner first,” he adds, almost shyly. “If you’re interested.”
Henry can’t help it—he pulls Alex into a brief kiss right there on the White House steps, heart fluttering as Alex smiles into it. “I’m interested.”
Alex pads back into the bedroom juggling two glasses of water and a tupperware container, which rattles when he drops it onto the bed. After he deposits the water on the bedside table, he climbs in after it, settling with his back against the headboard and his legs stretched out next to where Henry is still sprawled on his stomach and feeling utterly fucked out. Henry watches through cracked eyelids as Alex peels open the lid and extracts two dark brown, round circles, which turn out to be some sort of chocolatey biscuit.
“Here,” Alex says, holding one out. When Henry doesn’t immediately take it, he wiggles it a little in front of Henry’s nose. “Homemade.”
Henry can barely move, but the smell of chocolate is a seductive one. He manages to prop himself up on his elbows and takes the biscuit, which turns out to be delicious. “You made these?” he asks Alex through a full mouth. Alex nods, looking pleased. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Carry a tune?” Alex offers.
“Hm,” Henry hums. He shifts a little closer, so he’s pressed up against Alex’s leg, and presses a kiss to his hip. “Still not convinced you’re real.”
To be fair, the last two days have passed in something of a haze. Henry has barely left Alex’s bed, much less his apartment. Bea, as it turned out, had been perfectly happy to spend time with her friend without her little brother hanging around, and Henry has been perfectly happy to immerse himself in all things Alex. He knows much more about Alex now—that he’s a law student, that he wanted to be the President when he was growing up, that he works at the White House during the summer holidays, that he’s sweet and funny and smart and passionate, and everything Henry could ever want in a man.
“Can I confess something?” Alex asks as they each crunch into another biscuit.
“Of course,” Henry agrees, perhaps too easily. He can’t help it. He wants to know everything about Alex.
Alex swallows and looks down, his eyelashes fanning across his cheekbones. “I don’t want you to leave.”
It’s so vulnerable and honest it makes Henry’s heart ache. “I know, love,” he sighs, because he does know. It’s impossible not to with the way Alex looks at him. And it’s only been two days, but this feels… significant. Like the kind of thing that he can’t—that he shouldn’t—just walk away from. Henry looks up into his big brown eyes and hears himself say, “What if I didn’t?”
Alex frowns. “What?”
“I’m on summer holiday from my graduate program for another month and a half. I could just… stay, until then.”
Even as he says it, he knows it’s true. What does he have back home? His empty flat. His deserted office on campus. Sure, he’d miss Pez and Bea, but it’s only a month and a half, and Pez could come here. The only real question is whether Alex would actually want him here.
“Are you being serious right now?” Alex asks, his voice creeping higher.
Henry rolls onto his side and looks up at him, holding Alex’s gaze steady in his. “I am if you are. Would you actually want me to stay here?”
“Yeah, I’m fucking serious,” Alex says with a huff of incredulous laughter.
“Here, here,” Henry clarifies, gesturing around Alex’s place. “I can’t afford to get my own flat in DC. Though I could help with rent.”
“Fuck the rent. And if you think I’m letting you leave this bed, you’re crazy.”
Henry can’t help the too-large smile that takes over his face, though he tries. “We will probably need to leave the bed occasionally,” he says, with as much mock seriousness as he can muster.
“I guess,” Alex says with a theatrical eye roll.
“Where’s my phone?” Henry asks rhetorically, casting a look about the room for his trousers. When he finds them, he pulls it out to find a decent number of unanswered texts from Bea, and several from Pez. Whoops.
“What are you doing?” Alex asks.
“Telling my sister about my change in plans and cancelling my flight,” Henry tells him. First, though, he pauses and lowers himself back down on the bed next to Alex, reaching out and lacing their fingers together. “If you’re sure.”
Alex squeezes his hand, then slides his other behind Henry’s neck and pulls him into a soft, lingering kiss. “I’m sure,” he murmurs when they part. “A thousand percent.”