Chapter Text
Alex had really, really tried not to freak out.
He ended up spiralling anyway.
The delight he had felt after his … encounter with Henry had quickly turned sour. Anxiety replaced gratification, squeezing his heart and spinning his brain dizzy until he could hardly think of anything but what had happened on the gym floor.
At first, he had pushed the thoughts away with ease, steadfastly ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that liked to take over at inopportune times. Henry had been into it. It had been the hottest hookup of Alex’s entire life. There was no need to dampen the memory or worry about any awkwardness arising. They’re both adults. They’re both professionals. They could pretend it had never happened if they needed to.
Yet, his consternation had deepened with each passing hour. His thoughts pivoted and his brain began obsessing over every single detail of every single moment. Grinding down on Henry’s thigh, messy and uncoordinated kissing, the unsure way he had taken Henry’s co*ck in his palm. How f*cking uncomfortable was it going to be when Monday finally came and he was forced to look Henry in the eye after receiving the best blowj*b of his life and providing a thoroughly substandard handjob in return?
As hours slip by, Alex flip flops between it’s fine and f*cking hell and kill me now.
Alex can be a professional at work, but he’s not sure he can handle embarrassment in his social life. Definitely not in front of the guy he thinks is pretty and sweet and desperately wants to know more about. He doesn’t want to make Henry’s job difficult either; doesn’t want to force him into a situation where he’s uncomfortable and faced with Alex almost every day in his place of business.
God, that’s it. He’s going to have to quit the gym and become a social recluse again. He has no choice. He'd rather walk over hot coals than put Henry in a crappy position. Sure, Henry had reciprocated but it was Alex that had accidentally started it all. He was the one that had fallen all over Henry and proceeded to paw at him like he was in heat.
Embarrassment weighs hot and heavy inside him, flashes of memory hitting him at odd moments. While he’s making coffee, while he does his laundry, and of course while he lays in bed, trying to drift off to sleep. Alex does his best to blink the thoughts away and divert his brain, but then his confession begins ping-ponging around his head. I've actually never really done this before. Over and over until he wants to take out his brain and soak it in bleach - or better yet, throw it against the wall and watch it splatter.
The raw vulnerability that had come with the admission had been like ripping his skin off. Coupling that with Henry’s clear post-org*sm rejection afterwards - well, perhaps not an outright rejection, but how much clearer could he have been? - had been a blow to his self-esteem.
Truthfully, Alex was still struggling to piece it all together and come to terms with how everything had flipped upside down within a handful of minutes. Of f*cking course Henry had every right to set his boundaries and reject him, and there was no question that Alex would adhere to them within the space of a heartbeat. But that didn’t mean that it didn’t sting like a motherf*cker after the fragile moments of connection they had shared. Especially after bearing witness to the look in Henry’s eyes and the fervour with which he had sucked Alex off.
He’s just … confused. Really, really confused about where they stand now. He’s never felt like this after a hookup.
So, Alex spends his Sunday in freefall. First he flicks through Henry’s TikTok again, there’s still nothing new. Then he navigates to the gym’s Instagram once or twice only to find himself staring at the single recent picture of Henry, the one that Alex had pulled him into. He knows he’s going to have to fight the urge to bring it up on Monday, but what would he even say?
Sorry for groping you, are we cool?
Maybe don’t sneak up on people when they’re in the middle of chin ups?
I’m really, really, really, really sorry.
No, Henry had clearly indicated he didn’t want to talk about it. That he viewed it as an accidental slip and wanted to move on. Fine. Alex can do that too.
—
The wait until Monday’s session is excruciating. The entire workday he sits in his little cubicle, his knee bouncing up and down a million miles an hour and a frog stuck in his throat. For the first time since he had started attending The Fox Den, he’s dreading training.
Of course, that means the day zooms by in the blink of an eye. Life is funny - and cruel - like that. His morning team huddle that usually he hates because it drags on for far too long is over in record time. His mid-morning meeting eats up an hour and a half that feels like half an hour at most. Sabrina yaps to him about the new guy she’s seeing and his forty minute lunch feels like forty seconds. Before he realises it, it’s almost 6:00pm and the reminder alarm on his phone goes off. He slowly packs up, his stomach tied in knots.
Someone avoidant would skip the session. Hell, someone with half a brain and regret on their mind might even quit like he’d briefly considered yesterday. But Alex is nothing if not determined. He’s moved past his Sunday spiral and decided that as embarrassed and rejected as he feels, he has to at least show his face. Besides, boxing is good for him. He had joined the gym with a purpose in mind and he sure as hell was going to see it out.
(Unless Henry made it clear he didn’t want Alex around. That would be different).
That evening, each step toward the gym floods him with a new wave of anxiety and new concerns to ruminate over. Maybe he would be cold-shouldered when he walked in. Maybe Pez would be waiting to escort him out. Maybe Henry would pretend nothing had ever happened between them and treat him as indifferent as ever.
As it turns out, Alex had created a very, very tall and treacherous mountain out of a molehill. Pez isn’t even at the front desk when he wanders in, and there’s certainly no sign of a cold shoulder when Jess and Sydney greet him enthusiastically as he stows his gym bag away in the corner. (Which … of course they would. Why would Henry have said anything to anyone, much less them? He really needed to get his head on straight).
All is normal and fine as he pulls on his boxing boots and laces them up. Henry even appears, unzipping a grey sweatshirt to reveal … an equally grey long sleeved t-shirt. Seriously, what did he have against colour? Still, Alex looks determinedly away as Henry’s body pivots towards him, bravery failing him.
Unfortunately for Alex, one generally has to assemble in front of their boxing trainer to receive their instructions. Moreover, they generally have to use their eyes to watch the demonstrations said boxing instructor gives. Alex fiddles with the hem of his shorts as Henry runs them through the drill order. He knows it all off by heart now anyway. All he wants is to get going, to throw himself into the session and forget about his anxieties. If that’s even possible with the object of both his desire and ire roaming about, nearly always in his periphery.
Sinking into the session doesn’t come easy to him tonight. In fact, every combination punch he throws, every footwork drill he does - it’s all sh*t. He almost trips over his feet more than once. He’s the slowest in ladder circles, falling further and further behind. He nearly drops a medicine ball on his toe. The f*ck-ups made him flustered, and the fluster only makes him worse until, by the end of the session, he’s so fed up with his own incompetency he tears his gloves off and throws them against the wall.
They land with a smack and drop onto his bag. And then promptly fall off and onto the ground. Alex stares at them for a long moment, his shoulders sagging in defeat.
“Alex.”
f*ck. Alex’s eyes flutter shut and he stiffens at the sound of Henry’s gentle voice behind him. He allows himself just a moment before he steels himself and turns to meet Henry’s eyes.
Henry’s demeanour is calm, his expression steady. There’s still colour high on his cheeks from exertion and soft baby hairs frame his face. “Will you help me pack up?”
Alex scuffs his foot on the hard floor and looks down for a moment, his heart inside his throat. “Maybe you should ask someone else,” he says more insolently than he means to.
The blonde hesitates, his eyes flicking over to the remainder of the class, bags already on their shoulders and chatting amicably as they float toward the exit. “I was rather hoping you could help me, actually.”
More like Alex had been too slow in getting his sh*t together. Left behind, like usual, by the people supposed to be … well they weren’t quite friends, were they? But … friendly acquaintances. Not worth a goodbye. Alex makes a concentrated effort to shake the thoughts away. He’s being stupid; it’s not that deep. It’s just anxiety gnawing at his soft inner parts again.
“Sure,” he says finally, pulling clumsily at his remaining handwrap. “Where do you want me to start?” He throws the strap down and turns around to face Henry properly, ready to see the indifference painted across that classically handsome face.
Instead he finds a troubled looking Henry. “Alex,” he takes a hesitant step closer. “Please tell me if I’m overstepping, but is everything alright?”
“The best,” Alex deflects immediately, stepping around him, “So, I’ll get the kettlebells from this side and you get them from the other.” He picks up one in each hand and turns, stopping in his tracks as he realises Henry hasn’t moved, only twisted in place and fixed Alex with an unreadable expression.
“You know,” Henry hedges, “It’s alright to have off days. It doesn’t detract from your progress by any means. In fact, it’s very normal. Sometimes a rest day can help, like I said-”
“I don’t want a rest day,” Alex huffs, almost fumbling the kettlebells. He puts them down and straightens up, looking Henry in the eye
“Even so,” the other man presses, “It’s important to take a brea-”
“Do you want me to leave?” Alex interrupts. “Is this your roundabout way of saying so? Because I’d rather you be straight about it-” he presses his lips together, furious at his choice of wording.
Henry’s brow knits. He clears his throat and shifts his weight; sticks his chin out and says, “I don’t want you to leave. Not at all. Is this because of …”
“Saturday?” Alex suggests dryly.
“Alex, about that-” he starts.
“Look,” Alex interrupts, the words bursting out of him. “I like, just realised I was bisexual. Like, a month ago. And I might be having a bit of a crisis about it now. You were my first…” he vaguely motions with his hands, “Dick experience in years and I’ve spent … too f*cking long ruminating on the whole thing. I just don’t want to make things awkward and I really f*cking love this gym, and you - oh f*ck, not love, obviously not love, just that I enjoy your company and you’re a great trainer, and I understand you don’t want a repeat. That’s fine. I just. I told you not to freak out, but now I’m the one freaking out. But, like, what I’m trying to say is … are we cool?” Alex takes a deep breath and chances a glance at Henry.
Henry doesn’t look upset or angry. Instead he looks puzzled, his lips pouty and his brows turned up. “Wait I’m sorry,” he says, “I thought you said high school-”
“That’s what you got out of that?” Alex asks indignantly.
“I-” Henry shakes his head. “I thought you…Did you or did you not hook up with your friend in high school?”
Alex stares at him. “Yes,” he says, confused. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I’m sorry,” Henry says quickly. “I, erm, just thought that you hadn’t been with a man since … since high school but that you knew. Not that you were, I suppose, in the process of exploring your sexual identity. It was my mistake - I apologise-”
“Don’t apologise,” Alex says, half exasperated at Henry and entirely exasperated at himself. He scratches the back of his neck nervously. “Obviously now I get it, but at the time .. I thought everyone messed around like that. That it was no big deal. It was just a handjob…” he trails off, realising how stupid it sounds out loud. His cheeks heat, but Henry has the decency to not press the matter.
“Alex,” Henry says after a moment, “I admit I freaked out at the time. I … may have been a bit of a tosser about the whole situation. I’m sorry-”
Something in Henry’s demeanour and the timbre of his voice convinces him. He finds himself softening under Henry’s earnest gaze. Damn him. “You weren’t a tosser,” Alex says, though he kind of had been, the tension in his shoulders loosening. He scuffs his toe on the ground again, “it was…unexpected.”
Henry rubs his chin and bites his lower lip. “It was,” he agrees. “I apologise if it seems like I rebuffed you. I needed time to process. I, uh … I’ve not done that in a while.” He coughs into his fist. “I was surprised. At your interest.”
“Surprised?” Alex asks, his turn to be incredulous. “You’re …” he gestures vaguely to Henry’s entire body. The long-sleeved light-weight grey t-shirt, clinging to a lean torso. His shapely thighs. His whole Prince Charming-esque broad shoulders, blue eyes and blonde hair deal. “Actually, you know what, I won’t deign to respond to that.”
Henry’s cheeks flood with colour and he shakes his head. “You have no idea, I …” he trails off.. “I wasn’t sure my attraction to you would be reciprocated.”
“The hard-on wasn’t enough for you?”
“Well, by that point, yes,” Henry says, crossing his arms and fixing Alex with a piercing look. “But, I still had to contend with the fact I happen to be a partial owner of this gym and you just happen to be a client. A client that I had unprotected sex with on the floor of my business where I strongly promote against people doing exactly that.”
Alex can’t help himself. “Having sex on the floor of your business? That something that happens often?”
Henry sighs. “Engaging in unsafe sexual practices, Alex.”
“So where does that leave us now?” Alex presses on, trying not to squirm. He’s already worried he’s pressed past Henry’s boundaries by referring to the event at all. But, what’s the expected conduct post being sucked off by your gym trainer, being (quite gently, he supposes) brushed off and rushing out of there like a bat out of hell?
“Well …” Henry says, his blue eyes locked on Alex’s brown ones. “You told me we don’t have to talk about it. Or that we could do it again … well, what if I wanted the second? Providing that we’re safe about it moving forward, that is.”
Alex’s heart skips a beat in his chest. His whole being struggles to recalibrate around the sudden bombshell. Fireworks explode in his stomach - Henry wants to do it again. Henry reciprocates. “Oh,” he says, doing his best to feign a laidback exterior. “Cool. Yeah,” he shrugs, “We can do that. Yeah.”
“Yeah?” Henry quirks a brow, amused.
Alex scowls at the fact Henry can see through his facade so clearly. "Yeah. On one condition, though.”
“And what might that be?”
“Well,” Alex says, bending over and retrieving his phone from the side pocket of his bag. It’s now or f*cking never. “Considering you want my dick in your mouth again, I feel like it’s only fair to have your number in my phone. And your Instagram,” he adds onto the end impulsively.
“Ah,” Henry responds, catching Alex’s thrown phone. “I suppose that is fair. More ethical than lifting your number from our files by far.”
“Using your position to sext clients?” Alex teases. “Scandalous.”
“Only the ones that accost me, apparently,” Henry says lightly, throwing Alex’s phone back. He almost drops it, too busy protesting.
“Hey! I apologised,” Alex defends himself as he glances down at his phone. “You didn’t even put a fun name,” he notes, unimpressed.
Henry rolls his eyes at Alex’s childishness. “What should I have put then?”
“I dunno,” Alex shrugs. “Hugh Gshrektum?”
Henry’s jaw ticks as he tries not to laugh. Alex squints at him, watching as his throat works. Finally, it bursts out of him and Alex grins, victorious.
—
Alex has never been one to do things by halves.
Research and lists. Dozens and dozens of lists and spreadsheets and scribbles in a notebook - not to keep, but because writing things down helps his brain learn the information faster; helps him conceptualise information quicker. He often finds wayward thoughts in the back of old notebooks and stacks of papers left around. Like his childhood home in Austin and every home he’s had since, he has a nook here too. It’s much less conspicuous, just loose paper tucked under an old comparative law textbook he hasn’t picked up once since his first day at Bankston’s when he had realised it was essentially useless in practice, but still felt the need to bring along with him just in case.
This time though, he tries to be a bit more orderly about the whole thing. He has a notebook open on his lap and a pen between his teeth as he scrolls through Google. His glasses slip down his nose as he writes, his handwriting cluttered and loopy as his hand flies across the page.
Brochures he’d grabbed from The Fox Den on his way out lay in his lap, already flipped through. He had started the night on the 56 Dean Street clinic’s website, noting down pertinent information as he had scanned through it. He had researched PrEP and HIV first, both topics familiar to him but in that distant way one thinks they understand things but really don’t, because it’s not something they think they have to worry about for themselves.
It’s the same with anal sex. He finds himself knee-deep in a range of psychosexual articles, eyes flying across sentences and soaking in the information and tips. Penetrative sex has always been, well, easy for him. Get hard, roll a condom on and make sure his sexual partner is good to go. Lube if they need it, but oftentimes not after foreplay. Anal sex, though? Alex scratches the back of his neck as he reads about kegel exercises and tips for practising penetration. In the margin of his notebook he writes down research dild*s.
Huh. Alex stares down at the words on his page – how to prepare for anal sex and how to manage pain in anal sex. Research dild*s. He bites his lip as he realises for the first time that he wants to try it. It’s more than a faint curiosity niggling at the back of his mind. Maybe once upon a time, two epiphanies ago, he could’ve convinced himself he was writing it down simply so he knew what to do with a new partner. Now, though … Now he knows this is something he wants for himself. He draws a box around those questions to remind himself to come back to it again.
From there, he finds himself veering off into queer history. He’s always known it. His parents' politics have been part of it, after all. He’s a Democrat himself and has always been a fierce ally. But this is the first time he’s actively both seeking it out and engaging in it with his own queerness at the forefront of his mind. It strikes him that maybe all those times before, when he had delved into the history of queer representations in politics and media, he had just been looking for some … academic excuse to read about it.
But. Stonewall. Academic interest didn’t make your heart balloon to triple its size and bring tears to your eyes. The anger and confusion that had coiled in his stomach when he had first learned about the military’s don’t ask, don’t tell policy. Then there was Obergefell v. Hodges. He knows now that it was more than allyship that had driven him to read it from top to bottom, highlight it and choose the Fourteenth Amendment as his research topic in his constitutional law class at law school. The pieces slowly slot together before him. He doesn’t realise his cheeks are wet until a tear drips onto his page.
Wiping them away, he scrolls on. His eyes catch on an image of a man at a rally. His jacket reads - IF I DIE OF AIDS - FORGET BURIAL - JUST DROP MY BODY ON THE STEPS OF THE F.D.A. Alex’s fingernails dig into his palms as he contemplates, not for the first time, that he should be doing more. He’s a lawyer. He’s passionate about law reform. He used to volunteer every week at a refugee agency in law school. When had these ambitions been pushed to the side? He hadn’t even realised it was happening.
Before he realises it, it’s 2:00am and he’s signed himself up to volunteer for the nearby community legal centre, has ordered a Keith Haring t-shirt he definitely plans on wearing to the gym, and his non-fiction TBR is ten books longer.
On his lunch break the very next day, he’s walking into the Dean Street sexual health clinic for his first dose of the HPV vaccine and to pick up a free STI home testing kit. His first-ever text to Henry is sent barely 24 hours later once his results come through. He forwards them to him immediately, before simply following with “this is Alex btw” and a selfie he’d taken while getting his injection just for this occasion.
Henry 🥊
(image of test results)
this is alex btw
(A selfie of Alex, curly hair sticking out from
under an NYU cap, smiling widely. The nurse
behind him is holding up a peace sign)
You are a delinquent and a plague.
(image of his own clean test results)
sooooooooooo
So?
does this mean round 2 soon or what
how does tmr sound
Patience. I’ll let you know when.
In the meantime, you might want to learn what punctuation is.
I can’t imagine how messy your reports are without it. You want to do a good job don’t you, Alex?
f*ck.
How has Henry managed to see straight through him after a single hook up? Even through text, Alex can hear the authority in his tone, the slight reprimand and challenge to earn Henry’s praise sending a flush to his cheeks. He returns to his work struggling to focus as anticipation for the next time he can get his hands on Henry fizzles under his skin, the fact that he doesn’t know when that is making the wait that much more exciting.
—
Alex walks into the gym that weekend with a spring in his step and his newest purchase proudly displayed across his chest. As he stops by the reception desk, Pez’s face lights up. Meanwhile, Henry’s expression is a mixture of exasperation and amusem*nt that is just so quintessentially Henry it makes Alex’s chest squeeze.
“Alexander, my dear, what a delightful shirt,” Pez jabbers excitedly, leaning over the desk and pulling the strap of Alex’s gym bag away to unwrinkle the shirt and view it in its full glory. “Where did you get it? I simply must have one.”
Alex looks down at his shirt with a grin. “SAFE SEX” is displayed along the top in bright red text within a jagged yellow speech bubble, and right below it front and centre are two purple cartoon figures giving each other vigorous handjobs. “Nuh uh, you can find your own suggestive shirt. This here is a vintage original.” He says this very dramatically, waggling his eyebrows at Pez.
Pez cackles in response. “Oh I love a challenge. I formally accept. Prepare to be dazzled when you see me next.” He grins and sits back in his chair, eyes gleaming.
“Suggestive implies even the slightest hint of subtlety Alex, that is just straight up explicit.” Henry sighs, but the amusem*nt hasn’t faded.
“Excuse me, I reject the notion that this shirt is straight anything! Besides, I am simply promoting the noble values of this wonderful establishment.” Alex punctuates his point with a gesture to the brochure stand, a new brochure SAFE SEX, CONSENT, BOOTY CALLS, AND YOU sitting front and centre on the display.
“I never said it was a bad thing, merely stating a fact.” Henry begins to make his way towards the boxing ring. Over his shoulder he says, “Come along then you menace, we’re sparring today.”
Alex follows after him, biting back the urge to tell Henry his ass in those shorts is straight up explicit.
—
Alex agonises all of Saturday night about sending Henry another text. He had initiated their last exchange and didn’t want to seem overly eager but at the same time … well, he is eager. He likes Henry and he likes their easy banter.
He breathes a sigh of relief on Sunday when he wakes up to a text from him.
Henry 🥊
Good morning, Alex.
Pray tell, what inappropriate t-shirt are you wearing today?
who says im wearing any shirt
I suppose you are inappropriate enough
without a shirt
wouldnt u like to know
for the record tho
(picture: a mirror shot of Alex in loose sweats and a
black shirt, I only get on my knees for Jesus
written across it in purple uppercase)
Is that so?
(picture: the same image as above, with “& Henry”
splayed beneath, clearly edited in by Alex)
😇
And Jesus wept
dw me and jesus are cool
hes forgiven me for worse crimes
There are worse crimes than gay sex?
i mean
Surely
besides
i figure if i havent gone up in flames yet then
im all g with the big G
what are you doing today?
Not a lot.
I’m going for a stroll with David soon.
who the f*ck is David
(picture: a beagle curled up in what is
unmistakably Henry’s gym bag)
Oh
knew that
Sure you did, you berk.
David is my beagle.
well thats animal abuse
at least name him something cute
My apologies, going forward I’ll be sure to seek
your input on the naming of my pets
Any pets I should know about?
my childhood dog was called Chewie
(replies to Well that’s animal abuse).
i suppose you think i should have called
him Basil or some sh*t
Well, that depends entirely upon
whether he’s named after Chewbacca
or not.
well obviously !!!!
Hmmmm.
Acceptable.
—
10:53am @HenryFox97 has shared a photo!
(photo: a very sweet looking beagle on his back, rolling
in bright green grass, pink tongue lolling out and his
eyes closed. His stomach is pink with splotches
over it, his chest white and the rest of him a patchwork
of brown, tan and white).
11:17am @AlexClaremontDiaz
a sweet boy!!!!!!!
i would die for him
(photo: David the beagle side-eyeing the camera)
He says, “thanks?”
—
Henry 🥊
btw had a thought
we should like
talk about our preferences
Of course.
I prefer … vanilla ice cream, yourself?
i dont even know where to start
(1) the f*ck you mean u prefer
vanilla ice cream that is objectively
The Worst flavour the flavour
everyone adds toppings to because it
tastes like nothing on its own !!!!!!
(2) Smartass u know what i meant
I see your preferences lay elsewhere.
In all seriousness, please elaborate.
Welllllllllllllll
just to put it out there
i like
being told what to do
but i also like telling my sexual
partner what to do
capeesh?
Eloquent as always.
shut up nerd
I enjoy dominance when the situation
calls for it. As you have experienced. But
I also enjoy letting my partner take control.
noted !
dirty talk?
Yes.
Other kinks?
i like
begging restraint
hair pulling
spanking
both giving and receiving
I enjoy those, yes.
Well,
I prefer receiving, but I enjoy giving.
when the situation calls for it ?
Excellent recall, Alex. Good job.
STOP THAT RIGJT NOW
I enjoy light degradation. Do you?
ive never rlly done it
but i dont think i would be into it yk
Praise kink.
Ksdbjewjhkbew
Do you know the traffic light system?
yea
that
we should also use that
There is one other thing.
If at any point you want to sleep with
someone else, please let me know.
duhh????
is that not like
common decency??
You’d be surprised.
Is there anything else?
not rn
i figured we’d idk
figure it out in the moment
i just wanted to knw like
the basics
Thank you, Alex.
See you tmr H
See you tomorrow x
—
So, f*ck handwrapping. Alex can get the first hand sort of right, but the second? How is he supposed to wrap it up the right way when his hand is bundled up tight and awkwardly? He’s still wrapping them with his back to the class, hunched over his bag. Hell, he’d even started leaving work a touch earlier some nights to take his time in doing it before the class arrived.
It’s a small, silly thing. Alex should just ask. Or watch a tutorial that isn’t Henry’s infamous hand-wrap videos - he can never seem to concentrate on Henry’s technique long enough to gain anything particularly helpful, too distracted watching the blonde trainer seduce the camera whilst wrapping his wrists and knuckles. He does come away feeling a lot more flustered, though.
It’s this annoyance at himself that has him sitting despondently on the gym floor after his post-Saturday session warm-downs. Well, not sitting - laying, actually. Despondent squared. He slowly unwraps one hand, frowning, before balling it up and throwing it in the direction of his bag. Somewhere behind him, Henry is sure to be cleaning up before closing whilst the last stragglers make their exit.
Alex should just ask Jackson. He’d asked him a lot of other embarrassing things, like who Jack Johnson and Floyd Mayweather were (he got the stink-eye for that one). With a sigh, he undoes his other hand wrap and does the same thing – balls it up and throws it over his shoulder in the general vicinity of his bag.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” comes a voice from above him. Alex twists his neck around and looks up, up, up at Henry, who is suddenly standing above him. Alex isn’t sure how he didn’t notice his shadow approaching. “Vandalising my gym with your smelly wraps, are you?” Henry jokes, a smile in his voice. He’s unwrapping his own hands.
Alex sits up and twists around on his butt to face Henry. “My apologies, Your Majesty,” he says seriously, “So I shouldn’t do my socks next?”
“No,” Henry says firmly. “Your shirt, though? Absolutely.”
A smile curves across Alex’s lips. He bites his lip and grins up at his trainer. Henry is slightly flushed from his request, but his chin is jutting out determinedly. “Sure, sweetheart,” Alex agrees easily. “Whatever you want.” He sits up, tugs at the hem of his singlet and pulls it over his head, baring his chest to Henry for the first time. A triumphant feeling erupts inside him as Henry ogles him, eyes slowly roving over Alex’s abdominals.
He can’t help himself. Looking Henry right in the eye as he does so, he balls up his shirt and throws it over his shoulder. Henry’s placid expression turns chastising. “Degenerate,” he scolds, stepping closer. A breath hitches in Alex’s throat.
“What are you gonna do about it?”
“I-” Henry says, stepping forward and placing his hands on Alex's shoulders firmly. The air in his lungs completely disappears this time as Henry settles himself on his thighs, their noses only bare centimetres apart. “Am going to teach you to wrap your hands.”
Alex is jolted out of his daze. He stares at Henry, lost for words. This close, he can count each and every freckle. “How did you kno-”
“I’m a teacher, Alex,” Henry tells him gently, “I can tell when one of my students is struggling. Besides …” he flushes but continues. “I notice lots of things about you.” Somehow, the acknowledgement of one of Alex’s flaws doesn’t trigger a flare of embarrassment. Not when Henry has bared himself to Alex right back. The admission makes Alex a little dizzy. A little sick with want.
“I should’ve taught this in my classes,” Henry continues, laying out the wrap he had just removed from his own hand. “And I will from now on. But I’m not opposed to a private tutoring session.”
“That makes it sound like I’m hopelessly behind,” Alex whines. “How about the teacher's pet?”
Henry smirks and flicks his gaze up to Alex. Just like he had in that f*cking TikTok video. Alex’s heart jumps. Henry smooths his long hair back from his brow before he continues flattening out the wrap. “Would you like to be my pet, Alex?”
Alex’s heart flatlines. He swears he tastes television static. He would like to say he has a witty quip ready to serve back, but all that comes out is a tiny uhhh. Henry bites his lip and smiles, his ears red.
“Alright, Alex. My hand,” he says, his eyes catching Alex’s again. “Cotton wraps are better for training. Slip it over my thumb – like that, yes. You need to pull it taut enough to provide the right amount of stability for your hand and wrist, but not too tight that you cut off circulation. It’s perfectly alright if it takes you a few times to balance the combination.” Alex listens closely as Henry talks him through it, entranced by the smooth curl of his vowels and his calm, soothing voice. f*ck. His lips are so pink and full, just looking at them is almost too much to bear. He feels his co*ck twitch with interest.
“Wrap it securely around my wrist three times. Try to have it lined up and try not to leave any wrinkles, trust me, it gets annoying…” Henry continues, steadfastly ignoring Alex’s growing conundrum, but the smirk on his lips betrays him. “Then up over the flat of my hand, then my thumb. That’s right. Good job, Alex.”
Alex is going to die. Henry knows exactly what he’s doing, the f*cker. He does his best to will his boner away as Henry leads him through the final stages, watching carefully as Alex feeds the wrap through his fingers, and grinning victoriously as Alex clicks the velcro into place around his wrist. There’s a hot feeling behind his sternum. He’s hyper aware of each and every place their bare skin touches.
“One more time, alright?” Henry says, pulling the wrap off quickly and handing it back to Alex. Then, he gives his hand to Alex, palm up. Alex feels the urge to trace the tiny lines on his palm and inspect the spidery blue veins. Instead, he turns his hand over and slips the end part over Henry’s thumb, setting to work. His palm is warm and soft, not as callused as he had anticipated.
“I watched your hand wrap video,” Alex admits without thinking as he wraps. Sue him, alright. The prettiest man he has ever laid eyes on is straddling him, talking to him in a voice made for sex, and showing alarming levels of competence (alright, it was only wrapping hands - but still!). He tries not to blush as Henry eyes him.
“Oh?” he asks. Alex does his best to wrap his wrist tightly but not too tightly.
“They're super distracting. Maybe that’s why I can’t wrap my hands properly,” Alex hedges. “They’re all I can think about when I try to wrap my own.” He bites the inside of his cheek as Henry’s hips jerk forward, his head tipping back as he laughs. Alex tries not to let out the little noise in the back of his throat and instead concentrates on feeding the material through his fingers.
“Really?” Henry grins, not meeting Alex’s eyes. There’s definitely a blush on his cheeks now, totally at odds with the cool, calm and collected person he had come across as on the TikTok. Alex realises he prefers this Henry – the real one. With the sweet smile and the predisposition to blushing.
“They were … something else,” Alex tells him, searching Henry’s expression as his flush deepens.
“They were a bad idea,” Henry confesses as Alex wraps his wrist.
“Oh?”
“Pez thought it would be a great way to get the gym some promo but they, errr, reached a much wider audience,” Henry says diplomatically. “I had people coming into the gym that clearly weren’t coming for the boxing classes. I had to take all mentions of the gym off my Tiktok profile and take a step back from the gym’s Instagram after that.”
A weird feeling spreads through him; he doesn’t like the idea of people ogling Henry. Not at all. “You have to know the effect you have on other people,” Alex says eventually, his tone teasing as he puts the finishing touches on the wrap. “Those TikToks are diabolical,” he accuses as Henry inspects his wrist.
Henry’s lips twitch. “I’m not interested in knowing the effect I have on other people,” Henry tells him, his eyes meeting Alex’s. “I’m more interested in the effect I have on you, which …” he glances down finally acknowledging the bulge between them, “Well…”
“I hate you,” Alex tells him without heat, watching eagerly as Henry shifts.
“Is that so?”
“No,” Alex admits readily as Henry’s unwrapped hand skims across the elastic band of his gym shorts. His breath hitches as the tips of his fingers dance over the coarse hair trailing from his belly button and down, down, down…
“You did a good job,” Henry compliments him, the instructor voice back. Soft yet authoritative. Expectant. Excitement bubbles inside Alex’s chest.
“Do I get a reward?” Alex raises an eyebrow up at the blonde man sitting astride him, doing his best to conceal his hopefulness. “Or is that it?”
“Is my praise not enough for you, Alex?”
Alex flushes. “I accept other forms of reward.”
“Hmmm,” is all Henry says for a moment. Then he uses his wrapped hand to push Alex back down flat, until his head is on the ground. The same hand runs lightly down his chest, detouring to brush through his chest hair and over his nipples. Alex shudders at the stimulation, the texture of the handwrap sending little shockwaves zinging under his skin. “Hands flat, Alex,” Henry instructs, his tone a fraction rougher.
Alex bites his lip but complies, placing his palms flat on the floor. His stomach flip flops, both aroused and curious about what intentions might be swirling around in Henry’s head. He strains his head up to watch Henry. His long blonde strands curl around his temples, eyes steady and cool as his hand retraces its path down Alex’s chest, the roughness of the wrap scraping lightly over each ridge of his abdominals.
“Can you be good for me?” Henry asks, pointer finger creeping under the elastic.
Blood rushes south. His skin heats as he nods quickly, fingertips digging into the mat to ground him. “I can be good,” he croaks out.
Henry shifts above him, sliding down Alex’s gym shorts and letting his co*ck spring free. Alex squeezes his eyes shut; his co*ck aches with need, sensitive to the cooler gym air. Henry readjusts over him, the weight of his body pinning Alex’s hips to the mat. It turns him on more than he could have ever anticipated.
His eyes fly open at the sound of Henry spitting into his palm. Alex watches hungrily as Henry applies his saliva to Alex’s co*ck; bites his lips as it dribbles down his length and pools at his base. Then Henry’s hand closes around him properly and he moans inadvertently, the sound long and tortured as Henry’s grip tightens. His left hand is callous-free and soft, and runs up the front of his shaft in a piano-playing motion that makes Alex see stars.
“Henry-” Alex says, his fingers fluttering by his sides. He’s torn between admiring his careful, capable hands working him over, or watching the veins in his forearm pop and his biceps tense. Every inch of him is beautiful, carved from pale marble. Alex so badly wants to touch him; to dig his fingernails in and pull him closer. “You’re so f*cking hot-”
“Christ,” Henry says, voice tight. His thumb runs over the head of Alex’s co*ck, swiping up the steady stream of pre-cum before swirling it around the circumference of the tip. Alex swears loudly as the pleasure pulses white-hot, a shudder running down his legs. Henry repeats the motion, his eyes on Alex’s as his body sings.
“f*ck,” he manages, “Henry, Henry-” he whines loudly, too lost in the sensations to worry about the desperation in his voice and the echo of the gym. “f*ck-”
“Colour?”
“Green. So f*cking green.” Henry smiles at that, but not in that usual, soft way of his. This smile is predatory.
“Let me make you feel good,” Henry tells him firmly. He spits on his hand again, the sight and sound so erotic Alex’s breath hitches. Beside him, his right hand twitches and before his brain can tell him no he’s reaching out to touch.
Before he can so much as blink, strong fingers wrap around his wrist and hold him in place. Henry fixes him with a stern look. “Be good, Alex. Keep your hands down. Can you do that for me?”
Alex whimpers. No. He trembles with need. “Yes,” he says instead. “Please,” he adds in a small voice, squirming around and lifting his butt slightly to sit on both of his hands.
Blissfully, Henry’s hand returns to him. His left hand pumps him gently, and then strokes from base to tip. Alex whimpers again as Henry’s right hand closes around his base, the sensation unlike anything he’s ever experienced. Smooth fingers and rougher cotton slide up his length. The moment his right hand uncloses, Henry’s left hand is upon him again.
Henry’s ministrations leave him dazed and leaking profusely, precum sliding down his length and over Henry’s fists and the wrap. “Getting yourself all messy for me?” Henry asks with a ghost of a smirk, hands never stopping their torturous slide.
“Henry-” he says through gritted teeth. He can’t find it himself to feel an ounce of embarrassment; Henry might just be a handjob god, sent down from heaven specifically to torture horny bisexual half-Mexicans named Alex. “f*ck. f*cking Christ. You’re f*cking insane-”
The cotton grazes over his slit and Alex groans at the feeling, pain and pleasure blurring. Henry continues anyway, methodically teasing Alex as ecstasy builds inside him. He must read Alex’s body closely, for the moment Alex starts to converge on his org*sm he closes his wrapped hand around his base and squeezes lightly.
“f*ck!” Alex yelps, blinking back tears. Henry’s grip is warm and firm, pumping him as he uses the thumb on his left hand to softly touch his frenulum and flick it from side to side. “I’m so close,” he gets out, “f*ck, your f*cking hand. f*cking handwraps-” his body shudders against his will, teeming with tiny sparks as Henry’s hand continues its steady rhythm. “Please, Henry. I’ve been good. I’ve been so f*cking good. Please-” The begging bursts out of him, desperation filling each plea.
“You can take it,” Henry murmurs to him encouragingly. “You’re doing so well. So well.”
Henry makes an “o” with his thumb and pointer and rests it at his base, and closes his left hand around the remainder of his shaft. Alex watches, entranced, lip caught in his teeth, as Henry moves his hands in tandem, the pressure just the right side of perfect. Henry doesn’t stop as Alex’s body begins to tremble, determination evident in the set of his mouth.
Alex squeezes his eyes shut and digs his fingers into the mat beneath him, gasping and shaking as the wave crashes inside him and that warm, euphoric feeling explodes. A moment later - or maybe several moments later, Alex isn’t quite sure - come is coating his stomach and Henry has pumped him through the aftershocks, leaving him feeling positively molten and quite frankly stupid. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth and his body tingles.
“f*cking Christ,” he manages. He goes to remove his hands from under himself.
“No,” Henry commands. Alex freezes and tilts his head up, his heart in his throat. f*ck, this man is going to be the death of him. “Keep still.”
“But-” Alex whines, sticking his bottom lip out and pouting. He’s practically on the verge of insanity here, desperate to grab at Henry and curl his hands into his hair. Dying to kiss him until he can’t breathe. “I wanna touch you too-” his jaw slams shut as Henry peels his shirt off and throws it in the same direction as Alex’s. His shorts follow, pulled down to his knees, his co*ck long and flushed red.
God. Every inch of him is perfect. Broad shoulders … round pecs with pebbled pink nipples Alex yearns to lick and suck at … a firm stomach with a small trail of golden hair. Alex’s body screams to close his hands around Henry’s tapered waist or to dig his fingernails into the meat of his thighs. But he doesn’t. Because he’s good. He needs to be good for Henry.
He practically short circuits as Henry places his left hand next to Alex’s right ear and leans over him, caging him in the curve of his body. Long blonde hair curtains his face and his bee-stung lips part in a small “o” as he takes himself in hand and pulls, wrist twisting. Distantly, Alex is aware of heavy breathing; he thinks it might be him. Then he realises it’s both of them; Alex with desire as he watches Henry get himself off with the hand they had wrapped together, and Henry with pleasure.
Arousal makes his face even prettier; dark eyes and furrowed brows, fluttering eyelashes and twitches of his jaw as the feelings build inside him. Alex watches as his body trembles, admires as his hand speeds up its rhythm and the swell of the bicep of his supporting arm. He imagines the rough cotton on just the right side of too much on Henry’s sensitive skin as he f*cks forward into his own fist.
Henry gasps out a warning, his eyebrows scrunched together. Impulsively, Alex opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue as Henry’s org*sm crashes into him, ropes of come painting Alex’s chest and stomach as Henry huffs a laugh. Stray droplets land on his tongue, salty and slightly bitter. He finds he actually likes it, though whether or not it’s simply because it’s Henry, he doesn’t quite know.
“f*ck,” he says eloquently. The mixture of their come splattered across him is enough to make his spent co*ck twitch in interest. He squirms to finally free his hands, wanting to touch … maybe even taste, curious and eager to experience one more new thing with Henry.
But Henry is way ahead of him. He shuffles backwards, mouth hovering above Alex’s groin. For a moment Alex thinks he’s going to suck him until he’s hard again. Then he sticks his tongue out and, in one broad stroke, licks up Alex’s stomach, collecting their come on his tongue. Transfixed, Alex watches those blue eyes and flushed face descend upon him.
Their mouths meet and the salty, bitter taste he had sampled before explodes on his taste buds. Henry’s kiss is warm and feverish, but his lips are velvet soft. They moan simultaneously, the sounds lost in each other’s mouths as their tongues slide together. Their hips press flush, Alex’s co*ck twitching again at the brush of their groins and the heat of Henry’s body.
Hands finally allowed to be free, Alex reaches up and threads his hands into silky smooth hair. It’s even longer than what it was when they had first met almost two months ago, and he relishes in finally being able to take his fill. He scratches lightly at his scalp before knotting his fingers, pulling lightly and grinning as Henry moans into his mouth.
“You,” Alex states when he draws back, “Are full of surprises.”
Henry grins down at him, his lips still inches from Alex’s own. His thumb glides along Alex’s jaw. “Let me clean you up?”
Alex swallows hard. “Yeah?” his eyes flit down to Henry’s mouth where the mixture of their come and saliva shines across his lips and chin in the fluorescents of the gym.
“I meant a shower, God you are incorrigible.”
“Then don’t incorrige me.”
Henry huffs a laugh into the space between them before he leans down and kisses him once more for reasons Alex can’t entirely fathom.
