Archive of Our Own ^beta

 

It’s quiet in the car with Curly, the way it always is with Curly, as they drive, and Henry wants to lay his head back against the headrest, close his eyes, but this is the first time he’s ever really gone past the town limits and he wants to watch as the sign races by.

It’s a hot enough night, as most nights are, that they have the windows down, and the wind breezes through Henry’s hair. The sun is just dipping behind the treeline, and with Curly singing along, off-key, to the upbeat pop song crackling through the car’s speakers, Henry feels strangely content.

Not at all like he’s about to head into the most infamous vampire bar for miles.

He tugs a little at the shirt Curly has him in. It’s not uncomfortable, just a little tighter than he’s used to, which he supposes is the point.

It’s not even like he’s going for…that. Henry just wants a night out, away from his life and his job and his routine, away from the town where everyone either knows him as the Sheriff’s son, the Mayor’s kid, or the waiter at Granny’s bar. When Curly had suggested this place, it had felt just unhenry enough to do the job.

He’s actually a little excited. Nervous, too. He doesn’t know how strict vamp bars are, for one, and he’s never even used his fake ID in a regular place before.

“Please stop that,” Curly whines a little, breaking off her singing to look imploringly at him. “You know how good you smell when you get nervous.”

“No, I don’t actually,” He reminds her, choosing not to be unnerved by the hunger dimming back away in Curly’s eyes because it’s easier than the alternative.

Henry hasn't met any other vampires, but Curly has got to be the least intimidating he could ever imagine, with her birdbone frame, swinging bare feet, her off-key singing, and her propensity for curling into Henry's side and humming happily. All of which, as well as the occasional comment, is how Henry knows she's actually the most terrifying creature he will ever meet.

He’s known from day one, really, ever since she walked into Granny’s bar a few months ago and ordered a Tru Blood, only to catch his wrist lightly in her hands as he set it down, offering to taste, you smell really good, and Henry had nearly done it. Not because he particularly wanted it, or even because she glamoured him or whatever it is she calls it, which for some reason just doesn’t work on Henry. But because Curly’s eyes were bright and sparkling, because her smile was inviting, her hair pretty, but mostly because Henry couldn’t hear a single thought in her head.

He hadn’t, in the end, because there are some things that Henry just doesn’t do, but she came back the next night, and the next, chatting to him. Never offered again, and it took Henry a while to realise she was trying to be his friend.

So Curly might just be the most terrifying person Henry’s ever cared about, but he likes her, and she likes him, and he doesn’t have to work hard to block out everything she thinks. Around Curly, he can relax.

He gets a little tense again when they get further into the city, the clamour in his head rising again before he pushes it back, practised after nineteen years, and again when Curly stops them against a dingy chain-link fence, beside what seems to be a small warehouse and an entire crowd of people.

An entire crowd of people dressed a lot differently to Henry. All he can see is the shine of leather and swinging chains, bright colours cuffed around wrists and a lot of black. Curly’s in black too, he realises now, a floaty summer dress settled about her knees as she puts the car in park, but a black one. He pulls at his shirt again. He doesn’t think he could wear some of the outfits the crowd are wearing - he has trouble sometimes in his Granny’s uniform let alone what some of these people are wearing - but he feels a little out of place even in the car.

Curly bats at his hand a little. “If you don’t leave it alone, I’ll take it off you,” She tells him pertly, completely serious when Henry stares at her in horror, before she cackles, face splitting into a wicked grin. Henry pulls a face at her. “You look fine, Henry. Just little less Storybrooke than usual, that’s all. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

It is, it is, Henry’s just. He’s nineteen, he’s never been past the town limits before, spending time with Curly is the most rebellious thing he’s ever done in his life and he’s about to push it that one step further. Whatever contentment he was feeling earlier is gone in the face of his rising panic.

“Hey.” Curly’s voice is gentle the way it so rarely is, because Curly is caustic wit and spiky laughter, everything Henry doesn’t know how to be and loves, but now she’s holding his hand. Henry breathes a little better under it. “Don’t make me eat you,” She says, just as gently, and Henry can’t help his snort of laughter.

“Oh my god, Curly,” He grins, and his nerves don’t ebb away, but they lessen a little under his laughter.

Curly shrugs, feigning seriousness for the half second she can manage it before her lips turn upwards again. “You don’t want to leave, do you?” She asks, and she says it like a challenge.

Henry’s never been able to back down from a challenge in his life.

“No,” He says, firm. “I don’t.”

“Good,” Curly says, and she leans across the middle of the car to rest her head against his shoulder, the hold she has on his hand sliding so their fingers are entangled. Curly’s skin is never quite as cold as he expects - heated by blood, she told him when he was brave enough to ask, same as you, just a little less that's all – but the soft-looking pads of her fingertips are deceptive. Even like this, Henry can feel the power in them. But they just rest with Henry’s comforting and quiet, until he’s ready to move.

He’s known Curly for three months now and he’s certain there’s no one in the world like her.

“Ready?” She asks after a minute or two of silence, rocking her head back to look at him, and she smiles up at him, nose scrunched.

“Ready,” He promises, and he almost means it. Which is good enough.

“Thank god,” Curly says, grinning, gifts him a kiss to his cheek before she’s moving away. “Peter’s been bugging me for years to come and check out his place. I think he’d try and kill me if he found out I’d been all the way to the front door just to turn around.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.” Henry resists the urge to fiddle with the hem of his shirt one final time and follows Curly out of the car.

The gravel crunches beneath his feet. The summer evening air is warm on his skin. The fading sun has everything lit in a pale orange. And Henry Mills is going to a vamp bar.

He can do this.

He can do this because he can feel it in his chest, suddenly. It’s not the blissed contentment he felt on the drive out of Storybrooke, but neither is it the icy panic he felt at arriving. It’s excitement. The same excitement he felt at watching the wooden You Are Leaving Storybrooke sign rush past him, at agreeing to Curly’s suggestion in the first place, at becoming friends with Curly at all. He’s doing this.

It must show in his face because Curly grins at him over the car, at his side in the next second. “There we are. You know, for a teenager you’re a bit terrible at this whole rebellion thing.” She digs a pointed elbow into his ribs, annoying and endearing, and Henry squirms in her grip.

“My best friend’s a vampire and I’m sneaking into a vampire club with a fake ID,” He reminds her, but she pulls a face.

“That’s nothing. Remind me to tell you about my rebellious youth one day,” She says as they approach the crowd Henry found so daunting earlier. It’s still a lot to take in, but for different reasons now.

Now, Henry can hear the clamour of thoughts, sex and blood and need. It’s different to the thoughts he usually overhears because he just can’t help it sometimes. They’re a lot more frantic, desperate, almost scratching at his head even as the crowd itself is calm enough, and Henry’s reminded of a flowing river with a raging current beneath.

He winces a little and tries to push it down. Curly pats a little at his arm in understanding and he focuses on the silence of her, pulls it around himself until he can think straight again.

He can’t remember making the decision to tell Curly, to trust her with something only his moms know for definite, he just did. Too thrilled with finding someone he couldn’t hear, too excited, too curious. Henry’s always jumped without looking twice and he did it again with Curly, even knowing what she was.

Curly’s the most dangerous person he’s ever met, but he doesn’t regret trusting her. Not when she rests her head on his shoulder again, rubs at his arm.

“It’ll be less inside,” She offers, before she clearly decides on something and pulls him out of the line and to the front.

There are grumbles as Curly strides her way to the front in her ridiculous heels, Henry behind her, but they’re all out loud, Henry’s mental guards back in place. He has enough of himself back to pay attention to what Curly’s doing, which is apparently arguing with the girl at the door in hurried vampire whispers.

Henry takes the opportunity to tilt his head back, take in the outside of what is definitely an old warehouse. Then again, Henry doesn’t go to clubs, well, ever. Maybe this is just what they are.

For all that it’s clearly been repurposed, it doesn’t look dingy like the parking lot, or abandoned like the surrounding buildings. The paintwork that Henry took to be solid black upon arriving is actually a dark, dark, green, and the closer he looks the more he can see shapes in the paint. Vines. The walls are painted to look like vines.

There’s a sign above the door in elegant font and Henry’s reminded distinctly of his old storybook that still sits on his shelf, the one he gets out and flicks through when he’s feeling down or just come off a particularly awful shift, when he reads Neverland. Somehow, he doesn’t think he’s supposed to get that feeling, something like comfort settling in his chest when he reads it, but he does.

“And I will certainly be informing your boss that you tried to keep his favourite progeny out of his establishment.” Curly’s voice, back at human levels and speed again, brings Henry out of it. He catches sight of Curly’s haughty expression, the girl at the door’s suddenly uneasy frown, and he knows what she’s about to do before she does it.

They step through the now unclipped ropes and Henry can feel Curly’s smugness radiating off of her as she opens the door for him.

“You’re not really going to, are you?” He asks, because it’s not the girl’s fault that they weren’t on her list and just too impatient to wait.

“You are much too nice, Henry,” Curly says, and Henry doesn’t hear whether or not she actually is going to report the girl outside because he’s looking around the club they’ve just walked into and

Henry doesn’t know what he expected, but he doesn’t think it was this.

Maybe he expected, well, what was expected. Deep reds and slashes of black, candelabras and chains, maybe, coffin paraphernalia and crosses, which he already knows don’t work but still. Leather-clad bartenders surrounded by walls of mirrors, anything that would scream vampire.

It’s nothing like any of that.

It’s dark, the same painted tangles of vines that Henry spotted outside climb the walls around them, but everything’s lit by constantly moving flashing lights that border on neon in places casting flickering shadows and sudden lights across everything until it all looks unearthly around them. Even things Henry recognises as tables and stools look distinctly Other.

There’s music, obviously, and it’s loud enough that the low buzz of human thoughts dotted around the club are dimmed beneath it. Henry relaxes a little, allows the buzzing to mingle into background noise, a side effect he should have expected but didn’t. Curly must feel his sudden sense of ease because she leans into him, squeezes his arm.

“Better?” She checks, the music in the entrance/bar area still at a level low enough to allow talking, and he nods absently, still looking around.

It’s still overwhelming, even without the gnawing presence of other people’s minds, and it's the kind of dangerously welcoming that reminds Henry of Curly's smile. Something about this place makes him want to give himself over to it, and that idea sends thrills up his spine.

"What to do you think?"

The voice is low, and Henry doesn't know how it cuts through the clamour of noise and music and voices and thoughts, but it does, as if it's been whispered close into Henry's ear and Henry gets the sudden intense instinct to tilt his head backwards, bare his neck.

Beside him, Curly shrieks a little in excitement, and the sudden sound pulls Henry out of the sensation somewhat, her spinning in a blur and throwing herself at someone behind them even more as he follows her, turns. He blinks a little, as if coming up from underwater.

He can't make out the face of the guy holding Curly up, one arm around her back and other hand in her hair, because he’s hugging her so tightly, blonde head buried in her neck, clutching a little at her, like Curly’s something precious to be held.

Henry doesn't know who he is, but he already likes him for that.

One day he'll figure out how Curly does it, ensnares the hearts of people so easily, so quickly. Then he thinks of the reactions of people in town, his moms when they found out who Henry had been spending his time with, and thinks that maybe it's only the people Curly finds to be worth it. He doesn't know how he ended up being one of them, but he's glad Curly pulled him into her orbit.

He's impressed, actually, with how well this guy is dealing with a Curly attached to his hip, but when he pulls back, grins up at Curly and says "Been a long time, Curls," Henry finally sees his face and understands. He's the same kind of stunningly attractive that Curly is, inhuman, and Henry's eyes tell him vampire even before the silence of his thoughts do.

“Too long, Felix, much too long,” Curly agrees, gifting him a kiss on his cheek before she slides back to her feet. The smile on this Felix's face is soft, happy as Curly kisses him, and Henry feels like he’s intruding to see it. But he can't quite make himself look away quick enough, caught out when Felix's head turns, smile disappearing, taking Henry in for the first time.

Henry's breath hitches.

He's been around Curly long enough to know the intensity of a vampire's gaze, ancient and seeing sometimes in a way she usually manages to mask, and every time he catches sight of it, it reminds Henry of the monster he's befriended so completely.

It's never felt like this.

Felix's eyes are stormclouds, intense and dark, and they're focused on Henry right now so utterly that Henry feels like electricity is coursing through him, up and down his spine, like fingertips. He feels caught, held, in a way he never has with Curly, and he doesn't quite feel that same urge to tilt his head back again, offer his neck, but it's something similar to it. Instinctive, singing in his chest.

Even under Felix’s gaze, searing and inquisitive, Henry can feel his face flushing hotly. He ducks his head to hide it and pulls in some air, suddenly aware of the fact that he definitely just stopped breathing for a few moments. His flush deepens impossibly into an embarrassed blush.

Fuck. Five minutes in a vamp bar and he's already making an idiot of himself.

Only when he looks back up, Felix’s gaze still hasn’t broken, lingering now at the flush on Henry’s neck, his lips, before returning to his eyes once more, and there’s the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips. Not the same as when he was smiling at Curly, but there all the same, slow and honeyed. “You brought a friend,” Felix’s mouth moves, still curving up at the edges, and it takes Henry a half second longer than it should rightly do to register the words spoken low and soft, only manages it because Felix finally looks away to question Curly.

Curly’s expression is almost unreadable but for the eyebrow she arches at Felix. “Felix, this is Henry,” She says dryly before she smirks, delighted, at Henry and Henry would really love for the floor to open up right now. “Henry, Felix.”

Henry’d say it was a trick of the light but he thinks Felix licks his bottom lip, turning back to Henry. He gets the feeling he should probably be more nervous than he is right now, captured in a vampire’s stare, but he can’t bring himself to manage it. It’s not hunger in Felix’s eyes when he looks at Henry, not in the way Curly sometimes gets around him, shiny and fevered. It’s something else entirely.

Henry’s been hit on before, he knows what it feels like. It’s pushy and it’s loud and there’s the constant overlap of thoughts and speech that Henry can barely distinguish between because both feel like they’re reaching out and grabbing at him, making his head buzz in panic, and there’s a reason he’s never dated anyone before, okay.

All he can hear now is silence.

"Nice to meet you," He hears himself say, and definitely doesn't imagine it when Felix's eyes drag over him, small smirk still playing about his lips.

"Likewise."

“Where’s Peter?” Curly says and Henry could kiss her with how her voice bleeds reality back into him.

"Around," Felix says, teeth bared in a laugh when Curly rolls her eyes. "Head in, I'll send over some drinks."

“Excellent.” Curly slips her arm back through Henry's and it's an anchoring, pulling him back down to earth and further into the club. He can feel Felix's eyes on him the whole way.

"Shut up," He mutters before Curly can say anything, and takes in the open space of the rest of Neverland.

It’s heaving with bodies, dancing to the rise and fall of the music, and in the flickering lights they’re pulsing. Henry feels drawn in like the pull of the tide. He’s never been to a club of any kind before, but he can’t imagine that they’re like this usually, this hypnotic.

He looks down at Curly and she’s grinning, teeth sharp and eyes sparkling, the dangerous way she gets sometimes, delighted, but when she rests her head on his shoulder, sighing happily, it’s gentle. “C’mon,” She says, looking up and meeting his gaze. “I need to find Peter and then we can dance.” She smiles, and the creature is veiled again behind the excited girl she so often is.

At the opposite end of the dance-floor, on a raised platform, a large empty chair stands, wooden and throne-like, and Curly heads straight for it, pulling Henry behind her through the crowds. Henry’s caught between following her and staring around him at the people on the dance-floor around him, transfixed.

He snaps out of it when Curly drops his hand, twirls and settles herself on the throne. Up close, Henry can see the way it’s carved, like it’s been crafted from an ancient tree stump, and Curly looks right in it, her bright red hair tossed behind her and her green eyes trained on the crowds, searching.

“Curly!” He still hisses, and she waves him off.

“Fastest way,” She says, grins up at him and doesn't explain as she plants her arms along the armrests, grips at the edges of the throne happily.

Henry's learnt not to question Curly when her feet kick sweetly and her smile turns soft, waiting.

He becomes aware of a presence behind him, hairs rising on the back of his neck, just before Curly beams, exclaims, "Peter!" and Henry turns to finally see the vampire Curly's been talking about all week.

He looks young, just a few years older than Henry himself, bright green eyes youthful and his smirk delighted as he looks at Curly. But there's something there, an electricity which reminds Henry once again of stormclouds, powerful and ancient, that makes Henry's breath catch, almost awed.

This is the oldest creature in this place. This is Curly's Maker.

"Catherine," Peter drawls, admonishing, and his face lights up in a grin when Curly scowls. “That’s mine.”

“It’s ostentatious.”

“It’s still mine.”

“An eyesore.”

“Curly,” Peter bares his teeth, still human but sharp, glinting in the lights. Henry blinks and Curly’s up, snarling back into Peter’s face, face hard and wild, like Henry only rarely sees her, and Henry’s watching two dangerous creatures square off against each other, doesn’t know what it means when he feels a thrill of fear up his spine and still can’t tear his eyes away.

Then, Peter’s face splits back into a delighted grin. “Oh, I’ve missed you, love,” He laughs, picking Curly up by her hips and spinning her as she giggles, face soft once again, and Henry could get whiplash from watching these two together.

“As you should,” Curly says, pecking a soft kiss to Peter’s lips before he places her back onto her feet, arms still around each other, and somehow it’s even more private than Curly and Felix. Henry feels like he’s watching lovers as their heads bend together, or father and child, in their closeness.

Peter kisses Curly again, light, her lips and her cheek, before he releases her. "And this is?" He asks, forehead touching Curly's, and Henry doesn't realise who he's talking about until his eyes lift, find Henry's over Curly's head.

Where Felix was overwhelming, Peter's gaze crackles, electric, raises the hairs on Henry's arms, the back of his neck.

"This is Henry," Curly spins in Peter's arms, and Henry's never seen her look so content anywhere else before. "He's the whole reason I finally decided to check out your bar."

Henry feels his face flood with colour at the look he gets at that from Peter, considering maybe or assessing, along with a small smirk. "Is that so?" He spins Curly out of his grip, steps closer to Henry, and he's looking at him...

He's looking at him the same way Felix was looking at him.

Which makes even less sense.

"Fuck," Peter's voice is low, awed, and he's looking Henry over as he says it, "You smell delicious."

Henry blinks. "Excuse me?"

"A compliment, I assure you," He murmurs, eyes dancing and wide, and he rocks closer, as if Henry's pulling him in.

"Peter," Curly's voice is low, an odd mix of amused and firm. "If you eat him I shall be very cross."

Henry didn't know it was possible for vampires to blanch, but Peter does. Doesn't step away from Henry, though. "A pity," He mutters, and his hand finds Henry's side, knuckles skating up, slow, rucking Henry's shirt up a few inches.

Henry shivers, electrified, and Peter's grin widens.

He steps back, and Henry feels the air flood back into the room.

Fuck

Is it going to be like this for every vampire he meets?

Curly presses one of the drinks that must have arrived while he was distracted into his hands and Henry focuses on the slide of it down his throat, the stickiness of the coke and the burn of what has to be vodka. He coughs a little in surprise and Curly shoots him a look over her martini glass of Tru Blood, before she follows Peter to one of the free standing tables dotted around the place.

"So, what do you think?" Peter asks, echoing Felix's earlier words, spreading his hands and leaning against the table.

"It's dark," Curly comments, smirking slightly when Peter's face falls into a scowl that looks almost petulant.

"I brought her into this world and this is how she treats me," He complains, heartfelt, at Henry, and Henry laughs at the mournful expression on his face. Whatever he was expecting from Curly's centuries old Maker, it wasn't Peter. He can't imagine anyone expects Peter.

Peter's face lights up in yet another grin at Henry's laugh.

"What do you think?" He asks, eyes on Henry, leaning forward again like whatever Henry has to say next will be the most interesting thing he's ever heard. It's not a common expression around Henry.

"Don't pick on Henry to stroke your ego," Curly scolds and Henry blushes again at the look Peter gives him at that.

"It's nice," Henry says anyway, regrets it as soon as it passes his lips because it's nice?! Who lets him say things?! "I mean. I like it here."

Peter's grin broadens. "Good," He says, murmurs, and his eyes flick down from where they're holding Henry's eyes, and he licks his lips. With Felix, Henry thought it was a trick of the light. With Peter, it's slow, deliberate, and Henry's eyes track the wet slide of his tongue without his permission.

Beside him, Curly tips the drink in her hand a little, the soft slick of synthetic blood spilling over onto her fingertips. “Don’t think much of the refreshments, though," She mutters pointedly, and Peter's hand darts out, fingers catching the streaks of Tru Blood trickling syrupy over her knuckles.

"Don't waste it, love. It's hideously expensive," He tuts, lifts his fingertips to his mouth and sucks. Just for a second, his eyes flash back to Henry's.

Henry takes a larger gulp of his drink.

Peter’s grin is dark, his eyes bright, as he drags his fingers out of his mouth. “I’m sure we can find you someone,” He offers, drawls, and gestures to someone Henry can’t see, beckoning. "If you'd like?" The question hangs in the air and even without her thoughts, Henry can almost hear Curly's indecision.

"It's fine," He says, to his drink first before he looks up at her and says it again, firmer. "I'll be fine. It's your night out, too."

"But we haven't even danced yet," Curly pouts, but she rests her head on his shoulder in what is already an apology.

Here's the thing. Henry knows Curly doesn't just survive on Tru Blood. She makes no secret of it, but if Henry doesn't ask, she doesn't tell. He did though, once, about a month after they became friends, curious in the way he doesn't know how not to be, and she'd smiled at him.

It's a smile he still thinks about, sometimes. There was something important about it, as if he'd affirmed something for her.

"I don't kill," She'd said, quiet, holding his gaze. "Not anymore."

"We can dance later," He promises, shaking off the memory, and smiles at her. "Go."

She presses up on her toes to kiss his cheek and he can feel the ridge of her fangs hard through the flesh of her lips. She must be hungry. "Won't be long," She sings, happy, and disappears through the crowds. Henry turns his head to follow her path, thinks he sees her find Felix again, and turns back to his drink, preparing to wait for her.

But even with Curly gone, Peter stays, forearms resting on the table. He looks at Henry intensely. "That doesn't scare you?" He asks, frowning in something close to confusion.

Henry blinks, and shrugs. "If I let myself get scared by every terrifying thing Curly does, it'd make being friends with her a little difficult," He reasons, takes another drink, but still Peter doesn't leave, even with his answer.

"Clever boy," He says instead, musingly, and there's something beneath it, something deeper, but Henry can't identify it. "You're not like most of the humans who come in here," He notes and his gaze changes, gets a little sharper, a little more searing. Henry feels likes he's being taken apart and examined. And there's no way Peter can know but for a second Henry feels almost sure of it.

"Can't imagine many of the humans in here are scared of vampires," He says instead, which isn't strictly speaking true; There's a thin undercurrent of fear in every mind in here, sex and need and adrenaline just overriding it enough.

"Not what I mean," Peter corrects, voice honey slow and soft, but doesn't explain as he continues to stare into Henry like he's searching for something. Then he blinks, and Henry has no idea whether he found it or not.

He goes to take another drink, only to find that he's finished it. Henry can feel the warmth of it settling in his stomach in counterpoint to the flush on his cheeks when Peter smirks at him.

"Let me take that," Peter offers, taking the glass from him, and his fingers close around Henry's, linger there for a long second. Henry's blush goes nuclear and Peter's smile widens as he breathes in deeply, green eyes darkening, before he slides the glass from Henry's grasp, hands it off to a passing waitress.

Henry nearly misses the low chuckle she gives, the sharp look Peter shoots her, in his distraction.

His blush intensifies past belief.

Peter's still holding onto his hand, fingertips drawing nonsensical patterns across the flesh, up across the sweep of his wrist and pressing at Henry's pulse for a loaded second. Henry watches his face, but it doesn't turn hard the way Curly's does when she's hungry, though his eyes are brighter than before.

"Would you like to dance?" Peter asks, smallest of smiles playing about his lips. "Seeing as how I left you without a partner."

"Oh." Henry can't stop the surprise in his voice. "You don't have to-"

"I'd like to." And the smile grows back into a smirk as he moves around the table, steps close enough to Henry that Henry has to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. He has the vaguest thought that he's baring his neck to a vampire here, but it's gone in the depths of Peter's voice as he murmurs, other hand finding Henry's hip. "If you'll have me." and he tugs a little at Henry.

It's not forceful, though Henry can feel the strength in Peter's grip regardless. It's coaxing, tempting, and Henry steps into it without thinking twice.

"Excellent," Peter grins, and it's close to a satisfied hiss as he leads Henry backwards into the writhing crowd, which almost seems to part for him as he walks. He doesn't take his eyes from Henry's face for one second.

Henry'd say he's never had anyone devote so much focus to him before, but the memory of Felix's gaze still burns.

Then both of Peter’s hands find his hips, pull him in, and Henry comes to a panicked realisation.

He doesn’t know how to dance.

…Well, it's not that he doesn't know. Move your feet, move your hips, keep rhythm, and don't step on your partner's feet. He's learnt well enough from Ruby and Ariel's talk at Granny's after a night out, laughing and leading Henry in a parody of a drunken grind during the slower shifts.

But...that's his only experience.

Peter must notice his sudden panic - Henry doesn't want to think about how; Curly had mentioned a particular scent which is just mortifying to think about - because he frowns a little. "Henry?" His voice is low enough that it sounds almost gentle under the club music.

Henry shakes himself firmly. "I'm okay, I just. I don't do this much." He doesn't know why he says it, something about Peter bringing the truth tumbling out of him, which is ridiculous because he's known Peter minutes, but Peter's frown lifts into a wicked grin at his words.

"Really?" He murmurs, and Henry'd think he's being made fun of if it weren't for the utter delight in Peter's eyes.

Still, he flushes a little more, but it lights a fire in his chest and he straightens his shoulders, steps closer, determined, hands going to Peter's shoulders. Peter's eyebrow quirks. "But I'm a fast learner." And he rolls his hips, because if he's going to do this he's going to do it right, doesn't break eye contact with Peter as he grins down at him, as if Henry's both surprised him and fulfilled his every expectation.

Peter’s hands dip, just a little, long fingers finding the swell of his ass and pulling Henry in so that his thigh is between Henry’s, and he rolls back. “Follow my lead,” He murmurs, and then they’re dancing, Henry is dancing in a vamp bar with a  god knows how old vampire and his panic is ebbing away as they move, replaced by a not unpleasant coiling in the pit of his stomach, spurring him on.

“Exhilarating, isn’t it?” Peter’s voice is almost a growl and the brush of his lips to Henry’s ear makes Henry shiver. He feels Peter’s mouth curve upwards in response before he pulls away, and doesn't know whether he means the dancing, the music, or the feeling of giving himself over to it that's misting through Henry's head, but Henry agrees.

“Is that why?” Henry doesn’t pant but he can hear the breathiness of his own voice, knows Peter can hear it too, feel it with how close they are. “Why you opened this place?”

“I opened Neverland to help in the promotion of human/vampire relations,” Peter laughs, his rote recitation a by-line Henry’s read a thousand times in every piece of media since vampires came out of the coffin, heard his moms repeat it dutifully in their lines of work. He laughs a little. Peter looks almost pleased. “Truthfully?” Peter quirks an eyebrow, waits for Henry’s nod. “When you’ve been around as long as I have, things can start to get a little boring. Neverland gives me something to do. Because this?” The S slips out on a hiss as he moves his hips in a dip that Henry follows easily. “This isn’t boring at all.”

Henry smiles before he can help it, pleased, and ducks his head to hide his blush.

“Fuck,” He hears Peter murmur above him, lifts his eyes to see Peter biting at his lip. "What are you?"

Henry doesn't have an answer, doesn't know what he is past a waiter at Granny's, son to the sheriff, adoptive son to the mayor, and just plain different, but he's distracted from answering when he looks around and finds himself being watched.

He's been being watched ever since Curly dragged him up to the throne, even more so since Peter brought him into the dance-floor, jealousy and confusion in the minds around him at Peter choosing him out of all the beautiful people here to choose from. But that's been second, third, bottom of Henry's list, barely noticeable in Peter's presence. Now he looks up, finds blue eyes watching him, watching them, from across the room, and feels razed.

His breath catches and he almost stumbles under the weight, the heat, of Felix's gaze.

"We," Peter drawls, turning them before he twists Henry in his arms, pulls him back against his chest with one hand on his abdomen, the other on his hip, and sets his lips to Henry's ear. Felix's gaze intensifies and Henry's sure he's smirking. "Have an admirer." Peter's teeth edge along the side of Henry's ear in a grin, and Henry's knees feel weak.

"Do you want to invite him over?" Peter breathes hot against his ear and Henry's suddenly certain Felix can hear from across the room, over the noise and music and commotion of the dance floor, the quiet timbre of Peter's question.

"Say you don't want this," Peter continues, low. "And we'll leave. Find Curly and you can continue your night. But I saw the way you looked at Felix." Henry can't even spare a thought to wonder how, his head filled up with disbelief at what Peter's offering, what Henry thinks he's offering. "The way you've been looking at me." Henry feels himself blush all over again, and Peter groans a little in his ear before he carries on. "And I know what's been going through my head as sure as I know Felix's."

They're barely dancing anymore, but there's still the slightest motion, circling a little, as Henry's mind races.

This doesn't happen to people like him.

"So, Henry, what do you want?"

Henry's never felt like this before, wanting and wanted, when all he can usually hear is the messy tumble of thoughts pushing at him, distracting him and warning him and ruining everything. He's never been able to press close to someone and not hear things he doesn't want to hear, never been able to focus on just the feel of someone pressed against him, the weight of someone's gaze, the quiet lovely sounds of their voice before. He's never been able to listen to just himself before.

He never wants it to stop.

"This," He says on a breath, truthful and firm. "Please."

Peter drops his head down so that his grin is being pressed into the crook of Henry’s neck, and he places what isn’t a kiss but Henry doesn’t know what else to call it, the open push of a mouth, at the skin there. “Felix,” He murmurs into Henry and Henry’s eyes dart back to Felix, see him shift just slightly, hearing Peter’s call. “Get over here.”

Felix's pace is steady, cutting through the crowds as he walks towards them as they continue to sway, Peter pressed against Henry's back, and Henry feels his breath stop somewhere near his ribcage. He feels dizzy with it, Peter so close and Felix's eyes not leaving his, getting closer, and he doesn't know what to call it as it fizzes in his veins, anticipation or excitement or god he doesn't know. Henry doesn't do this.

Except he is. Because Peter's fingers are playing at the strip of skin he's uncovered at the bottom of Henry's shirt, and Felix is there, in front of them, so tall and near, and Henry's breath rushes out of him.

"Hi," He says, narrowly avoiding a squeak, because he doesn't know what else to say. Felix's eyes flick behind Henry, to Peter, just for a second, and he smiles a little before he ducks his head, steps close to Henry.

"Hi," He murmurs back, voice that strange mixture of gravelly depths and sweet highness and it washes over Henry even as Felix runs the back of his knuckles against Henry's cheek, watching him closely. Then his hand drops. Presses over the one Peter has on his hip, thumb stroking lightly over his shirt, and he suddenly grins, wide, at Henry, the same delighted edge of madness smile Peter's been giving him all night, and falls into the sway Peter's still pulling Henry through.

"You got Felix on the dance-floor," Peter grins into Henry's hair, sounding close to impressed. "He barely even does that for me," And Henry can hear what has to be a pout in his voice.

Felix snorts quietly. It's fond, indulgent, and Henry suddenly feels like he's trespassing into something, as Felix rubs at his hip bones with his thumbs, as Peter moves the thigh he has back between Henry's in small teasing circles that has Henry biting down on his bottom lip. But despite that, Henry feels exposed almost, like he's in the entirely the wrong place even if his body is definitely disagreeing with him.

"Henry?" Felix asks, stopping, and behind him Peter stills too.

"What-" Henry starts, continues again when Felix waits, patient. "What are you two?"

It's clear enough in his voice that he doesn't mean vampires.

Behind him, Peter chuckles. "Is there a word?" He asks, and Felix smiles a little, that same fondness, love, radiating off him again. "Felix is my first," Peter continues, and his hands move on Henry's hips, turning him back to face him. Felix is grounding at Henry's back and Henry doesn't understand why or how he finds it so comforting but for now he just accepts it, listening to Peter. "I made Felix a long time ago and he's been everything to me. Felix is Mine."

Something about the way Peter says it, holds the word Mine in his mouth, sounds heavy, like there's a real weight to the word. It brushes at the edges of Henry's mind, like the way he hears thoughts, almost, but also not at all like that. It distracts him long enough that when he looks up, Peter and Felix are having a silent conversation above him using only various facial expressions and eyebrow movements that Henry can't even begin to follow.

Then Peter ducks a fraction, so he's at eyelevel with Henry, and his face is serious.

"Are you Curly's?" Peter asks, to Henry's confusion, and he's not quite smiling anymore. "I don't think so, but I have to check."

"Curly's?" Henry repeats, frowning, and Felix's long fingers slide under his shirt, soothing almost, tracing nonsensical patterns into the soft flesh there before pulling him back, tight against him. Peter crowds forward, and it'd be intimidating except for how it isn't.

"Do you," Peter says, slow, pressing the pad of his thumb against the side of Henry's neck, not too hard, just a light pressure against his pulse, and his gaze slides to where his thumb meets Henry's throat, turns dark. "Belong," His thumb slides up, finds the curve of Henry's jaw, and he moves it so that Henry's tilting his chin upwards, his head back. "To Curly?"

"I belong to me," Henry says, has been saying since he was ten years old, and Peter smiles at him. Henry's still now, as still as Peter who looks more inhuman under the flickering lights than he has all night like this, as still as Felix who presses open lips to the place where Peter's thumb rested seconds ago, over Henry's pulse. He has to focus to hear Peter's next words.

"Felix is mine," Peter reiterates, careful. "And I'm his." He pauses a little, his smile pulling fond at the corner of his mouth, as he looks past Henry, and Henry can feel Felix's mouth tilt upwards in a matching grin. "But would you like to be ours, for the night?"

And Henry doesn't understand at all, why anyone with Felix as theirs, or Peter, would waste their time with him. But, even despite the utter silence of Peter and Felix’s thoughts, Henry thinks that they are. For a wild second he wonders whether it’s all a trick, a game to pull him into some dark corner and drain him dry. But Felix’s hands are too gentle, Peter’s smile too real, nothing like the sharp lines Curly’s body falls into when she leaves Henry to hunt.

They, against all reason, want Henry.

And that might be even scarier.

But Henry nods. “Yes,” He says, because he does want it, wants it like he has never been able to want anyone before, and whatever panic is rising in him, is pushed down by Peter’s responding grin, the scrape of teeth at his neck from Felix in a matching smile, and Henry’s own swelling anticipation.

Peter tips his head back a final inch and doesn't hesitate. He kisses Henry in the middle of the dance floor. It's gentle, pressing, like Peter's making sure he doesn't scare Henry off, but it's not chaste. Henry's mouth opens to it in a hitch of breath, and he feels Peter smile into the kiss which is a strange but not unwanted feeling. He closes his eyes and presses back, because if he can grind on a dance floor with two vampires, then he can kiss one and give as good as he gets.

Even if it doesn't feel like he's just kissing one of them, as he rocks back into Felix.

Henry thinks, somewhere in the distance of his head that isn't giving over to the fog of overwhelming sensation, that they must have done this before, because Peter's hand threads into the back of Henry's hair, changing the angle of the kiss and allowing Felix the access to deepen his teasing kisses at the place where Henry's neck meets his shoulder. Something about that idea is almost comforting, somehow, as much as it's daunting.

Henry can barely remember the last time was kissed, and kissed well, and maybe he was fooling himself when he said he wasn't coming out for anything like this. His entire body is crying out to be touched, singing with Felix's insistent sucking kisses, responding like nothing else to Peter as he kisses and kisses and kisses him. With a sound Henry can't hear over the music but can feel deep in his chest, Peter breaks away and Henry licks his lips, wonders when precisely he wrapped his arms around Peter's neck. He looks up at Peter from under his lashes, waiting.

Peter's eyes have gone dark, and Henry can see the glint of fang between his lips before it's gone again. “What do you say we go somewhere a little quieter?” He whispers the final word against Henry’s mouth and nips at his bottom lip, sharp, pointed. Henry’s already weak knees nearly buckle, body flooding with new sensations.

Felix pulls Henry's hips back against him, holding him up a little as he nods, before he lets him go, hands sliding slow out of his shirt.

Henry’s feet move without his conscious instruction as Peter leads them both out of the swell of the crowd.

“Where-” He starts, because call Henry picky, but the idea of his first time being in a club bathroom isn’t exactly top of his list. Even if it would be with two insanely gorgeous creatures of the night, and how is this Henry’s life? But Peter smirks, knowing, and brings Henry back up by the large wooden throne.

It already feels like hours since he was last there, like he was someone else then too.

“Private rooms,” Felix murmurs in explanation as Peter pulls back one of the black curtains to reveal a door set into the wall. “Our rooms.”

Peter pushes open the door and steps aside, leaning against the jamb. He grins, awful and beautiful, and inclines his head. Without either of their hands on him, Henry feels adrift, at sea without anchoring, and it’s almost a stumble when he steps through, alone.

It’s dim in the space he’s stepped into. Like the unearthly flickerings of the dance-floor but muted somehow, leading, and he follows it, curious as ever, to see a long corridor littered with doors. He feels something jump in his chest, the need to explore and discover and know that he hasn't felt like this since he was ten years old, and when Felix follows him, hands back at Henry’s hips, as though he’s been waiting to but Henry had to take that step himself, it doesn't pull him back. The feeling only intensifies.

It chases up his spine like electricity and behind him, Felix inhales. It reminds Henry slightly of Curly, breathing him in and complaining with a petulant grin, and Henry stops short.

"I- Curly!" He doesn't know how long it takes Curly to, well, feed, but she's been gone about twenty minutes already. He can't imagine she'll be too pleased to come back and find him missing.

"I'll find her," Peter says quickly as Henry turns, catching his side and stepping close so Henry's pressed tight between the two of them again. "Talk to her." He grins, eyebrow quirking, and Henry feels both better and worse.

"Behave, Peter," Felix murmurs, grinning again from where Henry's sudden stop made him freeze, pushing it into the space behind Henry's ear. Curly leaves Henry's mind in a shudder.

"Do I ever?" Peter smirks and is gone before Henry even realises he's moving, door closing behind him with a quiet click.

"My turn." Felix bites it into Henry's ear, and Henry tips back into it, allows himself to be turned because Felix's hands are back under his shirt, knuckles skating up and down the small of his back as Felix noses at Henry's jaw, teeth tracing the skin there. Henry groans, head tilting back instinctively, but Felix catches him, hands disappearing from beneath his top to cup at Henry's chin and Henry's never been held like that before. He can feel the strength in Felix's hands, in the sweep of his thumbs across the line of Henry's cheeks, but Felix's touch is gentle, holding.

Unlike Peter, Felix does hesitate. Or maybe it's not hesitating, it's testing, making sure. He watches Henry for a moment, blue eyes searching and so focused that Henry feels full up with it. And that's probably where his boldness comes from, Felix's gaze, Peter's kiss, that dance, as he pushes up on his toes and presses his mouth to Felix's.

The change is instantaneous. Henry's back hits the wall, Felix's hands threading into his hair, and if that didn't knock the breath from him, the way Felix bites at his bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue really does.

Henry can't stop the sound he makes, needy and close to punched out, as Felix sips small kisses into his lips, each growing longer and heavier than the last. Felix smiles at his moan, keeps kissing him through it, and it's Henry who has to pull away, suck in air because he can feel himself going dizzy with it.

Felix's mouth smudges across his jaw, down his neck, and there's two very definite needlepoint sensations running across where his pulse is jumping and jumping until they disappear, Felix's mouth closing on a final chaste kiss to Henry's throat before he pulls back.

"Can I...?" Henry asks on a breath, because he can't not, because maybe he should be scared but all he can find is curiosity, anticipation. "Can I see?"

Felix cocks his head, frowning a little in blatant confusion, but he opens his mouth silently.

Fangs aren't an anomaly in Henry's world. Since vamps came out of the coffin, they've been used by every major advertising agency in the world. He's seen the case files his mom accidentally leaves in the kitchen. He's seen Curly's, when she's excited or particularly hungry.

Felix's fangs aren't anything he hasn't seen before, white and pointed, and a primordial thrill of fear races up Henry's spine, base instincts telling him that Felix is dangerous. But adrenaline chases in on the heels of it, taking the place of the air stolen from his lungs, and he reaches up, hand at Felix's jaw and thumb pressing at the plush of Felix's top lip, before he even fully realises.

Felix is still looking at him like he doesn't understand him, or like whatever reaction he was expecting, Henry didn't deliver. He catches Henry's hand, closes his mouth on his thumb in a kiss, and moves down the curve of his palm, his wrist. "What are you?" He murmurs, an echo of Peter's earlier words, and doesn't give Henry a chance to respond before he's kissing him again, slow.

It's not like kissing Peter on the dance-floor, need and noise and blood pushing around them. Here with Felix, it's quiet and breaths and Henry could stay here for the rest of his life and die happy. Which, y'know, is still a bit of a possibility.

"Our rooms," Felix says, pulling back an inch to speak before pressing back in, hands back on Henry's hips, holding him against the wall, and Henry can't imagine how but Felix is kissing him like he can't even help it. "Are this way," He finishes, and if Henry weren't sure it were impossible, he'd say Felix sounds breathless.

"Okay," Henry nods, getting his own breath back and when did he bury his fingers in Felix's hair? He bites on his bottom lip and untangles himself, blushing, but if Felix cares he doesn't show it.

Instead he takes Henry's wrist and leads him further down the corridor. Henry hand slides into Felix's before he even realises he's doing it, and he feels himself flush deeper, ridiculous. But before he can move his hand away, Felix's fingers lace with his, gently. When he looks up, face still burning, there's the smallest smile tugging at the corner of Felix's mouth. Oh.

Felix leads him far enough through the corridors that the muffled noises of the club disappear completely, until all Henry can hear is his own breath, a little fast. He’s nervous. But before it can swell to anything, he’s being pressed against the frame of the door Felix was heading to and Felix is running a series of soft kisses up the curve of Henry's throat.

He barely notices when Felix opens the door behind him, walks him back inside, and Henry can’t hear a single thought in Felix’s head, but maybe Felix can hear him, because Henry’s not sure he would have been able to do it alone this time.

Then Felix turns him, hand still entwined with his and pulled across his waist, and Henry blinks.

It’s brighter in here than the corridor, but not by much. There are no windows, obviously, and the small lights around the room light up the walls in strange spikes and shadows. It's neat, lived in, the detritus of two lives about the place that makes the room seem like a home. But all of that Henry only notices absently. He’s staring at the bed.

It’s enormous.

“Peter likes his indulgences,” Felix chuckles after Henry’s been awestruck for a long moment. “You should have seen the one I talked him out of."

"That bad?"

"That circular."

Henry laughs at that, turns to push up and catch Felix's mouth again. Felix ducks in to let him, kissing him hard enough that Henry finds himself clutching at Felix's shirt. He doesn't hear the click of the door, but he feels hands slip around his waist, lips at his neck, and the undeniable presence of Peter as he joins them.

"Started without me, I see." He bites it into Henry's ear and Henry breaks away from Felix with a whine. Felix's hands slide under his shirt, playing with the inches of warmtoowarm skin there, as Peter trails kisses up the side of his neck, the opposite to Felix earlier, and Henry feels his nerves come back to him in a rush.

"Do-" He starts, stops as Peter's lips find the back of his neck, drop a series of small kisses across the lip of his shirt. "Do you do this often?" He gets out, head tilting back unconsciously into Peter's ministrations, and he's looking Felix in the eye as Felix fingers his hem. "With- With a third?"

Felix hums thoughtfully and his eyes drop to focus on the inches of skin he's revealing as his fingers make slow work of Henry's shirt, before flicking back, scorching. "Not often."

"It's hard finding people we both really want." Peter murmurs against Henry's skin before he lifts his head. Felix does too and Henry can feel the heat of their gazes on each other, see Felix's grin and hear Peter's small chuckle. "We do okay by ourselves anyway," He continues and Felix snorts in amusement, presses forward and kisses Peter fierce over Henry until Peter's not laughing anymore, instead making needy sounds by Henry's ear, muffled by Felix's mouth.

Henry's pressed between two ridiculously attractive vampires who are making inhumanly amazing sounds, bodies moving and rocking, and he's ready to die right now. Peter's hands are clamped down on his hips, bruising, with the force he's kissing Felix, and the pressure makes Henry's eyes roll back into his head.

Felix pulls back, eyebrow quirked. "Okay?"

"Just about," Peter pants and when he settles back into the crook of Henry's neck, he's grinning. His teeth scrape the flesh there and Henry shivers.

"So why me?" Henry asks because he can't not.

Peter chuckles, but doesn't answer. "So curious," He drawls, a little amused but there's also something else there, something Henry can't quite put a name to. "Are you always this curious?"

Yes, Henry wants to say. "Just figuring out what this is," He says instead.

There's a beat, and Henry wonders if he's said the wrong thing, asked the one question that'll stop whatever this is in it's tracks, because he might nervous but, god, he wants this. Felix's fingers still where they're drawing nonsensical patterns on the soft flesh of his stomach - which doesn't feel so bad under Felix's touch - and Peter pulls away.

"This is whatever you want it to be," Peter tells him, quiet, and Henry could believe it, believe all of it, when he sounds like that, when Felix looks at him like this.

And he does. He lets it fill him up, sure, like a balloon swelling in his chest beneath his ribcage, tips his head back and seeks out Peter's mouth. Peter gives it to him, but only just, nipping sharper and sharper until he's tugging at Henry's bottom lip, biting hard enough to hurt, and Henry's never thought he'd like it but he's gasping into Peter's mouth, or maybe it's the way Felix is tormenting the curve of his throat as his hands push harder at Henry's shirt, verging on desperate.

It makes Henry feel like he has a power over them both that's all his own, and he's been special his whole life but he's never felt powerful before.

He loses his shirt. He protests for the way it takes Felix's mouth off him, the way it separates him and Peter, but then Peter reclaims him, harder, with something that's almost a growl, and Felix is ducking his head, mapping the planes of his chest. He bucks his hips, breaking away from a Peter with a groan and a wet sound that hits him in his chest, because Felix is closing his mouth around Henry's nipple, tugging the sensitive flesh between his teeth and sucking at the pinkening skin like there's nothing more he wants to be doing, utterly focused on his task as Henry whines above him.

"Fuck," He murmurs at the sight of him, and Peter hums an agreement before chuckling in his ear. Henry can feel him hard at the small of his back, every time he bucks, entirely new sensations sparking through him.

"I think Felix has something else in mind first, pet," He murmurs as Felix dips lower, sucking and biting at Henry until he stops, laps at Henry's navel. Henry's knees go weak and Peter's hands move to hold him up. Or at least, that's why Henry thinks, until Peter's thumbs take up where Felix left off, massaging the abused flesh there until it pebbles in the cold air Felix left behind, even as Henry feels heat like a second skin. "Though I think the bed...?" He trails off, and Felix looks up from where he's at Henry's hips, almost kneeling, through the blonde of his lashes, and he's gorgeous.

He stands again, and Henry's being hitched up around his hips before he even realises. He laughs, a little hysterically, and muffles it by kissing it into Felix, mouth open and breath hot, so mindless that it knocks all thought from Henry's head and he thinks it'll go on forever. Slightly too quickly, Felix moves them to the bed, still kissing Henry, and his mouth feels raw, slick, bruised. Where Felix's hands are gentle on him, his mouth is anything but, and Henry matches it, pushing back up at Felix until his jaw starts to ache.

Henry's head tips back when Felix trails biting kisses down his throat, his chest, only for his mouth to be caught again by Peter behind him, leaning over. But it's light, fleeting, more like an affirmation that Peter's there than anything else, before he’s moved, murmuring in Henry’s ear, “Gods it’s been too long.”

From where he’s back at Henry’s hips, sucking bruises into the skin there, Felix hums an appreciative agreement. Henry has to work hard to listen to Peter’s next words, vibrations running through him. “Because fuck I miss seeing Felix like this.” A grin gets pressed into the strip of flesh above Henry’s jeans, before Felix’s hand finally, finally, drifts to where Henry’s desperately trying to keep his hips from shifting. His breath hitches into a quiet noise at the sudden wonderful pressure, and Peter kisses at the space beneath his ear. “Seeing him make someone utterly helpless. He’s very good at it. It’s hard to appreciate when you’re coming down his throat.”

Henry chokes, and he’s not sure whether it’s Peter’s words or the sensation of fingers moving at the snap of his jeans, knuckles brushing against where Henry's hard, been hard since Felix was on his knees, since the corridor, since the dance floor, aching, and he hisses. His head is spinning, dizzy and terrified and so full of want that he doesn't know what to do with it, with this new ground, as Felix drags his jeans down his thighs.

And then there are fingertips slipping into his boxers, fast and firm, circling him warm and Henry’s gasping. He lifts his head and it’s Peter’s hand on him, curled and stroking, slow, as Peter watches him. His eyes are alight.

Felix makes a noise close to growling. It shudders through Henry in tandem to Peter’s hand and his eyelids flutter. “Peter,” He chastises against the material of Henry’s underwear, against the curve of Peter’s hand.

“Don’t be greedy, Fee,” Peter laughs, ducks down and catches Felix’s mouth, tongue and teeth and two mouths that know each other so well. Henry can hardly stand it, even as Peter keeps moving his hand over Henry at a maddeningly slow pace.

Then Peter hisses, pulls back, and there’s blood beading at the corner of his lip. “Fucker,” He mutters, still grinning, and slides his hand out of Henry’s boxers to catch the trickle of red with the pad of his thumb.

Henry’s so bereft without his hand on him that he almost misses the unfathomable look Peter shoots him, sharp and considering almost, before he sucks the blood away.

Henry barely has time to process that look, past the way Peter’s mouth looks closed around his thumb, before his body is curving like a bow into the hot wet heat of Felix’s mouth as Felix swallows him down, all the way in one enthusiastic, humming, go, and Henry’s shouting, his hands fisting in the sheets.

He can’t even try to keep his hips still. Every coherent thought is wiped from his head in an electric storm of sensations and heat and Felix, Felix, Felix.

He doesn’t realise he’s repeating Felix’s name out loud until he stops, voice choking out as Felix takes his time moving back, cheeks hollow and tongue flicking at the underside of him.

“You’re so receptive, pet,” Peter’s voice bleeds in, and the rest of the world bleeds back in with it; the bed his hips are rising and falling against, the sheets he’s hanging onto like he’s about to slide off the edge of the world, Peter’s hands pressed to his shoulders, holding him down, holding him here with them. “It’s beautiful.”

Henry can’t answer; Felix is repeating himself, rhythm growing faster and faster, driving himself onto Henry and fingers tightening where they’re at his hips, like all he wants to do is this, do this to Henry, for Henry, loves doing it, and can’t get enough, moaning deep around him until Henry’s hands fly out, search for something and Peter catches them.

“Come on, pet,” He murmurs, lifts Henry’s hand and bites at the knuckle just as Felix makes a noise that has to be illegal in a dozen countries, and something that’s been building in the pit of his stomach, heavy and warm and bright, explodes into stars.

Henry closes his eyes to it and the darkness seems darker, more intense, but lit up as fireworks explode at the bottom of his brain cell, spreading along his skin to the tips of his curling toes, the arch of his spine.

He releases his bottom lip from where he’s bitten it ragged, opens his eyes, and breathes.

He opens his mouth. And closes it again.

Fuck.

He sucks in a breath as Felix pulls off of him and returns to lap small kitten licks across his sensitised flesh, dropping kisses across his thighs before nuzzling in and biting softly.

Henry freezes. The hand Peter has carding through his hair stills, and Felix raises his head to lock eyes with him. His eyes are electric and unfocused, his lips wet and reddened. He looks wrecked.

“Can I?” He asks, quiet, and his voice. Henry would say yes to anything asked in that voice.

He nods frantically, wanting with a need his orgasm has only intensified, and by his ear, Peter inhales sharply.

Felix drags his boxers the rest of the way to his knees, pulls them away with his jeans, slow, and doesn't break eye contact with Henry the whole way, watching him as if waiting for him to reconsider. When Henry doesn’t, can’t, Felix presses a closed-mouth kiss at the curve of his thigh, a little further down than he was kissing before, and, eyes not leaving Henry’s, he bites.

The pain of it slices through the now-receding fog of his orgasm, two pinpricks sliding into his flesh and holding, and Henry cries out a little. The hand he has on Peter’s clenches down and his hips shift, trying to get away from the sensation. Then Felix’s mouth closes the rest of the way, warm and wet, his tongue flicking out across Henry’s skin, and he sucks. Hard.

The edge of pain dulls, rolls back on itself and shifts into something closer to pleasure, and Henry gasps. It’s

Like nothing he was expecting. He can feel every inch of his body but all of it’s focused in on the few inches Felix’s mouth is on, working incessantly so Henry has no choice but to tip his head back as he feels rivulets of warm, wet liquid – his blood, his brain foggily gives him – run across the expanse of his thigh, escaping Felix’s mouth.

Henry’s heard about humans who get off on vampires biting them, heard the choice terms and phrases, but in the moments his mind has wandered to it and he’s ever considered the idea, none of it has exactly appealed to him.

But now he can hear his pulse rushing in his ear, feel his blood pumping through his veins to a rhythm he didn’t know he had, a rhythm Felix is setting, and it’s nothing like an orgasm, but he feels aware of his body in a way he never has, high on it.

Felix pulls back with a slick sound and Henry whimpers, honest to god whimpers, at the sight of him, his mouth and chin red, smeared, his eyes black.

Felix smudges bloody kisses across Henry’s thighs, his hips, and Henry’s still bleeding, he can feel it, but when Peter finally moves from where he was watching Felix, crawls to him, Henry can’t find it in himself to even begin to care.

This time, when Peter ducks down, Felix rises up to meet him, frenzied, and it’s because of Henry. Felix is frenzied with Henry.

And Peter isn’t so much kissing Felix as sucking every trace of Henry’s blood from Felix’s lips, pulling one between his teeth before pressing in to lick frantically inside Felix’s mouth. When Peter pulls back, chest heaving, he has red pushed across the corners of his lips.

“Fu-uck,” Peter moans, licking his lips and falling back onto his haunches from where he and Felix where pressed up on their knees against each other, over Henry. His eyes are closed. “Gods, Henry, you taste -“ He stops, and can’t seem to find the words. Then he opens his eyes and, suddenly, laughs.

Henry looks to Felix, confused, to find Felix already looking back at him, exasperated. It’s a tiny, meaningless thing, but it lights Henry up from the inside out.

Peter speaking brings them back to him. “I promised Curly we wouldn’t eat him,” He says on a laugh, eyebrow raising at Felix, who allows a small smile to curve at his mouth even as he shakes his head.

“You’re an idiot,” He tells him, and Henry has to try very hard not to laugh at the close to offended look on Peter’s face.

“Henry doesn’t think I’m an idiot. Do you, Henry?” As he asks, his hand drifts to the two puncture wounds on Henry’s thigh, pressing down a little, and the sudden lightness of the atmosphere from seconds before disappears again.

“N-No,” Henry gets out, laughter gone, because he really doesn’t want Peter’s hand to move away.

“Good boy,” Peter grins, slow and awful, and he stretches down to kiss at Henry’s bottom lip, teasing and sharp. His hand moves, but Henry’s too busy pressing up into the kiss, chasing something deeper than Peter’s maddeningly light presses, to notice.

Finally Peter gives it to him, and Peter's tongue tastes metallic, sharp. Henry's sucking his own blood out of Peter's mouth and he's moaning around it, Peter giving and giving and giving until it becomes taking and Henry's never felt so wanton in his life, never knew he could writhe beneath a body like he is, never expected anything like this.

Pressed like this, tight to the length of Peter, Felix at their side and apparently enjoying the show in rapt silence, Henry becomes very aware that he's the only one naked. The thought of how he must look, wrung out, bleeding, and nude, amongst the rumpled clothing of Peter and Felix has something warm burning in the pit of his stomach, thrilled at the idea, but it's not what he wants right now.

He tugs at the place where Peter's shirt is tucked into his pants, and Peter breaks away from him with a small chuckle.

"Easy, pet," He murmurs, still close enough that his lips ghost over Henry's, torture. "It's an expensive shirt."

"Then get it off before ah- it gets ripped," Henry retorts on a gasp, as Peter punctuates his sentence with a swift roll of his hips.

Beside him, Felix chuffs a breath of laughter before he presses up and bites at Peter's shoulder. "Do as he says, Peter," He says, quiet and amused, and when Peter moves back onto his knees, he ducks his head and kisses under the ridge of Henry's jaw, bites down testingly, before moving away again.

And Henry doesn't even have time to consider what that means, because Peter's long hands are fingering at his bottom button, slow. He's making a show of it and Henry doesn't know whether to laugh or to groan in frustration as the pale inches of Peter's skin are revealed at a torturously slow pace.

Then Peter's shirt is gone, discarded to the floor, and it's not the lines of his chest, the prominent V of his hips, that have Henry's attention.

It's the tattoos.

They're ancient. Henry can tell immediately. Two small thin black bands ride high on each of Peter's biceps, and they remind Henry of lost civilisations and their spiked markings on cave walls. He loses his breath, aware for possibly the first time tonight just how old Peter is.

"Henry?" Felix tests, concerned, when Henry's been silent for a lot longer than he intended to be, and Henry doesn’t answer. Instead he slides his hands up Peter's arms, past his wrists and the crook of his elbows, until he's mere centimetres away from the ink of his tattoos.

He hesitates, and looks up to see Peter watching him curiously. At Peter's nod, he closes the final space and runs his fingertips along the rings of ink there. There's no difference in the skin, nothing raised or rough, but Henry bites down in concentration as he explores the simple markings.

"From my tribe," Peter murmurs, catching one of Henry's hands. "In the old world."

He moves slowly, not teasing this time but gentle, as he presses Henry's hands back into the pillows above his head, hangs above him and when he kisses Henry this time, it's deep, like he’s trying to climb inside of Henry, claim him, take him over.

“What do you want?” Peter asks, rough, and Henry arches as his hands trail down Henry's arms, counterpoint to the rolling of his hips that make Henry feel like he's cresting a wave. "How do you want this, pet, tell me."

Peter pulls back far enough that Henry can suck in a breath that runs ragged into his lungs. And something cold, like panic, steals in with it. "I- I don't know."

He feels himself blush, mortified, as his inexperience bleeds back into the room, lifting the haze from his head. Peter's eyes flick to Felix up at the head of the bed, and this is it, they're going to realise their mistake and send him back to Curly and-

"You'll know for next time," Felix says, leaning in to bite at the top of Henry's ear, sealing the promise with teeth, and the noise Henry lets out is inhuman. A disbelieving whine pulled from the back of his throat and his hand finds Felix's hair where he's now kissing at Henry's throat, worrying the flesh there between his teeth enough to leave bruises but not break the skin for now, burying in the slightly damp, sweat-slick mess of it. His legs fall around Peter's hips, still bloody and smearing red across Peter's skin, but Henry doesn't care, just suddenly needs to be so much closer to them both.

Next time.

Felix had said next time.

He shudders at the thought, and Felix might be lying, might be saying whatever it is he thinks Henry needs to hear, but all Henry can hear is next time next time next time and he can barely manage to catch his breath. His heart is drumming so fast and so heavy in his chest that he wonders if Peter and Felix can hear it.

"What is it?" Peter asks, and if he has any objection to Henry tugging him ever closer he makes no mention of it, hand catching at the crook of Henry's knee and drawing it higher still.

Henry's grinning like an idiot and his voice when he speaks comes out on something he'd call a purr if it wasn't, well, him. "Next time."

Felix bites harder and Henry arches.

Peter's chuckle sounds less amused and more pleased. "If you're good, pet. And you're being perfect."

Henry whines.

He's never thought about the possibility of him having such a visceral reaction to the praise Peter keeps feeding him, but he supposes it makes sense.

Henry feels fingers brush where he’s hard again, painfully so, and Peter's still pulling his knee tight against him so it has to be Felix, Felix sliding Peter’s belt out of the buckle and toying with the snap of his pants. Henry can't do anything but watch as Peter's trousers slip off his hips, because all Felix's fingers reveal is flesh. Peter's cock is proud and jutting up against his stomach, and Henry's felt him hard already but seeing it, seeing it for him, is another thing entirely.

"Don't stroke his ego," Felix murmurs when Henry's dry mouth stops him from speaking, passing something to Peter. "He really doesn't need it."

Peter's smirk is wicked, and then there's a slick finger easing up into Henry and oh

He's done this to himself before, locked the door to his room and opened himself up, fingers hesitant and unpractised, but Peter curling his finger inside Henry makes Henry throw his hand out, clasping at Felix's, as Peter rubs into him, slow.

Black spots appear in his vision and he doesn't realise he'd stopped breathing until Peter leans down and kisses at his thigh, murmurs, "Breathe, pet. Fee," He directs at Felix and dips his mouth lower.

Henry makes a noise he never knew he could make, and Felix swallows it, takes it from him. Henry pushes up into it, arching as Peter's tongue flicks where he's tucking a second finger into Henry's body, and he's more gasping wetly against Felix's mouth than kissing him. But Felix keeps the pace of his kissing steady, a give and a take instead of Peter's heady take, and he follows Felix's lead, finding his breath.

Then Felix bites at his bottom lip, rolling it between his teeth and sucking, and Henry's eyes roll back in his head.

His free hand fists into Felix's hair and he angles himself to take Felix's top lip, pushing everything Peter's making him feel into Felix. He feels Felix smile against him, filthy and slow.

Henry can't help the broken whimper it, in tandem with the languid twist of Peters fingers, pulls out of him.

Peter is taking his time, an aching rhythm that they doesn't even let Henry rock into; he can feel where they both have their hands entwined and holding him down by his hips, centuries of strength between them, and he can barely buck his hips onto Peter's fingers, trying to get him even deeper.

Henry's had barely a taste and he wants more, high on it.

Then Peter's mouth moves, sudden, and before Henry can even mourn the loss of Peter's tongue, Peter's biting him. His hand leaves Henry's hip to push at his thigh, getting more access to where his mouth is moving and moving and moving. The sharp sting of it rockets through him and Peter takes advantage of Henry's arching open body to press a third finger inside of him.

Henry grinds out a moan, eyelids fluttering, and he doesn't know what he expected of this but it wasn't this, this much, Felix's mouth working at his neck and pulling bruises to the surface, Peter's fingers working ruthlessly inside of him, his blood across the sheets, gods.

He feels lightheaded, and it's not just the blood loss, it's everything.

He's babbling, he can hear it in a rush of white noise, as his hips hitch, and he doesn't realise he's whimpering "Please, please, I- I-, fuck, please," over and over, doesn't know what he's even asking for, but he needs it badly enough that he can feel wetness at the corners of his screwn up eyes.

He feels Felix kiss at it and blinks his eyes open to a red mouthed Peter crawling up his body, pressing sloppy-mouthed and smearing kisses across him, stopping to lick bloody around the crown of Henry's cock before continuing up.

Henry pushes his face into Felix's neck and bites down to contain his cry.

"He's got teeth," Felix laughs, which is rich, and a thrill of pride rushes through Henry at the slight crack in his voice. He breaks his bite to pant wetly against Felix, groans when Felix threads a hand into his hair.

"Let's see what else his mouth can do," Peter's voice pulls him away, and he looks up in time to see him raising his free hand - the hand not buried inside Henry - to his mouth.

When he pulls it away, there's a drop of blood beading up on the pad of his thumb.

Peter's blood.

Peter studies Henry for a moment, gaze sharp through the cloud of Henry head, before he and Felix seem to hold an entire silent conversation over Henry's head, but the moment passes and Peter's pressing down, lining his hips up with Henry's and god it's more skin than Henry's ever felt in his life, pressed against him. Peter's cock drags wet over his and this is it, this is how Henry dies.

He's using everything in his body to not come again like this right now. It helps a little when Peter twists his fingers free of Henry's body, fingertips catching on the rim of him, even as Henry whimpers at the loss.

Then he's lined up and pushing in, in, in, inside Henry, and Henry's heard all sorts of shit about the first time hurting, and it does, there's a burn between his thighs that's settling him alight, but with Felix's hand firm in his hair as he watches Peter press inside, and the slow ache of being filled up so completely, so unlike Henry's ever been able to do to himself, all he can think is more.

He can feel himself splitting apart at the seams, mouth working as Peter bottoms out inside him and stills. Henry's twitching, unconsciously, his body trying to make Peter move, and he opens eyes he didn't realised he's closed again to feel Peter's thumb pressing at the corner of his lips, steadying. He turns his head and kisses the pad of Peter's thumb, desperate for something, anything, and there's a metallic taste on his tongue.

He flicks his tongue at it, tasting, before he sucks the whole digit into his mouth. He never would have guessed how much he could like rolling his tongue around Peter's thumb, tracing the knuckles and licking what has to be Peter's blood on his tongue, but it gives him something to focus on, takes the edge off of how full he feels.

He stutters, teeth biting down, as Peter finally, finally, moves.

"Gods he's good with his mouth." Peter's voice sounds almost strained, but that could just be the blood roaring in Henry's ears.

"Gorgeous," Felix breathes, smudging the words across Henry's jawline, where it's exposed from Henry tipping his head back, body bowing under Peter. "Can I kiss you, Henry?" He asks, and he sounds desperate. Henry manages to focus his eyes to find Felix hanging over him, hand at his neck, and he looks about ready to come apart at the seams.

Henry doesn't know why, but there's no way he can deny him.

He nods, frantic, and Felix bends down to kiss at Henry's lips, once, twice, before he licks his way into Henry's mouth.

Henry whimpers, and he's being pulled apart in two directions, as Felix sucks on his tongue, humming eagerly, and Peter pulls out almost to the tip before sliding back inside, building a steady rhythm. It's no longer lazy, teasing, because he can feel the tension in Peter's body, his lower back as Henry's heels dig into the dip of his spine. It's building.

"After this, Henry," Peter's voice is a low growl, and he shifts the angle of his thrusts. Henry groans, breaking away from Felix's mouth. "After I fuck you until you can't see straight, you're going to help Felix out, aren't you?"

It's a question which is too much for Henry right now, as Peter rolls his hips deep, but he nods because yes, yes, anything.

He's dimly aware of fingers circling his left ankle, and that awareness sparks sharp in his mind as Felix lifts his leg higher than he thought would be possible, over Peter's shoulder, and Henry sees stars.

"He could get himself off," Peter's still murmuring, pressing his mouth into Henry's ankle, his calf, as Felix litters his own series of kisses from the back of Henry's knee up. "Watching this, us, it wouldn't take him long. But he doesn't like that. Doesn't like coming until everyone else has."

Felix hums in agreement and Henry can't handle it, can handle them both making these noises. He writhes but Felix is back by his head, holding him still, and the warm feeling in the pit of his stomach rises to a burning.

"He's always so desperate for it afterwards," Peter continues, and Henry doesn't think anyone should look so fond when talking so filthily. "All that self control disappears, he's fucking beautiful like that." Henry whines at the idea of it, and Peter grins down at him, strokes a gentle hand down his thigh til he's shaking. "Yes, just like that, pet," He says, as if Henry's actually done something deserving of praise.

It lights him up inside.

"You're going to let him use that pretty mouth, aren't you, Henry? Let him fuck it til it's red and raw, gods I bet you'll look beautiful like that."

And Henry can't even find his panic at never having done that before, it's lost behind the burning need of his want to do what Peter's suggesting, to get his mouth on Felix, and he turns his head, searching for him.

"So eager," Peter murmurs, or it could be Felix as his fingers stroke Henry's throat in a gentle caress, keeping his mouth just out of reach. Everything's blurring.

"So you're going to come for me," Peter keeps the rhythm he's riding into Henry, as if he can tell how close he's got Henry to the edge and he's keeping him there. "You're going to come and then I'll get to watch you suck Felix off. Sound good?"

Nothing's ever sounded better.

Henry nods and he can feel something blooming inside him, white hot. He rocks his hips, chasing it, and his fists screw up in the sheets as he pants.

"Beautiful," PeterFelixPeter tells him, and then Felix's hand is on him, slick with his own precome, matching Peter's thrusts.

Henry comes with a cry wrenched out of him, shocking and sudden, and the world closes in on him a little bit. His hips rise off the bed, arching, and he feels wetness on his stomach, but Felix doesn't stop the trailing of his fingertips, pulling Henry's orgasm out of him, and it's so much, too much, that his writhing pulls Peter over the edge with him.

Peter's face as he comes steals the last gasping breath from Henry's lungs. It's indescribable and Henry did that.

Peter's hips stutter and slam into Henry one last time, knocking Henry's leg from his shoulder, and he presses his face into Henry's neck, breathing heavily, more affected than he let on, pressing desperate kisses into him. Henry's saying "Yes," before Peter even asks.

He hisses as Peter bites into his neck, just this side of too much, and he tips his head, a silent plea. Felix gives it to him and Henry pushes his breath and his whimpers at the knife-edge of pleasurepainpleasure Peter's giving him into Felix's mouth. Then Peter pulls back, eases out of Henry's body, Henry finds himself gasping, "Oh."

It feels strange, Peter's come so slick inside him, and he can feel it running across the backs of his thighs. It's not bad or good, but it soothes some of the mournful sounds he makes at losing the fullness of Peter inside him.

"Shh, pet," Perer hushes him, so, probably not as much as he thought, but any coherent thought Henry could have possibly have left in him vanishes as Peter drags his fingers slowly through the sticky mess on Henry's stomach and licks it away.

Henry makes a truly intelligent sounding "Guh," noise, which he chokes on when Peter offers his fingers to Felix, who sucks on them with an enthusiasm boardering on desperate.

"Henry," Peter asks silkily, eyes still fixed on Felix's mouth and the way it's wrapped around his fingers. Henry can't blame him. The hollow of Felix's cheeks is mesmerising. "Do you need a minute, or-"

"No!" Henry says, blinking away the dregs of sluggishness in his mind. He wants to do this with an ache that borders on ridiculous.

Even if he hasn't the first idea where to begin.

Well, he knows where to begin, but once he's settled between Felix's legs, he feels a sharp jolt of nerves pierce him. He glances up at Felix, biting his lip, suddenly terrified he's going to be laughed at. But Felix's smile is reassuring, and he gets a hand in Henry's hair, tugging him back up.

At some point, while Henry was distracted, Felix has stripped out of his clothes, leaving only the soft rub of his boxers between them as he holds Henry to him and kisses him so thoroughly that Henry's brain all but takes a vacation. It's soothing, calming the nerves in him, and he sighs happily into Felix's mouth.

"Don't worry," Felix kisses into his cheekbones, his jaw, his neck. "I'll help."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," He promises, knuckles skating down Henry's side. "Just take your time, okay?"

Fingers slide into Henry's hair, lifting his head so Peter can capture his mouth, and he feels like Peter's pushing his confidence into Henry, giving it to him. Maybe that's not what Peter's intending, or maybe it is, but it works.

As he moves down Felix's body, he wants to drop kisses across every inch of skin he sees, so he does. Beneath his lips, Felix's belly tightens and jumps, and he can't stop his smile at the quiet huff of breath he hears.

"Gods, look at him," He hears one of them say to the other, and when he looks up from between the vee of Felix's knees to see them both watching him. He flushes at the attention; he's spent so long being ignored, or worse, being stared at like a freak, that this is heady. They're watching him like he's something amazing and he wants nothing more than to prove them right.

And he doesn't want to waste any time doing so, so he hooks his fingers into Felix's boxers and tugs them down. His eyes widen, because Felix looks painfully hard.

"Think he's a little overcome, Fee," Peter chuckles, and Henry's flush intensifies.

"Shut up, Peter," Felix murmurs, before his hand slips into Henry's hair. "Take your time, remember. Just use your tongue to begin with."

Henry breathes a little easier, because Felix had swallowed him down so easily and he wants so badly to do that, wants the feeling of Felix in his mouth so completely, but he's not sure he'd be able to.

He keeps on kissing and kissing at the flesh around Felix, before he finally gets his mouth on the base of Felix's cock. He feels a jolt run through Felix, and trails his tongue upwards like Felix said. The taste is hot damp skin and he just wants to keep licking at it, drawing the small bitten down sounds he can hear out of Felix.

"Now- ah," Felix starts and breaks off, and when Henry looks up his head is tipped back. "Now, your mouth. Around the- the head. Not too much."

His sentences are broken, his hips hitching tightly as he tries to hold himself back, and Peter's murmuring, "God, Fee, you're not going to last long at all." Henry's never felt so consumed.

He fits his lips around the head of Felix's cock and sucks lightly, tasting the bitterness of Felix. A pleased hum falls out of him and Felix groans, low and rumbling, his hand tightening in Henry's hair, which only spurs him on. He tongues at Felix's slit because he wants to, flicks his tongue the way Felix did for him, and at Felix's gasp he pulls off.

"Been paying attention," Felix notes, and he's beautiful beneath Henry, stomach concave and muscles bunched. Peter's biting at his lip and watching, sprawled out naked besides them, and how is this Henry's life?

He smiles, pleased with the praise, and redoubles his efforts. Felix's hand in his hair guides him down, slowly, and he's barely halfway but he can feel his eyes watering.

"Relax your jaw, Henry," Felix instructs, and Henry works to obey. It's difficult, his mouth unused to the sensation, but he falls into it, and he wants to take more. He wants the ache beginning in his jaw to build, to last as long as the burn between his legs, the bruises at his thighs, neck. "Do- Don't get too excited. You'll ch-choke."

"C'mere, pet," Peter's voice is in his ear and when he did move? His hand finds Henry's and guides it up to the part of Felix that Henry's mouth can't reach. "Gods you're doing so good, Henry, he's so close I can feel it, he's barely holding himself together. You're doing that to him."

Henry moans at Peter's words as he moves Henry's hand in time with the movements of his head. He can taste Felix stronger on his tongue now and Felix's fingers flex in his hair, tight enough to edge on hurting. Peter keeps muttering praise in his ear, telling him how fucking beautiful he looks, how good he's being, and Henry feels warmth run down his spine. He's not hard, couldn't possibly be again, but it's a different kind of neediness that has him swallowing Felix further down until he hits the back of his throat.

Felix's warning comes out on something that's almost a shout. It's the loudest Henry's heard him all night. "Henry, pull off, I'm going to-"

But Henry looks up, locks eyes with Felix, and doesn't. He doesn't want to. He wants to taste more, taste Felix. He stills, asking silent permission, and Felix's eyes widen ever so slightly.

Peter's less subtle.

"Fuck, you're impossible, Henry," He whispers, heated, and bites gently across Henry's shoulder.

Henry moans, and Felix's body arches as he comes down Henry's throat with a cracked whine. Through the wetness of his eyelashes, Henry's met with the gorgeous sight of Felix with his mouth caught in a pointed O, hair slick and stuck in strands to his forehead. He tries to swallow as much as he can, but has to pull off. The rest shoots hotly across his face, and he closes his eyes to it, pushing up onto his knees.

His jaw aches, his lips are raw, he's covered in Felix's come, and he's smiling hard enough to hurt. Peter's arm slides around his waist, which he appreciates because he didn't even come and he feels shaky.

He opens his eyes to Felix looking up at him, and Henry must look a state like this, but Felix doesn't seem to care as he sits up and presses the gentlest kiss to Henry's lips. His breathing is ragged.

"You didn't have to," He says as he kisses open mouthed all across Henry's face, tasting himself. His arms fall around Henry, stroking gentle fingers up and down his back.

"I wanted to." Henry's voice sounds wrecked, hurts a little as it comes out, but he wouldn't trade it.

"Impossible," Peter repeats, leaning in for his own taste, and Henry shuts his eyes again, surrounded by heat and attention and care.

 

***

 

He must fall asleep, or maybe he actually passes out, because when he opens his eyes the room is dimmer and he's curled up inside the bed rather than on top of it. He can fuzzily make out Felix's voice, as if he's hearing it from underwater.

"You gave him your blood."

There's a silence, and he can feel fingers tracing up and down his ribs. When Peter replies, it's quiet, thoughtful. "You said next time. In eight centuries I've never heard you say that. You want to keep him."

"Don't you?"

The hand on Henry's ribs flattens, as if holding on, and Henry closes his eyes again. He gets the feeling this isn't a conversation for his ears.

Peter speaks again after a moment, and Henry doesn't know if he answered Felix silently or even if he did at all, because the next thing he says is, "What do you think? Fae?"

There's no response from Felix for a long second, and Henry feels more fingertips at his thighs under the sheets, at the bite marks, considering. He inhales a little at Felix's fingers playing over sensitive skin, and thinks he hears a smile when Felix finally says, "Likely," quiet. "Just a drop."

Peter hums. "He's extraordinary," He says, voice low and awed.

They're talking about him, Henry realises with a start, haven't noticing him waking, and he blinks his eyes back open. "Thoughts," He says, without thinking, and his voice is rough. There's a coolness at his mouth, and he drinks a sip of the water Felix is offering him, wetting his mouth and soothing his throat. When he speaks again, it's clearer, and he looks at Peter, who's watching him intently. Even naked and draped in sheets that Henry's been pressed into, Peter's intimidating. Henry thinks he can still see some of his own blood staining the corner of Peter's lips. "I can hear thoughts."

Peter's eyebrow quirks. Felix freezes.

"Not yours," Henry says, quickly. "Only humans."

The looks on Peter and Felix's face at that are...odd. Granted Henry's ever only told two people - Regina seemed to know before he even did - but neither Emma nor Curly looked as unsurprised as they do.

Before he can question it, he coughs a little and Felix offers him another drink. "What happened?" He asks, when he's had a sip, gesturing to the covers. He's also clean, he realises suddenly, as if he's been wiped over with a damp cloth. He mourns the loss of it, before he realises how gross that would be.

The strange look on Peter's face, the edge of a smile Henry can't quite understand, falls into something softer. The hand he has on Henry's ribs strokes gently. Henry wants to push back into it, so he does. "You fell asleep. Don't worry, it was just a little catnap."

Henry frowns a little, because that's got to be embarrassing, all but passing out after his first time. Then he feels his lips turn up into a smile. His toes curl up and he buries his face in Felix's chest.

"What?" Felix asks, hand finding Henry's hair, and Henry presses a kiss to his chest before looking up to Felix's soft smile.

"Nothing," He shakes his head, and pulls away.

He doesn't think he's ever felt so content in his life before. And maybe he shouldn't, maybe it's too much, but he does.

He feels peaceful enough to fall back asleep again, and he thinks Peter and Felix would probably let him, but as he settles back into the pillows, he jolts upright.

Peter makes an unattractive surprised sound.

"What time is it?" He asks, suddenly frantic, and he's all but jumping off the bed, searching for his jeans. He ferrets out his phone and grimaces at the clock. Catnap his ass!

He scrolls through the notifications and winces a little at the amount of missed calls.

When he looks back to the bed, Peter and Felix look entirely bewildered. "Is there service in here?" He asks, because he's not entirely sure, and Peter nods slowly. "I just need to make a call," He says, apologetic, and fuck he's making an idiot out of himself now but this is kinda important.

"Sure," Peter says, looking a lot less stunned now. He reclines back into Felix's chest, and god Henry wishes he was back there. "There's a bathroom there if you want some privacy?" He says, gesturing to a door in the corner of the room that Henry had completely missed.

Henry pulls on his boxers, because he is not making this call naked, and goes. Once he's in the quiet of the ridiculously large bathroom wow, he hits dial and waits.

"Henry, where the hell are you!" Emma's voice is panicked and loud and Henry winces.

"I'm still out with Curly," He says, and Emma huffs.

"Well I can see that, kid!" She sounds less panicked but still loud in the echoey bathroom.

"I told you I was going out dancing with her," He says, choosing his words careful enough that is sounds more innocent than it was. "But we kinda, accidentally, stayed out too late to get back before dawn. It was an accident!" He says, which, true. "We're in one of those light-tight hotels until the sun goes down and the service in these things sucks." Less true. It comes easily to him, the way lying always has, even if he hates it. Especially lying to Emma.

"Tell me where you are and I'll come get you," Emma insists. Henry grimaces.

"I'm not leaving Curly," He says instead, because he's sure she wouldn't have left without him. He hopes. "As soon as the sun goes down, we'll drive back. I promise."

"Okay," Emma pulls the word out, slow and considering, and Henry's never sure whether she believes him or not when she says it like that. "You scared me, kid," She says instead, and she sounds tired.

Guilt threatens to choke Henry. He forces it down. "I'm sorry."

Emma sighs. "I know you're not actually a kid anymore, Henry, but..." She trails off but Henry hears what she means. Emma's always worried doubly hard about him, especially since he told her about the whole thoughts thing. He wonders sometimes if it's because she's making up for the ten years she missed.

"I'll be back soon, I promise," He says, which he's sure is a promise he can keep. At any rate, it doesn't seem as if Peter and Felix are going to kill him anytime soon.

"Have you slept at all?" She asks, and Henry coughs awkwardly.

"Urm, not yet."

She laughs, and he knows he's forgiven. "Get some sleep, kid, I'll yell at you when you get home."

"Can't wait," He mutters, and rings off.

He heads to the large sink and even larger mirror, intending to splash some water on his face, and stops short at the sight of himself. For one thing, his hair looks absolutely ridiculous, sticking up in about fifteen different directions, and he makes a vague attempt to flatten it.

He looks like he's been attacked. There are colourful bruises blooming almost everywhere on his body, his neck, his shoulders, his thighs, his hips, and there are still small red puncture marks littered across him, though the blood has mostly been wiped away. Mostly though, he looks kind of happy. He expected there to be some kind of difference, maybe, some tangible change in him, but he still looks like Henry.

He wets his face, picks up his phone, and heads back out.

He feels awkward almost immediately. He doesn't really know what he's supposed to be doing now. Do they want him to leave? But then Peter moves, creating a space for Henry in the bed once again, and Henry goes eagerly.

Felix frowns at him a little, tugging disapprovingly at his boxers, so Henry slips them back off again.

"Sorted?" Peter asks, a kind of nonchalance that by its very nature sounds a little forced. Henry nods. "Good. You're all ours again."

Henry feels warm all over at that, but in the aftermath of talking to his mom, his sleepiness has all but vanished. Instead he feels curious again, which is kind of his natural state, really, even if he weren't in bed with two intriguing and ancient creatures.

He rolls onto his side to properly face Peter, and Felix's arm slides around his waist as he slots himself behind Henry. "How old are you?" He asks, propping himself up on his elbow. Peter blinks at him. "Or is that something I'm not allowed to ask?"

Peter grins at him. "I've lost track," He says, and Henry can't begin to imagine being old enough to forget. "But Felix is eight hundred, give or take."

"You?" Felix asks, kissing at the skin behind Henry's ear, and Henry almost answers truthfully before he remembers the fake id that got him in here.

"Twenty one."

Felix chuckles. "No," He drawls, fingers tracing ticklish patterns on Henry's stomach. "Not how old your fake identification says you are. How old are you?"

Henry doesn't know how Felix knew about that, but apparently so did Peter if the amused look on his face is anything to go by. He sighs. "Nineteen."

"Aw," Peter sings, smirking at Felix. "He's so young."

Henry bristles, and Felix reaches out to cuff Peter across the head. "I'm not a child," He says, a little huffily, and though Peter doesn't look repentant - Henry can't imagine his face looking like that in the slightest - he looks considering.

He hums a little, and his fingers run the line of Henry's cheek. "Mm, no. You're not."

Henry forgives him a little for that, accepts the lingering kiss Peter bestows upon him, before falling back into Felix's chest.

"Here," Felix says, and he sounds almost embarrassed? He hands Henry a small white tablet, and Henry stares at it and then the pair of them in confusion. What- What exactly are they asking of him here?

Peter chuckles and presses a reassuring kiss to his temple. "It's Vitamin B12. For blood loss. We may have been a little enthusiastic."

Henry flushes with something close to pride, and swallows the pill before he can say something embarrassing.

"So, you," He says when he's taken another sip of water and Felix has taken it away. "You use these often?"

It doesn't come out as casually as he hoped it would and he curses himself.

Felix shrugs, hands back on the bite marks at his thighs, Felix's bite marks, and Peter mimics him. "Enough," He says, brutally honest, and Henry suddenly wishes he hadn't asked. Then he says, "We have quite a few human employees who offer up a vein if we need it. I don't care what the propaganda says, Tru Blood tastes like dirt."

Felix hums in mutual disgust, and Henry laughs at the truly unappetising look on his face.

"Why, pet?" Peter asks, voice quieter, coaxing, and if Henry hadn't already been pretty successful seduced, it'd feel like he was. He sighs a little. It's only now he's coming to realise how often Peter used that particular petname, and Henry thinks he probably shouldn't like it as much as he does.

When Henry doesn't answer, Peter shifts a little, until he's pressing Henry into the bed, and his face is serious. "I told you how rarely we do this. Didn't you believe me?"

"I thought...I thought it might have been just talk, y'know?" Henry shrugs, suddenly uncomfortable in his own skin, even with how much he likes being under Peter.

"I don't lie, pet," Peter says, and he exchanges a long look with Felix. "And even so, even if it was just a hook up to begin with, don't you think it changed? I do."

Henry can barely breathe for hope and Felix's fingers find Henry's, squeeze.

"Thought it was just me," He mumbles, and Felix scoffs a little. "But-" He starts because he just doesn't quite understand why. "But even with my age, and- and my hearing thoughts-"

"Henry." Felix's voice is smooth, and when he says Henry's name it sounds like a whole sentence in his mouth. "We like you. Can we just leave it at that and get some sleep before Peter and I start bleeding?" His mouth curves up a little at the side, fond, and it doesn't feel like a reprimand. Just a gentle nudge.

Henry nods silently, and allows his chin to be tipped up so Felix can kiss him sweetly. Peter's kiss includes an edge of teeth, a promise, but it lights Henry up just the same.

 

***

 

Waking up is strange.

He's never woken up to silence before. Usually, in those few seconds before he's aware of himself, he can hear the low buzz of Emma's thoughts as she gets ready for her day, and it's almost soothing, but it never fails to immediately pull him out of his own head. Tonight, he wakes up to Peter and Felix still asleep, still as bodies the way Curly always gets, but he can't even discern the muddled thoughts of their dreams. It's peaceful.

He eases out of the bed, a more difficult task than he'd expected; Peter's arm is wrapped possessively around his stomach, and Henry's all but wrapped around Felix. Once free, he heads for the bathroom.

He's inspecting the dried blood at his neck, wondering how on earth he's going to hide them from everybody, but most importantly his mom, when the door clicks open and Felix appears in the mirror behind him.

The smile Henry gives him is ridiculous, but Felix returns it as he presses himself up behind him, all stupidly long limbs wrapping warm and strong around Henry as he kisses his neck in greeting. "Do you want me to take care of that?" He asks, voice gravelly, and kisses pointedly again at the marks Henry was just examining.

Henry watches as he bites at his thumb, a bead of blood pooling up, and then rubs over the wounds. As he does so, they close up, leaving only the faintest scar to ever suggest they were there.

"Can-" He says, quickly, as Felix reaches down to the bites at his legs. Felix stills. "Can you leave those?"

He feels stupid for the brief half second it takes for Felix's mouth to turn up in a pleased grin. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Henry nods, and laughs as Felix turns him, lifts him up onto the counter, and nudges in to press soft kisses to his mouth. It's not leading into anything, gentle and sweet, like Felix is trying to tell him something, and Henry wraps his legs around him, bringing him closer.

Then Felix grins. "You wanna take a shower?" He asks, eyebrow quirking, and god Henry wants to take him up on that fantastic offer, can think of nothing more he'd like to be doing than showering with Felix, but he really needs to get back to Emma.

He groans. "I can't. I need to find Curly."

Felix chuckles. "We did steal you away." He allows and ifts Henry another close-mouthed kiss. "Next time, then," He says, and he has to know the effect that has on Henry. If not, Henry's happy to show him, making a pleased noise in the back of his throat and catching Felix in an enthusiastic kiss.

Felix is coaxing his mouth open, hand in his hair and angling him back, when "You two are making a habit of this," comes from the door, and they break apart to see Peter leaning against the doorjamb, utterly naked and eyebrow raised.

Henry leans against Felix's chest and smiles at Peter, because he doesn't have anything to say. He feels achy in the best way, Felix's arms are around him, and Peter's smirk is softening into a smile that feels like it's all for Henry. Peter saunters closer and kisses his cheek. "You have to go, pet?" He murmurs against him and Henry nods glumly. "Shame," He drawls, hands fiddling with the lip of Henry's boxers pointedly, before he moves to more innocent areas. "Gods I just want to keep you here."

With his thumb rubbing over his ribs, Henry wants to let him.

Eventually, they make their way about into the bedroom in a mishmash of wandering hands and brushing mouths and tangling legs; Felix's hand drifting across the small of Henry’s back as he passes, Peter dotting kisses across Henry’s shoulders, Peter and Felix knocking into each other playfully as they get dressed. It feels natural, soft and unhurried, and Henry doesn't want it to end, so when he finds clothes he lets Peter dress him in a small shirt of his if only for the way Felix's eyes get dark when he's in it.

They get upstairs and Curly's waiting for him.

He flushes almost immediately and very suddenly wants to be back in Peter and Felix's rooms.

It must be before opening, because the club is quiet and empty, only a handful of employees milling around and setting up, and when Felix closes the door behind them, effectively sealing off Henry's escape route, he's greeted with a sea of amused looks. Henry kind of wants the floor to swallow him up, but he just about stops himself from stepping back against Felix's chest when he sees Curly's face.

"I'm not paying you all to stand around!" Peter calls out, voice authoritative, but he kisses Henry quickly and says "I'll see you soon, pet,", knuckles running up Henry's ribs in a perfect imitation of when they met, before he heads away to boss people about.

He looks back to Henry and Henry feels filled.

"We will," Felix promises, and when Henry looks at him he doesn't look like the same Felix Henry met all those hours ago. Their fingers entangle for a second that stretches when Felix smiles at him, and Felix kisses his fingers, his forehead, and finally his lips.

Everything in Henry's head goes quiet.

Fuck he's going to miss that.

"Good luck," Felix grins, shooting a look at the awful grin on Curly's face where she's standing, waiting for him, hand on her hip and dressed in an over-large Neverland tee. Henry knows that grin. He has nightmares about that grin.

His contentment disappears. "Thanks," He says, dryly, and Felix laughs as he follows Peter with one final kiss to Henry’s cheek.

Alone again, and utterly terrified, Henry steels himself, takes a breath, adjusts Peter's shirt, and goes to Curly. "Not a word," He says, firmly, walking past her and heading for the door. He ignores her cackles and looks back over his shoulder for one last glimpse of Peter and Felix.

They’re looking back.