Work Text:
Henry Mountchristen is running so absolutely late it isn’t even quite funny anymore.
He blames his pocket watch, he thinks. The bloody thing has been stuck at ten, apparently, for the last thirty minutes or so, and he hasn’t noticed until his eyes strayed to the window of his room to see the sun so high up in the clouds it might as well be hung there.
Then, the rush.
He throws his outfit on without even calling for his valet, runs a hand through his hair to tame it to at least an acceptable level, and rushes out the door in record time. He’s still struggling with the buttons of his waistcoat that he doesn’t notice he’s taken a wrong turn until he blasts through the door that should lead to the drawing room and instead finds—
“Oh, Christ,” he blurts out and drops the damned pocket watch that has caused the whole sequence of events. Because this is one of the many guest rooms that dots the halls of the Mountchristen residence hosting the bride-to-be, Miss Holleran, for tomorrow’s wedding…
And she’s kissing the groom’s sister.
2 Weeks Ago
There’s a headache building between Henry’s temples.
He was woken up by his valet before the sun even peeked through the horizon, forced into a formal outfit that should, frankly, be illegal to wear before noon, and then shepherded downstairs to welcome their guests. “Lady Mountchristen is busy today,” Shaan says as he smooths his lapels, “and trusted you to take over her meetings. She and Lord Mountchristen will be traveling to Edinburgh for three weeks on a business trip.”
Right. Because of course they are, and of course Henry wasn’t informed until the very last minute. What need does the high and mighty Lady Mountchristen would have for either Henry or Beatrice when her beloved grandson had already assumed lordly duties after…
Well, it doesn’t bear thinking of that anymore, since there’s nothing Henry can do about it.
“And I assume Mum was unavailable?” Henry asks as Shaan fixes his hair, though he already knows the answer. Shaan’s eyes meet his in the mirror.
“Lady Mountchristen believed it would be prudent to have the man of the house greet them.”
Henry isn’t sure if that’s true or a lie crafted to ease his burden, but he nods. Shaan leads him to the dining room for a quick bite as he goes to greet their guests, and Henry manages a few sips of tea and a piece of buttered toast before he has to be presentable.
He’s glad for that tea, too, because the moment his guests actually come into view, part of him wants to crawl into the smallest hole, cover his ears, and sing a lullaby to himself until someone tells him it’s safe to come out.
He steps forward instead and extends a hand because that’s expected of him, and tries to fix a smile on his face that doesn’t scream I’ve-been-desperately-in-love-with-you-since-we-were-both-fifteen. “Mr. Claremont-Diaz,” he says and shakes the other man’s hand. Then, his eyes flicker to the woman next to him, practically hanging from his arm. “And this must be your fiancée, Miss Holleran.”
Alexander Claremont-Diaz’s engagement to Miss Nora Holleran was announced the previous week, with wedding invitations sent out shortly after.
The rumour mill had already spun their story by then. A scandalous one, too, since the Claremont-Diaz’s had been an established family for over two centuries now and Nora Holleran, for all her beauty, came from a middle-class family from London. They’ve been seen together a few months ago out on a walk around the country—yes, Henry has kept track, sue him—but the rumours didn’t truly begin to circulate until the Claremont-Diaz carriage was seen shuttling Miss Holleran back and forth.
Two months later, there were already talks of an engagement coming before the end of the season. It happened even faster than most people predicted.
Lady Mountchristen had snorted when the wedding invitation came in the mail. “Someone ought to take that title from them,” she’d said over the breakfast table. “Smearing the reputation of the House of Lords with their dalliances.” She’d thrown the invitation away, and when she left Henry had picked it up, heart in his throat. And there, in bold letters:
Lord and Lady Claremont-Diaz cordially invite you to celebrate the marriage of their oldest son—
Henry hadn’t read farther than that.
It was bloody stupid, he knew. There was nothing between him and Alexander—there couldn’t be anything, not when so much of their family’s legacy fell on their shoulders. Especially Alexander, being the oldest son of his own family, was expected to carry his father’s title upon his passing, and in time bear sons himself to pass that title to, on and on again until the end of the world…
…or the whole government was overturned. Though Henry doesn’t hold his breath for that.
Alexander Claremont-Diaz was expected to have a wife. Alexander Claremont-Diaz was expected to raise sons. Alexander Claremont-Diaz, even if he were so inclined, could not possibly fall in love with the likes of Henry Mountchristen, not in a million years.
Alexander now stands in Henry’s estate arm and arm with that future wife-to-be, and Henry prays to God he doesn’t feel how absolutely clammy Henry’s palms are as they shake hands.
“Mr. Mountchristen,” Alexander says formally, a smile plastered on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thank you for meeting with us at such short notice. I know this is quite a big ask and my family is genuinely grateful—” A confused look must’ve crossed Henry’s face because Alex’s voice trails off. “Do you know the purpose of our meeting today?”
Oh, bloody hell. So there is a purpose to this other than to torture Henry, and of course he’s not aware of it because his grandmother won’t ever go out of her way to tell him anything, even if it would smooth out situations such as this.
Alexander and Nora share a look and Henry scrambles for the right words to fix this. “If you’ve talked with Lady Mountchristen before, she had to leave quite suddenly due to an emergency, but I’m sure we can come to an understanding in her absence.” He holds Alexander’s gaze, and then, damn him, his eyes flicker to those plump maroon lips when his tongue darts out to wet them.
Torture, apparently, is still on the agenda today.
“It’s about our wedding.” Miss Holleran’s voice cuts through the myriad of metaphors Henry’s mind had conjured to describe Alexander’s lips. He forces himself to turn to the woman.
Beautiful, indeed. Henry so wishes that did anything for him.
“There was an incident at our estate that made it impossible to host our wedding there,” Alexander continues. “Lady Mountchristen very graciously offered her estate so the wedding could go on as planned. We’re here to discuss the details.”
Henry stares at Alexander, and stares, and stares, and after thirty seconds of silence when he’s quite sure the other man isn’t playing a prank on him, he laughs.
Now
Henry thinks he’s going to faint.
No, he’s actually quite sure he’s going to faint. The air in the room feels significantly thinner than outside, the morning sun now shines brightly in his eyes through the windows, and, oh, right, Miss Holleran and Lady Claremont-Diaz are both looking at him with mirrored expressions of horror because he just walked in on them—
He walked in…
He stumbles into the room, grips the headboard and slowly slides onto the bed before he bashes his head open. He firmly, absolutely does not think about how this is Miss Holleran’s room and Miss Holleran is getting married to Alex and he’s now sitting on Miss Holleran’s bed, alone, in her room, a day before the wedding.
Well. Not quite alone, he supposes. No one would question that Miss Holleran’s honour was protected in the presence of her fiancé’s sister. Not by another man, at least.
Christ, Henry is going to faint, except he absolutely cannot faint so he presses his palms to his eyes and wills his scrambled brain to pull itself together into the semblance of a mind so he can think. Slowly, voices filter through the haze of panic.
“…could always kill him.”
“Nora.”
“It’s a large estate, June! No one would even find the body.”
“You’re talking about one of the most powerful families in the House of Lords. We are not killing their youngest son.”
“And what, let him condemn us to death when he exposes us?”
The words trail off and Henry realizes he must do something, say something because he’s now holding the lives of these two women in his palms and the reality of that forces him back on earth. He blinks his eyes open and finds Lady Claremont-Diaz in front of him, Miss Holleran hidden a few paces behind.
“I’m not going to expose you,” he says slowly, not only because it is the truth but also because he needs them to hear it. He quite understands the sheer terror that must be coursing through their bodies. Had been paralyzed by even the thought of being found out many times before.
“And why would we believe you?” Miss Holleran asks, and Henry almost laughs when he realizes there’s only one thing he can tell them to make them believe him.
“Because I’m… I’m like you.”
2 Weeks Ago
Henry finds the letter in his grandmother’s room that night, when Shaan has gone to sleep and the house is silent and he knows he won’t be find out.
It’s tucked in her bedside drawer among many others, all the favours Lady Mary Mountchristen collected over the years. It explains why she would’ve allowed the use of her house for a wedding she condemns, explains why she’s taken a sudden trip so she has an excuse to miss it still. Instead, it will be Henry who will have to host the Claremont-Diazes and Hollerans, him who has to share this estate with Alexander for the next two weeks, him who will be overseeing the wedding preparations alongside the man he is in love with.
He sits on the floor and presses his mouth into his fist and lets out a scream because he only has this night left before the entire wedding entourage will be moving in and Henry…
Well, Henry isn’t quite sure if he’ll survive that.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there on the floor. He does now he’s distracted enough that he doesn’t hear it when the door opens, not until someone joins him and puts a hand on his wrist.
“I heard what happened,” Bea says softly. Henry blinks and looks up from the letter in his hands to his sister’s eyes. “Do you need to get the bloody hell out of here?”
A smile curls on Henry’s lips. It’s a fantasy that’ll never be but it’s good to dream of it sometimes. That there might be a life for him outside these four walls, one he might even enjoy. With the one person who knows the truth of him and hasn’t balked in the face of it.
“That’s not quite in the cards for me, is it?”
Bea doesn’t say anything. She leans against his shoulder and holds him and Henry allows himself to break, just a little bit, just as much as he’s allowed.
He looks a bloody mess the next day.
His eyes catch his expression in the mirror before Shaan enters the room to dress him up and a laugh bubbles up his chest. If his valet notices that he’s spent most of the night crying, he doesn’t mention it. He does, however, spend just a tad longer powdering Henry’s face than usual.
By the end of it all, he can barely tell he’s only slept a total of three fitful hours. For half of a second, he thinks he might be able to handle whatever the day throws at him until Shaan opens his mouth.
“Mr. Claremont-Diaz is waiting downstairs for breakfast.”
He curses under his breath, and just like he’s paid to do, Shaan ignores he even heard the mutterings.
To the day’s credit, it’s beautiful. Sun shines through the windows as Henry makes his way downstairs, a rare clear sky in London that he would’ve enjoyed if not for his obligations. Wedding preparations are about to start in full swing, and while Mary hasn’t explicitly said it, the expectation is clear—Henry is to be present for everything, represent his family while she’s off galivanting because she’s so above such things.
It almost makes his suffering worthy, knowing she possibly hates this just as much as he does.
Alexander is in the dining room when he enters, standing in front of one of the windows facing the expansive estate gardens. Henry’s eyes flicker around just to see if Miss Holleran is around but she’s nowhere to be seen. They’re alone for a blissful handful of seconds and Henry allows himself to look his fill, take in the lines of Alexander’s body, the way his outfit hugs every inch of toned muscle, the gentle curls fallen over his forehead and tickling his ears. He wonders if they’re quite as soft as they look. How much time Alexander’s valet must spend taming them.
He tries to pretend as if he hasn’t been looking when Alexander looks up. A grin tugs at his lips. “Lord Mountchristen. Took you long enough.”
Christ. Henry doesn’t quite know what to do with the blatant disrespect, even though Alex isn’t wrong. “I was—” he starts, and then realizes he doesn’t have to apologize for arriving to breakfast late in his own bloody house and straightens his shoulders. “You could’ve very well started if you were so hungry.”
The light in Alexander’s light, somehow, brightens even more. “I’ve been informed, yes. But then how would I entertain myself in my lonesome?”
Henry has many, many ideas about how Alex might entertain himself that he dismisses as quickly as they appear. He looks around again. Feels the distinct lack of…
“Nora’s at her parents,” Alexander explains, as if he’s read his thoughts. “It’ll just be you and me for the next couple of weeks it looks like, Lord Mountchristen.”
Oh.
Henry gulps. It feels insurmountable, just the thought of being left alone with Alexander for a long period of time, yet all at once it feels a lot more manageable to not see Nora hanging from his arm every five seconds.
They could’ve been friends, he thinks. In another universe, when Mary didn’t insist on home schooling all her children and he’d gone to Oxford like Alexander and they’d crossed paths. In another universe where his status didn’t have a chokehold on him. They could’ve enjoyed each other’s presence without…
Henry makes a decision. He steps forward and brings himself up to his full height. He’s a few inches taller and that, somehow, is enough to give him a bit of courage.
“In that case, there’s no need for formalities, is there?” Alex arches a brow and turns his body so he fully faces Henry.
“Is there?”
It’s an invitation. Henry takes it. “No…Alexander.”
Alexander’s face blooms into a smile. “Call me Alex.”
“Only if you call me Henry.”
Now
Silence.
Enough that Henry can hear the quiet chirping of the birds outside and the small tap-tap-tap of Miss Holleran’s foot on the floor. Henry dares to glance up, take in the women’s expression just to see…
Well, they wouldn’t snitch on him, would they? His statement is easily disprovable. It’s mutually assured destruction, and Henry actually has proof in his hands. Yet he doesn’t quite think they’re silent because they’re actually considering whether they might speak to the public the moment they’re outside.
He watches as Lady Claremont-Diaz moves and gingerly sits down on the bed next to Henry, far enough that they’re not touching. Intelligent eyes take him in and Henry is struck with a sense of familiarity that threatens to knock his breath out of his lungs.
Sometimes, he forgets Alex has a sister. Other times, he’s reminded how alike the two are.
“You mean it.”
Henry laughs. “I wouldn’t put my reputation on the line if I didn’t.”
Lady Claremont-Diaz’s eyes flicker to Miss Holleran and if Henry had any doubts about their relationship, it would’ve dissipated right then and there. They’re partners, and it’s clear in the look they share, a language only partners can decipher in each other’s eyes.
He thinks back to the last few weeks. Every moment he’s spent with Alex, and every moment he’s seen Alex with Miss Holleran. It feels ludicrous now, that he hasn’t seen it before. That…
He tries to squash the hope that blossoms in his chest because there’s still one piece of the puzzle he’s missing. One crucial piece that’ll put it all together. “Does Alex know?” he asks, gauging the two girl’s expressions as they turn back to him. He has his answer when Lady Claremont-Diaz barks out a very un-ladylike snort.
“Lord Mountchristen, you do not know me at all if you think I could ever do something like this behind my brother’s back.”
Henry gulps, but instead of backing down he holds Lady Claremont-Diaz’s eyes. “I don’t,” he confesses quietly. “I have not spent much time with you. Haven’t spent much time, in fact, with Miss Holleran either, or anyone in your family except—”
“Alex didn’t want us here,” Miss Holleran interrupts and Henry’s eyes flicker to her. She looks fierce even with her curls fallen out of place and her dress a bit askew around the shoulders, gaze focused on Henry like she does not care one bit that he might have a lordship and she’s a commoner. “Didn’t want me to go through the motions of pretending I care about a marriage with him when it’s simply a means to an end for all of us. So if you’re questioning whether he knows about us or not, maybe you don’t know him quite as well as you think either.”
The words are biting, yet it doesn’t hurt Henry as much as he thinks they might. He thinks back to the last couple of weeks. Every moment he’s spent with Alex, everything he’s dismissed simply because Alex was getting married and he’d believed anything to the contrary of that, anything that might’ve sparked between them could be nothing but wishful thinking. But he’d noticed things. He’d filed them, at the back of his mind, and he pulls that out now, thread by thread, piece by piece, and lays them down until an image forms.
“I think I do,” he whispers.
2 Weeks Ago
“Nora likes lavenders,” Alex says as he walks through the gardens, fingers skimming the purple petals as he goes. He’s a few steps ahead from Henry, intentionally—this way, he won’t quite see the pitifully wistful look that fills Henry’s eyes every single time they fall on the other man.
It’s another kind of torture, helping plan a wedding that will tie the object of his affections to another person for the rest of their lives.
“She’ll truly like this garden. A blessing in disguise, maybe, that our estate is flooded.”
Henry stares. “Flooded?”
“Rain is a pesky thing.” Alex offers him a wry smile, and then continues down the path. “I was thinking,” he rushes on, “that the altar can go there, and Nora would walk down here—”
“God, that’s horrible.”
Henry stares at the plate of small cake pieces in his hands and plasters a smile on his face so he doesn’t scream. “Not a big fan of lemon?” he asks Alex as he nibbles on the cakes himself, though it’s impossible to discern any distinct taste beyond the crumbs that turn into ash in his mouth.
“Whoever decided lemons should go in cakes should be jailed.” Alex makes a face, drops the rest of the piece, and then pokes the red piece. “Nora will murder me if I choose red velvet, but…” He grins and shrugs. “She’s not here to make decisions, is she?”
Another bite on the red velvet. Henry is sure it must be good—this is one of the most highly regarded bakeries in the city—yet he wouldn’t be able to tell one way or another. “Well, I rather think weddings are a two-sided affair.”
Alex’s nose scrunches. He glances at Henry through those long, long lashes that enrapture him every single time.
“You do realize you don’t have to be right all the time, Lord Mountchristen?”
Alex ruffled is something Henry is wholly unprepared for, and he doesn’t realize it until he sees the other man under the soft morning sun, edges just a bit hazy as he takes his first sip of what smells like coffee.
“I am not a morning person,” Alex mumbles, blinking his eyes furiously as if he’s trying to pull threads of his thoughts together. “Usually, my valet has to drag me out of my room so I can attend to the day’s business.”
Henry’s eyes flicker to Alex’s outfit. The unbuttoned shirt, the wrinkled trousers. “And he isn’t here right now?” he asks, mouth fully dry. Alex’s mouth quirks into a smile.
“Even valets deserve a few days off.”
That’s Henry’s favourite morning out of all the days he’s spent with Alex. Though he’d never say that out loud.
The altar is finished a few days before the wedding and Henry finds Alex watching the workers decorate it with a host of white flowers from the kitchen windows.
“It’s beautiful,” he comments just to make conversation, though he isn’t even sure if he actually means the garden now that its wedding-ready, or Alex smiling up at him when he turns. He’s entirely too enchanted to notice the tightness around his eyes until his shrug feels just a tad too forced.
“It’s a lot,” he bites out. If Henry didn’t know better, he’d say Alex sounds almost…bitter. Almost like he doesn’t want it to be beautiful.
Then, Alex rubs his eyes and shakes his head and the moment breaks. “Sorry,” he says with another smile. “I’m just tired. I’m sure Nora will love it.”
Those words are enough to dispel any misconception Henry must’ve had.
Two nights before the wedding, late enough that all of the estate’s staff has gone to sleep, Henry finds Alex awake in the dining room when insomnia tears him from his own bed.
He freezes at the entrance, suddenly unsure if he’s welcome even though this is, technically, his goddamn house. But before he can decide, Alex sees him. His brow quirks up. “You should be sleeping.”
Henry shakes off his thoughts. “I could say the same about you,” he shoots back, almost as an instinct, and Alex barks out a laugh.
“Touché.” He turns back to the window, staring at the dark expanse of the outside. Without the sun, it’s almost impossible to pick out any details but Henry knows what’s out there.
The altar workers have painstakingly built, decorated with flowers climbing up the edges and placed among the lavenders.
Seating placed for the many guests invited to the wedding.
Carpet laid out so Miss Holleran doesn’t break an ankle walking down the aisle, where she’ll be meeting…
Henry steps next to Alex, dares a glance at the blank features covering his face. “Too excited to sleep?” he asks, watching for a tilt of smile on Alex’s lips. Instead, all he sees is a flinch, though Alex recovers quickly.
“Something like that.” It doesn’t make any sense but he almost sounds…wistful. “I’ve dreamt of this day for all my life.”
A flutter passes through Henry’s chest. “A marriage for love?” he asks because that’s the only thing that makes sense. It’s the same kind of dreams he’s had, though his is entirely too out of reach for his grasp. And Alex bears even more pressure, being the eldest son of his own family. But… “I’m glad your parents allowed you to choose that.”
Alex’s shoulders tighten briefly before he relaxes, bit by bit, as if he’s forcing his muscles. “Yeah.” He glances at Henry, looks away, and shakes his head. “You know, you’re right,” he whispers. “I should be sleeping.”
The change in topic is like whiplash. “Alex—” Henry tries, unsettled, but Alex just dismisses him with a wave of his hand.
“Thank you, Lord Mountchristen, for keeping me company this week. I wouldn’t have it another way.” He smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, not like all the other times Henry has made him laugh.
And then he leaves.
Now
“Nora and I have been together for two years,” Lady Claremont-Diaz explains, now seated fully on the bed with Miss Holleran at her side.
“Mother hired them for a business and we ended up together whenever all the men were working. I do not remember which one of us made the first move, but…” A smile crosses her face before she frowns. “We were very careful. Always behind closed door, always when the estate was relatively empty. We decided early on we wouldn’t be seen alone together when we’re outside, that we would make sure to have an escort even around the house. It would’ve ruined us, if we were discovered. And then…
“We thought everyone was out of the estate. I’d played sick, and Miss Holleran had come to keep me company, and the rest of the family was supposed to be at a dinner. But Alex was feeling tired and I didn’t realize he decided to stay behind until he walked into the dining room to find us kissing.”
Henry’s breath hitches in his throat. The outcome of that discovery is obvious now, but he can hear the terror in the shake of June’s voice, the fear he’s experienced every time he’d dared kiss a boy in the dark.
“He left abruptly. I tried to talk to him after but he wouldn’t see me. Didn’t say a word to me either and I was so sure he would tell our parents but a week passed and they were none the wiser. There were no rumours abound, not even a whiff of controversy. I thought Alex had decided to let it go, and with that, let me go, too. That he wouldn’t treat me as his sister anymore but he also wouldn’t disown me. I’d accepted that, accepted that I’d maybe have to let Nora go, too, until he showed up abruptly in my room when our parents were out and told me he intended to marry Nora.
“Not like you think, Lord Mountchristen,” June says when she sees Henry’s horrified look. “Not because he had his eyes on her. He told me he would marry Nora, that he would purchase an estate for the two of them away from the city, that he would have me move in, too. It would be a cover for our love and he would protect both of us as long as he had the means to do so. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, even when I told him he shouldn’t give up his romantic dreams for me. He told me he would propose to Nora, regardless of what I said, and knew our parents wouldn’t stop the marriage even if Nora was a commoner because they believed in love. I couldn’t stop him even if I wanted to, once he had the idea. That’s just who he is.”
Henry gulps. It doesn’t come as a surprise to him simply because he’s seen how selfless Alex is, how protective he is of his sister and Miss Holleran even when it’s clear now he must’ve been hurting.
Not a marriage for love, then. Henry feels so utterly daft for not realizing sooner.
The words escape him before he can take them back. “He’s not in love with Nora, then?”
June looks at him, eyes narrowed just so. It’s Miss Holleran that answers with a curl of her lips. “No. He’s not.”
And suddenly, Henry has a plan, too.
The hallways are silent as Henry makes his way up to Alex’s room.
Most of the wedding preparations are complete. There’s nobody running around to hand that curtain or bring that flower or set up that chair. The estate is completely ready for a fairytale wedding to tie Alex formally to Miss Holleran, and none of the invited guests will be any the wiser that behind closed doors, the bride’s heart beats for someone else.
Makes Henry wonder if Alex’s heart might beat for someone else, too. If, maybe, some of the signals he’d dismissed earlier as wishful thinking may have been real.
Alex’s eyes had lingered quite often on his lips, now that he’s allowed to think about it.
His nerves tighten as he approaches Alex’s door, but he doesn’t let that stop him. He knocks, and when there’s no answer from inside he knocks again, more forcefully.
“I’m fuckin’ busy!” Alex yells from inside, and it’s that bloody curse word that breaks all of Henry’s barriers.
“It’s me, Alex,” he says, softer than intended. “I think… I think you’d very much like to talk to me.”
He holds his breath. Counts. When he hits seven, the door finally opens and there’s…
Christ.
The sight of Alex, all ruffled hair and low trousers and—God above—shirt unbuttoned is absolutely deathly. Even if Henry’s intentions coming here were purely platonic, he’s not sure he would’ve been able to look away.
A bloody Adonis. Henry truly never stood a chance.
“What do you want?” Alex asks, and only then Henry is able to actually look up. He has a death grip on the door, fully prepared to slam it in Henry’s face if needed. His tone is cold, harsh, but Henry doesn’t take it personally. He sees it, after all this time. The hurt behind the biting words. The pain he’s been carrying all along.
He meets all that head on. “May I come in?” There’s hesitation in Alex’s eyes but he finally steps back, allows Henry inside right before he closes the door.
“Look, if it isn’t too much to ask for it’s the day before my wedding, and I’d very much like to be alone—”
“I know.” Henry’s voice is a whisper but it freezes Alex in place. He stares at Henry and, as if he’s a robot, forces himself to move near his nightstand and grab a glass of what looks to be whiskey.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he says so casually if Henry didn’t know better, he might believe it.
“I know,” he insists instead, stepping around the bed so he can stand behind Alex. “About Miss Holleran and your sister. I know the true nature of your relationship.”
Alex doesn’t even flinch. “You must be mistaken, Lord Mountchristen.”
“Christ, Alex, you can call me Henry.”
“Lord Mountchristen fits, I think.” He takes a gulp of the whiskey and turns, but doesn’t quite meet Henry’s eyes. The only hint of a lie. “Miss Holleran and I are in love.”
“Alex—”
“And I’d appreciate it if you stopped implying otherwise. I have a lot of respect for your family but I won’t hesitate to—”
“Alex.” Henry steps forward, close enough that it would surely be inappropriate in polite society. It’s brief, but he sees it—Alex’s eyes, flickering to his lips. It’s enough to bolster him. “I’m not here to accuse you. I’m not… I’m not going to tell anyone anything about them.”
Those doe brown eyes are fixated on Henry’s lips. There’s a moment where Alex’s carefully curated mask sticks to his face, but then slowly it slips, leaving confusion and terror and pain he must’ve been hiding for days. “I don’t understand,” he whispers and Henry’s heart aches for him. Another step, and he’s finally right in front of Alex, close enough to reach up and take his face between his hands.
“You’re as thick as it gets, aren’t you?”
Alex’s eyes snap up, lips parted into a question but he doesn’t get the chance to ask before Henry’s mouth is there, capturing Alex’s in his.
If he’s held all the power in front of Miss Holleran and Lady Claremont-Diaz, this is a total reversal of that. It’s him putting his life in Alex’s hands, in a twisted way to make things even between him and the girls, but also partly because he thinks Alex would take good care of it, if he was only given the chance.
Alex is frozen momentarily, but then his mouth opens up underneath Henry’s, body pliant under his hands, and something unlocks in Henry’s chest.
He’s dreamt of this far too many times than he’s willing to admit. It’s different than trysts in back alleys or stolen kisses in illegal bars, moments and seconds as fleeting as the boys under his fingers. Different in the safety of his own estate, behind closed doors, no time limit hanging over his head perhaps other than the one he’s set himself.
Different, also, in that he’s quite enamoured with the boy under his fingertips.
An exhale escapes his lips as he leans into the kiss, tongue experimentally sliding into Alex’s mouth and teeth scraping along his lower lip, and he only pulls back when there’s a gasp at the back of Alex’s throat and his body tightens where Henry holds him. Inches between them, close enough that Henry can see everything in its multicolour detail. The flutter of Alex’s lashes. The flush climbing up his cheeks. The tongue darting out to taste his own lips. Mouth open, and then this, too. One singular word that encompasses every question.
“You.”
Henry smiles. “Quite,” he whispers, trying desperately to keep his gaze on Alex’s eyes and not his lips. “I rather hoped—”
He doesn’t get the chance to finish. Alex darts forward, one hand in Henry’s hair and the other around the fabric of his t-shirt and kisses him so roughly their teeth almost clatter together.
There’s nothing slow about the kiss this time, though it feels just as sensual. Henry feels Alex tug at his hair, feels the shuffle of his feet alongside his, tongue to tongue and mouth to mouth and every part of their body pressed together as much as their clothes are allowed, and when the bed hits the back of his feet, all he needs to offer is a nod before Alex is hauling him up with one arm to drag him on top of the bed.
The nonchalant show of strength does things to Henry that he hopes isn’t written all over his face.
Alex climbs over him, kisses him within an inch of his life again before those plump, swollen lips move to trace a line down Henry’s chin, his throat, and finally to the edge of his shirt. Alex’s fingers are quick to unbutton the bloody thing, remove his coat and his vest and the rest of it as if he hasn’t had a valet dress and undress him all his life, and then there’s those lips again lining his chest, those lips nipping and sucking his stomach where no one will see the evidence of exactly what they’ve done here. Henry keens and moans and arches his back to press himself close, close, closer, and Alex doesn’t say a bloody word but responds to each one of Henry’s moves in kind. Only when he reaches his breeches that he looks up.
“May I?” he murmurs and Henry laughs because he cannot imagine a world he’d ever refuse a singular thing Alex is willing to offer him, and also maybe because his desire must be written all over his face yet this man, this beautiful and infuriating and absolutely devastating man thought to confirm that before anything on the off chance that it might cross a line.
“Alex, you can do whatever you want with me.”
That seems to do the trick. A breath escapes Alex’s lips, but then he dives down, baring the entirety of Henry with practiced fingers. His lips trail down alongside his fingers, and then up again, all the way to where Henry is aching for him the most. This time, he doesn’t need to ask before his fingers wrap around him.
It’s not difficult to tell that Alex hasn’t done before. He’s enthusiastic, surely, but Henry can feel the hesitance of unpractised fingers and lips. Not that it matters much—he careens quickly towards the cliff simply because it’s Alex touching him, a dream come quite literally to life, until he has to clasp a hand in Alex’s curls and tug.
“You might—” he chokes out. “You might want to slow down if you…”
Alex pops out, looks at him through those devastating lashes and gulps. “Okay,” he whispers. “Do you have…”
Right. A flush creeps up Henry’s cheeks. “First drawer. On the, um, right.” He watches Alex scramble and pull out the vial of oil, the damned thing small between his fingers. “I’d prefer it if you were…in me,” he blurts out before he loses in courage and watches Alex’s lips curl into a grin. He puts the vial aside and climbs on top of Henry, lips so close it’s almost torturous.
“I’d quite like that, sweetheart.” Christ, this boy is going to be the death of Henry. “But, um, I haven’t actually done—”
“I’ll guide you,” Henry says easily because that sounds a lot better than screaming at the top of his lungs that Alex could be the worst lay he’d had and he’d probably still enjoy it far more than any other tryst he’d had in his entire, miserable life.
Alex looks at him, all doe eyes and long lashes and flushed cheeks and his grin smooths into something softer. “Okay.” He dips down, kisses Henry so sweetly that it melts all of his bones right into the mattress. And then he pulls back to remove his own shirts.
There aren’t a lot of words shared between them other than “a little slower” and “yes, please” and “deeper” and “bloody hell, just like that” when Alex finds that spot inside of him. He presses one finger in first, and then a second one, a third, watching Henry’s responses like he’s absolutely enraptured with every noise that leaves his mouth. And Henry watches him, too, those lips parted in a moan when Alex first pushes into him, a lot and not bloody enough at the same time, and he thinks he could die right then and there and he would be happy.
Though, gazing into Alex’s eyes, for the first time he wants to live.
Alex stays after they’re done.
That’s quite a marvel on its own. He lingers in Henry after they’re both done—another marvel, that Henry fell over the edge merely seconds after Alex, the low and guttural moan that left his lips finally pushing Henry over the edge—and when he moves out, instead of sneaking out like many of Henry’s lovers he drops a kiss to Henry’s sternum and murmurs, “I’ll be right back.”
In a few moments he is, a damp towel in hand. Henry tries to straighten up to…frankly, he doesn’t bloody know why, but he doesn’t get far anyway. Alex puts a hand on his chest.
“Let me,” he whispers. So, Henry does.
The towel is soft against his skin. Henry slowly melts into it, muscles loosening from where they’ve tensed up until he’s teetering on the edge of sleep. He fights it, simply because he wants to extend this moment as much as possible, feel Alex next to him as much as possible, but then there are fingers against his cheek and lips on his chin and whispered words telling him it’s okay, he can sleep, he’s not alone, and he stops fighting.
He wakes up what must be thirty minutes later, from the angle of the sun, to a warm body pressed against his side.
Alex is watching him when he finally opens his eyes. Under the last rays of the sun, his skin is warm, eyes bright like molten lava, and that bloody smile that twists his lips is beautiful enough to stop Henry’s heart if he’d let it. “Thought I lost you there for a second,” he murmurs and Henry has to lie on his hand so he doesn’t reach out to trace those swollen lips with the pad of his thumb.
“Sorry,” he says as he stretches his legs and arms out. “I tend to get, um, tired after…”
Christ. Alex has been inside him less than an hour ago—he’d practically begged Alex to get inside him—and yet, now, when he’s neither horny nor desperate it feels almost shameful to bring it up. But Alex laughs anyway.
“I’ll keep that in mind.” His eyes flicker over Henry’s face, those bloody lashes fluttering with every pass of them, and then he turns away to settle on his back. Henry barely has time to mourn their loss before Alex is laughing again, harsher this time, almost…bitter. “You do know, don’t you?”
It takes Henry a moment to process what Alex means and a cold chill climbs down his spine. He intentionally leaves just a bit of space between them. “If you must know, I just found out about your sister and—”
“Not that.” Alex doesn’t even turn to him but Henry suddenly feels bare, like that piercing gaze can see through him even when Alex isn’t directly looking at him. “I mean that, partially, but also, you know what it’s like to…live with this. This thing inside of you society will never accept, that God never will, but you try to cherish it anyway on the off chance that it might provide you some happiness in this mortal life if not in the next one.” He says it, all deadpan as if he’s thought about it enough to detach himself from it, and Henry has to school his expression because the alternative is that he scream and cry and rage against the proclamation, and he knows that won’t help.
“I’d like to think,” he starts instead, slowly, not because he particularly believes what he’s about to say but this might be the only person he might get to verbalize it with, “that if God allowed me to love more than what society allows, it’s their shortcomings instead of mine.” He watches as Alex turns to him, as that smile returns to his face.
“Sounds fucking beautiful.”
And like that, Henry snorts, Alex lets out a bubbly laugh and the tension is broken. The small space between them dissipates as Alex reaches out to take Henry’s face in one hand, as he allows his fingertips to dance along his cheekbones. “I never thought I’d get to have this,” he whispers and Henry knows he’s not quite talking about Henry, specifically, but what this means to him. He puts the pieces together.
“Because of Nora?”
Alex frowns. He opens his mouth and Henry can almost read the denial on his lips, but then he stops. Deep brown eyes meet his. “You cannot tell her this.”
Henry nods almost immediately. Who the bloody hell would he tell anyway, even if he could?
“It’s not… Just so you know, Nora would ever ask me to not pursue someone I loved. But it’s different for her. She’s not a noble, her family isn’t rich like mine, and if her reputation is ruined, even if it’s through my infidelity, it would create a domino effect. And it’s not something I would risk with any woman I might’ve met.” He reaches out, and Henry’s hand find his, fingers linking together in the middle. “I never could’ve planned for someone like you,” he whispers, quietly now as if he doesn’t want to disturb the peace of this moment. An untenable emotion tangles in Henry’s throat and makes it almost impossible for him to speak, but he forces through.
“And now?”
Alex looks up at him and his lips twist into a smile. “I think I’m allowed to hope a little more.”
The Wedding Day
The wedding is beautiful.
Or, at least Henry imagines it must be. Quite honestly, he doesn’t remember much except Alexander Claremont-Diaz with his sparkling eyes and killer grin, wearing a suit that hugs parts of his body Henry wants to rediscover all over again, gaze on Henry as he reads the vows meant for his wife.
He thinks Nora does the same to June, though again, it’s hard to see beyond Alex.
The wedding is beautiful, the guests are happy, and the festivities extend into the late hours until all the guests have left and Henry gets the chance to catch Alex by himself. They’re not alone, not with both of their families somewhere in the estate, June and Nora snuck off to Alex’s wedding suite, and servants still bustling around, but when Henry asks Alex to come with him he does, no hesitation.
“It’s done,” Henry says as they stand by the windows of his room, looking out into the city. A lazy smile tugs at Alex’s lips.
“It’s done.” He glances at Henry. “And wasn’t even as miserable as I thought it was going to be.”
“What, essentially marrying your sister-in-law?”
“Ha.” Alex swirls the whiskey in his glass and downs the last sip. “I do love Nora, you know. Just not like that.”
“You better not.” Henry pauses, and then after a moment of hesitation sidles closer to Alex, fingers brushing the back of Alex’s hand. He gets to watch Alex’s face melt under the touch. “I had a thought,” he says. Alex arches a brow.
“Oh?”
Another time, Henry might not have voiced it. But he’s happy and a little drunk and Alex is with him and for once, he feels invincible. “I rather think your parents would also like to marry your sister off to a wealthy, reputable young man,” he says, keeping his voice direct so it doesn’t shake. “And I like to think I wouldn’t be too bad a choice.”
Alex looks up, and Henry does too to meet his eyes, holding his breath until he finally sees the corners of Alex’s eyes crinkle. He reaches up, presses his palm to the nape of Henry’s neck and pulls him down into a kiss.
“Give it a year,” he whispers into it, “and then ask me again.”
And Henry starts counting down.
A year later, in the privacy of the same room, he goes down on one knee with a family ring in hand, with Alexander Claremont-Diaz in front of him.