My Henry

Untitled Part 5

Alex moved out of the Brownstone into the loft in Soho, ironically about a block away from the Salsa club that started his down fall. Pez has offered it for as long as Alex needs and he is so grateful.

The loft is airy and bright with an enormous palatial bed, a bed Alex seldom uses and never for anything other than sleep, when that comes, which is increasingly rarely.

You can see Pez in every corner, a Kandinsky on one wall...real?... its Pez so probably, the wooden fertility carving on the bookshelf ,a small man with an enormous erect dick, that he picked up on one of his many expeditions and a photo of them all June, Nora, Pez, Bea, Henry and himself, the karaoke bar in West Hollywood smiling drunkenly at the camera in expensive shoes and garishly bright kimonos, the night his world tilted on its axis.

It oddly gives Alex some solace to feel Henry here, even if its via proxy.

In the draw beside the bed, not the locked one full of Pez's "little trinkets", there lays a small velvet box holding the ring he bought for Henry, before he imploded his world.

It's gold, smooth and subtly masculine set with a large amethyst and diamond, their birth stones, elegant and polished just like his Henry, except not his Henry anymore and the reminder of that sends a bolt of pain into his gut.

Alex takes it out of the box and slides the ring carefully onto his chain.

He used to keep a key there once, a reminder of home, now he has this as a reminder of the home he lost.

Fuck he is a maudlin bastard, he muses, and gives himself a rye smile.

Henry stands in Eido's apartment in Knightsbridge, he always loved the view from this room, the smell of leather and wood, the memories of his teens. This room was the place of his first kiss, the place he first touched another boys body, here, the summer before his Dad got ill.

Eido pours the last of the red into Henry's glass and watches him take a sip, and steps closer into his space, lifts a hand to Henry's chin tilting his mouth gently up, his thumb tracing over his lips. Henry looks into Eido's deep aquamarine eyes and the longing for them to be someone else moves briefly, uninvited through his mind.

Eido lowers his mouth a breath away from Henry's and pauses, waiting, Henry can smell the warm clean scent of him and feels a rush of warmth through his limbs, over his skin, he feels the question there.

Henry is a little drunk, wine still dancing on his tongue, this feels so familiar, so safe, like a memory coming into focus. "Yes" he whispers and Eido lows his head, and when he connects it is slow, soft and deliberate.

The loss, anger and stress of the past weeks melts out of him and Henry kisses back...hard, winding his fingers into Eido's hair tugging it at the root, he feels Eido's lips part and his tongue slide into his mouth at first tentative then bold and possessive. Eido presses his body up the length of Henry, pushing him back against the wall, his long fingers wound in Henry's hair, his hand on his nape.

Henry gets lost is the slide and pull of Eido's mouth, the feel of his tongue on his, the press of his body, the unmistakable bulge of him searing through his well tailored trousers onto Henry's thigh, his high firm arse under Henry's palm.

They stay like this kissing and touching and reclaiming the lost opportunities of their youth, suspended in time, Eido's body no longer the boy he remembers but that of a man, hard and lean.

Henry allows himself to fall into the sensations, gets lost in the tangle of lips and tongue and hands on his skin, caught in a haze of past and present, of loss and desire.