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There’s a knock on the door.
“Sir, do you have a minute?”
It's John.
Alex is dragged violently out of his serene, aroused daze. His heart starts pounding furiously, and his sudden jerk of surprise knocks his head lightly against the underside of Henry’s desk.
“Hush,” Henry says fondly, then raises his voice. “I’m busy, Jack.”
Alex exhales the breath he’s holding. He knows the door is not locked, but that doesn’t matter, because it is the aura of Henry that keeps the children from straying in uninvited.
But John doesn’t leave. “Please?" he calls through the closed door. "It will only be a minute, and I wanted to speak to you while Alex is out. It’s, ah, pretty urgent.”
And then Alex’s heart leaps into his throat, because Henry says, “Oh, all right,” with just the barest note of wickedness.
Alex sucks in a ragged breath, but then the door opens, and he chokes down the rest of his panicked noises.
A rational fragment of his mind, which he cannot access right now, knows that Henry would never indulge in a genuine risk of discovery. That doesn’t mean they haven’t skirted this line over the last five years. There have been near misses, though Alex suspects they were never in as much peril as Henry made out, sensing how the added distress would affect him. Alex knows that Henry is fully focused and in control of every situation; that’s what makes this so precious, because it is the one corner of his life where Alex doesn’t have to be.
And anyway - it’s too late now.
He uses the sound of the door opening as cover to settle a bit more comfortably.
He’s on his knees, naked, and squeezed snugly between the backing board of the massive wooden desk and Henry’s spread legs. His own legs are splayed widely - the rule is that his knees must be touching the wooden panels on either side of him - and his arms are behind his back, hands gripped tightly to elbows, just as he’s been instructed to keep them. And his mouth is open, lips parted, because Henry insists on hearing the little breathy gasps and moans Alex makes as Henry keeps him riding the edge for hours. A little bit of saliva is leaking out of the corner of his mouth already, but he doesn’t want to risk John hearing him swallow, and he hasn’t been given permission to do that anyway.
Even now, in this desperate circumstance, Henry's orders hold sway.
Henry’s foot, which he had slipped out of his shoe, has been stroking up and down his thigh, between his legs and along his shaft, driving him senseless with lust - but now it withdraws, and Henry rests it firmly on top of Alex's thigh, just below his hip.
Alex remembers, just in time, not to whimper at the loss of stimulation. It's almost become a reflex, because Henry likes his wordless begging.
“Have a seat,” Henry says amiably, and Alex hears the scrape of the chair on carpet and a thud as one of John’s legs knocks accidentally against the backing board, inches from his head.
They might have played it fine before, but this is insanity. John is right here.
Alex does not know how John fails to notice him - burning bright like the sun with arousal and terror and disgrace and surrender.
Then again, Alex was not aware that the heat Henry has stoked in his groin could flame up any higher. Alex has never felt shame quite this acute - the skin on his neck and chest are feverish with it - and the corresponding throb in his cock is proof that Henry always has something new to teach him about himself.
“So. What can I do for you, son?”
Alex hears John shift restlessly. “I wanted to ask your advice about something, sir. Something important.”
“Of course.”
“How did you know you wanted to marry mom? I mean, what made you sure she was the right person for you?”
Oh, no.
Alex swallows down a strangled sound as his gorge rises. He should not be here for this conversation. No, no, no, no, no--
Henry lets out a surprised and delighted little laugh, and oh fuck, John doesn’t even know a fraction of why this question has tickled him. “It was a different time, of course, but I knew I wanted to marry your mother the minute I set eyes on her. Yes, she was beautiful and charming and kind, but--” Henry breaks off and sighs, a genuine nostalgic sadness in the sound. “Call me a sentimental old fool, if you like, but she felt like the missing puzzle piece. Like she could fill in my gaps and make me whole.”
John hums thoughtfully.
“Is this about Alexander?” Henry asks, masterfully composed, and then grinds down into the delicate flesh of Alex's inner thigh with his heel.
Oh god. A shudder runs through Alex’s cramped legs and a cold tickle of fear caresses his lower back. Henry’s not going to go easy on him.
“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it.” Just the tone of John’s voice conjures the dopey smile he’s wearing in Alex’s mind. “Him. Marriage, I mean. Is that crazy?”
"How long has it been?"
"Six years."
Henry hums, and the heel digs in viciously for another moment before letting up. And it's not a moment too soon, because Alex has started trembling from the effort of keeping himself upright against the fire in his nerve. He swallows the thankful whimper he would usually be required to make.
"That sounds like plenty of time to reach a decision. You've thought this over?" John must indicate a non-verbal yes, because Henry adds, “Tell me.”
This might all be incredibly touching, Alex thinks with a flash of annoyance, if he wasn’t crammed under a desk, vulnerable, shivering, jaw and shoulders burning, hard as steel, and feeling like he might throw up from anxiety alone. He's usually allowed to make sounds, which helps relieve some of the pressure, but now he is forced into silence by a weight even greater than Henry's command.
“Well,” John starts, then pauses, and Alex hears the hesitation.
This is a remarkably frank conversation for the two of them to be having, an intimacy that Alex can’t remember them sharing before. John has spent so much time throwing off the real and imagined weights of his father’s expectations that it’s strange to see him seeking out guidance about this incredibly personal matter. Alex wonders with a sudden flash of suspicion whether this is not an additional, intentional dimension to Henry’s continued violations; the more Alex allows and insists on these visits home, the more opportunity for father and son to grow closer. This is so deviant and so heartwarming that his aching chest doesn’t know what to do with the information.
John starts up again. “I love him. I could list all the reasons, like that he’s smart, and fun, and brave, and he brings out good things in me. Works harder than anyone. He’s going to make such an incredible success of himself and I’m proud of him every day. I’m always blown away by how he fights for the things that he believes in.” John’s affectionate tone turns sharper, if no less fond. “Yes, sure, he doesn’t know when to stop. He gets so wound up all the time but he just refuses to take a breather. And he’s pretty stubborn.”
Henry and John share a chuckle at his expense - and oh, if John only knew a tenth of why Henry finds this so funny.
“Maybe you just need to take a firmer hand with him,” Henry suggests, and gently, inescapably, raises his knee into the tender place where Alex’s jaw meets his throat.
John barks a laugh. “Who, Alex? Have you met him? There isn’t a human being on earth who can tell Alex what to do.”
Henry hums ambivalently.
“We're a good team,” John concludes, then sighs. “There’s really just one thing.”
“Oh?” Henry asks, the picture of fatherly concern.
“So, okay, I don’t doubt that Alex loves me back. Not at all. I just sometimes get a feeling that he wishes I was something - more? Different? I’m not sure how to explain it. It’s not him - my doubt is not at all about whether he’s the love of my life - but I wonder if he ever has doubts about me. Does that make sense?”
“It does,” Henry says, low and serious, and Alex echoes this sentiment with a silent pang. John has never brought this up with him before. And John is not wrong, in a sense. He’s glorious in so many ways, but he can’t extinguish the flame that’s constantly burning just under Alex’s skin, driving him to lash out or crest into manic episodes or do some incredibly rash and thoughtless things; John just doesn’t have Henry’s carefully harnessed potence and wrath, the kind that cools Alex’s feverish itch when Henry unleashes it against him. But he doesn’t fault John for it; as far as Alex is aware, there’s only one person in the world who has the medicine he needs.
Another trail of saliva escapes Alex’s mouth and runs down his chin. His inner thighs are aching with the humiliating pull that makes it impossible to forget that his cock and balls are utterly exposed to Henry's whims.
“Yeah, so. I don’t know what to do, sir. I’d like to ask him, but I guess I’m a little afraid that he’ll say no - and if he does, that might be the end of us. Or that he’ll say yes but he’ll eventually figure out I’m not what he wants and he’ll go looking for it somewhere else.”
“You don’t trust him?”
“No! I do. I’m not saying he’d - uh - have an affair or something,” and Alex hears the awkward cringe as John voices this private worry, “But maybe he’d leave. You know, eventually.”
“Ah.” Suddenly Henry’s foot is on Alex’s leg again and - no, sir, please, I can't!
He must.
Henry traces slowly but inexorably along the over-sensitive skin of this inner thigh, from his knee to his groin, down to the other knee, back again. “That, I’m afraid, is always a risk. But, is he worth taking a chance on? And the potential heartache even if something were to go wrong?” There’s a pause, and John must nod, because Henry continues. “Good. In that case, if you’re otherwise sure, my advice would be to venture it, or you will spend your days regretting what might have been.” The foot pauses at the tender spot between the root of his shaft and his testicles, and Alex starts to tremble. He can’t allow his breathing to get too loud. His chin is wet with spit that has nowhere else to go. “And I think he’d be a fool if he turned you down.”
On the last word, Henry’s foot grinds up against him, hard and sudden, and agony erupts along all the nerves in Alex’s groin, thighs and abdomen. He cannot help the tiny gurgle of shock and pain, but Henry anticipates it, because he shifts loudly in his chair to mask the little noise.
When the blinding hurt ebbs a moment later, Alex wonders - was this a command? A warning? Is Henry ordering him to marry John?
He is so stunned by this thought that he notices, too late, that although Henry has let up the pressure, he has not stopped stroking. Henry is pressing Alex's straining cock hard against his belly as he runs his foot up and down the shaft. The coarse rub of the sock just elevates the rawness that’s already there.
The conversation above him continues, but Alex is senseless to it - because, oh god, if Henry keeps this up, then Alex is going to burst, and soon. Henry has forbidden him from coming without pleading for permission first, but of course that’s impossible now - and Henry must know there’s no way he can hold back his orgasm.
Alex must try, because he can’t do this, he must not, not in front of John. Revulsion at the mere thought is one reason; the fact that it may unlock a new height of desire that he won’t be able to attain again is, shamefully, the other.
He grips his elbows tighter, trying to transmute the tension in his groin into a more manageable kind of hurt.
No - it’s pointless!
Henry has never used any restraints on him, keeps Alex in his place with his voice and hands alone. Alex has figured out why, too - restraints would make him less accountable for his participation, and Henry knows there is added shame in Alex choosing this mistreatment over and over, every time he seeks it out, every second he remains obediently humbled. But Alex wishes futilely for them now - because he needs some sort of support if he is to keep himself perfectly still and silent while Henry inflicts this divine shame on him.
Alex realises - he has a choice. He can either keep silent and upright, or he can hold back his orgasm. He does not have the fortitude to do both. His brain goes into an impossible loop, because Henry forbade him this - but is now forcing it out of him. The repercussions for disobedience are going to be so severe.
And it's the thought of this, of what Henry will require in penance, that brings his impending orgasm to a rapid boil - unpreventable now, even as he tries to delay it. There is no way Henry does not feel the tremors in his body.
Perhaps this is why Henry's words come through to him suddenly, clear and intent. “You’re a grown man, Jack, so you don’t need my blessing or my permission,” he says, his voice suffused with paternal tenderness. “But for what it’s worth, our Alexander is a fine young man, and I would be happy to have him as part of the family.”
Our Alexander. Oh, yes, he catches it. Ours --
-- that bittersweet, longing ache in his chest --
-- flings him over the edge.
He clenches every muscle in his body as he comes, to try to stop himself from accidentally moving and making a noise, but he’s trembling helplessly beyond any hope of control; he’s going to fall--
Henry’s leg shifts just in time. He presses his shin against Alex’s chest and puts his knee right under his chin. Alex falls against it, boneless and grateful, panting silently, aware of but unable to prevent the damp patch of saliva he’s leaving on Henry’s thigh. Because he still has not closed his mouth; this order, at least, is one he can still obey.
“Was that all you wanted to discuss, then?” Henry asks mildly.
“Ah, yes, thanks. I’ll leave you to your work, sir.” John stands.
"Ah, about that.” A pause. “You're an adult, now, Jack - goodness, you're contemplating marriage, after all - so I think it’s high time that you dropped that address. Call me Henry from now on, if you prefer."
Even in his breathless haze, Alex senses what a meaningful gesture this is for John. He's always wanted to be taken more seriously by his father, and this is a significant levelling of their playing field.
But Alex knows this is a gift for him, too; Henry’s way of retaining something just for them. He needs to acknowledge it - he's in enough trouble as it is - so he turns his head and strokes his cheek silently against the thigh in front of him before returning to the position he knows Henry wants him in, his chin on Henry’s knee, the curve of his throat pressing lightly against the fabric.
“Thank you, ah, Henry,” John says with a little laughing cringe in his voice. "Honestly, that sounds a little strange."
Henry chuckles. “We'll get used to it soon enough.”
John heads to the door. He's almost gone, and Alex cannot wait to sink heavily to the ground for a moment before he needs to atone to Henry for his misbehaviour. But then John stops, just as Alex hears his hand turn the doorknob. “Oh, I didn’t catch Alex before he went out. Did he happen to say when he’ll be back?”
Henry chuckles. “I don’t keep Alexander’s schedule for him.”
“Ha, no, of course not.”
“I’m sure he won’t be long. And tell me, Jack, when might we expect the happy news of your engagement?”
“Well, in fact...” There’s a giddy, nervous tremor in John’s voice. “I was thinking of asking tonight, actually. Since it’s our anniversary. Alex always forgets the date, so it’ll be a surprise.”
“Ah,” Henry says, the smile evident in his voice as he jostles Alex’s jaw lightly with his knee. “That would be splendid.”