Henry just hums in response, pulling Alex in for a lingering kiss, his hands sliding up under Alex’s t-shirt and tracing patterns into his skin. By the time they break apart, Alex is hard in his sweatpants and Henry’s cheeks are gratifyingly flushed.  “Can’t believe you’re gonna cockblock me for an entire month, you asshole.” “Well, technically”—Henry quirks an eyebrow—“the deal wasn’t that I can’t have sex. Just that I can’t come.” And that’s… interesting. Henry coming undone is a beautiful thing, but Henry wanting to come undone is something else entirely—wild and uninhibited and desperate. Suddenly, Alex can see an upside. “Guess our sex life’s gonna be all about me for thirty days, huh?” He grins, letting his tongue peek out between his teeth.  Henry tilts his head, considering. When he smiles, there’s a dangerous edge to it that has heat crackling up Alex’s spine. “Or perhaps, if I’m not getting an orgasm out of it, you’ll have to work hard to convince me it’s worth it, darling.”

“I should really shower,” Alex says without much conviction. “I’m filthy, H.” Henry just hums, and Alex feels his lips curl into a grin against his skin. “Maybe I like you filthy.” “You do, huh?” Alex asks, lifting one of his dirt and grease-stained hands to Henry’s neck. He’s very well aware that Henry’s never seemed to mind when he was a little grimy after a day of shooting, but today was particularly hot and dusty, and that’s aside from the extra dirt that makeup had added to his skin. He looks like he’s spent all day rolling around in the desert, which he has. Apparently, that’s doing it for Henry. “You want me to put streaks all over that pretty pale skin of yours? Mark you up?” He swipes his thumb over Henry’s collarbone, leaving a black smudge behind, and Henry exhales heavily. “Fuck, yes. I want that.” “Gonna make it so that everyone who sees you leaving this trailer knows that I’ve had my grimy hands all over you,” Alex murmurs, low and heated, punctuating it with a nip at the lobe of Henry’s ear as he smears more dirt around the base of his neck. That’s not how it will work out—this is Henry’s trailer, after all, and most of the rest of the crew will probably be gone by the time they shower and leave. But it still makes for a nice fantasy.  If the way his eyelids flutter shut is any indication, Henry agrees. “Please,” he groans, pressing into Alex’s touch.

“Don’t get cocky you little shit, cocky gets—” “—dead, I know,” he finishes with a sigh. “Look, everything will go perfectly, promise. One take.” “In your dreams,” she snorts. “Fox is a picky bastard. Just be thankful you’ve been shooting with second unit until now.” “Believe me, I am,” Alex returns dryly.

Miguel's hand is back, slipping over and around his knee so his fingertips brush the soft skin inside his thigh and Alex feels himself getting hard in his trunks. See, asshole? Some people think I'm so charming they even want to fuck me. Alex can't stop his whiskey-loosened thoughts from imagining the meeting with Henry going that way, instead, imagines Henry's piercing blue eyes looking at him with an entirely different kind of heat blazing in them, imagines the same challenge and intent written plainly on Miguel’s face playing across Henry’s, blue eyes searing into his. And then Miguel leans in, and Alex lets him, reveling in the way the attention feeds his buzz and makes him lightheaded. Besides, kissing is fun. Even if it's with smarmy reporters who aren’t great at it. -- aka Alex falling in love with Henry while Miguel lurks in the background. (or, the author has a headcanon that "we once made out on the campaign, drunk, fully naked, in a hot tub" happened in Rio because someone was frustrated over being rejected, and it turned into 11k of loverboy ACD)

Still, the cocky shithead part of him is slightly pleased to finally have a claim on Henry.

Miguel's hand is back, slipping over and around his knee so his fingertips brush the soft skin inside his thigh and Alex feels himself getting hard in his trunks. See, asshole? Some people think I'm so charming they even want to fuck me. Alex can't stop his whiskey-loosened thoughts from imagining the meeting with Henry going that way, instead, imagines Henry's piercing blue eyes looking at him with an entirely different kind of heat blazing in them, imagines the same challenge and intent written plainly on Miguel’s face playing across Henry’s, blue eyes searing into his. And then Miguel leans in, and Alex lets him, reveling in the way the attention feeds his buzz and makes him lightheaded. Besides, kissing is fun. Even if it's with smarmy reporters who aren’t great at it. -- aka Alex falling in love with Henry while Miguel lurks in the background. (or, the author has a headcanon that "we once made out on the campaign, drunk, fully naked, in a hot tub" happened in Rio because someone was frustrated over being rejected, and it turned into 11k of loverboy ACD)