on purpose.

“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.