21st_sacrament | alex/henry + bondage

His wrists are wrapped up tight above his head, his fingers unable to reach the knot to undo it all. It makes him nervous, it's the only part of him bound but flat on his back he feels completely immobilized.

It's both humbling and frightening.

Memories of leather restraints slink to the forefront of his mind, bright, crystal clear, as if being shown under a spotlight. He remembers the feel of his knees locked into place, his boots holding his feet down like cement blocks, the clammy texture of gloves that did nothing to hide the cold hands underneath - poking and prodding him like a specimen, a thing to explore, to use, what good is a thing if it's broken--

"Alex."

At Henry's voice his eyes snap open (when did he even close them?) to face the man stretched out along side of him. He's holding himself up on one arm, head tipped down to look at him, waiting for him to respond with words and his mouth is dry when he finally does.

"Yeah?"

He's soft, he was half hard before they started but all signs of arousal are gone - the quickening of his breath is from his nerves. It was his bright idea and he's mildly ashamed of himself for putting the worries he can see all too easily in the eyes peering at him, except it's been like an insufferable itch underneath his skin the past month, egging him on, a problem he could actually fix. When he thinks back on the fear, the idea of being afraid of Henry, his jaw tightens stubbornly in resolve.

He can fucking do this.

Inside his bravado crumbles at the first touch of Henry's hand, index finger tracing over his collar bone, thumb brushing over his nipple. His palm runs over his chest, asking how this is, prompting him with his name until he responds with words and there's nothing clinical about it, he rubs his large hand up and down his side and Alex tries to stretch into it. He presses a kiss under his chin, on his neck, the top of his shoulder, all the little places he casually brushes with his hands when they're out in public, where everyone can see the attention Henry gives him.

His toes curl at the thought, new memories sweeping over the old ones, parks and theaters instead of graveyards and medical tables.

Henry palms his hip, mouth pressing kisses into his hair and he remembers Henry pulling him over to him with an arm around his waist, warm and snug in the middle of a library they were browsing. How hot the fire was in his belly from the few seconds he looked at him before he pulled away.

He moans softly, calling Henry a tease in a rough whisper when he asks if it's good in his ear. He wants to touch him, remembers he can't when his body rocks lightly side to side when he struggles but before he can be sent back to that place, Henry's hand finds him, wraps around his slowly hardening cock - and he whines, deep in his throat with his hips bucking up. His touch is warm and good and he just holds him, watches him get thick and red and

Henry always knows how to take care of him.