Shades of Henry

by Amy Lane

  Lance thought about Henry, being kind to Summer Frasier when she’d had the gun.

  And then he saw him body slam Martin Sampson into a full dumpster.

  “When he’s protecting us,” he said after a moment. “And not… not to extreme. He doesn’t beat people to a pulp—he gets them out of the way. He doesn’t yell at people. He talks them down from the ledge.”

  “So… so there may come a day when some of this gets out,” Stevenson said softly. “And he’s going to need someone to talk him down.”

  Lance nodded. “Yeah. That’s what I was asking.” He blew out a breath and flopped onto the very comfortable couch. “So I just need to be ready.”

  “Yeah. He’s got a sense of freedom, from what you’ve said. Out of the military, out of this relationship—he’s not going to see he’s keeping himself in his own prison until something reminds him.”

  Lance shook his head. “He’s a really good guy,” he said. “I… we talked last night, and I could see our entire lives unfolding. Like this was the guy I’d been waiting to fall in love with since I was twelve years old.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with falling for a guy with baggage,” Stevenson said softly. “It sounds like you’re ready to work with him to lighten the load.”

  “I am,” Lance said, his eyes burning a little.

  “Now what can we do to help lighten your load? Without sticking your fingers down your throat, of course.”

  God. Lance felt wrung out already. But he also knew he’d trespassed on the doctor’s good will enough. “Okay, so, let me tell you the sad story of a fat little kid named Galahad, and how everyday his father said, ‘What a little chunk! Are we skipping dessert tonight, Gally? I think that would be best.’ And I’d leave the dinner table hungry so I could stop being fat little Gally.”

  “I’m riveted,” Stevenson said, and Lance looked at him in surprise, because he seemed to have lost his sarcastic edge. “No, truly,” the doctor told him, apparently in all sincerity. “Because that’s a real story about you, and now we’re getting somewhere.”

  Lance swallowed. “God,” he muttered. “I knew this was going to suck.”

  “Had it all figured out, did you?”

  “Yeah.” He swallowed again and was about to wipe his eyes on his shirt, but then Stevenson used a knitting needle to point out the box of Kleenex right next to him. He grabbed a couple and wiped his eyes.

  “Didn’t count on the pain?”

  “I’m a doctor,” Lance lamented. “I should know better.”

  “Oh, sweet, sweet naïve little porn star. Nobody ever does.”

  And then they really got to work.

  LANCE DROPPED Randy off at the apartment and then took off for work—a twelve-hour shift—getting back around two a.m. Henry was asleep on the couch, still in his cargo shorts, arms wrapped around his knees, his head leaning on the couch back. He looked like a child who’d just nodded off. Lance woke him up with a kiss on the temple.

  “Hey,” he said. “I’m going to shower. There’s no one on the inflatable—I’ll join you.”

  “Mm. D’you eat?”

  Lance smiled. “Not yet. Want to make me something?”

  Henry’s return smile, sleepy and gratified, was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.

  He really had been reading up. Veggies and tofu this time, with a hint of coconut milk and some spice. “I was going to do curry,” he said a while later, propping up his chin on his hand, “but that gives me gas sometimes.”

  Lance paused midmouthful. “And that would be bad?” he baited.

  “Well, awkward, maybe. But, you know. You’re dealing with a guy who has bent over in a Port-A-Jon—my definition of bad is really pretty loose.”

  “No!” Lance protested. “No! We are not going to talk about that, not right now.”

  “No?” And there was something in Henry’s voice, something almost desperate.

  “No,” Lance said, tracing his firm, grouchy lower lip. “I hereby make that a rule. If you have waited up to feed me and talk to me and maybe sex me up after my shift, we’re not going to talk about your ex. Because you need a place in your life where nothing’s going to hurt you. His memories are going to be cropping up for a good long time, Henry. You may never be clear of them. But here, late at night, when I want nothing more than to touch your bare skin, nothing’s gonna hurt you. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah,” Henry whispered. “Very gallant, Galahad.” He looked at Lance’s plate, which wasn’t cleaned—but it wasn’t full, either. “And nice job on the food. All done?”

  “All done,” Lance said softly. “But not with the food.”

  “With what?”

  Lance shook his head. “You never ask me. Do you realize that? What a gift that is?”

  Henry looked confused. “Never ask you what?”

  “If I’m quitting porn.”

  Henry looked away. “It’s not my place. I mean, I know that. I’ve been working really hard to not… not drag morality into all of this. And that means what you do professionally.”

  Oh, that hurt to say. Lance could tell it did. But he’d said it. And even though his face was red, and he was really uncomfortable, he’d been trying to give Lance his space about his job since he’d arrived in March.

  “Well, I am,” Lance told him, and the words were like a weight off his chest.

  “Because of me?” Henry swallowed. “This was… this was your act of defiance, Galahad. It wasn’t mine to regulate or to try to control.”

  “Not for you—for me.” Lance took a bite of tofu and closed his eyes, savoring the taste. “Because I don’t need the money, and because I don’t need the fuck-yous, and because I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve done. But doing this thing to a point where it could hurt us, could keep hurting me, that would be something to be ashamed of.” He looked at Henry carefully, trying to gauge his expression.

  “I can’t lie,” Henry said, looking embarrassed. “I’m fucking thrilled. I just… I don’t want you to regret quitting—”

  “No,” Lance said. God, look at him. Tough and grumbly and… sweet. Strong and protective and… empathetic. He was a throwback to a homophobic age who was trying gamely to throw his old identity away and embrace the one that fit him best. “I can’t say I can always go back, but I can be perfectly comfortable leaving it in my rearview right now.”

  Henry was still searching for what he probably thought would be the appropriate response, so Lance gave him a moment by putting his plate in the sink and rinsing it off. He was entirely unready to find Henry’s arms around his waist and his mouth on Lance’s neck as he pulled him close.

  “Can I be a caveman now?” he rasped. “Say dumb shit like, ‘Mine! Lance mine!’”

  Lance chuckled and thrust back against him. “Yeah. I’m good with that.”

  Henry licked the whorl of Lance’s ear. “Mine,” he said, but it came out as seduction. “All mine.”

  “Yes.”

  And then he shucked Lance’s sleep-shorts to his knees, along with his briefs, and turned him by the hips until he was leaning, bare-assed naked, against the counter.

  “Henry?”

  Henry sank to a crouch in front of him and nuzzled his upper thigh. “Mm….” He stuck out a treacherous tongue, licking the crease between his thigh and his groin, and Lance spread his stance, bending his knees a little, giving him better access. Gently—so gently—Henry took Lance’s testicles into his mouth, plying them with his tongue, rolling them like precious things, and Lance put his hands on the counter to support his weight.

  “Henry, maybe a be-ed?”

  Henry opened his mouth and took the balls in his palm, where he treated them like finest porcelain, while his hand moved up to Lance’s cock.

  “I have not tasted this yet,” Henry said deliberately, sticking out that pink tongue again. He touched the end, swollen, getting bigger, and dabbed a little at the pee-slit, just enough that Lance knew he was there.

>   “You’re not tasting it now!” he complained, and Henry’s throaty chuckle almost sent him down to the kitchen floor.

  “Give me some time to savor it,” he stalled, licking Lance’s head again.

  Oh wow. Henry was right. He was amazing at giving blowjobs, and Lance had sworn not to invoke the evil ex’s name ever again during the late night, but that asshole hadn’t known a good thing when it had licked him on the penis. Henry licked around the bell, sucking the head lightly into his mouth, plying his tongue with teasing little flicks before releasing it again. Lance caught his breath and gripped the counter harder, because oh my God, he wasn’t going to make it long if Henry kept doing that.

  Right when he’d moved one hand to the back of Henry’s head, to beg for pressure, for grip, Henry engulfed his prick in one long, smooth move, all the way to the root.

  Lance used his hand to moan into, because wow. Just… wow. Henry dropped Lance’s balls with enough “plop” to make them ache pleasantly and used his hand to grip Lance’s cock, his stroke firm and sure while he kept using his mouth, his magical mouth, to titillate, to tease. Lance’s eyes rolled back in his head and his knees shook—oh, man, this was amazing. This was tremendous. Lance, who had been getting professional-quality blowjobs for nearly three years could safely say this was the best blowjob he’d ever had.

  It was too good. “Henry,” he begged, massaging Henry’s scalp with his fingertips. “God, please. I’m going to co—” Henry flicked Lance right behind his balls, right at his taint, and sucked and swirled all at the same time.

  Lance’s fingers tightened in Henry’s hair, and he bit the palm of his hand as he climaxed, his entire body threatening to crumble from the one orgasm.

  It almost wasn’t fair.

  “C’mere,” he croaked. “Let me kiss you.”

  Henry swallowed on his way up and then went to wipe his mouth with his sleeve, and Lance could read the work of Henry’s ex-monster all over that semi-ashamed gesture, but he refused to invoke him.

  “Let me taste myself on you,” Lance clarified, licking at his lips, at his chin, at the trickles down his neck. “Let me lick my come off your mouth.” He took Henry’s lips in an all-out mauling, a possession that allowed him to suck, to swab, any last traces of come from Henry’s mouth. He pulled back after the last touch of sweetness and kissed him almost chastely on the corner of his lips. “You have a filthy mouth, Henry Worrall. Let me clean it for you.”

  He kissed Henry again, sliding his hand down to the front of Henry’s cargo shorts and finding his erection strong and hard, thrusting against his briefs. He kneaded, and ran his lips down the side of Henry’s neck.

  “Did you get your results yet?”

  Henry had gone in Saturday for a blood test, and the results were supposed to be up on the website today.

  “Negative,” Henry said, thrusting against his hand.

  “Good. Because I’m going to drink you all up.”

  Now it was Lance’s turn to sink to a crouch before Henry, but Lance wasn’t going to play coy. Hard and fast, without mercy, he stripped Henry’s shorts until they fell to the floor, and took that amazing cock in his hand. Henry was porn length, and thick, with no foreskin, but an aggressively wide head.

  Wrapping his lips around Henry’s cock was almost decadent, and allowing his tongue to swirl around it, tasting him, was better than dessert.

  Lance knew tricks too, knew about twisting his grip, about teasing Henry’s taint, about digging into the pee-slit with his tongue. He’d used these tricks without shame in his videos, and now he used them without hesitation to bring Henry to an abrupt and startling edge.

  “Lance?” Henry asked, his hands shaking in Lance’s hair.

  “You ready, Henry? Because I want your come down my throat.”

  Ah! The seductive power of words. Lance pulled Henry into his mouth again and was flooded, Henry’s come overwhelming his senses, pumping mightily down his throat as he swallowed.

  He kept just a tiny bit in his mouth, though, so when Henry tugged him up, pulled him into a kiss, he had some taste to share. He knew he’d done right when Henry sucked on his tongue and moaned, wanting more.

  “We have all night,” he whispered in Henry’s ear.

  “You have work tomorrow,” Henry whispered back, and Lance whimpered softly.

  “No!”

  “And so do I,” Henry sighed. “I’m driving Galen around tomorrow. Apparently he’s got plans.”

  “Aw, man!”

  Henry kissed him then, and backed them both toward the mattress, their shorts and underwear left where they’d stood.

  “I’m getting hard again,” he whispered in Lance’s ear. “I’ll never get to sleep like this. You?”

  “God, no.”

  Henry’s mouth still tasted like come. Lance had plans to taste that some more.

  Ah! There was something so fulfilling about bare skin, about Henry’s hands touching him everywhere. About their chests rubbing together, their thighs.

  Their cocks.

  Henry’s hands, palming down Lance’s backside made him almost delirious with want.

  “Inside me,” he whispered. “I want you.”

  Henry pulled back and frowned. “Are you sure?”

  And if Lance had had the ex-monster there, he’d have killed him. “Yes, Henry, I’m totally sure.” Deliberately he walked to the couch and grabbed the lube from between the cushions, noting clinically that there was a lot less of it. He handed it off to Henry, who wrinkled his nose.

  “Seriously?

  “Who do you think?” Lance asked because he had to. “Zep and Fisher?”

  Henry grunted. “Billy and Curtis,” he said, and Lance felt his jaw drop.

  “No!”

  “I’m saying—sometime in the last week, they both realized they were men who liked to have sex with other men, and they qualified.”

  “Are you sure?” Billy who was almost subversively quiet and Curtis who was unapologetic about liking porn and…. “Oh!” Lance suddenly got it. “They were on the schedule together last week.”

  “Hunh,” Henry said, and Lance frowned.

  “What is that word?”

  “It’s just a word. They seem to have a pretty powerful connection. Does that happen often?”

  Lance shook his head. “Almost never. Johnnies is like the one place you can have really raunchy sex and not have to worry about strings.”

  Henry’s eyes searched his face. “Unlike here, I guess.”

  Lance’s breath caught. “This is home. This is having sex with someone in your home. That’s….” Oh, how embarrassing to say. “That’s magic.”

  And suddenly, they were the only two people in the apartment again. The only two people in the world.

  “It is,” Henry said. This kiss was untainted with memories of the ex-monster, unsullied with doubt. Lance wanted him. Therapy had left him cleaner than purging, an empty shell that yearned to be filled. Henry’s warmth, his muscular arms and solid chest—he was shelter and sustenance in the same hard body.

  Lance fumbled the lube bottle into Henry’s hand and bent over the couch, tilting his head when Henry kissed behind his ear, down his neck, to the join of his shoulder. He made himself vulnerable, allowing for Henry’s strength and his bulk to have control. His gratitude, when Henry breached him with two slick fingers, was acute. Stretching was good, was more than foreplay, was invasion. Lance’s breathing quickened, and he bent over, giving himself to Henry who fingered him boldly, kissing along his spine, his shoulder blades, his triceps, as he thrust inside.

  “More,” Lance breathed, not caring if it was more fingers or Henry’s formidable cock. Another finger breached him, and he hit the couch with his fist. “Good,” he moaned softly. “So good.” And while Henry thrust into him with his fingers, he continued the gentleness on the rest of his body. One hand made its way to Lance’s nipples, plucking that wonderful string that led directly to his groin, and he hit the couch again. “
God! God! More!”

  He was expecting Henry’s cock and got another finger instead. He buried his face in the couch cushion, gripping the sides of it with clenching fingers and let out a groan.

  “You’re killing me,” he cried. “God, Henry, fuck me.”

  Henry spread his fingers instead, and his entire body shook.

  “Please!”

  “Is that what you want?” Henry whispered. “Is that what you really want?”

  “Your cock,” Lance begged. “God, you.”

  Henry’s fingers disappeared, the emptiness enough to make him weak. Henry’s cock was next, just a bit thicker, filling him completely, thrusting hard and fast down to the balls.

  Lance screamed into the couch, pounding with both hands, until Henry’s arms caught him around the waist and Henry whispered harshly in his ear.

  “Stroke your cock. Hard. I want to taste your come.”

  Oh wow. Wow. People didn’t say things like that on a porn set. Lance went boneless, moving one hand down to his cock as directed, and squeezed. He began to shake right as Henry began to fuck, brutally hard, but not fast.

  Fast would have been merciful.

  Lance was reduced to whimpering into the couch, orgasm sweat breaking out over his body as he stroked himself.

  “So good,” Henry murmured. “So tight. It’s like you’re trying to trap me inside.”

  Sweet talk—it seemed to be Lance’s thing. He gave a cry and came, the heat spilling across his fist driving him higher even as he pumped more. Henry kept fucking through the climax and he moaned as Henry hit his sweet spot, even as he was coming. Again! Again! Again!

  Henry bit the back of his neck and groaned, rutting harder as Lance squeezed him with every muscle in his ass. He came in a scalding rush that Lance could feel, thick and good, and collapsed against Lance’s back. Lance managed a partial turn, holding his hand up defiantly, and Henry sucked on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, licking shamelessly, tasting Lance’s spend like his last meal.