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Henry doesn’t know what makes him bring it up. He doesn’t even know what causes it to come to mind in the first place. Maybe it’s the chilled vodka in a martini glass with olives he downed at the bar because he despises vermouth in martinis, maybe it’s the scent of whiskey and cinnamon radiating from Pez’s lips as he sighs contentedly while they lay in one of Pez’s spare bedrooms, tucked under blankets to keep out the December chill.
“Do you remember that horrid blowjob attempt?” Henry asks with a shy smile, head pressed into Pez’s chest.
He can feel Pez’s short chuckle raise his head. It sounds effervescent, even in its briefness. “You’ll have to be more specific, love. I’ve had an unfortunate run of ‘blow job attempts.’ Are you referring to my vivid description of Julian using more teeth than necessary last month or the recent disaster of Adrienne only a week ago?” Pez shivers at the name. Henry doesn't know much about Adrienne, other than the fact she’s been noticeably absent from their group since she and Pez hooked up last week.
Although they don’t talk much about conquests, they do discuss the less than optimal encounters. They commiserate over dry spells and terrible professors and the pressure that comes with being who they are. Pez is the only person who understands Henry fully, and Henry might not ever fully understand Pez, but he’s grateful that Pez wants him around.
Henry shakes his head. “No, I meant my horrid attempt. You know the one.”
He takes his bottom lip into his teeth and chews it as he watches Pez go through his internal catalog of encounters. Henry is sure Pez pushed that one far away. They were both young, in their last year at Eton. They tried it, and they managed it while maintaining their friendship, but Henry knows now it was clumsy, awkward, and all around not good.
Pez shifts Henry off his chest so they’re facing one another. Henry grunts at the movement, resettles into his space, and takes in the look on Pez’s face. He looks confused and curious.
“What brought that on, Haz? Are we feeling nostalgic all of the sudden?”
Henry isn’t sure, but it feels like Pez’s voice just lowered.
“No, you mentioned horrid blowjobs, and it just brought up the memory, is all. I definitely know my way around a cock now. If we ever did it again, it would probably be better.” Henry is talking quickly, more to himself than to his best friend. He still remembers the fumble with Pez’s pinstripe trousers from their Eton uniform, sweaty fingertips gripping at belt loops, apologies into overheated skin, and the gentle fingers through his tousled hair when they mutually decided to call it a wash.
“I don’t doubt it, love. You’re a right expert now. You could probably teach me some things, dearest.” Pez is speaking absently, eyes half shut.
While Pez is heading towards sleep, Henry is wide awake, mind suddenly whirling. He thinks of the past and where they are right now. Although Henry isn’t in any sort of dry spell, everything he’s done lately has felt rather empty. He’s a feather in someone’s cap, a notch in a bedpost, a broken NDA from being someone’s bragging rights. He can’t remember the last time he was with someone that mattered, someone who mattered to him.
He doesn’t expect the next words that leave his mouth.
“Can I show you what I’ve learned? Can I make it up to you?”
Henry regrets the words immediately as he watches Pez’s eyes go wide in surprise. It’s impossibly difficult to surprise his best friend. Henry has made several attempts to do so in their 6 years of friendship, all of which have failed spectacularly. He doesn’t plan for his success to be around offering an apology blowjob for a failed attempt from their younger years.
Pez surprises him when a smooth thumb glances over Henry’s cheek.
“Henry Fox, what’s going through that head of yours?” He asks, voice gentle, as if he’s trying not to scare Henry away.
It amazes Henry how much Pez sees him, how much he can read between the lines of text that overflow Henry’s pages.
“I don’t…” He struggles to get the words out. “I don’t know, really. I don’t know where the question came from, and I’m sorry if it was strange. We can forget I ever said that. Sleep off the alcohol and go about our day.”
Pez’s hand is still on his cheek, rubbing softly along the line of his cheekbone, a soothing back and forth that Henry leans into.
“The alcohol is long gone, darling. I’m extremely sober, and endlessly curious. Is sucking me off something you want?”
Henry nods wordlessly. Now that the idea is on his mind, he can’t make it go away. He imagines his lips stretching over his best friend’s cock, imagines the tangy release on his tongue, and most importantly of all, he imagines the warmth of Pez’s arms afterwards, loves the idea that this won’t change anything for them.
“We’ll talk about this later, chick, but for now, come here and kiss me.”
Henry’s heart flutters at the nickname, and obliges Pez, pressing their lips together in a peck. He breaks away as quickly as contact is made, but Pez follows him, and deepens the kiss. It’s the most gentle kiss he’s had in ages, no gnashing teeth or pulled hairs at the base of his neck like he’s had with others. He can take his time with this kiss, and he sighs into it.
They break apart to breathe, grinning at each other.
“You’ve gotten better at that, Pez. No bloody lips this time.” Henry teases.
“It’s not my fault you had an aversion to chapstick and lips drier than the Sahara desert, love.” Pez returns, nudging him in the chest. “We can talk more later, right now I’d love to see you naked.”
Henry obliges and pulls off his shirt and pajama bottoms, leaving him only in briefs. He admires Pez as he strips to his skivvies, enjoying the expanse of dark skin as it’s exposed to him. He doesn’t necessarily find Pez hot. Pez isn’t his usual type due to the fact Henry prefers shorter men with defined jaw lines, and more lean features, but Henry isn’t blind. His best friend is stunning, and the nicest person he knows.
He can feel Pez admiring him in return, and Henry decides he can be cheeky.
“Do you find my body to your liking?”
Pez rolls his eyes. “Stop fishing for answers you already know, sweetheart. You’re bloody gorgeous. Anyone would be lucky to have you.”
Anyone. Henry gets sad for a moment when he realizes that he can’t have anyone he wants, no matter how attractive he is, but he’s distracted when Pez’s hand slips between their bodies, hand grazing Henry’s hip bone, thumb slipping under his waistband for the briefest moment.
“Can I?” Pez asks, and Henry nods.
“Please?”
“Always so polite, sweetness,” Pez murmurs, voice low and comforting, before pressing their lips together.
Pez’s hand slips into Henry’s boxers, and Henry gasps into his best friend’s mouth as a thumb swipes over his cock head, swiping precum from the tip, before starting a slow, teasing pace. Henry bucks up into it almost immediately, involuntarily.
Henry moves to mirror Pez, almost following the motions exactly—a sliding hand and a gentle grasp, matching paces.
“Bloody hell,” Pez groans, eyes falling shut when Henry flicks his wrist just so, pressing his thumb into the slit of Pez’s cock on the upstroke. “You’re a minx.”
Henry blushes, cheeks turning scarlet, before pulling his hand away, to Pez’s protest.
“I promised a new and improved fellatio experience, and I plan to provide.” He says, easy smile on his face as he presses a kiss to Pez’s lips before pressing sloppy kisses down Pez’s torso.
He kicks the covers he was under away as he shuffles his way down the bed, and he stares at his best friend’s cock. He takes a moment to appreciate how lovely it looks; if he told this to anyone (other than Pez), he’d probably seem a bit daft, but Henry appreciates the male form and the subtle and glaring differences between the men he interacts with. He loves seeing veins, has no preference between cut or uncut, but he has a special appreciation for thickness vs. length. Pez is a perfect ratio of thick, long, and well groomed. Henry loves the small tuft of hair smattering his pubic bone.
“I’m surprised this isn’t dyed blue, Perce.” Henry chirps, referencing the other man’s pubic hair, pressing a kiss to the base of Pez’s cock.
“Too much effort for not enough people to apprecia—you arsehole.” Pez says easily, breaking down to a groan.
Henry decides not to tease anymore and show off the new and improved skill he’s gained. He presses kisses up the length of Pez’s cock and licks at the head, curling a bead of precome into his mouth. He slides his mouth down, relishing in the sounds leaving Pez’s lips. His tongue drags along a vein as he makes his way back up, before sinking down again, until he’s inhaling the scent of musk and sweat as Pez’s pubic hair tickles his face.
“Y-You’re a cheeky minx, Haz. Where in God’s name did you—oh.” Pez moans as Henry hums around the base of his cock. “Christ.”
Henry basks in the praise being thrown at him, his own cock hanging heavy and untouched between his legs. He is too focused on this to think more about it, enjoying the reaction he’s getting. He can’t remember the last time anyone has been this enthusiastic about his mouth.
He’s surprised when Pez eases his head away, and Henry’s eyes widen with concern.
Pez eases that away quickly. “I want to make sure you’re taken care of too, you selfless twit.”
The words are affectionate and make something warm twist in Henry’s gut. Henry shifts his way up the bed until he’s face to face with Pez. Their foreheads press together, and the gesture feels so intimate and different from anything else he’s done with anyone.
Pez wraps a hand around Henry’s so far untouched cock, and Henry groans at the feeling. He can’t remember the last time someone returned the favour, but he pushes the thought away to exist in this moment of intimacy.
Pez jerks both his cock and Henry’s in one hand and grinds his hips towards Henry’s. Henry bites the inside of his cheek from the wet slide and the friction and warmth of Pez’s hand. He feels like he’s going to fall over the edge any second, and with anyone else he’d be mortified, but he knows he’s safe here.
“Close,” Henry whines out.
Pez nods, forehead sliding against his own.
“Me too, love.” Pez groans.
They fall over together, creating a mess between them. Pez’s hand is covered in a combination of both of their come, and as he makes an attempt to wipe it on the covers, Henry grabs at Pez’s wrist.
“That is utterly disgusting. Don’t you dare.”
Pez gently pulls his hand away from Henry’s and murmurs. “I know how to do the laundry and there’s another guest room to choose from,” and wipes his hand on the sheets.
Henry looks affronted and Pez looks amused. “We should shower.”
“How about a bath, instead? We can wash our bodies and I can wash your hair since my hair doesn’t need a wash at the moment. I can use the lavender bath salts. I know it’s your favourite.”
Henry smiles softly and nods in agreement. He watches Pez get up with a preternatural grace and move around the room and into the en-suite.
“Don’t forget to put the towels in the towel warmer, please.” Henry calls out once he comes back to himself a bit.
“Do you think I’d forget that, Princeling? I know you well enough by now.”
Henry smiles to himself, grateful that he has someone who knows him almost as well as he knows himself—someone who knows him and doesn’t judge him; someone who loves him without conditions. It eases something inside him to be cared about this way, not for who he is, but because he’s Henry.
Pez grabs him a few moments later and eases behind him into the oversized tub. Henry leans back against Pez’s chest, and Pez scrubs him down, rubbing the tension away from his shoulders.
“Where on God’s green earth did you learn to give a massage like that, Pezza?” Henry murmurs, eyes half closed from the aroma of lavender and the heat of the bath water.
“A special class taught by a master masseuse who I befriended in Mallorca. He gave me a quick teach. It stuck with me. It comes in handy.” Pez says, easily, wiggling his fingers at the pun.
Henry laughs. “You’re a terror. How are you real?”
“I’m as real as you are, darling.” Pez says, kissing his temple. “We are both made to be these larger than life figures when we’re actually uni boys who get handsy like the ones who live in dormitories. I think it confirms we’re human. Or something.”
Henry hums in affirmation. “The ‘or something’ is the truth of it.”
They get out of the tub before the water gets too cold and dry off with pre-warmed towels, much to Henry’s delight. Pez puts the dirty sheets in the washing machine and they settle into one of the other bedrooms in Pez’s flat. They wrap around each other, tucked under blankets once they’re in their sleep clothes, and for once in his life, Henry can sleep, relaxed and content, knowing that he has one firm constant in all of the chaotic order.