Chapter Text
The music pulsed through the apartment—a heavy kick that echoed the beat of Henry’s heart as he made his way through the crowded living room. The end of another college semester was as good an excuse as any to get high and drunk and forget their worries for a while. Bodies filled the open space; sweat, spilled beer and someone’s too-sweet perfume mixing with the tang of weed drifting in from the balcony.
Henry recognized a few of the attendees, some of which he had invited himself, and others who frequented the shared apartment to visit one of the other tenants, but the majority were new faces. All the better for him to lose himself in the press of them.
He was grateful his roommates; Rosa, Katherine, and Hans, had taken him up on the idea to throw the party at their place. The four-bedroom split unit wasn’t the biggest accommodation, but it gave each of them their own space and opened up into a wide living and kitchen area they had grown decent at sharing. More importantly, it gave them enough room to invite a throng of partiers and gave Henry the comfort of knowing he would not have to worry about stumbling far to fall into the right bed at the end of the night.
Henry took a long swig of his beer as he walked past a couple making out on the couch, their hands tucked under shirts and their laughter muffled against each other’s mouths. Heat tugged low in his stomach at the sight.
Maybe he could stumble into his bed with someone.
Fuck, it had been too long.
He wasn’t the type for one-night stands, preferring to get to know the other person first, but the semester had been grueling and hadn’t left much room for him to give his number out. Or maybe he had been hesitating, even when Theresa kept insisting he should try. Their own awkward attempts at making something happen between them had never quite worked, not the way either of them wanted, and she had been annoyingly determined that Henry not spend the rest of college pining after someone unavailable.
Because there was someone.
But as far as Henry knew, the man wasn't interested in him like that, and that made the thought ache in a place he did not feel like touching tonight.
And so, he would pick someone else. Someone easy. Maybe it would be good for him. With the beer warm in his stomach and the room swaying pleasantly around the edges he could convince himself that anyone else would do.
Anyone including the dark-haired, mustachioed man eyeing him from where he leaned against the wall, blatantly roaming his gaze over Henry’s form.
Henry finished his drink, wiped his lips on the sleeve of his flannel, and made his way over. He discarded the empty can on the coffee table, leaving it with the other half finished drinks and sticky containers he would surely curse out tomorrow.
“Hey,” Henry said as he approached, his eyes giving the man in front of him the same assessment he had received.
“Hey to you too.”
Greetings done, Henry’s tongue seemed to forget what it was meant for. Making friends had never been difficult for him, however, He found there was a difference between making a friend and gauging whether the attractive man he was talking to was not only single, but interested.
“I’m Bartosch, but you can call me Bart.” The man smiled and reached out a hand to shake when Henry didn't offer anything else.
Henry took it, only for his brain to short-circuit when Bart lifted his hand to his mouth and planted a small kiss against the back of his knuckles. The touch was brief, barely more than a brush of warm lips, but his skin still burned when he pulled it back.
“Henry,” he stammered, because apparently that was all the beer had left him capable of.
“I—uh.” He continued despite how his tongue sat heavy in his mouth. Wasn’t the booze supposed to loosen it? “You’re one of Kat’s friends, right?”
“Yeah, I’m part of her study group. We had a few classes together this semester.”
Henry nodded as he said it, though the words slid past him almost as soon as they were spoken. Maybe this had been a bad idea. Bart was still talking, something about finals and some professor Henry didn't know, and Henry started to sort through a few variations of reasons to pull himself away. He could make a run for another beer, maybe offer to grab a second and conveniently forget. Although that might not stop Bart from looking for him later.
Then his salvation arrived in the form of his blond roommate.
Hans wore a yellow short-sleeved knit shirt, unbuttoned down the front to show off his muscles through a thin white tank top. The hem of it was tucked into a pair of tight grey jeans, and fuck, he looked good in them. The party lights caught in his hair and along the sharp line of his jaw, the jut of his nose and chin as he stepped closer, mouth moving around words Henry barely heard. They flowed right past him, drowned beneath the music and the sudden rush of blood in his ears.
“Come on. We can discuss it somewhere else.”
Hans grabbed his bicep and physically pulled him away.
“Bye, Henry,” Bart called after him.
The next thing Henry knew, he was standing in the hallway leading to Rosa’s and Kat’s rooms. Hans deposited him beside a painting of a meadow.
“You, uh—wanted to discuss something?” Henry asked. He scraped at the edges of his addled mind, trying and failing to remember what the fuck Hans had said before pulling him away. The hallway was cooler than the living room, the air less thick with sweat and beer, but the music still pounded through the walls, dull and heavy in his chest.
“Never mind that. I just needed an excuse to pull you away.”
“Pull me away?” Henry blinked at him. “Why?”
“From that guy you were talking to—fuck, Hal, keep up.”
Henry squinted. What the hell was Hans on about? “I, uh, yeah, that’s Bart. He seemed chill?”
“I don’t care what his name is. I don’t want you talking to him.” Hans hissed the last part, lowering his voice as someone walked past the hallway entrance a few feet away from them, laughing into their drink.
“Um. Okay.” Henry’s confusion sat heavy in his head, slow and sticky from the beer. Maybe Hans knew something about the guy. Bart had seemed a bit more forward than Henry expected, with the hand kiss and the way his eyes kept wandering. “Yeah, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
He started to move back toward the party, but Hans caught his arm again and pulled him back.
“I mean it, Henry. Stay away.”
His voice was low but firm, and Henry’s shoulders tightened before he could stop them. Suddenly, he felt like he was being chastised for something he hadn’t done.
“Okay, yeah, I heard you the first time.” Henry snarled back, wrenching out of his grasp. “I was pretty much done talking with him anyway when you pulled me away. Keep your panties out of a twist. Why are you so intense anyway?”
He shouldered past the blond, the brief brush of Hans’ arm against his own making his skin prickle in a way he chose not to think about as he continued. “Why don't you go find Adder and take a hit of his bong. Stop being so uptight all of the time.”
It wasn’t uncommon for Hans to get this way sometimes. He had a rich upbringing and got a type of way when he didn’t get what he wanted, always expecting others to just let him boss them around. Henry didn’t mind it usually. Most of the time, Hans’ moods were easy enough to laugh off. But every now and then, they needled under his skin.
Hans was constantly in his doorway, leaning against the frame and making idle, cutting comments about his shirt choice or his hair. He always picked the seat next to Henry on the couch when they were out in the common areas, even if there were others available. During the short time Henry had been having Theresa over just to hang out, Hans had interrupted them every chance he could. Some excuse to linger in their space until the conversation shifted around him.
He teased Henry whenever he planned to go out, which more often than not led to him inviting himself and tagging along. He was also weirdly on top of everyone in the apartment’s schedule—didn’t he have anything better to do?—so if Henry stayed out later than normal, or didn’t text to share what he planned before doing it, Hans acted no better than Henry’s ma had when he stayed out past curfew as a teenager.
Henry dismissed it all as Hans being overly caring in his own way. From all Henry had heard, it wasn’t likely he had many actual friends growing up, and maybe he just wasn’t used to living with people who weren’t either his guardian uncle or staff he used to order around.
Besides, outside of those quirks, Hans was actually pleasant to be around. He made good conversation and had a way of making Henry laugh despite himself.
It hadn’t helped that his proximity and attractiveness had led to more than one night of Henry taking himself in hand, muffling his sounds into his pillow while the one he was thinking of moved around in the adjoining room. Stupid, ordinary sounds that still made Henry’s blood run hot.
Henry hadn’t picked his roommates. They had been assigned to him based on the room he chose when he signed the lease. He had opted out of dormitory living and decided renting a place a short walk away from campus would grant him more freedom.
Not that he ended up walking much, because Hans started driving him half the mornings, or he’d catch a ride with one of the girls. Henry had thought about getting his own car, but it was tough saving up when every paycheck seemed to disappear before he could get ahead—
Henry stopped the train of thought as realized he was thinking too much for what was supposed to be a relaxing party. A party he had planned to get absolutely plastered at. So he took his own advice and stepped out onto the balcony to seek out Adder and his aforementioned bong.
Janosh was predictably out there with him, one arm slung loose around the blond's waist as they stood near the railing, huddled close against the cold. The bass from inside pulsed faintly through the door, muffled now beneath the scrape of wind and the distant rush of traffic somewhere below. All of it a welcome reprieve.
Henry greeted them and enthusiastically accepted the bong when Adder passed it over.
He took a rip, letting the smoke settle deep in his lungs. His eyes slipped shut through the burn, the glass smooth against his palm, his chest tight for one delicious second before he released it in a long exhale. The haze spilled from his mouth and hung between them, silver and soft under the balcony light, before the wind whipped it away.
“Fuck, I needed that,” Henry said, already feeling warmer despite the chill as he passed the bong back to its owner.
Adder laughed as he took it, then did his own hit. He made a show of breathing the smoke out in a controlled billow, lips parted, throat working, and Henry couldn’t help but admit to himself that he looked hot doing so.
Adder noticed him looking and said something in Polish.
Janosh laughed, shaking his head.
“He says his bigger than yours,” Janosh translated after a moment, and Adder grinned at Henry, eyes dragging over him with absolutely no innocence.
Henry felt his face heat as he leaned into the flirting. “Not unless he’s willing to prove it. Lets take another hit.”
His fingers brushed Adder’s as the bong was passed to him again. Henry’s gaze flicked down to Janosh’s hand as he took it, watching the thumb stroking lazily against the fabric there.
The couple before him wasn’t exactly subtle about their interest in having others join. Not that they were blatantly asking, but Henry knew all it would take was for him to tip a point into their game a bit; perhaps take a step closer, leave a hand linger a second too long, give them a smile with enough promise behind it—and they would meet him there.
Except, he wasn’t exactly looking for that either, as fun as the brief fantasy was.
He sucked in more smoke, letting it fill him with a pleasant, far off sensation. The edges of the night softening as the cold stopped biting so sharply at his cheeks. For a moment, everything felt distant and warm and easy, and then he let his breath go.
Adder repeated after him and, of course, took a bigger hit.
Henry laughed, defeated but not upset about it, and patted Adder on the shoulder. He decided to call it there, not intent on reaching the snickering level the two of them had already sunk into.
“Guess there’s no competing with you,” he said, ending their game.
The encounter left him light and a bit hungry. Quite thirsty too, if he was honest. Right. He never grabbed another beer because Hans had pulled him away.
He stepped back inside and aimed for the kitchen, only to be met with the man himself again.
“Where were you?”
“Just took a moment outside,” Henry replied, sidestepping around him, determined to reach his destination.
“Doing what?” Hans called after him, his voice strained and reprimanding.
“Having a smoke. What do you think?” Henry scoffed as he walked, weaving in between the partiers. The floating feeling he had earned from the weed ebbing away with each word, like Hans had reached into his chest and tugged him back down by the ribs. He continued into the kitchen, trying not to let the annoyance grate at him.
“Well you certainly were out there a while.”
Henry rolled his eyes, determined not to let it affect him, and reached up to open his designated cupboard. He found a new bag of chips exactly where he remembered it, tore it open, and eagerly dug in. The scent of crispy potatoes greeted him, greasy and perfect. He popped one into his mouth and moaned at the explosion of salt on his tongue. He closed his eyes to relish the taste, turning until his back connected with the counter. The sharp edge pressed through his flannel as he crunched down, letting his shoulders loosen. When he opened his eyes again, Hans was standing there, staring at him with a baffled look.
“Are you even listening to me?”
Henry laughed, amused by his continued antics. “Yeah, I’m listening,” he lied.
Then he grabbed a chip and offered it toward the blond, who had already started talking again. Hans’ face was a bit flushed from the warmth of the room and whatever had gotten him heated. A thin sheen of sweat shone along his brow. His lips moved, pretty and pink from drink, but Henry didn’t hear a word. He only wondered how soft they would be if he pressed his own mouth to them.
Hans faltered when Henry put the chip against said lips, clearly not expecting it.
Henry laughed and tapped the chip again, urging him to open. Hans did, with a glance up at Henry through his lashes, and desire pooled low in his stomach at the gentle, wet brush against his fingers as Hans took it from him.
For a second, Henry forgot how to breathe. Even after Hans pulled away, all Henry could think about was sliding his fingers in, parting his lips properly, feeling that hot tongue against the pads of them.
Henry cleared his throat and shifted his stance, trying to subtly adjust himself against the press of his stirring cock. Heat crawled up his neck when he caught Hans noticing.
“Are you thirsty?” Henry asked, his words thick in his throat as he turned away and quickly opened the fridge.
Cold air spilled over his face, crisp enough to clear his head for a moment. A few different cases of beer greeted him, including one fancy German brand he knew only Hans bought. He grabbed a can of his own, then one of Hans’, and while he was at it, spotted a container of strawberries one of the girls must have bought. It sat on the sharing shelf, so he didn’t hesitate before taking it too.
He passed the German beer to Hans, set the strawberries on the counter, then hopped up to sit beside them before cracking open his drink. The hiss of carbonation was a pleasant to his ears. He sniffed the contents, then chugged it down, suddenly parched. The beer hit his tongue with bitterness, fizzing sharply over the salt still clinging to his taste-buds before sliding down his throat in a rush.
He set the near-empty can on the counter when he was done, let out a satisfied sigh, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“How can you even drink that piss?”
Henry startled, then looked from his can to the drink Hans was sipping. He shrugged before prying the plastic strawberry container lid open.
“I dunno,” he admitted as he struggled for a second before he finally succeeded. “Don’t really drink it for the taste.”
He grabbed a strawberry, then motioned the rest of the pack at Hans, holding it out between them until the blond took one as well. The berry was sweet and juicy in his mouth, chasing away the acrid taste of cheap beer. He indulged in it, eyes drifting to Hans as he did the same.
Red juice stained his bitten lips. His shoulders loosened, the tight line of tension easing as he leaned against the counter with his hip with his beer held loose in one hand. He looked handsome, glowing in the kitchen light, all his edges blurred just enough to make Henry ache.
“Who knew some snacks and a beer would be the secret,” Henry said aloud, not entirely sure what he was saying until it was already out of his mouth.
Hans flicked his gaze to him, equally confused. “What?”
“You know, cause —eh, never mind.” Henry shook his head and picked up another berry, biting off the flesh so he could toss the leafy head back into the container.
He chewed and swallowed, then noticed some of the fruit’s juice had seeped onto his fingers. Without thinking, he popped the wet tips into his mouth and licked off the sweet taste. A small sound caught in his throat around the intrusion, his mind helpfully supplying something else he could wrap his lips around.
He pulled his fingers free, then repeated the motion with the next berry, getting lost in the fantasy before he could stop himself. Hans pushing him down onto his knees right there onto the tiled floor. Hans undoing his fly with that teasing little smirk on his mouth. Or maybe they could switch places so it would be Hans sitting on the counter instead, thighs spread, his long, deft fingers carding through his hair as Henry made room for himself. If Hans had even an ounce of interest in him, there was no force on earth that could keep Henry’s head from between them.
He must have looked a certain way, because when he opened his eyes next, Hans had an eyebrow raised and a guarded look on his face.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Hans smirked, grabbing another strawberry.
Henry watched him eat it and swallowed against the saliva pooling in his own mouth.
“I—uh, sorry.” He cleared his throat. Fuck, he needed to get it together. “Just feel good is all.”
“Yeah?” Hans’ gaze twisted with interest. “Thoughts of someone helping you feel that way, or is it just the strawberries?”
He cast Henry a knowing look, and Henry felt his face flush
“No it's, fuck. Maybe I should slow down some I’m a bit out of it.” Henry lied, suddenly too aware of his own body.“It’s—nothing. No one.”
Hans’ smirk had dropped somewhere between one breath and the next, replaced by a look that picked Henry apart piece by piece. His eyes lingered too long on Henry’s mouth, then his hands, then somewhere lower before snapping back up again.
In all honesty, Henry barely felt drunk. The weed had brought in a strange clarity where the alcohol should have dulled his thoughts, leaving him in a buzzing state where everything felt incisive and more vibrant. He looked away, unable to hold Hans’ expression anymore, and dropped his gaze to the container in his hands.
Empty.
He scowled setting it on the counter next to him, realizing the fucking bastard had eaten the rest of them.
His eyes caught on the abandoned chip bag farther down the counter, and he grabbed it just to give his hands something else to do. He wished he knew what the fuck was going on with Hans, but it also wasn’t his problem to solve.
So Henry distracted himself with a handful of chips, the salt sticking to his fingers as he shoved them into his mouth. He watched as Hans drank down the rest of his beer in several quick swallows, throat working with each one, then turned to the fridge to grab another.
The air between them had gone tense all of a sudden, tight and charged in the space between them.
The moment broke when Pavel walked into the room.
He was one of the guys Henry used to work with, though he still floated around the edges of Henry’s friend group like an annoying bit of smoke that never quite cleared. The man paused at the threshold, eyes flicking between them both. Something unreadable crossed his face before he ignored Hans completely and turned to Henry.
“Hey there.”
“Hey,” Henry greeted back, though he wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt like he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.
Pavel walked between them to get to the fridge, brushing close enough that Henry caught the richscent of his cologne beneath the beer and sweat. He popped it open and grabbed one of the drinks they had bought to share with the guests. His eyes slid back to Henry as he shut the door with a sway of his hip.
Then he cracked the can open, tipped his head back, and chugged the entire thing while staring at Henry.
Henry could only stare back, half baffled and half embarrassed for him.
Pavel crushed the empty can in one hand and tossed it toward the trash when he was finished, where it bounced off the lip and landed on the floor with a hollow clatter.
He smirked, threw up a call me sign, and slipped out as quickly as he had walked in. Henry was, in that moment, forever grateful he had never answered any of that man’s booty calls.
Hans scoffed once Pavel vanished around the corner.
“You know,” he started, reaching into Henry’s bag for a handful of chips, “you don’t have to throw yourself at everyone just because they bat their eyes at you.”
Henry returned the scoff and shifted the bag out of his reach, no longer feeling like sharing. “What in God’s name are you on about?”
Hans let out an exasperated sigh, and the way he rolled his eyes made Henry’s stomach curdle.
“You,” he accused. “The way you strut around wagging your arse at everyone. You can be such a piece of work sometimes.”
The words hit wrong. Not sharp enough to wound, maybe, but enough to leave a sting.
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You know damn well what I mean.” Hans reached out and snatched Henry’s chips before carelessly tipping the bag to dump a few into his mouth.
Henry stared at him, heat crawling up his neck. His annoyance flaring bright enough to burn through the pleasant buzz he’d been building.
“Whatever. I don’t know what stick crawled up your ass, but you’re being such a buzzkill.”
He hopped off the counter, grabbed another can of his piss beer from the fridge, and stalked out of the kitchen, ignoring the way Hans called after him.
The asshole could keep the stupid chips. Henry didn’t even want them anymore.