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It’s always Pez who instigates these things.
He’s the one who plans their group outings, who picks the gay bars on their pub crawls, who organizes the house parties that always end with someone breaking something priceless. The fact that they’re playing truth or dare, of all things, circled up on the floor in the living room of Alex and Henry’s brownstone, is not all that surprising.
June is sitting in Nora’s lap, nursing another whiteclaw while her girlfriend’s fingers comb through her hair. Nora’s own beer is long forgotten, warm on the kitchen counter, surely leaving a sticky ring on the marble.
Alex is upside-down on the couch, feet in the air, trying not to puke all over Henry’s lap, where his head is resting. Henry himself has taken far too many shots for one night, and is hardly able to keep his eyes open.
Pez, it seems, is the only one interested in keeping the party going. That is, of course, with the exception of Beatrice, who never seems more grateful for her sobriety than during nights like this, watching her closest friends wallow in their self-induced misery while she belts karaoke triumphantly.
The two of them have been singing Hamilton songs so loud Henry isn’t quite sure how they haven’t gotten a noise complaint. Pez screaming Angelica’s lines in an incredibly pitchy falsetto that makes David whine, and Bea having taken a pen to her chin and scribbled a very poor goatee on her face.
It’s only when Cash comes in, suggesting that they may want to quiet down, that Pez suggests the game.
“Truth or dare,” he says, legs pulled into a butterfly stretch. “It’s a classic.”
“It’s not a classic, Pez,” June complains, “it’s a game for teenagers. You’re almost 30.”
Pez frowns. “You are 30.”
“And I don’t want to play truth or dare.”
“Noraaaa,” Pez whines, “tell June to play truth or dare with us.”
“Us?” Nora asks. “I wasn’t aware you had managed to convince anyone else to play.”
Alex traces lazy circles into the fabric of Henry’s linen shorts. It’s late in the summer months, and the weather is finally cooling down now that the sun has set. He’s a little sweaty, a little drunk, and entirely indifferent to the goings-on of the friendgroup.
Having friends in his twenties still doesn’t feel normal. Alex is 28, and he’s still reveling in the sounds of several people in his house, late at night, bickering over nothing. He hasn’t felt alone in years, and it doesn’t matter what they’re doing, as long as he knows there’s people around him who care about him.
Henry tangles his fingers in Alex’s curls, snorting out a laugh as Pez rolls around on the floor dramatically, trying to convince the girls to play along. He pulls slightly, then releases. Alex smiles at the contact.
“Hazza, doll,” Pez calls. “You’ll play, won’t you?”
Alex can’t clearly make out Henry’s face without his glasses on, but his reaction must differ from what Pez was hoping because he lets out an incredibly forced huff and throws himself back to the floor.
“Truth or dare, Pez?” Alex asks, indulging him. Nora groans.
Pez’s white teeth shine in the dim light. “Dare.”
Alex pretends to think. “I dare you to do all the dishes from dinner before you leave.”
Bea laughs much too loudly. “You’re no fun,” Pez pouts. “Alexander, babe, I thought you loved me.”
“I do love you, Pez,” Alex sighs. “But I also love a clean kitchen.”
“Henry, your boyfriend loves dishes more than me.”
“I’m aware, Pez. Don’t even get him started on cutlery or I fear we’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Seriously,” Nora warns, “I can go the rest of my life without ever hearing Alex ranting about forks again.”
“Listen-” Alex starts. “There is no reason for the-”
Henry covers Alex’s mouth with his hand, which is promptly licked. Henry shakes his hand and screams, frowning at the saliva covering his palm. “Gross! Alex!”
Alex laughs so hard he nearly pukes, which makes everyone roll their eyes. Drunk Alex is a mix of an absolute toddler and a grown man fully in love with his boyfriend and looking for any excuse to leave. The resulting combination, is, unfortunately for all parties involved, very loud and often quite disgusting.
“Okay,” Bea concedes. “Hen, I dare you to take Alex to bed.”
Alex wiggles his eyebrows at the phrasing. “Beatriceee,” he laughs. “How scandalous!” His eyes are slightly crossed.
“Okay!” Henry shouts, blushing. He shoves Alex’s head off his lap, sitting up. “We’re going to go to bed now! Someone has to study tomorrow, and he’s going to regret this,” Henry gestures broadly to Alex’s physical state, grabbing his ankles so he’s lying on the couch instead of upside-down, “when his alarm goes off at 6.”
Alex giggles and sticks his tongue out at June, who rolls her eyes. Henry bends down and picks Alex up, throwing his body over his right shoulder without issue.
“Holy shit,” Alex breathes, not at all nonchalant. “Goddamn.” His eyes track down Henry’s back until they land on his ass. Alex smirks and smacks Henry’s butt with his left hand, laughing. Nora wolf-whistles.
“Goodnight, boys!” Bea calls as they disappear up the stairs. “Please do remember you have company!”
“You are a menace,” Henry laments as he opens the door to their bedroom, safely out of earshot of both of their sisters and best friends. “And you are going to have a serious hangover tomorrow.”
He throws Alex down onto the bed gently, letting his head flop down onto his pillow. They’re both still fully clothed, which means Henry, whose own head is still swimming, is going to have to undress both of them.
“Feet,” he yawns, reaching out for his boyfriend’s ankles. Alex laughs, which turns to a gross, wet cough. Henry winces. “Please don’t throw up on our bed.”
Alex rolls over onto his stomach, pulling Henry’s pillow to his chest and tucking his arms under his head. “Mmmm,” he groans. “M’gonna sleep.”
“Alex,” Henry pleads. “You’re in jeans. You can’t go to sleep yet.”
“Mmm.”
“Give me your foot, Alex.”
Alex wiggles his toes and kicks his foot out in the direction of Henry, much too fast for him to have any hope of catching it. He’s being difficult on purpose.
“You little bitch,” Henry laughs. “I’m trying to help you.” Alex kicks again, giggling into the pillow.
The third time he kicks, Henry is fast enough to grab his ankle. Alex screams. Henry tugs the gross, slightly hole-y sock from his left foot and throws it across the room in the direction of their shared hamper.
“You’re literally rich as fuck,” Henry asks, confused. “Why are you wearing socks with holes in them?”
“Oh,” Alex mocks, turning his head so his voice isn’t muffled by the pillow. “I’m His Majesty Henry Fox-Mountchristmas-Waterfall and I’m too rich to wear socks with holes in them.” Alex’s British accent is poor when he’s sober, but drunk Alex is truly an insult to the entire country. “I hate poor people and I love child labor.”
Henry rolls his eyes and grabs Alex’s other foot, earning a kick to the stomach in return. “Would you quit it? That’s quite enough.” He pulls the other sock off Alex’s foot, frowning at the matching holes in the toes of this one.
“That’s quite enough,” Alex mocks. “Bo'oh'o'wa'er, innit?”
“Alright, alright,” Henry shakes his head. The British jokes never seem to end in the Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor-Claremont-Diaz house, but he really would like to go to bed. “Will you please take your pants off?”
“Ayo?” Alex teases, “Take me to dinner first, your majesty.”
“You are impossible. Please take your jeans off so we can go to sleep.”
“Is that all you want my pants off for?” Alex asks with a frown. “Do you hate me?”
“I have no interest in having sex with you when you are one wrong move away from puking all over me, Alex. Please stop being difficult.”
“You take them off.”
“Alex.”
“I dare you.”
“You are impossible.”
“Henryyyyy.”
Henry lets out a huff, giving in. It really is a wonder they work so well together. He adores Alex with his entire being, but he truly is a challenge. “Roll over.” Alex obeys.
Undressing his boyfriend is not a foreign experience in Henry’s life- far from it. Undressing his drunk, giggly, hell-bent on being a pain in Henry’s ass boyfriend, is much more difficult. Alex squirms as Henry’s cold hands touch his stomach.
“Alex, love, please sit still.”
“Your hands are cold.”
“You could do this yourself, you know.”
“No. I want you to.”
“I’m not going to suck your dick.”
“Please?”
“Alex, you are drunk. I am drunk. Our sisters are both downstairs. We are going to bed.”
Alex pouts, but nods. He finally lets Henry pull his jeans off his legs. He doesn’t fight Henry as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. He mumbles something quietly as Henry turns the fabric right-side-out, but he’s too quiet.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Alex, love, what did you say?”
“Nothing.”
Henry frowns. Alex might have just been mumbling nothing, drunk and sleepy, but he has a feeling it’s bigger than that. He sits down next to Alex’s knees, turning his body towards his boyfriend. “Are you sure?”
Alex tilts his head, looking at Henry. “I said sorry.”
Henry furrows his eyebrows. “For what?”
“Embarrasing you. And being annoying.”
“What? Darling, when do you think you were embarrassing?”
“Downstairs,” Alex mumbles into the bedsheets.
“Downstairs?” Henry is absolutely puzzled. “Just now?” Alex nods. “Love, you do realize the people downstairs have seen you in dozens of compromising positions this year alone? I’m not sure you could possibly embarrass me in front of them.”
“Need I remind you,” Henry continues, needing to make sure Alex knows he’s serious, “aside from our dirty emails that were leaked to the entire world, you’ve been naked in front of everyone downstairs on more than one occasion, gotten drunk with each of them more times than anyone could possibly count, destroyed a wedding cake in the presence of three of the four of them, and made out with everyone except your sister.”
“Is listing my previous mortifications supposed to make me feel better? Because it doesn’t.”
Henry laughs. “My point is that you being a lovey, whiny drunk who wants to have sex with his boyfriend and rant about forks is hardly enough to embarrass me. You are not annoying. You are not embarrassing. You are not a burden. Okay?”
Alex’s eyes are glassy, slightly watery with what may be tears, but he’s also clearly very tired.
“I love you,” he whispers into the quiet, warm air of their bedroom. Henry smiles.
“I love you, too. Now can we go brush your teeth so we can go to bed? You really do need to study in the morning.”
“Ok,” Alex nods. “As long as you carry me in there.”