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“Alex,” Henry breathes again—but if it’s meant to be an objection, it’s severely dulled by the way he slides his hand out of Alex’s grasp, and moves it back up to his hair instead, tugging at the curls as he cranes his neck back to catch his lips in his own. Alex moans into it—obnoxiously so—god, he’s been obsessed with this man since the first time he walked into the lecture hall—elbow-patched cardigan, faint strands of gray at his temple, a barely-present tummy spilling over his belt—and that’s not even mentioning his brilliant, passionate rants about queer history. Alex likes to think of himself as a smart guy—he knew that going after Henry would be a bad idea at best—a disaster at worst—he just couldn’t help it; he can’t help the way he wants to climb so deep inside of this man he’s never going to be able to find his way back out. “Mr. Fox,” Alex moans back, just to be an asshole—which earns him a half-hearted smack on the ass just as he rolls over to settle his hips in between Henry’s parted legs. “Hot,” he comments into his mouth, picking his knees up just a little bit, teasing as he trails his mouth down the side of Henry’s neck, teasingly scratching his teeth over his collarbone. “Punish me more, professor.”
