Chapter Text
1.
“Diaz!”
“It’s Claremont-Diaz,” Alex says without missing a beat. He looks up and gives Officer Gupta his most charming smile. “How many times do I gotta tell ya, Amy?”
“It’s Officer Gupta to you,” she says, her face blank and devoid of any real emotion. She’s clearly immune to Alex’s Southern charm. “And it seems like it’s your lucky day. Somebody bailed your ass out.”
He perks up. “Does that somebody happen to be tall, white, and British?”
Officer Gupta’s left eye twitches. Finally, a break in her carefully crafted facade, and Alex counts that as some kind of win. He springs up from his seat (his unassigned-assigned square foot of metal bench, if you will) and strides out of the cell, far too happy for a man who’s just been arrested not even 24 hours ago.
“I really hope I don’t see you again, Alex,” Officer Gupta says, clearly unimpressed.
“Aw, Amy,” he coos. “Just say you’ll miss me. It’s okay.”
Officer Gupta says nothing, and her blank stare starts to make him feel a little itchy under the collar.
Alex throws his hands up in surrender. “Jesus Christ. Okay, I’m going.” He gives her a two-finger salute as he walks past, and she still doesn’t say a word. He heads down the hall to his left and steps up to the window to get his belongings back.
He casually leans against the reinforced window, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “‘Sup, Cash,” he greets the officer behind the desk.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Claremont-Diaz? Fancy seeing you here”—he smirks—“again. I think I’m getting tired of seeing your face. Isn’t this the second time this month? What was this for?” Cash squints at the documents in front of him and finds the answer himself. “Hmph, assault, I see.”
Alex shrugs and says jokingly, “Eh, you know me. I’m just tryna fix this f*cked up system, one crime at a time. And besides, that guy was being a racist piece of sh*t. What else was I supposed to do?”
“Be careful what you say ‘round here, kid.” Cash raises an eyebrow. “But you couldn’t have figured out how to do that in a more legal way? Like, I don’t know, by going to law school?”
“Already tried that a few years ago. Me and the education-industrial complex don’t really agree with each other.”
“I’m starting to think you enjoy getting arrested.”
“I enjoy standing up for what’s right,” Alex easily retorts.
Cash shakes his head and holds up a clear bag containing his belongings, ALEXANDER G. CLAREMONT written in black sharpie across the front. “Everything look good in here?”
Alex eyes the bag. Apple Watch (dead), check. Phone (also dead), check. Wallet, check. House key on a silver chain, check. Signet ring, check. Last name, however…
“It’s Claremont-Diaz, but other than that, it’s all good.”
With a nod, Cash slides the bag into the metal drawer, and Alex grabs it from the other side.
“Say hi to Henry for me,” he says.
Alex grins. “Will do. See ya, Cash!”
“I hope I don’t, kid.”
Alex laughs and flashes him a peace sign, his signature goodbye, before turning around to follow another officer to the exit. Stepping through the gates, he scans the parking lot and immediately finds Henry’s stupid forest green Aston Martin parked pretentiously in the middle of two parking spaces. The man in question is leaning against the driver’s side, looking like some kind of James Bond incarnate. Only a man like Henry Fox could show up at the county jail in a f*cking suit and tie.
He sighs. God, he’s so in love with him.
“Hey, baby!” he shouts as he breaks out into a jog.
“You are the absolute bane of my existence,” Henry says dryly, in lieu of a proper greeting. His stare is piercing, even through his dark shades.
“And yet, you still bailed me out anyway,” Alex counters, his smile never faltering, as he slows to a stop in front of him. “Just admit it, you do love me.”
The sigh Henry releases is heavy and put-upon. “I was only doing the poor officers a favor.”
Alex sidles up against Henry, close enough to see the shape of his pretty eyes behind his sunglasses. He tilts his chin up in defiance, and his brown eyes sparkle with mischief. They stand there, just staring at each other, before he finally comes to a decision.
“Yeah, you love me,” he hums, nodding to himself.
“No, I don’t.” Henry rolls his eyes and places a hand on his shoulder to shove him away. “Just get in the damn car, you cretin.”
“Yes, sir,” Alex says, laughing all the way to the passenger’s side.
2.
When he first meets Henry, he doesn’t know his name. He just recently moved to New York, so he doesn’t really know anyone’s name.
He’s at some bar, trying to get his bearings of the city, when he sees him. Tall, blond, and so f*cking beautiful. He sidles up next to him, and while he waits for his whiskey neat, he turns to the man and flashes him his most charming smile.
“Hey.”
“That’s what you’re opening with?” The man asks him in a tone so dry Alex is feeling parched. God, and he has to be British, too?
He falters slightly, but his smile stays put. “If you’d just let me finish.”
The man makes a gesture with his hand and idly sips at his martini glass. “By all means.”
“I was going to ask what someone like you is doing at a place like this.”
“How original,” the man says in that same dry tone.
Thankfully, he’s saved from further humiliation when the bartender arrives with his drink. But before he can offer his thanks, he’s being shoved from behind, causing him to spill some of his drink into the man’s lap.
“Jesus Christ. Watch it, buddy,” Alex says over his shoulder at the same time Tall, Blond, and Beautiful hums mournfully, “Oh, what a waste of good whiskey.”
“You okay?” Alex asks as he reaches for a stack of napkins to hand over to the man.
“Yes, but you just lost three dollars' worth of whiskey,” the man replies with a wry grin.
“You gonna buy me another to make up the difference?” Alex laughs softly, already so enamored by this stranger. He’s waiting to listen to the man’s reply when he gets shoved again, this time with an elbow to his side. He whirls around and glares at the smarmy bastard who doesn’t know a thing about personal space.
“Didn’t I just f*cking say to watch it?”
He gets a good look at him this time around. He’s tall, blond, but definitely not as handsome as the man sitting next to him. f*cking poster-child for all WASPs everywhere, if you ask him. He’s obviously in New York now because he’s about to fight a f*cking rat.
He gets down from his seat and steps up into the man’s space. He’s a few inches shorter, but he knows he cuts an intimidating figure with his broad shoulders and muscles.
“We got a problem here, dude?” he asks, frowning deeply.
The man blinks and grins widely. “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He laughs and turns back to his friends, deciding to ignore Alex altogether, and Alex can hear him when he mutters ‘fa*ggots’ under his breath.
“The f*ck did you say?” Alex’s anger is rapidly climbing. “Say that again to my face.”
The bastard turns around and raises an eyebrow. “What are you going to do about it…” He pauses for effect. “fa*ggot?”
“This.”
Alex throws a punch and grins when he hears an audible crunch under his fist. The man, having already had too much to drink, immediately crumples, and that grabs the attention of his friends who aren’t all too happy to see their friend knocked out on the floor. They all turn to him, and Alex simply smirks and lifts his fists into a fighting stance. He cracks his neck, tilting his head from left to right.
“Alright, assholes. Who’s next?”
It’s an unfair fight—three against one—but Alex is still able to hold his own and get a few punches in. All those boxing lessons his dad made him take back in Texas were finally paying off. But it quickly escalates and takes a sharp left turn the moment someone brings out a knife. Fortunately for him, that’s when the cops finally arrive to arrest them all. Between getting handcuffed in the middle of a bar and being put into the backseat of a cop car, he doesn’t see Tall, Blond, and Beautiful, so he figures he lost his chance for good.
That is, until one of the officers comes by his cell later that evening and lets him know that someone’s bailed him out. He’s confused because his sister is still in D.C. with Mom and Leo, Nora is in Boston, and Dad’s in California. So, who the f*ck is bailing him out?
“Who?” Alex asks the officer—Gupta, her badge says.
Officer Gupta simply shrugs and says, “Henry Fox.”
He stares blankly at her as he steps out of the cell. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”
“How long have you been in New York?”
“I just moved here last week.”
Her mouth twists with a confused frown. “Right.” He doesn’t know exactly what to make of the look she gives him.
He takes his belongings after filling out some paperwork and follows her to the exit. He slows to a stop when he sees Tall, Blond, and Beautiful standing in the middle of the lobby. In the harsh lighting of the precinct, he can see that he is wearing a full suit and tie, like he works at some uptight corporate job.
“What the f*ck are you doing here?”
The man, who he now knows is Henry Fox (whoever that is), offers him a dry smirk. “And here I thought you’d be grateful that I bailed you out.”
Alex furrows his brows. “Wait, what? Why the f*ck would you do that?”
Henry shrugs. “I’d like to think you were defending my honor back there. Consider this a payment for the whiskey.”
A grin slowly creeps onto his face. “That’s a lot of money for just three dollars' worth of whiskey, sweetheart.”
“Hm, perhaps.”
“So, what I’m hearing is that we should go out for drinks.”
“Where on Earth did you hear that?” Henry raises an eyebrow. “Do you need a ride home?”
“Only if you’re offering, Fox,” Alex says, and when he ends up in the passenger seat of Henry’s honest-to-god Aston Martin, he has to wonder: What the hell is his life?
3.
The next time he’s put in handcuffs—and not in the sexy way, unfortunately—it wasn’t even his fault.
The other guy had it coming, really. If he just kept his hands to himself and stopped harassing that poor girl at the bar, he wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place. He didn’t throw the first punch, but Alex had never been the type to back down from a fight, so he gave as good as he got.
Unfortunately for him, though, the police arrived before he could consider putting this guy in a chokehold. And by the time they’ve thrown him in the backseat of a flashing cop car, he’s already got a bruise blooming an ugly purple underneath his left eye, a deep cut in his bottom lip, and blood crusting above his eyebrow.
Still, he’s pretty damn proud of himself. The other guy definitely got it worse.
“Really? Again, Diaz?” The officer—Peralta, his badge says—asks once he’s finished reciting his Miranda rights.
“Claremont-Diaz,” he corrects out of instinct, but at this point, he can’t be f*cking bothered to care when people have said his name incorrectly. He’s actually more pissed about the fact that his nose is starting to itch, and he can’t even scratch it.
“Hey, can y’all help a guy out, fellas? Hello? The partition isn’t soundproof. I know y’all can hear me.”
The two officers—Peralta and another Diaz—give him absolutely nothing.
“Ugh, whatever,” Alex huffs, and he tries his best to get comfortable in the backseat despite the weird angle of his arms. In the end, he gives up after a few minutes and decides he’ll just live with the cramp in his shoulder for the rest of his life.
The booking process is always the same, and the officers at this precinct all know him by name by now—or, at least some of them do. He gives up all his personal belongings, smiles for his mugshot, enters his fingerprints into the system, and harmlessly flirts with the booking officers as they conduct his full-body search. He knows it’s serious business, but he’s done this enough times to have a little fun with it, much to the chagrin of the officers bearing witness to his unwavering charm.
After about an hour or so, they bring him to an empty cell and finally release him from the handcuffs. Rubbing at his sore wrists and stretching out his shoulders, he immediately takes up residence in the same spot he always ends up in. He’s alone in the cell—slow night in New York, he guesses—so he lets himself stretch out along the bench, glad to be laying down after the long, eventful night he had, and dozes for a bit.
“Should you really be laying down right now?”
His eyes are closed, but he could recognize that voice anywhere.
“I’m pretty sure I don’t have a concussion. I’ll be fine.” He tucks an arm behind his head while the other dangles to the concrete floor. He smirks when Henry makes a noise of disgust. “Thought you’d wait ‘til the morning to pick me up. You know, teach me a lesson or some sh*t like that.”
“I heard what happened,” Henry says, his voice soft. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”
He snorts. “It almost sounds like you’re worried.”
“Alex…”
“Hey, I’m all good here, H. The other guy, though…” He opens his eyes and turns his head to find Henry standing in front of his cell. He is more dressed down than usual in a soft blue sweater and slacks, but he is still too overdressed for jail, especially at this late hour. He frowns. “How’d they let you in here anyway?”
“Same as you, I suppose,” Henry says with a wry grin.
He lifts an eyebrow and smirks. “You get into a fight, too?”
Henry shakes his head, chuckling softly. “Officer Gupta let me in.”
Alex hums, his eyes drifting back to the unremarkable concrete ceiling. “Guess it helps having all this money.”
“Well, I do prefer spending my money on things other than bail, but I suppose we all can’t get what we want.”
Alex slowly sits up with a groan, the adrenaline leaking out of his body and making him feel every inch of soreness that he hadn’t felt before. With the adrenaline giving way, guilt settles in the pit of his stomach like a heavy stone. He can’t quite meet Henry’s eyes when he apologizes. He hadn’t planned to say it, but it slips out of his mouth before he can stop himself.
“M’sorry.”
Henry softens and sighs quietly. “Just because I prefer it doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it. Give me one moment. I’ll go get someone to unlock the door.” He leaves and returns moments later with Officer Gupta at his heels.
“Hey, Amy,” Alex says, looking absolutely ridiculous as he smiles with a busted lip and a black eye.
Officer Gupta rolls her eyes and decides not to correct him. She addresses Henry instead. “Thanks for coming on short notice and posting bail so quickly, Mr. Fox.”
“Oh, no need to thank me. I’m simply doing my part so Alex can stop terrorizing the police department.”
Gupta shakes her head and exhales through pursed lips as she unlocks the cell door and lets Alex out. “Terrorize feels like an understatement,” she says.
“I’m still here, y’know,” Alex interjects but neither Officer Gupta nor Henry pays him any attention.
“Oh, I’m sure,” Henry says, smirking.
Alex rolls his eyes and follows Officer Gupta and Henry as they begin to make their way down the hall to the main lobby of the precinct.
“He’s trouble,” she continues. “Maybe you should keep him on a leash.”
Henry laughs. “I’ve considered it.”
“Kinky,” Alex says, cutting into the conversation once more and managing to grab Henry’s attention.
The blond sighs in exasperation, but there is an undercurrent of fondness and affection that clings to his annoyance. “Go grab your things before I leave without you.”
Alex smirks. “You won’t.”
Officer Gupta sighs, exhausted beyond her years. “Yes, please don’t.”
When they’re settled in Henry’s Aston Martin, Henry doesn’t leave any room for arguments when he takes him to his fancy ass Brownstone in Brooklyn and pulls out a first aid kit.
“Ow! Jesus f*cking—! Ow, ow, ow!”
“Oh, hold still, you big baby. It’s not even that bad.”
Alex’s face twists with a grimace as Henry continues to dab alcohol-soaked cotton balls on the cuts on his face. It’s way past midnight, and they are in the kitchen. Alex is sitting atop the island (and feeling extra tall) with Henry standing between his legs and a mess of the first aid kit on the counter beside him.
“Can you at least be more gent—Ow!”
Henry sighs. “Jesus Christ, Alex.”
He pouts. “This is the worst kind of foreplay.”
Henry sighs even louder and ignores him.
4.
“If they ask you anything, you tell ‘em you’re not answering any questions unless you got an attorney present, alright?”
Alex keeps his voice hushed as he speaks.
The entire precinct is bustling with activity, and he just happened to be among the tens of young people arrested for exercising their right to freedom of speech. It’s f*cked up and cruel, but he can’t do much when he’s got zip ties around his wrist.
He can see the look of terror on some of their faces, can feel the worry and anxiety that runs the entire cell, so he stays level-headed throughout the whole ordeal. Even though he may not be that much older than these people, he shoulders the responsibility of protecting them by letting them know their rights and keeping them calm.
He thinks he’s doing a good job so far. He even got some of them to laugh, which feels like an accomplishment in and of itself for something so daunting.
“Hey,” he calls out, catching the attention of the officer walking by the cell. “I need to make a phone call.”
“Diaz, why am I not surprised to see you here?”
“For the love of God, it’s Claremont-Diaz.” Alex then stops short and frowns, furrowing his eyebrows as he gives the man a long look. Eventually, he decides that has no idea who this officer is. “Do I know you?” His badge has a name he doesn’t recognize. Must be a new recruit.
“No,” the mystery officer says with a shrug.
Alex sighs impatiently. His reputation precedes him, it seems. “Right. Whatever. Can I use the phone? I need to make a call.”
Mystery officer—Ramos, his badge says—has the audacity to look uneasy and a little bit smug. dickhe*d. “Erm, I don’t know. Captain Bankston didn’t say we can give you permission to make a phone call.”
Alex fights the urge to roll his eyes. He can’t get on another officer’s bad side. He’s already dangerously toeing the line with Amy—ahem, Officer Gupta—as it is.
“Look, if you can ask her for permission that would be great. If she says no, can you at least call Henry Fox for me?”
“Henry Fox?”
“Yes.”
“Like the billionaire?”
Alex is talking with an idiot. He forces a smile, broad and toothy. If he wasn’t already behind bars, he’d probably be convicted for assaulting an officer. “No, my next door neighbor,” he says sarcastically through gritted teeth. “Can you call him and tell him what happened? Zahra should have his number already.”
Ramos frowns at him with distrust. “Right… Okay.” Then, he turns to leave before Alex has the chance to reach through the bars and throttle him. And it’s for the best, really. He’s not trying to add “assaulting a police officer” to his criminal record.
“How the hell do you know Henry Fox?” Someone blurts out from somewhere in the crowded cell.
“Yeah, isn’t he, like, super rich or something?” Another person points out.
Alex grins. “I’m not answering any questions unless I got an attorney present,” he jokes. He then leans back against the bars. His usual spot had been taken, but he doesn’t seem to mind in this particular situation.
Before more questions can be asked from the peanut gallery, Ramos is coming back with a set of keys. “Alright, Diaz. Cap’s giving you five minutes.”
“Lucky me. I’m so forever grateful,” Alex deadpans as he steps out of the cell. “And I already told you, it’s Claremont-Diaz. Don’t piss me off.”
He follows Ramos out to the bullpen where he is given access to a cellphone and a chair to sit in. A quick glance at the clock tells him that Henry he’s still at the office, so he dials his work number. As the phone rings, he notices that Ramos is still standing close by.
“Do you mind?” he snaps at him.
“Gotta keep a close eye on you. Cap’s orders.”
Alex doesn’t try to hide it when he rolls his eyes.
Just then, a bright, friendly voice enters his ear. “Good afternoon. Windsor Industries. You have reached the office of Henry Fox. This is Felicity speaking, how may I assist you? ”
He sits up when he hears Henry’s assistant on the line. “Hey, Felicity,” he says, smiling broadly. “It’s Alex. Do you mind being a doll and connecting me with Henry?”
“Oh! Mr. Claremont-Diaz, it’s so lovely to hear from you. I’ll put you through to Mr. Fox right away.”
“Thanks, sweetheart. You’re the best.”
Her giggle is cut short when the phone reconnects with Henry on the other end of the line.
“Stop flirting with my assistant.”
“Why?” He grins. “Are you jealous?”
“Not even close.” A crackle of a sigh . “Why are you calling, Alex?”
“I got arrested.”
Another long-suffering sigh. “Of course, you did. And I was hoping you were calling because you misplaced your glasses. I’m assuming you need me to bail you out?”
“Well, yes.” He pauses. “And twenty-three others.”
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not. Please, babe. All they did was stand up for what’s right, and now they’re being punished for it. It wasn’t even their damn fault that things escalated. And most of them don’t even have the kind of money to post bail. I just—”
He stops short because he knows he’s starting to ramble. The other end of the line goes silent for a few moments.
“...Hen?”
“Alright. Just give me an hour. I’ll call Captain Bankston and wire the money.”
A wide grin appears on his face as he pumps a fist in the air. “You—Really? You’re the best, baby!”
“Yes. I would hope so.”
“Thanks, H. Really.” He sighs loudly when he notices Ramos in his peripherals, glaring at him. “Okay, baby, I gotta go. Someone’s giving me the stink-eye, so I guess my five minutes are over. But just so you know, when we get home, I’m giving you the sloppiest, dirtiest blowj*b ever.”
“I beg to no—”
“Love you, bye!” He hangs up before Henry can complete his sentence and hands the phone over Ramos with a co*cky grin.
5.
“I beg you, please don’t embarrass me tonight,” Henry says as he straightens out his bow tie and readjusts an expensive-looking watch that Alex can’t even pronounce the name of.
“Since when have I ever embarrassed you?” Alex asks with a grin. He’s already given up trying to tie his bow tie at this point. He had suggested wearing a clip-on earlier, but the glare Henry had given him nearly made him sh*t his pants—pants that definitely cost more than his rent.
Henry glances over his shoulder and fixes him with a look that screams ‘Don’t start,' and Alex’s grin only widens when Henry lets out an exasperated sigh and walks over to fix his tie for him. He grabs the loose ends of the tie and expertly fixes it into a bow at the base of his throat.
“You love me,” Alex says, eyes twinkling with mischief.
Henry lets out an exasperated huff. “It’s getting quite disturbing how much you’re obsessed with me.”
“That’s one way to put it, baby,” he winks.
Henry rolls his eyes heavenward and sighs like he is trying to find strength in God, or any god, for that matter. He surely needs all the help he can get when dealing with an actual menace to society. He places his hands solidly on his shoulders and looks him dead in the eyes, as if talking to a small child.
“Please try to behave.”
Alex shrugs. “I can’t make any promises.”
Henry presses his lips together, suppressing yet another sigh. “Lord knows why I’m actually letting you come join me tonight.”
“You’re the one who asked me to be your plus one,” he snorts. “So, if anything, it’s really going to be your fault if something does go wrong.”
Henry suddenly looks apprehensive about the entire ordeal. He drops his hands in front of him and nervously fiddles with the signet ring on his pinkie finger.
“Actually,” he bites his lip, “perhaps we should just stay in. The gala committee will hardly miss me if I don’t end up attending.”
Now it is Alex’s turn to place his hands on Henry’s shoulders. He squeezes them gently. “You’re the guest of honor, baby. I think they’ll definitely notice if you don’t go. We both need some fresh air. As much as I love f*cking you on every surface of your apartment, you do have show face at some point.” He rubs at his arms, before his hands drift lower to interlace his fingers with Henry’s.
Henry stares at him for a long moment, before nodding. “Fine, but if you want to go and be stupid, just at least don’t do it in front of me,” he says and tilts his chin upwards to press a kiss to Alex’s brow. “Please.”
“I’ll be good tonight,” he promises, his tone serious for once.
But honestly, Henry should’ve known better than to believe him.
Alex’s politician parents may know a thing or two about diplomacy, but it is a skill that somehow failed to trickle down to their gene pool. He is still a people pleaser, though, so what he lacks in tact, he makes up for it in sheer enthusiasm, suave charm, and active listening. This billionaire, philanthropic sh*t might not be his kind of world, but he at least knows how to work a room and fit in. And when he locks eyes with Henry across the room after getting an entire group of old people covered head to toe in silk and pearls to laugh, Henry actually looks pleased.
So, he’s actually doing fine. Better than either he or Henry expected.
That is, until he gets his hands on some alcohol.
Henry really shouldn’t have let him know about the open bar.
His tongue is looser, his voice increases in volume, and he is more prone to arguments that get a little too heated because some of these billionaires are so out of touch that it makes him sick. He argues for the merits of more equitable public policy that elevates the poor working class instead of kicking them down and marginalizing them further. He wildly gesticulates in his tipsy stupor as he lists all the reasons why increasing taxes for the rich is actually beneficial for society as a whole. And he grows intensely passionate when he starts talking about the flaws of the judicial and criminal justice system. He may be one of the lucky ones because he has a smoking hot, rich-as-f*ck boyfriend as his own personal Get Out of Jail Free card, but the system’s been made to f*ck over black and brown people for literal centuries, and—
“Y’all are just being complacent, and it’s honestly kinda gross,” Alex says to a group of rich people who have fallen victim to his impassioned tirade.
“Christ, who invited the socialist?” He hears someone snickering behind him.
He frowns deeply and turns so that he is face-to-face with a man who looks like an ugly version of Sam Eagle. He vaguely recognizes him as Jeffrey Richards, a Republican asshat gunning for a presidential candidacy in the upcoming election.
Ugh, barf.
“If being a socialist just means being a decent human being, then sure.” He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowed with a challenging glare. “But I don’t know why there would be anything wrong with that.”
Richards rolls his eyes. “It’s you brown people that’s bringing this country down. If I were president, I’d be doing more for border security.”
Alex narrows his eyes. “It’s us brown people that built this f*cking country, so jot that down.”
Richards scoffs. “How did you even get in here? Did you have to sneak your way?” He turns up his nose with a sniff. “I didn’t think we invited poor people.”
“Oh, my god. You’re a f*cking asshole,” he laughs humorlessly. “Have you looked at your mouth recently? Because all that’s coming out of it is pure sh*t.”
Richards gasps, affronted. “You’re lucky I don’t call security on you right now.”
“And tell them what?” He snorts. “You’re the one being an asshole to me. I didn’t even do anything.”
“Didn’t do an–” Richards sputters. “You insulted me!”
“Which you totally deserved, by the way,” he says with a shrug.
Quickly getting bored with this conversation, he scans the room to find Henry on the other side of the ballroom in the middle of what seems to be an enthusiastic conversation. He catches his eye and gestures towards the exit, and Henry responds with a grin and a nod. He turns back to Richards, who is starting to get a little pink in the face because of his anger.
Alex decides he’ll try and aggravate him even more. “Well, anyway. I gotta go home and f*ck my rich boyfriend. Peace.” He flashes a peace sign and turns to leave, but before he can go any further, he is being grabbed by the back of his dinner jacket.
“Excuse me, I don’t think we’re done here!”
Alex frowns as he wipes the spittle that lands on his face with a grimace. “I think we are. Get your hands off me, prick.” He shoves Richards away, hoping that would be the end of it, but the man lets out a growl and shoves him back. And Alex, refusing to be one-upped by this huge asshole, shoves him harder.
Right into the ice sculpture of a f*cking swan.
f*cking billionaires.
The entire table, sculpture included, collapses under his weight, and what he can guess is thousands of dollars' worth of sculpted ice shatters with a loud crash that leaves Richards soaked in a puddle of ice-cold water, covered in shards of ice, and screaming bloody murder.
Everything around them comes to a sudden halt.
“Oh, sh*t,” Alex says under his breath.
“Oh, sh*t,” he says when security comes to lead him away.
“Oh, sh*t,” he says when the police arrive and arrest him for assault and public disturbance.
f*cking sh*t, indeed.
The gravity of the situation feels heavier this time around. He usually can get away with minor offenses and misdemeanors, but for some reason, this feels so much bigger. Richards has money; he has connections. He can sue him, and sure, Henry can help cover all the legal expenses. But Alex doesn’t want him to have to do that.
“f*ck,” he mutters, running his fingers through his hair. He gets up from his perch on the bench and burns a path into the concrete floor of his holding cell. “f*ck!” He says louder as he grips his hair and tugs at it in his frustration.
He kicks the metal bench and curses when his foot flares up with pain.
It takes two days before anything happens.
Officer Gupta is the one who lets him out and puts him back in handcuffs. She leads him down a hallway of doors.
“What’s going on?” he asks her, but she doesn’t answer.
Instead, she simply takes him to the last room on the right and says, “You are one lucky son of a bitch, Diaz.”
“Claremont-Diaz,” he says automatically before her words actually register in his brain. “Wait, what?”
She smirks and opens the door. It is an interrogation room, but instead of an officer waiting for him, it’s—
“Hen. Oh, my god.”
Officer Gupta releases him from his cuffs, and Alex stumbles inside and immediately collapses into Henry’s arms. He tucks his nose into his neck and hugs him tightly.
The door shuts behind them with a soft click, and they are alone.
“What—How—How are you here?”
“I had to call in a few favors,” Henry says cryptically. “Sorry it took me so long.”
Alex pulls back, just enough to get a good look of Henry. He brings his hands to his cheeks and gets on his toes to give him a solid kiss on the lips. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You’re here now.” He sighs softly and drops back down to the soles of his feet.
“Do you know what’s going to happen to me?” he asks as he worries at his bottom lip. He glances at the one-way mirror situated on one side of the wall and the cameras installed at opposite ends of the ceiling.
Henry reaches out a thumb to gently pry his lip from between his teeth. “It’s fine. I asked Officer Gupta to make sure no one is listening, so you don’t have to worry, dear.” He pauses, and a slight divot appears between his brows.
“What is it? Why did you ask her to do that?”
“I had a good long talk with Richards. He won’t try to sue you, or bother you ever again.”
Alex quirks an eyebrow. “You blackmailed him?”
Henry lets out an exasperated sigh. “That is not—No, I did not blackmail him. I just spoke with him, and I…” He shrugs. “...may have threatened to thwart his future plans to run for president, and I may have insinuated that I’ll pull out of multiple high-stake contracts with his company if he ever thought about pursuing a lawsuit against you.”
He smirks. “So you blackmailed him.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny.”
His entire face lights with a wide grin. “That’s so f*cking hot.”
Henry shakes his head fondly. “Alright, alright. That’s enough out of you, you cretin,” he says and reels him in to kiss him softly.
“I love you,” Alex says, and Henry smiles beautifully against his mouth.
“I know.”
+1.
Okay, this time, it really isn’t his fault.
Alex just happened to be at the scene of the crime, minding his own business, and the cops thought it would be in everyone’s best interest to take him in for questioning. He’s pretty sure it’s all racially motivated, which is obviously f*cked up, but the faster he gets himself out these handcuffs, the faster he can get home and snuggle with his dog and boyfriend.
He had plans, goddammit. Plans that involved a bottle of wine and a taste of his boyfriend’s ass.
“Excuse me? Hello?”
Oh, speaking of his boyfriend…
“Can I speak to the person in charge? Where’s Captain Bankston?”
Alex picks his head up from where he is slumped against the wall and waiting to be processed just to see Henry storming into the precinct. He always manages to hold an air of decorum and etiquette everywhere he goes, but it seems as though he’s thrown all of it out the window when he enters the building with his hair all in disarray and his tie loose and skewed.
Henry also looks absolutely pissed,and Alex has to admit, he’s never looked hotter.
One of the officers steps into his warpath with their hands held out in front of them in a placating motion. “Sir, please calm down,” they try, but of course, Henry isn’t having any of it.
“Calm down? Calm down?” He yells with every ounce of authority he possesses. “Do not tell me to calm down when my boyfriend’s been wrongfully accused of a crime he did not do!”
Henry aims his glare elsewhere, probably to another poor officer. “Where is Captain Bankston? I would like to speak with her now.”
“Captain Bankston is unavailable at the moment,” another officer pipes up, which Alex recognizes as the smug prick, Ramos.
“Well, when will she be available? This is urgent.”
“I’m sure it is, sir,” and the smile that appears on Ramos’ face looks so condescending that Alex wants to get up and smack it right off his face. But he can’t, because of these damn handcuffs. Instead, he can watch as Ramos extends an arm out in an attempt to usher him towards the exit. “Look, Mr. Fox, maybe you can come back later. She’ll be back in a few hours, and I’m sure we can get your problem sorted then.”
Henry scowls deeply and stays put with his arms crossed stubbornly over his chest. “I would like to have my problem sorted now, if you don’t mind.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Fox, but there isn’t much we can do right now.”
Then, Ramos makes the mistake of placing a hand on Henry’s shoulder.
Henry shrugs him off immediately with a hiss, “Get your grimy hands off of me.”
Alex doesn’t actually see it, but the sound of skin slapping skin brings the entire room to silence.
A beat.
“Holy sh*t,” Alex breathes out in shock and bursts into laughter soon after, filling up the silence with his loud and uninhibited giggles. For a second, he forgets how uncomfortable the handcuffs are around his wrists. “Holy sh*t! Nice one, baby!”
Ramos is less than enthused and already reaching for the handcuffs on his belt. “You’re under arrest for assaulting a police officer.”
“Assaulting?” Henry scoffs. “If you can’t handle a mere slap in the face, then I have to wonder how you managed to get through the Police Academy at all.”
Ramos ignores him completely and is a little rough as he cuffs Henry and takes him to the holding area where Alex is.
“Okay. Now that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. That was f*cking insane,” he says when Henry takes the seat next to him. He playfully nudges him with an elbow, a sh*t-eating grin nearly splitting his face in two. “Aww, it's Baby’s first arrest.”
Henry sighs tiredly, having already accepted his fate. “Please don’t start.”
Alex keeps going.
“We should celebrate. Once we get outta here, of course. Wait. Oh, my god. Do you think Zahra will let us keep a copy of our mugshots?” He laughs gleefully. “We can get them framed and place them on the mantle. That’ll be f*cking killer.”
Henry looks to the heavens for strength. “We are doing nothing of the sort.”
Alex sticks his tongue out at him just as the booking officer calls his name.
“Diaz!”
Alex opens his mouth to correct him, but Henry is the one who beats them to it. He wrinkles his nose in displeasure.
“Good God, with the number of times you’ve been arrested, surely they should have learned your name by now.”
“And it’ll only get worse if I add Fox to the lineup,” he smirks.
Henry’s jaw drops. “That cannotbe how you propose.”
Alex simply cackles as he follows the officer to get processed.
“Alex!”
