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The nose-tickling scent of whiskey mixes into the air as Alex pops the cap, grabbing the newly cleaned cocktail shaker and pouring some into it. The sour joins then with the lemon the juice sliding down his fingers; he licks them off his fingers, throwing the peel somewhere on the counter, and then reaches for the simple syrup. Conversations flit around, people swaying to the rising and falling beat of the music, the toned-down yellow lights and wooden counters giving the bar a rustic, old aura. His current patron has an arm around his boyfriend as he watches Alex makes the drink.
“You gotta try this, babe,” he whispers, slurring his words in a clear state of drunkenness. His eyes follow Alex’s movement as he picks up the shaker, ice clinking against the metal surface in satisfying clicks. “Alex is the best goddamn bartender in this world. ”
One corner of Alex’s lips flickers into a smile. “Flattering me ain’t gonna get you a free drink, Lucien.”
“Shh.” Lucien makes a move to shush Alex but his boyfriend is faster, grabbing his wrist and giving him a scathing look. The twinkling blue eyes are stern under the lights. “What?”
“I think that’s quite enough, Lucien.”
“I did nothing.” Lucien’s hand still hovers somewhere above the counter like a piece of incriminating evidence. He twists it to boop Oliver’s nose as if that’s been his intention all along. “You shush now. I’m just appreciating good bartending.”
“It sounds to me like you’re bullying the bartender into giving you a free drink.” Lucien presses a hand over his chest with an audible gasp. Alex spins around to hide his grin, grabbing a glass and a piece of orange in the process. The sweet smell fills the air when he cuts it.
“Don’t worry, Oliver,” he drawls out, “I only give free drinks to cute customers.” He winks and watches the small smile spread on Oliver’s face, no matter how much he tries to hide it behind his hand. Lucien’s eyes narrow, black hair flopping over his forehead, and he slams his hand over the counter.
“This,” he calls out, looking between Alex and Oliver, “is heresy. I’m being bullied here. I would like to talk to a manager, please and thank you very much.”
Alex places two Whiskey Sours in front of Lucien and Oliver. “You’re talkin’ to him,” he says with a grin and another wink. “I’ll add these to your tab.” He feels more than sees Lucien stick his tongue out as he moves away to take the order of another patron.
He likes this bar so much.
The music switches to something faster, rainbow lights reflecting off the crystalline bottles lining the shelves. The counter is positioned in the middle, a circular column going all the way up to the tall ceiling, and from his vantage point, Alex can see the patrons pulling each other to the dance floor, bodies sliding against each other, secret kisses shared in corners and laughs echoing in the walls. Above the dance floor is a collection of flags, the colors of the rainbow bright against the wooden ceiling, purples, pinks and blues, light blues and whites, bi and pan and trans flags swaying to the faint breeze entering through the windows. Alex sees a woman point to the ceiling, a lesbian flag painted on her cheek, and giggles against the neck of her girlfriend.
Scratch that. Alex fucking loves this bar.
He lets himself a moment of pride and satisfaction before he eyes the customers, looking for the next person. He watches Nora pour five glasses of wine for a group of friends, and another bartender grabs a whiskey bottle, pouring neat for a middle-aged man that looks as out of place in his suit and tie as his husband, dressed in a denim jacket and mini shorts, fits the place. He smiles anyway and touches his glass to the bright cocktail in his husband’s fingers.
Another couple shares one glass, the girl feeding the cherry to her boyfriend, a blonde man with the brightest blue eyes and freckles flashes a strained smile to a boy draped over his shoulder, and a young woman animatedly explains to her friends all the expansive selection of cocktails the bar offers. “It’s apparently a joke,” she slurs between sips of her drink, “all the legal names. Apparently, the owner dropped out of law school to open this place. Whenever he creates a drink, it’s gotta be a legal pun.”
Technically, I didn’t even start, Alex thinks, smiling. His eyes flicker back around the bar, and this time he stops when he finds the blonde. His slender fingers are curled around a glass of gin tonic, knuckles bone-white even on his pale skin. His gaze is firmly focused on the liquid itself as he nods, a tight smile on his lips, and refuses to look at his “partner”—even in his mind, there are quotes around it because Alex suddenly suspects he might not be a partner at all. His eyes narrow further as he watches the other man lean in, so close his lips brush the blonde’s cheekbone, and whisper something that makes Alex want to crawl out of his skin even if he can’t hear it at all.
It's a split-second decision. He drops his towel aside and beelines next to the blonde, grabbing a bottle of vodka on his way so he doesn’t look suspicious, and slams it loudly on the counter next to the pair. The blonde jumps and stares at him with wide eyes.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Alex drawls out; he’s careful to move slowly but he leans over the counter anyway, going up on his tiptoes, and lets his lips brush against his cheeks. The blonde hairs tickle his forehead. “And here I was wondering where my favorite person went.”
It was a fateful Tuesday a few weeks after Alex’s graduation that Nora called and changed the course of Alex’s life.
“Alejandro, Pez and I opening a bar,” she started before even offering a greeting, “and we want you to be our partner.” Alex, dumbfounded, stared at his wall for a few seconds, a mug of coffee in his hand, and said…
“Okay.”
It was an impulsive decision. He was set to start NYU law in fall, suffer through three years of sleeplessness and grinding, and eventually become a lawyer to use it as a stepping stone into politics. Senator by the age of thirty, he always joked with his mother. That was always the plan. Not owning a bar at the age of 21, even if most of it was paid upfront by Pez and his somehow unending fortune he splurged on them whenever he got the chance.
Two months later, they opened the doors to Out Law’ed, a small and quaint bar in Manhattan, with a rustic interior and half-working neon sign gracing the windows. “Can’t believe you outlawed yourself from law school for a queer bar,” Nora joked once, grinning. “Out Law’ed, y’know? Because you’re not doing law anymore.” Alex wouldn’t have let her use the name, except it was funny, and it got Alex the chance to create a whole ass menu where every item was a pun on a legal term. Personally, “Objection” and “Hearsay” were two of his favorite drinks.
There was no guarantee the bar would be successful. If not, Alex would’ve thrown away the chance of a lifetime to become a lawyer away for a failing business. But their business boomed, and still, now, Alex thinks joining Nora and Pez was the best goddamn decision he could’ve made at the time.
Now, five years later, the bar is neither small nor quaint but Alex isn’t complaining. It’s still a place where people can be themselves and find their niche, whether it’s dancing to the music or listening to the live singers they sometimes hire, sitting around the bar for a sip, hanging out in a private booth with friends, or having a safe space with no expectations and rules. So many queer people frequent the bar where their flags hang from the ceiling and the liquors create a rainbow on the walls and find themselves represented.
The most important part of that, of course, is safety. And Alex isn’t below kicking a customer out to ensure everyone within these four walls feels taken care of.
He slides a hand over the bar, letting it linger near the blonde’s hand, and flashes him a smile. “You okay, baby?” he asks, searching the blue eyes. Under the flashing lights of the bar, they look so deep and bottomless that Alex thinks he could get lost in them.
He tears his gaze away instead. The other guy is standing next to the blonde now with a distinctly less flopped-over posture, glaring at Alex. Pointedly, Alex slides his fingers over the blonde’s. They feel cold against the iced drink and Alex feels the sudden urge to bring them to his lips to warm them up. “This guy’s not bothering you, is he?”
“Excuse me?” The guy, clearly not getting the hint, leans over the counter. Stupid, is what it is, Alex decides. He looks stupid with his flopped hair and furrowed brows as if he has some sort of superiority. Alex’s grip tightens around the blonde’s hand.
“I was asking my boyfriend a question,” he says with a sickly sweet smile. The blonde makes somewhat of a strangled noise behind his throat. “Just makin’ sure everything’s okay here. What do you say, sweetheart?” He turns back to the blonde and searches his face, hoping his eyes are enough to communicate he’s willing to kick the guy’s ass out if necessary. The blonde blinks for a moment, and then his fingers slide over Alex’s, linking them together.
“Thanks,” he starts, and then experimentally, “darling.” A posh British accent, rounded vowels, and the quiet pet name that makes Alex’s mouth feels dry. “I think I’m okay now.” There are the unsaid words— now that he’s not actively hugging me —but Alex takes it. “I didn’t want to bother you since—”
“Busy night?” The patrons are flitting around, calling for bartenders, and even with five of them behind the counter, Friday nights are a stretch. Alex winks anyway. “Not as important to me as you are. Besides, a little bird sent us a couple of free drinks. We can’t exactly waste that, can we?”
“Free drinks?”
“Only for cute boys who desperately need a drink or two in their system. Your cheeks don’t even look flushed.” There’s a flush then, climbing up the blonde’s cheeks. Alex follows it, the uneven red splotches that end by his hairline, the freckles standing out against the color. Inadvertently, Alex thinks, beautiful. “There’s a bottle of vodka with your name on it, babe.” Briefly, Alex wonders what the guy’s name would be. Whether he’d get a chance to find out.
The blush deepens. “I’m not, ah. Much of a vodka person, actually.” Blue eyes flicker between the bottle and Alex’s face. Alex makes a face as he fills a shaker with some vodka, topping it off with some lime juice.
“Objection, your honor,” he says, mixing in just a smidge of cranberry juice. The blonde watches his fingers with fascination. “Hearsay.”
Blue eyes flicker up. “I’m not sure that’s what that means.”
“Rude.” He grins as he pours the cocktail over some ice, balanced between the tips of his fingers, and tips it closer to the blonde. “I think you don’t like vodka only because you haven’t tried our selection yet. I’ve heard people are quite a fan of Hearsay, actually.” The glass lingers between them and Alex realizes vaguely that he’s leaning over the counter now, so close to the blonde he can count the freckles on his nose. Constellation, he thinks, splattered uneven over the surface, yet beautiful nonetheless. Alex wants to know how they’d look under the sun. “Only if you want to, sweetheart,” he says quietly, forgetting the reason he came over here in the first place. The other guy is nowhere to be found yet his hand is still holding the blonde’s, his thumb passing over his knuckles every few seconds.
The blonde doesn’t take his hand away from Alex’s, either. He does grab the drink, letting his fingertips brush Alex’s for a moment. “My name’s Henry, by the way,” he whispers. In the back of his mind, Alex thinks he wouldn’t have said it so easily if the other guy was still around.
Outwardly, he grins. “You could’ve told me if you didn’t want my pet names, baby,” he says, watching a smile curl on Henry’s face. He hides it behind his drink and suddenly, Alex wishes he would’ve let it linger instead. “Name’s Alex. But I’ll respond to darlin’, too, if you feel like it.”
“Noted.” His lips are stained red from the cranberry. Alex’s eyes linger over them for a few seconds too long.
Glasses clink together as Alex places six of them on the counter, flashing the group one of his toothy grins. “Six Bar Exam Roulettes for y’all’s pleasure, and some milk just in case, courtesy of our establishment. Don’t try to look too hard to figure out which one’s the spicy ones because y’all will only hurt your eyes along with your tongue.” He winks at them before he steps back, watching the curly-haired woman in the front poke one of the shot glasses with her finger.
“This was a terrible idea,” she says, looking at her partner with wide brown eyes. “I don’t know if I like this.” The other woman wraps an arm around her girlfriend and presses a kiss on her hair.
“Scared of a little spice, Coffee Girl?”
“No, I’d rather not—Keep your grubby psychic hands away from the shots, Niko.”
“I was just—“
“You’re choosing last. You’re not manipulating the rest of us into getting the spicy one.” The girl narrows her eyes so threateningly Alex finds himself laughing. In her defense, their Bar Exam Roulette contains the spiciest alcohol, as a nod to the suffering Alex didn’t have to go through by skipping law school.
His eyes wander around after the group grabs their shots, looking for new customers until they catch a familiar mop of blonde hair sticking out above everyone else. Henry, with another man on his arm, as uncomfortable as a theater kid in the middle of a football kid.
Alex grabs a bottle of tequila, grapefruit, and lime as he makes his way over to where Henry is, meeting the blue eyes flickering around the bar and settling on him like a quiet plea for help. He almost rolls his eyes—Henry, in all his six-foot glory, is somehow too shy to say no to a flirt—but instead, he drops the tequila bottle on the counter with a loud clink and flashes a sweet grin. “Hey, y’all,” he says with an exaggerated drawl, resting his elbow on the wooden surface so his hand can find Henry’s. This time they slot together easily, familiar calloused fingers squeezing the back of Alex’s hand. “I see that you made a new friend, baby. Aren’t you gonna introduce him to your boyfriend?”
The other guy unceremoniously drops his arm from around Henry’s. Good. “Boyfriend?” he questions, brows climbing to his forehead. Two splotches of red appear on Henry’s cheeks.
“Yes, well, we—I mean, I just—”
“What Henry here is trying to say,” Alex interrupts, wielding Henry’s name like it gives him some superiority, “is that when he met me a few months ago in this very bar, he just couldn’t help falling in love with me, and now he comes here to keep me company every night.” It’s an exaggeration, but the flush climbs up to Henry’s cheeks and he flashes him an adorably scathing look that Alex can’t be too mad about. His nails lightly dig into the back of Alex’s hand.
“I quite remember you being the one to ‘seduce’ me with a glass of vodka.”
“And didn’t that work brilliantly?” Alex grins, and after a second Henry’s smiling, too, as if he can’t help it, as if the corners of his lips tilt up without him noticing at all. He ignores the other guy for the sake of looking at Alex, and Alex thinks that maybe he should care about the other patron just for the sake of not losing him but it’s hard to think about that when Henry’s there and solid. He tugs at his hand instead, pressing a kiss on his knuckles. “You fell for me instantly, sweetheart.”
It's not real. Alex isn’t so desperate that he’s flirting with his customer. He’s only here because if there’s one thing he cares about, it’s safety in his bar, and he’s not letting anyone have their boundaries crossed just because some patron is being creepy.
He ignores that he’s holding Henry’s hand now and Henry looks quite okay with that.
“I’m sorry, man,” the other guy says, a buzz in Alex’s otherwise preoccupied brain. He glances at the man. “I didn’t know. I’ll just—sorry.” He scampers away with his tail between his legs and Alex gives him a small wave. Henry snorts as he watches his fingers.
“Seriously?”
“What?” Alex pointedly doesn’t mention they’re still holding hands. “You were the one making ‘help me’ eyes; I just came here to help.”
“You didn’t need to be so rude about it.”
“ He didn’t need to be so rude by crossing your boundaries.” Alex arches a brow and Henry has to cave, even as his fingers slide over the back of Henry’s hand, even as they linger on Alex’s wrist like it’s so natural to have them there. Alex’s pulse jumps when Henry traces a vein. “Besides,” he tries, just to distract himself, “you claimed Hearsay wasn’t a sweet enough cocktail for you, and I had to remedy that. I’m not letting you walk out of here tonight less than satisfied.”
Another flush. “I was—um, very satisfied. Last time.”
“ That isn’t the same as perfectly satisfied, sweetheart.” The pet name slips easily. Henry doesn’t complain, and maybe it’s a mirage but Alex swears his eyes brighten. “But I think you’re gonna like this one.”
“Another lawyer pun?”
“I don’t know where you would’ve gotten that.” He has to let Henry’s hand go to make the drink, but the way the deep blue eyes watch him makes him feel bare anyway, like Henry’s holding him close and tight. Alex’s cheeks are hot when he finally pours it out onto the cup, garnishing it with a piece of mint and grapefruit, and slides it over to Henry. “I call this Jury Duty.”
Henry’s lips quirk up. “Cheeky.”
“And incredibly sweet.” He watches slender fingers pick the glass up, their gazes locked together like there’s an invisible string between them. “Bottoms up, baby.”
Alex watches Henry’s throat for a moment too long when he drinks.
“We should stop meeting like this,” Alex says, swinging his hands down the table and tucking them next to Henry’s. Even through his shoes, Henry’s thighs feel warm, and the carefully placed hand on the back of his calf feels almost intentional to drive Alex crazy.
Henry offers him an innocent smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right. Because you weren’t letting that jerk drape himself all over you before I interrupted.” Even under the dim lights, Alex watches a blush climb up Henry’s cheeks. Even then, he blinks like he’s done nothing wrong. Asshole. “You know I’m not supposed to be working tonight, right? I was having a perfectly nice conversation with a frankly gorgeous man that could’ve led somewhere good if I didn’t have to save your ass.”
Henry gives him an unimpressed look. “Alex, that’s Charlie Winshaw,” he points out, as if Alex didn’t watch his season of Ever After with crumpled tissues sprawled over the couch. “As far as I remember, he’s deeply in love with someone else.”
“Shh.” Alex bumps a finger on Henry’s lips, and then his nose, startling him so much he loses track of his words. A grin spreads on Alex’s face just as they watch, as if on purpose, a tall man with messy hair walks up to Charlie and settles next to him on the bar. “I was charming him. You don’t know.”
“I think—”
“I can be very charming when I want to.” He leans over his knees and grins at Henry. For a moment, Henry seems like he’ll object, but Alex slides his feet under Henry’s thighs for leverage, throws his hair behind, offering him a wink, and the words seem to die on his throat. Alex calls that a win . “Gotcha,” he whispers and Henry’s eyes snap up to him.
There’s a flash of anger, swirling with a hot emotion Alex can’t quite read. “You’re a bloody menace,” Henry murmurs, which would’ve been effective if he didn’t look like a child throwing a tantrum. Alex lets out a loud laugh and shakes his head.
“Keep telling yourself that,” he says easily, leaning back on his hands this time. “You know you like me.” He grins, and then Henry’s grinning too in a way that makes Alex thinks he wouldn’t exchange this moment with anyone else.
It’s a Wednesday night at the bar, quieter than most days, though the regulars fill most of the tables and there’s a significant number of college students dancing on the stage. Alex isn’t working, technically, but when he saw Henry sitting at one of the booths desperately trying to escape the grubby hands of an older man, he couldn’t help himself. He had to make his way to the table and introduce himself, sliding his hands through Henry’s for good measure.
Looking around the bar, Alex catches sight of a few athletes huddled together, wearing their orange uniforms like they came here straight out of practice. A tall brunette attempted to pull a shorter blonde onto the dance floor, only to get a threatening middle finger shoved in his face. Somehow, it only makes the boy laugh louder.
Alex lets the laugh buoy him as he turns back to Henry. “Besides,” he says, pulling a cocktail glass from his back. It’s filled to the brim with one of Alex’s own creations that he calls Final’s Party— charred pineapple resting on top of a pineapple juice and lime mixture, garnished with a spicy rim. It’s one of their best sellers. “We haven’t found your perfect drink, and I intend to remedy that, sweetheart.” Sweetheart. That’s a thing now, too, between them, even when Henry’s supposed flirts aren’t around. “And I think I knocked it out of the park with this one.”
Henry’s lips flicker up. “If you say so,” he says as he gingerly takes the glass. There’s a mocking tone behind it that Alex refuses to like. It’s not adorable or anything.
“I’m serious. This’ll make even y’all posh islanders across the ocean moan in pleasure.”
“Do not let anyone British hear that.”
“As if you’re not smiling.” Which—he is. His lips are curled up, white teeth flashing under the dim lights, freckles dancing on his nose. Alex finds himself counting them before he has to look away when Henry goes to take a sip.
“I’ll fucking find one, Fox!” Alex yells as he makes his way to the counter after another failed drink. Pineapples, apparently, aren’t Henry’s thing. “You have my fucking word.”
It’s different, the way Henry’s hair shines under the rainbow lights of the bar.
Alex’s eyes find him instantly when the doors of the bar open, his steps shy on the wooden floor, a bright neon jacket covering his shoulders. It’s Rainbow Night in Out Law’ed— a queer party they throw the first Sunday of every month where you get a free drink if you come with a pride pin. It’s meant to mock all the corporations that plaster a rainbow on their front page in June and do nothing the rest of the year.
Alex absolutely loves it, and he loves it even more when he sees the MLM flag tucked on Henry’s jacket. A smile splits his lips.
Someone clears his throat in front of him. “You’re spilling the drink,” a thin voice says—Alex looks down to realize he filled the cocktail to the brim, a few droplets spilling down the side, and immediately tilts the shaker.
“Shit,” he says as he grabs the napkin. “Shit—sorry. I didn’t realize. I can pour a new one, no charge on you.”
“As if I’m known for my cleanliness.” The patron rolls his eyes and flashes Alex a toothy grin, and Alex finds himself rolling his eyes. He drops the overfilled glass to the counter, deciding that the man could use a few extra sips after watching Alex completely botch the drink. “What were you staring at?” he asks, looking over his shoulder as if he can follow Alex’s line of vision. Alex pointedly doesn’t stare at Henry’s ass as it sways on the way to the counter.
“Nothing. I just dozed off.”
“Uh huh. Is it a cute girl?” Another toothy grin. “A cute guy? With a nice, round arse perhaps?”
Alex throws a wad of napkins at the man’s face. “Shut the fuck up, Arden.”
“I’m right, aren’t I?” He glances around the bar one last time before mirthful eyes turn to Alex and he crosses his arms over the table. “Who’s the lucky prince?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Come on. I’m the customer. You have to answer my questions.”
Alex throws a towel over his shoulder. “First of all, I own this fucking bar. I can kick your ass any time I want.” As if that’ll ever happen. Arden is one of Alex’s regulars, and the boy is fucking hilarious. “Second of all, weren’t you moping about how Caspian’s being a cold little bastard last time you were here? Why don’t we talk about how you haven’t confessed your itty bitty feelings for him still?”
Arden gives him a scathing look. “I don’t think I like this bar anymore,” he grumbles, pulling his drink close. He would’ve sounded more believable if he didn’t down half of it.
“Keep telling yourself that.” Alex places a cherry on top of Arden’s cocktail before he moves on, circling around the bar, refusing to acknowledge the one location his feet are pulling him to. Henry’s seated on the other side and somehow, in the five minutes Arden kept him behind for a conversation, he managed to obtain a man hanging from his arm.
Alex rolls his eyes, even though a smile splits his lips. Henry’s too fucking handsome for his own good.
Two bottles clink on the counter when Alex plops himself across from Henry, a grin playing on his lips. There’s relief in Henry’s deep blue eyes—his shoulders sag, his fingers loosen around the counter, and he offers Alex a smile that’s a plea and a thank you all the same. Their fingers find each other like they’re meant to.
“Neon green, huh?” Alex jokes, tugging at Henry’s hand until the other guy is forced to let him go. An annoyed look flashes through his face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything but muted blues and godawful whites, sweetheart.”
A flush rises up Henry’s cheek. “My friend forced me to,” he mumbles, and Alex has to chuckle because he can absolutely imagine Alex fighting tooth and nail to keep the bright fabric off his shoulders. He’s infinitely glad Henry lost that fight.
“Well, you do look very dashing, if I may say.” Alex reaches to smooth Henry’s collar and just lets his hand linger there, hovering just above Henry’s pulse point. The corners of his lips twitch when he hears a hitch in Henry’s breath. “You should thank your friend for me,” he whispers, dragging his fingers over the sheer shirt; if he strains enough, he thinks, he’d probably be able to see Henry’s chest. “I think I owe him a drink or something.”
Henry’s blush spreads. He looks entirely too adorable with red splotches over his face, glitter shining over his cheekbones, and momentarily Alex forgets why he came here in the first place. Henry’s there, looking at him like he matters, and Alex thinks he’d be quite fine losing himself in the bottomless blue eyes of his. “Please don’t,” Henry says, and Alex has to smile at the desperation in his voice. “He’s already entirely too smug for his own good.”
“He seems to have that right.” Alex sways into the counter until his stomach hits the corner, and only then he realizes just how close he’s to Henry. The freckles dance in front of his eyes, the colors swirling in Henry’s eyes, and Alex is entranced, unable to look away.
Someone clears his throat. Alex is tempted to bash their head in with one of the alcohol bottles. “Excuse me. We were in the middle of something.” Alex’s eyes snap to the guy next to Henry and narrow slightly.
“Can I help you?”
“Look, I don’t know who the fuck you are, but Henry and I were talking. So.” He pushes away a messy curl from his forehead and crosses his arms. The only good thing about it is that at least he’s not touching Henry anymore because otherwise, Alex thinks he might’ve been tempted to bash the guy’s head in.
Henry’s fingers tighten around his hand. “Alex—” he whispers but Alex is moving anyway, straightening his shoulders, a sickly sweet smile on his face.
“Oh, yes, sorry. I’m Alexander, the owner of this bar and Henry’s boyfriend. So not nice to meet you.” He raises his shoulders and while he isn’t tall by any means, the guy does go still, mouth dropping slightly. The color in his face drains off in a way that reminds Alex of a ghost.
“Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.” Alex exaggerates the word; Henry must be fighting it but a snort escapes his lips. He has to hide his mouth behind his fingers. “Now if you’ll excuse us, I was about to make my boyfriend a drink. So.” Alex imitates the guy’s voice to the best of his ability and watches him leave with a smile on his face. Henry has an unimpressed look on his face when he turns back.
“You didn’t have to be so rude,” he argues, though he’s still holding Alex’s hand so the sentiment falls on deaf ears. There’s pink dusting over his cheekbones and Alex reaches for it, thumb skimming over the skin, and smiles. Henry’s face turns redder. “You being cute with me won’t change my mind.” Alex’s smile widens. He lets his fingers dig lightly into Henry’s strands. “Alex.”
“Admit it, baby,” Alex murmurs, enjoying the harsh breath Henry inhales. He doesn’t use it much, but he loves watching Henry’s reaction when he calls him baby. “You like it.” And there it is again. The corner of Henry’s lips twitch. He narrows his eyes but doesn’t fight his smile.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that.”
Alex eventually has to pull back to make Henry’s drink, but Henry is the one that leans over the counter this time so he doesn’t quite mind it. “ Mock Trial, ” he calls it, sliding it over the table’s surface. “All the spice and sourness of a law school teacher grading you on your cross-examination skills. I imagine, at least.” He watches Henry’s fingers wrap around the glass, watches his throat bob as he takes a drink, watches his lips purse into something unsatisfactory. A few seconds later, Alex has to rush to get him a glass of milk.
“In my defense,” he says as he watches Henry down the whole thing, tears in his eyes, “this barely feels spicy to me. I didn’t think it was that bad.”
“Alex,” Henry wheezes between breaths. “I think we have very different definitions of spicy.” He tosses a balled-up tissue Alex’s way when a laugh escapes Alex’s lips.
“I have a feeling y’all aren’t twenty-one yet.”
Alex eyes the two girls sitting at the bar, fresh-faced like they just came out of high school, staring at him with a mix of indignation and fear in their eyes. The brunette with choppy bangs opens her mouth to say something but her girlfriend elbows her in the chest and gives Alex her sweetest smile. “You have our IDs, don’t you?” she says, batting her eyelashes. “It clearly says our age.”
“Your birthday,” Alex mumbles, staring at the piece of card in front of her. Sarah. If it’s a fake, it’s a good goddamn fake, but suspicion curls in Alex’s gut. He narrows his eyes and faces the girl. “What’s it again?”
“June 21 st .” She doesn’t miss a beat and looks smug about it too. Alex quirks a brow.
“You knew that very quickly.”
“It’s my birthday.” She flicks her hair above her shoulder. It’s colored in lesbian flag colors and there’s one pinned on her chest as well, matching her girlfriends. Alex has to admit that they’re a cute couple—the brunette has her arm around the other girl, giving her a scathing look. The corner of Alex’s lip twitches up.
“Right. Of course. My mistake.” He slides the ID over the counter to the girl and crosses his arms over it. “How about we do this? I’m not gonna let you guys have alcohol tonight for my sanity, but I’m gonna give y’all two free non-alcoholic drinks. We have some pretty nice cocktails in that department as well.”
“But—”
The other girl elbows Sarah again. “Shara, cut it,” she hisses between her teeth, and Alex has a feeling Shara is this girl’s real name. “Two drinks are perfect. Thank you.” Two minutes later, there are two of Alex’s favorite drinks in front of them and Alex bids them goodbye, moving to take another customer.
There’s a reason Alex, Nora and Pez decided to make the bar 18+, despite the alcohol served at the establishment. Even in New York there are numerous queer new adults seeking for a place to go where they can feel safe and loved. They wanted the bar to be open to those as well, to come and be around the community they enjoyed, to seek support if they didn’t have one at their homes. Alex will never deny young queers access to Out Law’ed if they need it.
Drinks flow that night, patrons mingling and dancing; Saturday always brings the biggest crowds and Alex loves working them, even though he gets home with sore feet and an aching back. There’s a smile on his lips as he clears out the empty drinks from the counter, and slides new ones into the hands of the patrons, swaying to the rhythm of live music with a smile on his face.
That smile widens when he spots a familiar head over the crowd, trying to make his way out of the dance floor, a mesh crop top hanging loose over his shoulder. Alex feels his mouth dry as his eyes linger on the exposed sliver of skin over Henry’s stomach.
Stunning. Deep down, Alex always knew Henry was stunning but seeing the evidence is something different, the muscles rippling under the sheer shirt, glitter dusting his hair and making him glow under the lights of the bar. His damp hair sticks to his skin in damp clumps and Alex notices streaks of neon yellow and blue and green in them, shining like starlight. The jeans—those goddamn jeans— hug his legs like a glove; Alex tries, he really tries to look away but it’s impossible.
Henry slides over to the counter, running a finger through his hair to mess up the strands, and Alex’s heart does something impossible in his chest. It feels too full and too small at the same time, like it’s big enough to fill his chest yet not big enough for all that he’s feeling. Beautiful, he thinks, over and over again. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
“What?” A thin voice takes Alex out of his thoughts. He finds himself staring at Henry where he’s seated on a bar stool, flushed and wide-eyed, and a smile spreads on his lips. He throws his towel over his shoulder and lets the glass clink on the surface of the counter.
“Wow,” he breathes, and impossibly, the red on Henry’s cheekbones deepens. “Sweetheart, you look gorgeous.”
Henry ducks his chin like he has no damn clue how many heads he’s turning. “My friend insisted,” he mumbles. Alex thinks he’s beginning to really, really like this friend. “It’s not… It’s not too much, right? I wasn’t sure—”
“For a rave? Hen, this is the last place you’ll stick out with that outfit. It looks mild compared to what half the bar is wearing.” Which is true. Alex’s eyes flicker to the two girls from before, now dancing on the floor with laughs on their lips. They mix in with the crowd and the mish mash of colors, dancing and jumping and swaying to the music, joy clear in everyone’s faces.
Alex fucking loves watching the dance floor—loves watching people enjoy themselves. Yet at that moment he only vaguely notices everyone else. Henry seems to outshine all of them, a bright sun against the dim background.
“You look perfect, baby” Alex murmurs; no joke, no teasing, just the pure, unadulterated truth. Henry’s breath hitches in his throat when he reaches forward to fix his shirt, straightening up the MLM pride pin and the rainbow tucked in its corner. His fingers linger and Henry lets it happen, watching Alex with a kind of intensity that makes his insides curl. Alex lets it, the smile curling farther on his cheeks, eyes meeting Henry’s like their gazes were meant for each other. “Every single fucking night you come here and I… I just think you’re perfect. That there’s no one quite like you.”
Alex doesn’t think Henry’s breathing at all. “You don’t mean that,” he says. Alex simply curls his fingers over Henry’s heart.
“I do.” It’s just two words, but it hangs heavy in the air between them, a secret confession neither is ready to grasp. It feels too raw, too sudden, too real for what they have, for the teasing smiles and shared laughs, pretend pet names and mixed cocktails. Alex isn’t ready to lose what they have for something he doesn’t know if Henry wants.
“I got something for you,” he says instead, moving to grab the bottles he’s hidden for this purpose only. Henry arches one brow.
“This isn’t another one of your spicy drinks, is it?” Alex lets out a chuckle, remembering Henry’s red-rimmed eyes and blotchy face, and offers him a wink.
“I’m not promising anything.”
“Alex.”
“You’ll like it. I promise.” Alex blinks innocently, even purses his lips for good measure, and Henry melts like a candle with a flame. A few minutes later there’s a drink in front of him, layers of blue and teal and white mixing into each other, the shades matching Henry’s pin almost perfectly. It took days for Alex to get the colors and the layers right but he finally managed it. The way Henry’s mouth drops open at the sight, fingers skimming the glass, makes it worth it. “I call it the Obergefell Cocktail,” he whispers, crossing his arms over the counter and offering Henry a small smile. Deep blue eyes meet him.
“You know?” Henry says, voice impossibly small. Alex chuckles lightly.
“I might not be a law student, sweetheart, but I know my queer history.” He pushes the drink closer to Henry and nudges his hand. “Drink up.”
For once, Henry doesn’t complain about the taste of the drink.
Henry doesn’t flirt with anyone after that day. There are no guys hanging off his shoulders or holding his hands, no tense smiles and pleading looks on his face.
Alex still holds his hand when he comes to the bar.
They make it work.
Henry’s eyes widen when Alex plops the drinks in front of him on the counter.
“You can’t be serious,” he says, a panicked expression on his face, and looks up. Alex offers him a sheepish grin.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Alex—” He struggles with his words, gaze going back and forth between Alex and the tray before he’s able to continue. There’s a shake in his voice, a blush on his cheeks, and Alex feels the urge to reach out just so he feels the warmth of it through his fingertips. The only thing that stops him is Henry’s fingers locked around his. “This is at least twenty shots.”
“A bit more, actually.” Henry’s eyes widen another fraction. Another chuckle escapes Alex’s lips and he turns Henry’s hand around on the counter, tugging it close just to press a kiss on his knuckles, and smiles. “I didn’t say you had to drink every single one of them, sweetheart.”
Henry gives him an unimpressed look. “Alex, you plopped twenty glasses of alcohol in front of me without an explanation,” he says, which—fair point. It was a fucking bitch to carry but Alex is proud of it, the colors of the rainbow popping out of mismatched glasses. It’s a sight. “What, pray tell, did you think I was gonna assume?”
“That I was making rainbow drinks and wanted to show them to you?” Henry’s gaze turns scathing again and this time, for good measure, crosses his arms too. It’s awkward, with Alex’s hand still resting in his, and Alex refuses to feel warm about the fact that Henry doesn’t let go.
He fails.
“It’s a challenge,” Alex confesses, leaning over the counter so he can rest his forearm on it. “To myself. But also a little bit to you.”
“A challenge?” Henry’s brows furrow. His nose scrunches and Alex watches the freckles dance on his nose like constellations, the shapes and sizes of them so familiar Alex thinks he can pick them up at this point. Gently, he reaches out to smooth Henry’s skin, smiling at his sharp inhale.
“Well,” he starts, a playful grin on his face, “I did promise I’d find you the perfect drink to your tastes. And I decided that trying one cocktail a night isn’t gonna cut it anymore.”
“I think that sounds like alcoholism, darling.”
“Shh.” Alex refuses to melt at the pet name. “You don’t have to finish all of this. It’s a test. A trial of drinks. A battle of tastes between your posh British tastes and my brilliant—”
“Alex.”
“Henry.” A low snort escapes Henry’s mouth. He tries to hide his smile behind his hand but it’s an impossible thing; Alex reaches forward to tug it down just so he can see his lips curl into a smile, the pink gloss shining under the bar lights, the chapped surface Alex wants to taste just to see if it would feel rough under his. He stares for a few seconds too long before he looks up again, to the all-consuming blue eyes that promise a future, and his smile softens. “How about this?” he offers gently. “I’ll make you a bet.”
“Wouldn’t that be gambling?”
Alex chuckles. “My bar, my rules.” His thumb presses on Henry’s pulse point, and when Henry doesn’t object again he continues, eyes flickering between Henry’s lips and eyes. “If, somehow, I fucked up so badly that none of these twenty drinks are to your liking, you’ll get a pass for free drinks for the entirety of the month. No questions asked.” Alex’s nails scrape against Henry’s wrist and Henry gulps for a moment, watching their clasped hands before he speaks. His eyes find Alex’s.
“What if I do like one of the drinks?” he asks carefully, voice breathless and tinged with a kind of hope that makes Alex’s heart flutter. A hope and a plea at once.
There are a million different things Alex could’ve said. Double charged drinks. More mesh shirts, just so Alex can trace the lines of Henry’s chest. Makeup tips, glittery hair dyes, a dance on the goddamn bar floor. But Alex doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he holds Henry’s gaze and there’s one thing he can think about.
“If I win,” he says carefully, never taking his eyes off Henry, “then you’re gonna let me take you out on a date.” He stops for a beat. “If that’s okay with you.” It’s a way out, and a small part of Alex is terrified that Henry will take it. His heart jumps when Henry’s fingers slide out of his, but then he’s wrapping them around his palm to pull it to his lips, dropping a ghostly kiss on his pulse point.
“Okay,” he whispers with a hint of a smile and Alex’s heart settles in his chest. It’s impossible to keep the grin off his face. He has to free one hand to gesture at the drinks, pushing the tray closer to Henry, and leans over the counter.
“Bottoms up, sweetheart.”
For a moment, Henry’s fingers ghost over the drinks. He picks up a red liquid with pepper dusting the sides and arches a brow—“It’s just paprika, I swear,” Alex says, which does not seem to comfort Henry—then another drink with the rainbow colors and a smile on his face, and finally a shot glass in swirling colors of blue that Alex tried to match to Henry’s eyes. He thinks Henry is going to take a sip but instead he drops it to the tray and leans forward, a smile playing on his lips, and just watches Alex.
“What?” Alex whispers, suddenly self-conscious. Henry’s smile widens.
“I think I’ve already found my poison.” He doesn’t even look at the tray and Alex feels a spark of confusion in his chest. He eyes the drinks lining the surface.
“What? Wait. Which o—” His voice hitches when he feels Henry’s fingers on his cheek, tucking his hair behind his ear. The skin is calloused against his but Alex finds himself leaning into it anyway, eyes fluttering close, and lets his cheek rest on Henry’s palm, warm and solid and grounding against him. Alex doesn’t want him to let go, ever.
“Alex.” Henry’s voice is quiet yet so, so near. “Look at me.” It’s a gentle request but Alex obliges anyway, meeting Henry’s eyes. There are only a few inches between them now, enough that Alex can count the different shades of blue in Henry’s irises, the sizes of each freckle on his nose. “May I?” Henry asks, and it finally hits Alex what Henry is talking about.
His heart jumps in his throat. He manages to get the word out anyway, voice hoarse with desire. “Please.” Then, Henry’s mouth closes on his, and Alex kind of forgets why he was afraid in the first place.
Henry’s lips are impossibly soft on his, gentle even as they pry Alex’s mouth open, so much so that Alex finds himself melting onto the counter and holding onto Henry’s hand so he doesn’t topple over. It feels unfair that the wooden surface forces the distance between them when Alex wants to crawl onto Henry’s lap, to make himself space within his ribs, yet he’s unwilling to let go even to climb over and get closer. He doesn’t want to let go of Henry, ever .
He's imagined this moment for weeks now. Somehow, even his wildest dreams don’t stand a chance against reality.
Henry’s fingers dig into his hair and Alex lets out a desperate sound, wrapping his fingers around Henry’s shirt to tug him closer. He’s on his tiptoes now, the tray precariously crammed between them, but Alex doesn’t care. This… Henry… It feels right. It’s supposed to be a first kiss but Alex feels like he’s been kissing Henry forever with how his lips fit around his, how Henry knows to push every single one of his buttons. It’s dizzying and all-consuming, and Alex wants to feel it over and over again.
He's breathless by the time Henry lets go, yet he chases his lips anyway for one final test, for one last feel of it. Henry chuckles against his lips and presses his forehead against Alex’s. “Shh,” he whispers, and Alex almost whines. “Darling, I like you too, but I’m gonna need a moment to breathe.”
Alex reaches up a shaky hand and wraps it around the nape of Henry’s neck. “I can be your oxygen,” he teases and Henry’s laughing, a carefree and loud sound that buoys Alex’s heart and flutters his stomach. He pulls back just to trace the curl of Henry’s lips, the scrunch of his nose. It’s impossible not to kiss him again.
“So,” he whispers later, much later, when he’s wrapped in Henry’s arms in one of the booths, “does this mean I won the bet?”
Henry offers him a smile and kisses him on the nose. “Yes, darling. You’ve won.”
They find Henry’s favorite drink a couple of weeks later.
A bottle of wine shared over a romantic date, and the taste of it on each other’s lips when they meet in the middle.