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“Give me the pillows,” he said. Once he was satisfied, he took off his briefs and sprawled over the pile. He should be able to keep his weight off his left side, and he wouldn’t need to worry about his legs giving out. Not his favorite way to get fucked, but for all their talk of rewards, this wasn’t about Henri.

Once he’d relaxed onto the pillows, spreading his legs and letting his bones sink into the mattress and blankets, it felt like he could breathe for the first time in days. Like he could shake off the mantels he was forced to wear and just be Henri, in bed with Dylan. No last names or hockey legacies or score sheets. Just…them.

Dylan moved to rest between his legs. A warm hand pressed to the base of his spine, and Henri’s eyes fluttered shut. His cock was pressed into the pillows, growing harder by the second as his anticipation grew.

“You sure⁠—?”

“If you need me to open myself up,” Henri said, “then I can. But if you think you’re up for it, I trust you.”

Dylan’s hand moved to the swell of Henri’s ass and squeezed, then it was gone and instead there was the sound of a bottle opening.

“Just, uh, tell me if I fuck anything up. I might not be good at this,” Dylan warned. It was the only time he’d ever seemed nervous in Henri’s presence, and it was about this.

“Dylan.”

“Right, right. I’ll just…”

The first touch of his fingers was experimental. The lube was colder than Henri had expected, though not unpleasantly so. Dylan’s progress was painfully slow as he spread Henri’s ass and delicately circled his rim again and again. There was the ghost of pressure on his hole, barely enough to register it before it was gone.

It took several long, delightfully agonizing minutes before Dylan did push a finger past the muscle. Not far, only enough to breach Henri. The sound of more lube, the feel of it as Dylan worked his finger deeper, thrusting shallowly and stretching Henri so, so carefully.

“You’re so thorough,” Henri muttered into the pillows. If it’d been anyone else, he might’ve been teasing, but he meant it as a compliment. Dylan was going slow despite his own excitement because he was trying to take care of Henri. This was so out of Dylan’s depth.

(How how how? How could Sokolov not have wanted to do this with you? What makes me so lucky I get to be your first?)

“I’m doing my best.” Dylan kissed his bruised thigh, shy of where it might hurt. Showing that he remembered, that he would be careful, that he was worthy of Henri’s trust.

“I know,” Henri said in French. “I trust you. You’re not capable of doing less than your best.”

A second finger pushed in, thick and wet and lovely.

“You’re gonna kill me, talking like that,” Dylan said, voice strained.

“You don’t even understand me.”

Dylan fucked him a little harder with his fingers. “I don’t know the words, but I know the tone.”

Words can be felt, he seemed to say. A sentiment Henri knew only too well.

“Another finger. More.”

He endured Dylan opening him up, not because it hurt or Dylan was as bad as he feared, but because it was so slow it was almost cruel. He wanted Dylan inside him, to feel that moment of connection. Instead, he had to content himself with Dylan’s left hand wandering across his good side, his back, his ass, stretching to knead at his neck and shoulders. It was, admittedly, not difficult.

“Ready?” Dylan asked. It’d only taken years, though Henri offered a sharp nod instead of a complaint. He could hardly be upset that Dylan was taking such good care of him. “Okay.”

There was a moment when he stayed there, fingers slowly pulled out and his other hand disappeared, and Henri was bereft of touch. He was tenser now than he’d been when Dylan was pumping three fingers inside of him. He bit the inside of his cheek and counted his breaths, his heartbeats, anything to distract himself; he wouldn’t rush Dylan.

He heard the sound of the condom wrapper. More lube. The bed shifting as Dylan repositioned himself. Finally, the prickle of awareness as he moved closer but wasn’t quite touching. Body heat and electricity.

“Hen.” He gulped so loudly it seemed to echo in the huge room. “Are you…?”

Henri opened one eye and glanced over his shoulder. “Stop being such a tease and fuck me.”

Dylan blushed, and Henri wanted to pinch those rosy cheeks and kiss away his nerves. But he also knew moving to do any of that would be counterproductive to one thing he wanted more. He pointedly ran his gaze down Dylan’s body to his very hard cock that no doubt wanted this whole thing to move along almost as badly as Henri did. Henri licked his lips, rolled his hips once into the bed, and spread his legs just a hair wider.

That was enough. Any remaining hesitation was gone as Dylan took in what was being offered and decided, yes, mine.

Henri rested his head back on his arms and sighed in contentment.