ricochet; pg-13
Title: Ricochet
Author: sensitization
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: XMFC
Summary: Prompt - I want fic where hank lives a double life, geek by day and assassin/famous model/actor/whatever-the-author-wants by night.
Word Count: 2,874
Ricochet
BANG. BANG. BANG.
“Hey! Bozo, you in there?”
“It’s open, Alex!” Hank yells back, emphasizing the name in hopes that his next door neighbor would get the idea to use his real name one day. But all Alex does kick the door open with a tin of cheese biscuits in his hands and dropping it right on top of Hank’s papers. If he wasn’t so hungry, Hank would have taken the time to explain why barging into someone’s house and calling them names would be considered rude in some circles. As it is, he plucks one of the biscuits out of the tray and stuffs it in his mouth in one smooth move. “I loff yoo,” Hank absentmindedly garbles out while chewing, already picking up another biscuit as he shoves the tin to the side and picks up another report to read through.
“Just making sure you don’t starve to death,” Alex huffs as he walks off. In the beginning, he tried to act interested in Hank’s research, but now knows better than to ask “what’s up.” Instead, Alex makes his way toward the living room, detouring into the kitchen to swipe a vanilla coke in the fridge.
“Hey, never took you to be a GQ kinda guy,” Alex says, sliding onto Hank’s couch and swiping the magazine lying on the coffee table. He blanches at the cover, before flipping through the pages. “God, what a dick.”
“Who?” Hank actually turns around, pausing in mid-chew though Alex doesn’t notice, his attention fixated on the magazine.
“You know, the guy everyone’s creaming their pants for-Henri? With an i? And no last name?” Alex turns the glossy pages to the cover article that included a gigantic headshot of the man in question, “The guy puts one blue streak in his hair, wears sunglasses all the time, and suddenly everyone goes nuts for him.”
Hank mumbles something, but Alex keeps going, “ I mean, I wouldn’t hate him so much if he actually did anything-sing, act or whatever, but all he does is just stare into a camera with that same dumb pout. Doesn’t even try anything else. I heard he’s got offers from Bottega Veneta and Burberry and Calvin Klein and shit and he turned them all down.”
“Yeah,” Hank laughs, though sounding a little strained, “that guy’s the worst.”
“And there’s even an interview in here!” Alex crows, gleefully picking out the most embarrassing of the responses.
“I’d have to say my biggest inspiration is my manager, Mystique,” Alex reads with an overly nasally voice, “she picks out my wardrobe and she’s been there for me since day one- oh god, who calls themselves ‘Mystique’?”
“Stupid,” Hank agrees quietly.
It finally occurred to Alex that Hank wasn’t finding the topic all that interesting, and drops it, flipping to other less rage-inducing articles, though he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the article about argyle socks and when to wear them. He finishes the magazine and sets it back on the table. He turns his head to see Hank still poring over his notes, but there was something…off.
“Hey dude, you ok?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hank shrugs and Alex would like to say something, anything to pull Hank out this moody funk and remind Hank that he’s a Good Friend.
Instead: “Pho later?”
--
It didn't go over too well. Hank was pretty adamant about not going to the tiny Vietnamese restaurant a block away from their apartment complex, which is basically unheard of since Hank typically orders at least two bowls of pho just for himself. It took ten whole minutes and Alex promising to buy the special appetizer combo platter before Hank finally relented.
Alex sighed. But really. Really. He didn't know what happened. Six months ago, Hank was just a shy nerd who would always find the time to watch the worst movies and tv shows with him and make fun of them over shared takeout food. Now fast forward to the present, and Hank was still a shy nerd, only much more evasive and moody. It was rare for Alex to find Hank at his place, always citing some added research he had to do at the university, or even when Alex was in his flat, he'd lock himself in the bathroom for hours at a time until Alex got bored and left. Not to mention how suspiciously quiet Hank was, even while they were watching Glee.
Alex shrugs on a windbreaker and stuffs his feet in a pair of converses. Whatever. He's patient. He can wait for the Yeti to grow some proportionally sized balls and tell him what the hell is going on.
So he steps out, only to find someone walking out of Hank’s flat at the same moment.
Wait. What.
Alex waits until the man turns around, then feels like throwing up. A big, dumb guy with big, dumb sunglasses and that stupid blue streak in his hair. Shit. SHIT! ShitshitshitshitshitSHIT! Out of all the people Hank had to associate with, Henri had to be one of them? How did they even meet? Alex glowers as he mulled it over; it would make sense, it certainly explained why Hank seemed so concerned all of sudden about celebrity privacy and gossip.
“What are you doing here?” Alex demands, stomping his way towards the model, not caring that he’s never met the guy before. Just seeing him is making him want to punch him across the face.
Henri stays silent, looking side to side for a way around Alex. After finding none, he finally growls out, “looking for Hank, he’s not here though.”
“What do you want with him?”
The doofus looks down and has the audacity to blush, and suddenly Alex is seeing red.
Everything clicks into place: Hank’s fucking dating this moron. The way that Hank would always go quiet whenever Alex talked about him. How Hank was suddenly asking Alex’s opinion on cologne and neckties (like he knew). And all those times when Hank just oh so suddenly had to leave to do some unexpected grocery shopping or had to go out of town for his biweekly national…whatever science conventions.
God, why didn’t he see it sooner?
Seeing his chance, the man pushes past a catatonic Alex, and rushes down the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the hallway.
Alex stays rooted in front of Hank’s door for a few minutes, trying to recollect his thoughts, before stumbling back into his apartment, not stopping until he reaches his bed and flops down on it with his face buried into the mattress.
He doesn’t move for another twenty minutes.
--
Shit, shit, shit! Hank all but runs to his car, tripping every so often in his haste. He unlocks the door and collapses into the driver seat, covering his face with his hands and lets out a long groan of regret. How could he let Alex see him like this? How could he even say that? Alex knows now. He has to know, Hank is just absolutely terrible at lying. Frustrated, Hank tugs at the gigantic scarf around his neck and cards his hand through his newly-dyed hair, letting out a huge sigh.
His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he ignores it, fully knowing that all he’ll be hearing is Raven going on and on about how he’s ridiculously late and by now Sean is probably starting to decimate through the soda and snacks and is trying chat up Angel of all people and that he needs to get there now, before inserting the key into ignition and backing out the parking lot.
He picks up his phone after Raven has hung up, speeding through a red light and presses his second speed dial for Alex. He waits for a two rings, before chickening out and tossing the phone onto the passenger seat, shuddering slightly. It’s ok if he waits awhile before explaining, right? Let Alex cool off for a bit. He’ll understand.
Everything will be fine.
--
“Move over,” Angel demands, striding over from the set. Hank barely looks up as he shrinks himself further on the couch, huddled over his phone. It’s 10 pm, and Hank has spent the last 4 hours sitting on a terrifically uncomfortable wooden stool with Angel’s breasts practically pushed to his left cheek. It had taken every single patient iota in his body to not grimace into the camera, and even now Angel drapes an arm around his neck, leaning on him while Hank tries not to flinch. He was probably the only human being on the planet to not find Angel absolutely captivating, and as a result of his disinterest has intrigued his fellow model to trying to get a reaction out of him in a sort of playful teasing. But tonight he has more on his mind as he’s still contemplating whether to call Alex and explain what happened.
“You’ve been staring at that phone all night-oh, he looks cute,” Angel interjects, and Hank cradles his phone to his chest. “Did you find him at a club?”
“No! No, I-he’s just my neighbor-“
“He’s cute,” Angel repeats, and she starts tugging at Hank’s designer jacket, straightening it out for him after he manhandled it into a lopsided mess out of nervousness, “is he a model too?”
“He should be,” Hank murmurs, and he taps on the side of his phone worriedly.
“What are you waiting for?” Angel prompted, though receiving no reply. She leans forward to look at Henri’s face, and despite the sunglasses could at least see his squinting eyebrows and gloomy grimace and put two and two together.
“Oh give me that,” Angel sniffs, yanking the phone out of Hank’s hand before he could process the situation and called Alex for him. “Can’t even call your own boyfriend,” she stage-whispered, rolling her eyes.
Hank scrabbled to take his phone back as Angel leaned away with the phone next to her ear, using her other hand to block Hank’s lanky, flailing arms like a professional football player. After the fifth ring, the phone clicks and a bored voice mumbled out, “What do you want?”
Angel thrusts the phone back into Hank, and the man gingerly takes it, letting out a weak laugh.
“H-hey Alex?” Hank stammers after Alex lets out a grunt in reply, “How’s it going?”
“Whatever.”
Hank worries his lower lip. ”Uh, I have to tell you something….something came up. In the lab. I don’t think I can make it to pho tonight.” He winces as someone decided to blast some hyperactive pop song in the background while two female models glided by, giggling wildly. None of which sounded at all what a experimental physics lab should be like. “Is that alright?”
“It’s fine,” Alex snips, and Hank scrunches his face in confusion. Usually Alex is the one that bitches at him to hell and back whenever Hank cancels on him, but Hank decides not to question it.
“So I’ll see you later?”
The phone clicks without a reply.
Angel stands up and rubs Hank’s blue tinged hair in pity, leaving Hank to slump back onto the couch and press a cushion to his face in defeat.
--
It’s almost three am before Hank finally makes his way home with the dye successfully washed out of his hair, sleepily fumbling with his keys as he drags himself to his door.
“YOU!”
Hank jumps, pressing a hand to his heart, as he stares at Alex who’s now stalking up to him in a pair of basketball shorts and a vicious glare on his face.
“You piece of shit!” Alex yells into Hank’s face, pushing hard at the older man’s chest. Hank stumbles backwards, which shouldn’t happen given his size, but the hurt expression on his face made Alex feel vindicated.
“You thought you could keep this from me? Who the fuck am I to you? Did you think I’d be that stupid not to figure it out?”
“Alex, please. I know I should’ve told you, but- “
“And yeah, I might hate him, but goddammit, you should’ve told me you were dating him, not sneaking around like a little bitch about it-“
“Wait, what?” Hank cuts him off, a panicked look on his face, “I’m not dating anyone.”
Alex rolls his eyes. “Right, so Mr. Blue Streak just came out of your apartment for no reason whatsoever? And you couldn’t possibly be related to that jagoff, right?”
Hank stares at Alex, before he opens his mouth, his voice a little strangled.
“Alex, my real name is Henri. My mom’s French-Canadian.”
Alex’s eyes grew round. “Oh. Oh god. Ohhh shit…”
Hank tries to smile, but it twists into a sort of pained grimace. “I couldn’t tell you, because you’re always going on about how much you hate my stupid hair and my clothes and whatever, and to be honest, I don’t like it either but Raven says it’s my signature trademark or whatever. And I wouldn’t do all these interviews and walks and shoots, but it’s paying for grad school and this flat and everything. And I wanted to keep you as a friend, you know?” Hank laughs a little hysterically. “Because you’re right, who would find some loser who hides behind huge sunglasses and dumb hair to be anything but a huge poser?”
Alex doesn’t say anything. How many months has he spent ripping on “Henri”, right in front of Hank himself? But stil…
“I still hate him.” Alex says out loud, looking Hank right in the eyes.
Hank’s crushed face makes him quickly explain: “He just can’t match up to Hank fucking McCoy, you know? I mean, have you met the guy? He's smart as hell, cool as fuck, and drop-dead devastating in just sweatpants and a t-shirt."
Hank laughs loudly in relief, leaning against his door. He looks over at Alex, a small smile on his face. “I’m so tired right now.”
“Oh. Yeah, uh yeah, you should probably go. Sorry to-“ Alex waves a hand around, “hound you and start screaming at you and junk.”
But Hank doesn’t say anything, just staring at Alex who's not making eye contact, before crossing the distance between them and pulling Alex into a hard kiss.
Alex responds by sliding up and pressing into Hank without question, gripping onto Hank's biceps as he changes the angle of the kiss and opens his mouth. They go at it for a few more minutes before Hank pulls away slightly, leaving Alex to whimper against his lips at the loss.
“I’d like to kiss you more,” Hank panted, “but I’m really tired right now, and if I multitask and try to sleep and kiss you at the same time, it wouldn’t just be absolutely rude of me, but I might also die from asphyxiation.”
Alex pressed one more kiss before drawing back, patting Hank’s hip with a kind of dizzy, sated, and utterly radiant smile. “Alright then, in you go, slugger.”
Hank tugs at Alex's wrist to keep him from turning away, “You won’t come in?”
Without warning, Alex lunges forward, wrapping his arms around Hank’s waist and shoving the taller man into the flat. Hank simply smiles and watches Alex kick the door back in place before they land haphazardly on the couch. Hank winces, feeling the hard spine of the discarded Gentleman's Quarterly digging into his back. Alex reaches underneath Hank and fishes out the magazine before throwing it across the room.
Hank presses a kiss into Alex's shoulder, and Alex's heart does fancy little flips in response. "Thank you," Hank murmurs into the cotton there, curling his hands into Alex's shirt to pull him in.
--
In three days, it’s plastered on every gossip blog, supermarket tabloid, and even makes it onto legitimate news sites: Henri is off the market. Blurry pictures of the model holding hands and eating pho with a blonde man are everywhere-speculations of how they met and how long they’ve been together is debated across every social media platform. The trending topics on twitter are all some permutation of “Henri’s gay” and “#ihateblondes”. And in the eye of the storm, said most hated blonde in the world is leaning against Hank McCoy, sharing a mozzarella sticks and chicken fingers pepperoni pizza while rewatching Community.
Due to the media shitstorm and Raven frantically trying to put out the fires, torn over whether or not to let the guessing continue or make Hank come up with a statement. Either way, he was basically told not to make an appearance as "Henri" until the whole thing calmed down. Alex didn't say much about the whole ordeal, but had a smug smile on his face all the while. He's resting his head on Hank's shoulder, firmly stuck in a haze of light, happy bliss. There was junk food and good tv and a very warm and affectionate Hank all at once. Alex lands a soft kiss on Hank's neck and breathes slowly over his boyfriend's Adam apple, smiling slightly as he hears Hank swallow in response.
"You're impossible," Hank chokes, and Alex just turns his attention back onto the tv, content to just feel like a certified GQMF for the night.
End
Author: sensitization
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: XMFC
Summary: Prompt - I want fic where hank lives a double life, geek by day and assassin/famous model/actor/whatever-the-author-wants by night.
Word Count: 2,874
Ricochet
BANG. BANG. BANG.
“Hey! Bozo, you in there?”
“It’s open, Alex!” Hank yells back, emphasizing the name in hopes that his next door neighbor would get the idea to use his real name one day. But all Alex does kick the door open with a tin of cheese biscuits in his hands and dropping it right on top of Hank’s papers. If he wasn’t so hungry, Hank would have taken the time to explain why barging into someone’s house and calling them names would be considered rude in some circles. As it is, he plucks one of the biscuits out of the tray and stuffs it in his mouth in one smooth move. “I loff yoo,” Hank absentmindedly garbles out while chewing, already picking up another biscuit as he shoves the tin to the side and picks up another report to read through.
“Just making sure you don’t starve to death,” Alex huffs as he walks off. In the beginning, he tried to act interested in Hank’s research, but now knows better than to ask “what’s up.” Instead, Alex makes his way toward the living room, detouring into the kitchen to swipe a vanilla coke in the fridge.
“Hey, never took you to be a GQ kinda guy,” Alex says, sliding onto Hank’s couch and swiping the magazine lying on the coffee table. He blanches at the cover, before flipping through the pages. “God, what a dick.”
“Who?” Hank actually turns around, pausing in mid-chew though Alex doesn’t notice, his attention fixated on the magazine.
“You know, the guy everyone’s creaming their pants for-Henri? With an i? And no last name?” Alex turns the glossy pages to the cover article that included a gigantic headshot of the man in question, “The guy puts one blue streak in his hair, wears sunglasses all the time, and suddenly everyone goes nuts for him.”
Hank mumbles something, but Alex keeps going, “ I mean, I wouldn’t hate him so much if he actually did anything-sing, act or whatever, but all he does is just stare into a camera with that same dumb pout. Doesn’t even try anything else. I heard he’s got offers from Bottega Veneta and Burberry and Calvin Klein and shit and he turned them all down.”
“Yeah,” Hank laughs, though sounding a little strained, “that guy’s the worst.”
“And there’s even an interview in here!” Alex crows, gleefully picking out the most embarrassing of the responses.
“I’d have to say my biggest inspiration is my manager, Mystique,” Alex reads with an overly nasally voice, “she picks out my wardrobe and she’s been there for me since day one- oh god, who calls themselves ‘Mystique’?”
“Stupid,” Hank agrees quietly.
It finally occurred to Alex that Hank wasn’t finding the topic all that interesting, and drops it, flipping to other less rage-inducing articles, though he couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the article about argyle socks and when to wear them. He finishes the magazine and sets it back on the table. He turns his head to see Hank still poring over his notes, but there was something…off.
“Hey dude, you ok?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hank shrugs and Alex would like to say something, anything to pull Hank out this moody funk and remind Hank that he’s a Good Friend.
Instead: “Pho later?”
--
It didn't go over too well. Hank was pretty adamant about not going to the tiny Vietnamese restaurant a block away from their apartment complex, which is basically unheard of since Hank typically orders at least two bowls of pho just for himself. It took ten whole minutes and Alex promising to buy the special appetizer combo platter before Hank finally relented.
Alex sighed. But really. Really. He didn't know what happened. Six months ago, Hank was just a shy nerd who would always find the time to watch the worst movies and tv shows with him and make fun of them over shared takeout food. Now fast forward to the present, and Hank was still a shy nerd, only much more evasive and moody. It was rare for Alex to find Hank at his place, always citing some added research he had to do at the university, or even when Alex was in his flat, he'd lock himself in the bathroom for hours at a time until Alex got bored and left. Not to mention how suspiciously quiet Hank was, even while they were watching Glee.
Alex shrugs on a windbreaker and stuffs his feet in a pair of converses. Whatever. He's patient. He can wait for the Yeti to grow some proportionally sized balls and tell him what the hell is going on.
So he steps out, only to find someone walking out of Hank’s flat at the same moment.
Wait. What.
Alex waits until the man turns around, then feels like throwing up. A big, dumb guy with big, dumb sunglasses and that stupid blue streak in his hair. Shit. SHIT! ShitshitshitshitshitSHIT! Out of all the people Hank had to associate with, Henri had to be one of them? How did they even meet? Alex glowers as he mulled it over; it would make sense, it certainly explained why Hank seemed so concerned all of sudden about celebrity privacy and gossip.
“What are you doing here?” Alex demands, stomping his way towards the model, not caring that he’s never met the guy before. Just seeing him is making him want to punch him across the face.
Henri stays silent, looking side to side for a way around Alex. After finding none, he finally growls out, “looking for Hank, he’s not here though.”
“What do you want with him?”
The doofus looks down and has the audacity to blush, and suddenly Alex is seeing red.
Everything clicks into place: Hank’s fucking dating this moron. The way that Hank would always go quiet whenever Alex talked about him. How Hank was suddenly asking Alex’s opinion on cologne and neckties (like he knew). And all those times when Hank just oh so suddenly had to leave to do some unexpected grocery shopping or had to go out of town for his biweekly national…whatever science conventions.
God, why didn’t he see it sooner?
Seeing his chance, the man pushes past a catatonic Alex, and rushes down the stairs, his footsteps echoing through the hallway.
Alex stays rooted in front of Hank’s door for a few minutes, trying to recollect his thoughts, before stumbling back into his apartment, not stopping until he reaches his bed and flops down on it with his face buried into the mattress.
He doesn’t move for another twenty minutes.
--
Shit, shit, shit! Hank all but runs to his car, tripping every so often in his haste. He unlocks the door and collapses into the driver seat, covering his face with his hands and lets out a long groan of regret. How could he let Alex see him like this? How could he even say that? Alex knows now. He has to know, Hank is just absolutely terrible at lying. Frustrated, Hank tugs at the gigantic scarf around his neck and cards his hand through his newly-dyed hair, letting out a huge sigh.
His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he ignores it, fully knowing that all he’ll be hearing is Raven going on and on about how he’s ridiculously late and by now Sean is probably starting to decimate through the soda and snacks and is trying chat up Angel of all people and that he needs to get there now, before inserting the key into ignition and backing out the parking lot.
He picks up his phone after Raven has hung up, speeding through a red light and presses his second speed dial for Alex. He waits for a two rings, before chickening out and tossing the phone onto the passenger seat, shuddering slightly. It’s ok if he waits awhile before explaining, right? Let Alex cool off for a bit. He’ll understand.
Everything will be fine.
--
“Move over,” Angel demands, striding over from the set. Hank barely looks up as he shrinks himself further on the couch, huddled over his phone. It’s 10 pm, and Hank has spent the last 4 hours sitting on a terrifically uncomfortable wooden stool with Angel’s breasts practically pushed to his left cheek. It had taken every single patient iota in his body to not grimace into the camera, and even now Angel drapes an arm around his neck, leaning on him while Hank tries not to flinch. He was probably the only human being on the planet to not find Angel absolutely captivating, and as a result of his disinterest has intrigued his fellow model to trying to get a reaction out of him in a sort of playful teasing. But tonight he has more on his mind as he’s still contemplating whether to call Alex and explain what happened.
“You’ve been staring at that phone all night-oh, he looks cute,” Angel interjects, and Hank cradles his phone to his chest. “Did you find him at a club?”
“No! No, I-he’s just my neighbor-“
“He’s cute,” Angel repeats, and she starts tugging at Hank’s designer jacket, straightening it out for him after he manhandled it into a lopsided mess out of nervousness, “is he a model too?”
“He should be,” Hank murmurs, and he taps on the side of his phone worriedly.
“What are you waiting for?” Angel prompted, though receiving no reply. She leans forward to look at Henri’s face, and despite the sunglasses could at least see his squinting eyebrows and gloomy grimace and put two and two together.
“Oh give me that,” Angel sniffs, yanking the phone out of Hank’s hand before he could process the situation and called Alex for him. “Can’t even call your own boyfriend,” she stage-whispered, rolling her eyes.
Hank scrabbled to take his phone back as Angel leaned away with the phone next to her ear, using her other hand to block Hank’s lanky, flailing arms like a professional football player. After the fifth ring, the phone clicks and a bored voice mumbled out, “What do you want?”
Angel thrusts the phone back into Hank, and the man gingerly takes it, letting out a weak laugh.
“H-hey Alex?” Hank stammers after Alex lets out a grunt in reply, “How’s it going?”
“Whatever.”
Hank worries his lower lip. ”Uh, I have to tell you something….something came up. In the lab. I don’t think I can make it to pho tonight.” He winces as someone decided to blast some hyperactive pop song in the background while two female models glided by, giggling wildly. None of which sounded at all what a experimental physics lab should be like. “Is that alright?”
“It’s fine,” Alex snips, and Hank scrunches his face in confusion. Usually Alex is the one that bitches at him to hell and back whenever Hank cancels on him, but Hank decides not to question it.
“So I’ll see you later?”
The phone clicks without a reply.
Angel stands up and rubs Hank’s blue tinged hair in pity, leaving Hank to slump back onto the couch and press a cushion to his face in defeat.
--
It’s almost three am before Hank finally makes his way home with the dye successfully washed out of his hair, sleepily fumbling with his keys as he drags himself to his door.
“YOU!”
Hank jumps, pressing a hand to his heart, as he stares at Alex who’s now stalking up to him in a pair of basketball shorts and a vicious glare on his face.
“You piece of shit!” Alex yells into Hank’s face, pushing hard at the older man’s chest. Hank stumbles backwards, which shouldn’t happen given his size, but the hurt expression on his face made Alex feel vindicated.
“You thought you could keep this from me? Who the fuck am I to you? Did you think I’d be that stupid not to figure it out?”
“Alex, please. I know I should’ve told you, but- “
“And yeah, I might hate him, but goddammit, you should’ve told me you were dating him, not sneaking around like a little bitch about it-“
“Wait, what?” Hank cuts him off, a panicked look on his face, “I’m not dating anyone.”
Alex rolls his eyes. “Right, so Mr. Blue Streak just came out of your apartment for no reason whatsoever? And you couldn’t possibly be related to that jagoff, right?”
Hank stares at Alex, before he opens his mouth, his voice a little strangled.
“Alex, my real name is Henri. My mom’s French-Canadian.”
Alex’s eyes grew round. “Oh. Oh god. Ohhh shit…”
Hank tries to smile, but it twists into a sort of pained grimace. “I couldn’t tell you, because you’re always going on about how much you hate my stupid hair and my clothes and whatever, and to be honest, I don’t like it either but Raven says it’s my signature trademark or whatever. And I wouldn’t do all these interviews and walks and shoots, but it’s paying for grad school and this flat and everything. And I wanted to keep you as a friend, you know?” Hank laughs a little hysterically. “Because you’re right, who would find some loser who hides behind huge sunglasses and dumb hair to be anything but a huge poser?”
Alex doesn’t say anything. How many months has he spent ripping on “Henri”, right in front of Hank himself? But stil…
“I still hate him.” Alex says out loud, looking Hank right in the eyes.
Hank’s crushed face makes him quickly explain: “He just can’t match up to Hank fucking McCoy, you know? I mean, have you met the guy? He's smart as hell, cool as fuck, and drop-dead devastating in just sweatpants and a t-shirt."
Hank laughs loudly in relief, leaning against his door. He looks over at Alex, a small smile on his face. “I’m so tired right now.”
“Oh. Yeah, uh yeah, you should probably go. Sorry to-“ Alex waves a hand around, “hound you and start screaming at you and junk.”
But Hank doesn’t say anything, just staring at Alex who's not making eye contact, before crossing the distance between them and pulling Alex into a hard kiss.
Alex responds by sliding up and pressing into Hank without question, gripping onto Hank's biceps as he changes the angle of the kiss and opens his mouth. They go at it for a few more minutes before Hank pulls away slightly, leaving Alex to whimper against his lips at the loss.
“I’d like to kiss you more,” Hank panted, “but I’m really tired right now, and if I multitask and try to sleep and kiss you at the same time, it wouldn’t just be absolutely rude of me, but I might also die from asphyxiation.”
Alex pressed one more kiss before drawing back, patting Hank’s hip with a kind of dizzy, sated, and utterly radiant smile. “Alright then, in you go, slugger.”
Hank tugs at Alex's wrist to keep him from turning away, “You won’t come in?”
Without warning, Alex lunges forward, wrapping his arms around Hank’s waist and shoving the taller man into the flat. Hank simply smiles and watches Alex kick the door back in place before they land haphazardly on the couch. Hank winces, feeling the hard spine of the discarded Gentleman's Quarterly digging into his back. Alex reaches underneath Hank and fishes out the magazine before throwing it across the room.
Hank presses a kiss into Alex's shoulder, and Alex's heart does fancy little flips in response. "Thank you," Hank murmurs into the cotton there, curling his hands into Alex's shirt to pull him in.
--
In three days, it’s plastered on every gossip blog, supermarket tabloid, and even makes it onto legitimate news sites: Henri is off the market. Blurry pictures of the model holding hands and eating pho with a blonde man are everywhere-speculations of how they met and how long they’ve been together is debated across every social media platform. The trending topics on twitter are all some permutation of “Henri’s gay” and “#ihateblondes”. And in the eye of the storm, said most hated blonde in the world is leaning against Hank McCoy, sharing a mozzarella sticks and chicken fingers pepperoni pizza while rewatching Community.
Due to the media shitstorm and Raven frantically trying to put out the fires, torn over whether or not to let the guessing continue or make Hank come up with a statement. Either way, he was basically told not to make an appearance as "Henri" until the whole thing calmed down. Alex didn't say much about the whole ordeal, but had a smug smile on his face all the while. He's resting his head on Hank's shoulder, firmly stuck in a haze of light, happy bliss. There was junk food and good tv and a very warm and affectionate Hank all at once. Alex lands a soft kiss on Hank's neck and breathes slowly over his boyfriend's Adam apple, smiling slightly as he hears Hank swallow in response.
"You're impossible," Hank chokes, and Alex just turns his attention back onto the tv, content to just feel like a certified GQMF for the night.
End