If He Was Your Fan (A Henry Cavill Fanfic)

Part 69: Family, Meet Boyfriend

"Henry!" you cry out, tears in your eyes. You lost count how many times you've climaxed. You stayed back in London while he went to promote Witcher 2. And you, being the good girlfriend, decided to keep Kal while he was abroad. At his behest, you joined him in the U.S., but you didn't really want to. Not because of him, of course, but for...other reasons.

When you have been separated for awhile, Henry gets a little kinky. He seems insatiable from the moment he swept you up from the great room with kisses to him undressing you and tying you to making you scream and shudder as you wet his beard. He tied you to the bedposts facing him as leans against it, holding your hips while bouncing you and driving himself to bliss. Now you're a weak and trembling mess, wrists crossed behind his neck as you sag against him, panting against his neck.

"Mmm, that was so good, baby, needed that," he pants as he strokes your back. He plants butterfly kisses on your shoulder that leads to your cheek. He unties you and you take those seconds to simply admire his features—his jawline, his glare as he untangles the knots, and of course the natural flex and movement of his chest and arms as he does. He looks up, smirking at the fact he caught you. He playfully bites your ear and draws you close, whispering, "I'm famished. Wanna go out?"

You exhale. "Not really." You don't feel like dealing with the stares of people, people who see you with him and either can't believe it or hate that you are with him at all. You don't look at the meanhearted things people say online, and you are growing numb to young women who say things under their breaths. This doesn't bother you so much in Britain, but you find in the United States it is in fact worse. You try not to talk to Henry about it; you try not to talk to him about how some people look at you in London, either. You just have to wait for their shock and resentment to blow over while they think they are waiting for you to join his GF cemetery.

He laughs softly. "How about we pick up something? Supper on the terrace?" He strokes your back.

"Okay." You kiss his nose and put your forehead against his. "I know you want to game on that console you shipped over."

He inhales sharply and then laughs. "Oh, you think that's what in the boxes, do you?"

"Yeah, I do," you smile. "I saw you building that second one and it's not in your house in Kensington. I wondered what happened to it till I saw the boxes—international boxes—"

"Ah—" he steals a quick kiss. "Elementary, love."

"No shit, Sherlock."

He smiles broadly and slaps your backside. He scoots to the side of the bed, not relinquishing his hold on you. "Supper negotiations in the shower?"

You lean into his embrace as he carries you toward the bathroom. "Alright."

Curry, pizza, and burritos are his go-to when not preparing for another job or role. You both decide on pizza, and lay out a blanket on the floor to enjoy it.

"So, how's it going with Churi and Sophie?"

You laugh. "I can't believe you asked me that!"

"Well, I know that you miss Stella."

You sigh, thinking of your chef friend. "We stay in touch by text, try to go to tea or dinner once a week. She is one busy girl, getting engaged and everything."

He smiles. "Dinner, not lunch?"

You laugh, shaking your head. "You know what I mean." In the U.S. lunch is the midday meal, yet in Britain it is called dinner.

"Darling?"

You look up at him from your food. His tone tells you he is about to say something very real or important. "Hmm?"

"Are you nervous about the London premiere?"

"It's just going to the movies, right?"

"And there is a red carpet of sorts."

"Uh, yeah."

He tilts his head to the side, and gives a small smile. "If you're not ready for it, yet, pet, you can always meet me inside."

You try to control your relief. "Oh. Okay."

"But I want you to know—" he tilts your chin up. "I would be proud to escort you anytime and anywhere. Do you understand, darling?"

You exhale heavily, drowning in his eyes. When he looks at you like this, you feel like the only woman on the planet. You caress his hand. "I know, sweetie...it's nice to hear, though."

You both laugh softly at that, and he pulls you close for a quick kiss over the pizza.

"I was also thinking," he trails off.

I look at him as he concentrates a little too hard on his pizza. "What?"

"We're in the States, aren't we?"

"Yeah."

"Why don't we surprise your family?"

You had been holding your breath and now you realize it was premonition. "Uh...I guess. Not much left of it, really. Mom and Dad are gone, brother is gone."

"Which is why you took off?"

"I'd been locked down long enough," you say softly. "Dad died years ago. Mom I took care of till she did. Robby died suddenly, and my sis and I...don't get along as well as I'd like." Please, babe, let's not. But then you see the look on his face. He is not pleased, and his lips are drawn tight, his jaw making that hard line you only see in movies mostly. "I—I suppose we could—"

"Good."

You shake your head at him. "I come from pretty humble beginnings."

"Don't we all?" he asks.

You call ahead. Being home for Thanksgiving in the U.S. was something you didn't care for, especially with little notice. Your sister, Shannon, has plans but seemed more than happy to celebrate the day before with you.