Work Text:
9/3/2020 6:20AM
A < [email protected] >
to Henry
…
It drives me nuts sometimes that you don’t get to have more say in your life. When I picture you happy, I see you with your own apartment somewhere outside of the palace and a desk where you can write anthologies of queer history. And I’m there, using up your shampoo and making you come to the grocery store with me and waking up in the same damn time zone with you every morning.
…
💌💌💌
9/3/2021 10:37AM
Henry Fox sits cross-legged on the bay window of his Park Slope brownstone and stares out the window.
The greenery surrounding his home throws shade over the front rooms, dappled sunlight filtering through to warm his pale skin. A notebook and pen lie in his lap, hurried cursive spilling across the page. He’s halfway through planning an anthology of queer royals, and though he might be more productive at the broad oak desk in his upstairs study, he likes the window too.
It’s easy to lean back in the soft pillows he and Alex had bickered over once upon a time and sink into his thoughts. He likes to turn them over and around and squint at them from different perspectives until the words burst from his fingers and onto the page. There’s clarity that comes with the sunlight on his face, a pen in hand, and the street below, which is bustling and vibrant.
Of course, there’s also the other upside.
A smile steals across his lips as he spots his boyfriend. Alex jogs up the sidewalk with a bright orange leash and a floppy-eared David beside him. His curls are wild, and his toned arms glisten with a light layer of sweat as he stops in front of the brownstone and takes a breather, his head tilted up and eyes closed.
Home, Henry thinks fondly as Alex disappears with David down their garden path, is not a place but a person.
There’s a maybe fifteen-second window before Henry hears the front door open and close and David’s nails clacking against the floorboards. He closes his notebook in anticipation, his heart warm in his chest.
“Baby!” comes Alex’s voice. There’s the sound of him kicking off his sneakers in the long hall before he and David emerge. “We’re home!”
David makes a beeline for Henry, trotting over and digging his nose into Henry’s bare leg. “Hello, hello,” he coos gently, stroking his soft head. “Darling, how did you go?”
“Good, Davey is getting fitter; we can go an extra block now.” Alex reaches him and smiles, his cheeks still flushed from exertion. “Fuck, you look cute.” He bends at the waist and presses a kiss to the top of Henry’s head.
“And you smell,” Henry teases him lightly, poking his boyfriend in the stomach. “Get in the shower, you pungent creature.”
“Not even a kiss?”
Henry rolls his eyes but tilts his chin up, eyes closed. He waits patiently, feeling Alex draw close. The moment drags out a touch too long, and sensing an ulterior motive, Henry opens his eyes just as Alex dives in and presses a very wet raspberry to the side of his neck and cheek.
Yelping, he flings himself back and out of reach of Alex. Laughter bursts out of his boyfriend, bright in his ears. “Oi!” he shoves at Alex, ignoring the delicious feel of his toned stomach beneath his fingers and focusing instead on the injustice at hand. “You’re incorrigible!”
Alex throws himself down on the expanse of the seat and pouts at him, his lower lip jutted out and his big, brown eyes in full puppy-dog form.
“No-” Henry warns. Amusement flickers across Alex’s face. “Alex, no-”
He deliberately blinks his eyelashes a handful of times, his eyes big, brown, and sad. Henry’s stupid gay heart stutters to a stop in his chest. “Darli-”
Alex leans forward and kisses him. He tastes like cinnamon and a hint of sweat, but his lips are soft, and the gesture is brimming with devotion. Henry’s heart melts as he kisses Alex back, his hand finding the nape of Alex’s neck and the small curls there.
“I missed you,” he admits as Alex draws back. It’s silly; just over a year ago, he could spend weeks apart from Alex. It had been painful, but he had persevered. The thought of that now is like a knife to the chest. Henry misses him when they’re apart for mere minutes. Indeed, a part of him is truly only at peace when they’re together.
“I missed you too, sweetheart,” Alex tells him before kissing him again once, twice, and then his cheeks. “And I love the way you look in my clothes,” he adds, kissing him once more before pushing himself up.
“It’s comfy,” Henry responds, tugging at his faded navy blue NYU LAW sweater. He wears only plaid boxers beneath, revealing his long legs. He really should shower; it’s closing in on midday, after all. But lazy Saturdays have gotten the better of him yet again.
“I know,” Alex throws over his shoulder, picking up David’s water bowl and throwing in a few ice cubes. He places it down, pats David as he bounds over, and chews up a piece of ice. There’s a little crunch, crunch, crunch as he chews. “Or should I say, I vaguely remember.”
“That reminds me. Do you mind wearing it again? I like it when it smells like you.”
Alex huffs a laugh. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”
“Not now, though,” Henry hurries to add. “Like I said - stinky.”
Behind the kitchen counter, Alex bends down. When he stands up, his clothes are bundled under one arm, and his underwear twirls on the other finger. “Wanna help me get not stinky? ”
“A titillating offer, indeed,” Henry responds dryly. He smirks as Alex closes one eye and pulls the band of his underwear back with his other hand, aiming. Alex lets go, and the underwear flies across the room, landing just before him on the wooden floor.
Henry looks down at them and then back up, raising his eyebrows. “Really, love?”
Alex rounds the corner, stark naked, all muscular thighs, sharp abdominals, and glistening skin. “Mmmkay,” he says, “Guess I’ll just go shower alone…” he heads towards the stairs leading up to the second floor and their bedroom en suite, throwing a grin over his shoulder.
“Christ,” Henry says, getting up and hurrying after him without a second thought. “Alex-!”
💌💌💌
9/3/2021 12:43PM
Henry swivels slowly from side to side, his pen between his teeth and his brows furrowed.
For a moment, he stares at his right computer screen, taking in the pale figure of Anne, Queen of Great Britain, and her oldest “companion,” the Duchess of Marlborough - portraits of the actual Queen Anne and Sarah Churchill, not Olivia Coleman and Rachel Weisz. On the left, a digital copy of Emma Donoghue’s Passions Between Women: British Lesbian Culture, 1668-1801, and Anne Somerset’s Queen Anne: The Politics of Passion lies open and highlighted.
When his mind remains stubbornly blank, it likely means he needs a moment’s pause to clear his mind. Perhaps he’ll make a snack or take a quick walk with David if his dog isn’t still tired from this morning. His faithful beagle isn’t the most active of dogs - he prefers snuggling into his bed or sunning himself by the large bay window. Henry relates to him on a molecular level.
He stands and crosses the room, pausing to cock his head, listening for sound across the landing. He and Alex have an understanding - when they both settle down to work, they are not allowed to drop by and visit each other, lest they get entirely sidetracked. Hearing nothing, he pushes open the door.
Across the landing, Alex freezes, halfway through stepping out of his study on his tip toes. Their hands rise at the same time, pointing at each other accusingly.
“No-” Alex says quickly.
“No-” Henry warns.
They both pause at a stalemate.
“I’m getting a snack,” Henry tells his boyfriend. “I’ve hit a wall.”
“I just finished a lecture,” Alex explains. “Thought I’d move around a bit.”
“Can’t hurt to take a break together… downstairs,” Henry says cautiously. “If we time it.”
“An alarm,” Alex agrees, whipping out his phone, “Good idea, Wales. I suppose that can happen from time to time,” he teases.
“Git,” Henry tells him, shutting the door behind himself and following Alex onto the first floor.
They move around the kitchen like a well-oiled machine. Henry makes a beeline for the cutting board and knives, placing them both on the bench as Alex rinses some fruit - apples, strawberries, a pear. Yoghurt, fruit, and muesli are their go-to snacks on weekends. They are quick and easy, sweet but high in minerals and vitamins. That’s what Henry tells himself anyway as he pulls out the honey to drizzle over his own.
Alex is still slicing fruit when Henry finishes making their coffee and tea. “What are you doing, love?” he asks, slipping onto the kitchen stool across from Alex. He’s hunched over, curls in his eyes as he concentrates.
“A surprise,” Alex says before he turns the bowl around and slides it across to Henry. In the middle, the muesli is shaped into a heart, outlined by the honey. Around the outside, the fruit mimics the shape of the heart. It might be corny, but it also makes his heart gooey and absurdly soft. “Ta-da!”
“Alex,” he says, biting his lip and smiling. “Thank you, darling.”
“Sorry, that was kind of cheesy,” Alex says, mushing his fruit, yoghurt, and muesli together. There’s a light blush on his cheeks.
“Fruity,” Henry amends, picking up his spoon but unwilling to damage Alex’s creation. “Come here, sit with me.”
Alex slips around to Henry’s side of the bench. Before he can push himself onto the chair, Henry turns and pulls him into the v of his legs. He draws him in close, smelling the scent of his floral shampoo and vanilla body wash on him.
“Christ, I love you,” he informs Alex before he kisses him. His mouth is firm on Alex’s, and the kiss is comprehensive. He presses his hands into Alex’s tiny waist and relishes in the warmth of his body and the affection that unfolds inside of him as Alex brushes his hands through Henry’s hair. Alex quirks a brow when they draw back and says, “All that because of some fruity art?”
“Yes,” Henry says simply, squeezing him lightly with his palms before letting go. “Don’t try to pretend you’re not a romantic at heart, dear,” he warns. “I’ve seen June’s astrology report. It was very informative.”
Alex groans. “I swear to god, y’all are never gonna let that thing drop.”
When they finish eating, Henry’s clock signals they have thirteen minutes left of their break. He considers it for a moment, then looks sideways at Alex. His face says what Henry feels - it’s Sunday, and he’s in no way inclined to rush back to his work.
“Breaks while working are good for increasing productivity,” Henry points out.
“Purposeful study breaks are good for energy levels and increase your ability to focus,” Alex adds.
That’s how they end up on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms and watching TikToks on Alex’s phone. Henry lays on his back with Alex curled into his side, his phone propped up for both of them to see. Henry isn’t entirely convinced of the whole TikTok thing, but Alex loves it.
Sometimes, they stumble across references to themselves. The internet is obsessed with setting them to Taylor Swift songs, in particular. Thankfully, Alex has filtered out the worst of the references to The Waterloo Letters, and a year on, the public narrative has shifted into something much more … palatable. That being paparazzi shots of them in public and the few pictures they’ve shared on social media.
For them, the better side of TikTok usually features animal videos - particularly dogs, more particularly beagles - and amusing videos on anything from politics to everyday observations to mild celebrity drama. Henry watches as Alex flicks through a doggy daycare account, smiling and laughing softly into his curls.
The thing about laying on the couch in the arms of the love of your life watching TikTok, though, is that it’s not exactly conducive to staying awake.
Across the room, Henry’s phone buzzes against the counter as its owner snores softly, arms tight around his boyfriend.
💌💌💌
9/3/2021 3:17PM
“I can’t believe we fell asleep.”
“I have been told I make a very good pillow,” Henry throws back with a smile.
“The best,” Alex says somewhat grumpily. His curls are tucked under a cap, and he’s still blinking sleep from his eyes as they make their way into the grocery store, hands clasped together. He wears one of Henry’s blue sweaters, oversized on him and rolled up at the sleeves. “Too comfy. Too soft.”
“Consider this my formal apology,” Henry says seriously, “for being ‘too comfy’ and ‘too soft. I’ll rectify it at once.”
“No!” Alex bursts out a little too loudly, pulling Henry to him. Henry stumbles into his embrace, Alex’s arms tight around his waist. “I love it when you’re soft.”
Henry coughs as two teenagers in front of them turn around, smirking and looking at them up and down. “Might want to rethink that one, love.”
“Fucksakes,” Alex mumbles, glaring much too piercingly at the teenagers than what is advisable for someone immediately recognizable, let alone the First Son of the United States. Henry taps on the brim of his hat, pushing it further down over his face and hiding his bright eyes and pointy nose. He watches the bottom of Alex’s face as he pouts, full lips downturned.
Alex directs the cart as they wind their way around the fresh produce section. On Saturdays, they often go down to any number of markets to get what they need, but there are still a few things they grab. Garlic, onions, and some rutabaga, for example. In the next aisle, Alex stocks their cart with milk, both regular (for Henry) and oat (for Alex). He glances at Henry out of the corner of his eye before slipping in a small chocolate milk Henry knows he is very much going to regret later tonight.
Look, as long as he agrees to confine himself to the downstairs bathroom when things take a turn for the worse, Henry doesn’t mind.
They slowly meander through the store together, stopping every so often to put something else in their cart or consider their options. Henry lets Alex get too many flavours of crisps, and Alex hardly raises a brow when Henry comes back from the international food aisle, his arms full of jaffa cakes. Henry tries to remember which rice they liked best last time when Alex calls him over, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“What’s your opinion on soup?”
“Soup?” Henry asks as he strolls near with the cart, ignoring the glances of other customers his way. He, too, wears a cap low over his eyes, but Alex insists there’s just something about him that screams Princeling regardless of what he does. He hopes Alex is wrong.
“Yeah,” Alex bites his lip to stop himself from smiling. “They have a two-for-one special.”
“Oh?” he asks, scouring the shelves nearby for baked beans. Alex might claim they’re an abomination, but Henry has caught him smuggling some of his stash to his study late at night like some sort of Dickensian street urchin. He puts a pack of six in the cart. “What kind of soup?”
“Cock soup.”
“I beg your pardon?” he all but squeaks.
“Cock soup,” Alex repeats needlessly. “Two-for-one on cock soup. Oh, look more two-for-one on cock soup,” he says, delighted as he roams further down the aisle. “Ooooh, more two-for-ones on cock soup!”
“Alex-” he hisses.
“What flavour of cock soup are you partial to?” Alex bends over and considers the lower rung of produce. “Ooh, Caribbean flavours. Yum. I love my cocks Cari-”
Henry slaps a palm over his mouth. Alex’s dark eyes glitter with mirth under his cap. “You,” Henry tells him with not a small amount of exasperated fondness, “are a menace.” He ignores Alex licking his hand. “Now, will you behave if I remove my hand?”
There’s a small silence. Henry looks around quickly to check whether there are eyes on him. By some miracle, the aisle is now clear. He turns back and raises his brows until Alex relents and nods. He lets go.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he says cheerfully. “I thought you liked soup.”
“I truly cannot take you anywhere.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Ouch,” Alex places a hand to his heart and makes a wounded noise, eyebrows threading together. “Guess we won’t be taking a trip down the personal care aisle?” he waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
Henry goes to roll his eyes but stops. Ah. He purses his lips at Alex.
“Don’t do that,” Alex tells him, reaching out and poking his mouth. “It makes you look British.”
“I am British.”
“Yeah, but like, the ‘I have no lips’ kind of British.”
Henry relaxes his mouth. “Better?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Henry does it again. Alex does it back, just to be a shit. They stare at each other, lips thin and pressed together until Alex’s eyes crinkle, and suddenly they giggle and smile again. “Alright, I understand the displeasure,” Henry allows. “By the way, we do need lube.”
“Already?”
“Yes, well,” Henry says, leaning forward into his space. “It does take two," he reminds him.
“Point taken, let’s go.”
They glance around as they enter the aisle. A few stray people are, but they’re engrossed in their shopping and don’t spare Alex and Henry a glance. “Which one,” Alex asks as they reach the stock of condoms and lube.
“Erm,” Henry says, glancing around. This should not be the ordeal it is; he just really, really doesn’t want to get papped, squinting at the back of a lube bottle, and having his grandmother’s team chastise him over it.
“Relax, sweetheart,” Alex soothes, a comforting hand on the small of his back. “We’re just regular people doing regular things. I’m gonna need you to read the back of this, though; I forgot my glasses.”
Just as Henry opens his mouth to speak, an excited voice chirps behind them. “Oh my god, you’re them!” Henry and Alex glance at each other, eyes wide, before slowly turning around. Before them stands a woman, probably seventeen or eighteen. She looks delighted. “Firstprince in the flesh!”
“Firstprince?” Henry asks.
“Our ship name-” Alex says out of the corner of his mouth.
“Oh my god,” the girl looks around, grinning excitedly, “Sorry, you don’t wanna be spotted. Of course. I just-” she points to the NYU Law sweater Henry wears. “There’s a little rip in the elbow and pen marker on the sleeves. Like from that one pic of Alex in the library.”
“What picture?” Alex asks, but he’s cut off.
“Anyway, can I take a picture with you? Quickly, before more people spot you? No one on twitter is gonna believe me otherwise!”
“I-” Henry is flummoxed but finds himself acquiescing reflexively. Alex stiffens beside him, less accepting of the sudden turn of events. She steps up in front of them and flings her arm out.
“3-2-1.” She clicks the button as Alex and Henry force twin polite half-smiles on their faces. The moment before the picture disappears, Henry spots the size XL condoms in perfect view between the gap in his and Alex’s head. Oh dear.
“Thank you so much!” the girl squeaks, and then she’s gone, rounding the corner of the aisle with her phone right in front of her eyes. She’s typing furiously.
“Oh dear,” Henry says quietly.
“Fuck,” Alex says. “We need to get out of here before that’s on Twitter.”
“By the looks of it,” Henry says grimly. “It already might be.”
💌💌💌
9/3/2021 7:53PM
They go viral on Twitter.
Zahra sends Alex a lengthy voicemail threatening to make sure he never needs to buy condoms again. Nora retweets the picture with nothing but lol. Pez texts Henry and demands to know why he’s been holding out on the details for so long.
Alex sits cross-legged on the couch, his phone open to Twitter on his knee and a bowl of Henry’s latest (still supervised) attempt at spaghetti held under his chin. He grins maniacally, scrolling with his pinky finger and intermittently remembering to shove a bite of food in his mouth—David sits beneath his knee, watching eagerly for any stray food that might drop.
I just wanna watch
I know they match each other's freak
God gave me two holes for a reason.
I spot coffee beans but no creamer, wanna bet Alex uses Henry’s- [gunshot]
Patiently staring at them from across the bar waiting for them to notice me and like my vibe
Forget cock soup i wanna be the mash to their bangers
Condoms aside, god I wish mpreg were real
He glances up at the last one. “Pardon?”
Alex clears his throat, “Condoms aside-”
“What’s mpreg?”
His boyfriend’s answering grin tells Henry all he needs to know about what’s coming. “Exactly what it sounds like, babe. Male pregnancy.”
Henry tilts his head to the side, confused. “That’s biologically impossible.”
Alex merely shrugs. “It’s fun. And popular. Like, suuuuper popular.”
“They want us to be pregnant?”
“Actually,” Alex swallows a laugh. “Most people want you to be pregnant.”
“Oh,” Henry twirls more pasta on his fork and considers. He’s never contemplated being pregnant for obvious reasons, and the thought of the general public wishing pregnancy upon him is bemusing, to say the least. “Well, to each their own. But, I think you’d look fantastic pregnant, dear.”
“Obviously. You know what, though, it’s getting a little graphic,” Alex says, putting his bowl down. He clears his throat. “ Can you imagine Henry’s belly all swollen and huge, waddling around until Alex says no more and picks him up whenever he needs to move.”
Henry actually does snort. “Love, you can’t even pick me up now. ”
“Like hell, I can’t.”
In a flash, Alex stands over him, hands on his hips. Henry chews deliberately slowly, looking up at him under his lashes. “Did you need something?”
“Get your ass up, Wales.”
“Is that any way to speak to your boyfriend?”
“... Please stand up, love of my life. I need to prove a point.”
With a dramatic sigh, Henry puts his bowl on the coffee table and pushes himself up. He ducks around the table and stands before Alex, amused at the scowl on his pretty face. “Here I am, love.”
“Okay,” Alex says, surveying Henry. He pushes his sleeves up and swings his arms. Henry bites back a laugh. His boyfriend is stockier than he is, with a defined set of abdominals and strong biceps and forearms that Henry enjoys very much. But Henry is still heavier than him.
His boyfriend steps forward and considers him once more before wrapping his arms around Henry’s middle and trying to lift him. Henry can’t help the giggle that spills past his lips as he rises onto his tiptoes, Alex grunting in his ear. “Am I doing it?”
“Yes, dear,” Henry tells him. “You’re doing so well.”
“You’re such a fuckin’ liar.” With a huff, Alex lets go and steps back. He looks at Henry with narrowed eyes, hands on his hips. Henry bites his bottom lip to stop himself from chuckling again as the cogs turn in his boyfriend’s brain.
“Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do,” Alex decides, coming to his side. “Arms around my neck, babe.”
“You’re going to break your back.”
“You’re only fuelling my fire,” Alex warns. “Hands around my neck, Your Majesty.”
Henry winds his arms around Alex’s neck. “You better hold on, spider monkey,” Alex jokes in what Henry supposes is an imitation of something from the cadence of his voice.
“I have no idea what you’re referring to- Ah!” with a surprising burst of strength, Alex sweeps his legs out from under him and hauls him up bridal style. A surprised noise spills out of him as Alex’s shout of excitement rings in his ears.
“Yes, yes, yes-” Alex stumbles sideways. “No, no, no!”
“Put me down!”
Alex refuses. Instead, he stumbles backward until he falls heavily into an armchair. Henry winces as his elbow clashes with the corner of it but remains curled in Alex’s lap. “I did it!”
“You did it,” he tells him, laughing lightly. He leans forward and presses a kiss to Alex’s cheek. “My hero.”
“Told ya so,” Alex tells him, jostling him a little as he pulls him tighter to his chest. Henry grins and sinks into his hug, tucking his head into Alex’s neck.
“You did,” he tells Alex gently, running his fingers down his arm until he finds his hand. Then, he brings his knuckles to his mouth and kisses them gently. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“Hmmm, I’ll forgive you. If you do the dishes.”
Henry rolls his eyes. Alex has a vendetta against the dishes and likes to weasel his way out of them on the odd occasion Henry cooks. “I’ll rinse,” he tells Alex, standing and offering his hand. “You pack. I know how much you loathe my technique.”
“It’s truly terrible,” Alex agrees, taking Henry’s hand and jumping as he stands.
They run the warm water as Henry scrapes traces of food into the bin. Alex washes the pot out and places it inside the dishwasher before Henry takes over and slowly passes cutlery and plates over. It’s boring, menial, and so beautifully, wonderfully domestic that Henry can’t help but smile his way through it. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Alex’s lips upturned as well.
Christ, he loves his life.
When they’re done, they shuffle back into the lounge. “Soooo,” Alex says, “The Bachelorette?”
“Well, duh,” Henry mimics Alex’s accent. Alex playfully growls and launches at him, tackling him onto the couch. Henry lands with a soft oof and quickly readjusts as Alex wriggles around to get on top. “Your knees are so knobbly.”
“Move-” Alex whines, “Get over.”
“If you had just waited -” he presses himself back against the couch and throws a leg over Alex’s. “Come here, you silly creature.”
Alex snuggles into him, chest to chest, instead of facing the television. Henry presses a quick kiss to his forehead and smiles down at him, taking in his thick brows, pointy nose, and the mischievous set of his mouth.
“I need cuddles,” Alex admits, adjusting his head so he’s lying on Henry’s bicep. Henry’s hand crawls up his sweater and settles over the dip of his waist, his thumb drawing light circles over soft skin.
“Come here, love,” he murmurs, “It’s cuddle time.”