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Henry has a callus on the bottom of his right foot.
It's not harsh or offensive, but it is there—the smallest patch of rough skin on his heel. When Alex runs his fingers over it, he thinks of all the times Henry stood on aching feet in uncomfortable and restrictive shoes, with that pinch in the corner of his mouth as he nodded and faked a smile and wished he could be somewhere else, anywhere else.
These things take time to grow and develop, and it wouldn’t be here if not for a grieving boy standing beside a closed casket, a heartbroken and desperate brother standing on a dirty sidewalk outside of a bar, a dutiful prince standing next to his grandmother with his mouth pressed into a thin line.
Or the love of Alex’s life standing with him while the world tries to knock them down, hand in hand and ready to face whatever comes for them.
Right now, though, Henry has his feet in Alex's lap, eyes closed and expression tranquil as Alex massages his ridges and ankles and calves in slow, sure movements. The rest of the palace is still and quiet—he and Henry are probably the only two souls awake other than the security team.
There’s always someone around, after all.
But Alex touches Henry with gentle, doting hands and watches the minute shifts in his boyfriend's facial muscles, listening to Henry breathe in and out through his nose, and it feels like no one else exists. It is only them, in a stolen moment of time, in a restful pause between the bouts of chaos.
“That tickles,” Henry says, cracking one eye open.
He might be trying to glare—Alex can’t tell for sure.
Alex grins, repeating the meandering swipe of his thumb over the arch of Henry’s foot and snickering when Henry twitches. “That knowledge is not gonna make me fucking stop.”
Henry rolls his eyes but lets his head settle back to rest on his plush pillow again. The pale light of a midnight moon streams in through the open balcony window, painting Henry's face in a cool, blue glow. His blonde hair looks nearly white beneath that luminescent shine, fanned out around his head and almost blending into his pristine, muted bedspread.
Alex squeezes at Henry's ankles, running his fingers along strong calf muscle and pinching at the back of Henry's knee. Henry sits up abruptly, bringing himself nose-to-nose with Alex.
“When you offered to give me a massage, this isn't quite what I was picturing in my mind,” Henry says, tilting his head. “You're being a nuisance instead, which I suppose I should have expected.”
“What did you want me to do?” Alex asks, hand sliding around Henry's thigh. The muscle tenses deliciously beneath his touch. “Were you hoping that massage was code for something? Were you expecting me to feel you up?”
Henry narrows his eyes. “I certainly assumed you would try.”
“You're tired and, according to you, your feet feel like they might fall off,” Alex reminds him, feigning a solemn expression. “It seemed like maybe I shouldn't push my luck.”
“Oh?” Henry asks, one brow quirking upward. “Is that the reason?”
Alex can't subdue his smile. “I can't reach your ass from here.”
“There it is.”
“I mean, if you don't want to sleep yet, I would be more than happy to—”
Henry leans forward and presses a kiss to Alex's mouth, his fingertips ghosting along Alex's jaw. Alex smiles into the touch, nipping gently at Henry's bottom lip and feeling like his heart might implode when it makes Henry giggle. His breath catches in his throat and stutters past his lips when it releases, like his body will forever be incapable of normal functioning when Henry is involved.
“Perhaps later,” Henry murmurs when he pulls away, dropping another sweet peck to the apple of Alex's cheek and pressing his thumb into the dimple of Alex’s chin. “Right now, I think I would genuinely commit homicide for a Cornetto.”
Alex leans back, smirking. “Homicide, huh?”
Henry’s hand falls to Alex’s knee as he grins. “True and bona fide murder.”
“Like, public beheading in the town square?” Alex asks, gliding his palm over Henry's hip. “Y’all still do that, right?”
Henry shoots him a dirty look. “Not in public.”
Alex laughs, squeezing Henry's waist before moving to get off of the bed. “Come on then. Let’s go get one.”
Henry frowns, curling his knees to his chest in the middle of his quilt as he considers his predicament. “My feet still feel like they may fall off. That wasn't a joke.”
“Your brother's speech was only twenty minutes.”
“Twenty-six minutes, to be precise,” Henry corrects, rubbing at his eyes. “Plus, we were running around without a moment to really rest all morning and afternoon, and I was already quite exhausted.”
“Aw,” Alex teases, bracing his hands on the edge of the bed to lean closer to Henry's face. “Why were you so tired?”
Henry's eyes go a little crossed as he meets Alex's gaze. “Someone kept me up all night.”
“Not all night,” Alex counters, nudging their noses together. “You got a few hours of sleep, if your snoring was any indication.”
“You are the only one who claims I snore,” Henry accuses softly, attention dropping to Alex's lips. “So perhaps you should point an accusatory finger back at yourself.”
“Insinuating that I fuck you into a state that makes you snore is doing wonders for my ego.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Whatever.” Alex kisses Henry’s mouth and nearly forgets that he had an agenda in the process. It feels like super glue is trying to keep him attached to Henry when he pries himself away. “C'mon. Just hop on my back, princess. I'll get you to your stash.”
Henry doesn't look amused. “Alex.”
“Henry.”
“Alex.”
Alex frowns. “Henry?”
Henry’s brow furrows. “I don’t believe you can carry me all the way down the hall on your back. I am four inches taller than you and far from underfed.”
“I'm strong, though.”
“Alex, I'm not sure that a vague statement of your strength is a proper metric to judge your ability to lift my bodyweight and sustain that feat all the way to the bloody kitchens.”
“Oh?” Alex smirks. “You wanna fucking bet?”
Henry searches Alex’s expression. “You're serious.”
“When am I not?”
“All the time.”
“I take offense at that.”
“Alex.”
“Henry.” Alex turns around, shifting until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. “Let me give you a piggyback ride or I swear I'm telling Shaan the truth about Amsterdam.”
“You wouldn't,” Henry says, but Alex can hear the slight fear quaking in his voice.
“Get on my fucking back, baby, and you won’t have to find out.”
Henry huffs, but Alex hears him shuffling before his hands settle on Alex's shoulders.
“You promise you'll let me know if you're uncomfortable?”
“Cross my fucking heart.”
There's another hesitation, but finally, Henry wraps his arms around Alex's shoulders and hoists himself onto Alex’s back. His knees squeeze against the bottom of Alex's ribcage, and Alex catches him underneath the thighs to hold him up.
Henry's breath is warm against the shell of Alex's ear. “Are you alright?”
Alex grins. “Are you? You sound like you're panicking.”
“I don't particularly wish to wind up on the floor.”
“You won't,” Alex vows, leaning forward to support Henry's weight. “I’ve got you.”
“If you’re certain.”
“I am,” Alex insists, keeping to himself how nice it actually feels to have Henry plastered to his back. “Now, hold on. Let's go get your damn ice cream.”
Alex can feel Henry's smile against his cheek as he heads toward the door, having to call for the security on the other side to open it since his hands are occupied.
“Thanks, boss,” he tells them with a wink as he starts to navigate down the hall.
Henry relaxes as they take their journey, giggling a little in Alex's ear. He never lets Alex go, but his hold softens, his chest expanding against Alex's back as he breathes. After a while, Henry nuzzles his cheek against the side of Alex's face and turns to press a kiss there, his stubble tickling Alex's skin.
It is nice to carry him—there’s only the slightest burn in Alex’s muscles toward the end of the hallway. There’s something gratifying about holding Henry up when Alex feels like it’s usually Henry keeping him upright, bearing Alex’s weight every time he stumbles. Henry clings to Alex’s shoulders, as if he needs him, and Alex doesn’t ever want to let him down.
“And you thought I wasn’t strong,” Alex says as they enter the kitchen, triumphant.
“I never said that.”
Alex cranes his neck to look at Henry, who smiles warmly at him. “I could run a mile with you on my back, baby.”
Henry scrunches his nose. “I beg you to not.”
Depositing Henry on the counter and trying not to feel the absence of his weight like a loss, Alex rifles through the freezer and finds the box of Cornettos. He grabs two and hands one to Henry, his palm finding the curve of Henry’s knee like a reflex. He nestles himself between Henry's spread thighs as they eat their ice cream, the warm light of the stove casting shadows on their faces.
Alex winds up licking the taste of Henry's dessert from his mouth, their lips sticky and sweet as they kiss. Henry hooks a leg around Alex's waist and presses forward while drawing Alex in closer, and Alex feels a little dizzy as an entirely new hunger starts to build in his stomach.
His teeth scrape against Henry's bottom lip as he pulls away, grinning. “Okay, so, about what we were talking about earlier.”
Henry, the fucking bastard, feigns confusion. “What was that?”
“About your massage that isn’t actually a massage.”
“Sounds vaguely familiar?” Henry purses his mouth. “You may have to remind me.”
Alex shakes his head, fighting the curl of his lips as he kisses Henry’s jaw. “I want you, you cheeky motherfucker.”
Henry chuckles, his fingertips dancing a waltz up the length of Alex’s spine. “You already have me, darling.”
“You know what I mean,” Alex says, tapping Henry’s thigh as he straightens. “So, back to the royal bedchambers, your Majesty?”
“You know that's the incorrect title,” Henry tells him, rolling his eyes. “You're just being a menace.”
“I love you, too,” Alex replies, pressing a soft kiss to Henry’s mouth before turning. “Now come on.”
“I can walk.”
“No, sorry. Now that I’ve proven you wrong, I have to commit to the bit.”
Henry snorts, but he scoots forward enough to attach himself to Alex's back again. His lips brush the shell of Alex's ear, the line of his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth.
“This is actually quite nice,” Henry murmurs into the skin there, squeezing gently around Alex’s shoulders. “I love you.”
“Duh,” Alex replies, hoisting Henry a little higher. “And I love you, too, my fantastically large koala bear.”
“Christ,” Henry says, and Alex can perfectly envision his exasperated expression. “I’m getting down.”
Alex's grin is hurting his cheeks. He pinches gently at the strong muscles underneath his palms, holding tighter as Henry wiggles.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Alex argues. “I'm afraid that you actually live here now.”
Henry huffs and mutters, “Let me go, you goddamn cretin.”
Alex twists his neck toward Henry, happy when Henry gets the hint and drops a quick, albeit confused, kiss to his lips.
“Sorry, babe,” Alex says, starting to make his way out of the kitchen. “Never gonna happen. You should probably just accept your fate.”
Henry grumbles half-heartedly, but he settles down, tucking his chin into the place where Alex’s shoulder meets his neck. When he speaks, it’s a whisper, a soft affirmation against Alex’s skin, devotion and affection bolstering each syllable and making Alex’s knees feel wobbly.
“If I must.”