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Heya! If you are still taking prompts then FirstPrince sailboat AU please? 😁⛵
Or garden hose if that's already been suggested! 🌞
If you so fancy ❤️
A little F1 AU?
---
Henry leans against the railing on the lower deck. He looks down at the dark water and watches the lights dance across it.
It’s past midnight, but Port Hercule is wide awake. Yachts packed in like sardines in a tin, music blasting, beats and lyrics mixing together and creating a jumbled mess of noise. People are talking and singing in French, English, German, and Italian, and there’s a splash as something or someone hits the water, followed by raucous laughter. The smell of burnt rubber, high-octane fuel, and grease still lingers in the air, mixing with the heavy scent of cigar smoke and gunpowder from celebratory post-race fireworks.
Henry would rather be anywhere else, like behind a door that locks. Without people knocking for autographs or photos. Without women offering things he’s never been interested in.
He wants to go home to his little cottage on the outskirts of London, where there’s plenty of room for David to run and no cameras, reporters, or team principals.
He just needs a moment of peace, and the little bubble he’s created here will have to do.
“Henry…”
Henry closes his eyes as the bubble bursts, and Alex’s footsteps echo down the stairs.
“Someone said you went this way,” Alex says as he steps onto the deck, an entire bottle of champagne in his hand.
He’s in a suit, jacket on but shirt unbuttoned nearly halfway down his chest. Henry’s seen him in this fit more than in his fireproofs.
The suit is high-end, of course, and every designer is clamoring to dress him. He’s been on the cover of more fashion magazines than Henry can count. They’ve been popping up in his caravan, and he has a sneaking suspicion that Bea is to blame.
“Remind me to have that person fired,” Henry says dryly.
“You can’t fire Cash,” Alex says. “I’d be sad.”
“God forbid.”
Alex laughs, loose and easy, drunk and happy.
That’s the whole point, that Alex is happy.
Alex is everything Mercedes wanted Henry to be. Alex fills in the gaps where Henry fell short.
Henry wants to race; that’s all he’s ever wanted, but Alex is here to perform.
Alex is vibrant and outgoing. He’s good on camera and in interviews. He is intelligent and funny, with zero reservations about letting everyone know it. He brings attention and new viewers to the sport, dating this hot, young starlet or that rising pop star.
F1 sponsors want to pay him, men and women want to be with him, and Henry…Henry just wants him.
“Why aren’t you celebrating?” Alex asks.
“I don’t know exactly what there is for me to celebrate.”
“Umm, hello,” Alex says, gesturing to himself with his free hand.
Above all else, Alex is good at racing, having come in first or at least on pole in the last five out of seven races.
“Congratulations to you on your win,” Henry says as Alex takes a long swig from the bottle, tipping his head back as it spills down his chin and neck.
Henry’s knuckles go white on the railing. “But you’ll have to forgive me for not wanting to celebrate my own performance.”
“Okay, first of all,” Alex says, pressing the bottle into Henry’s hand and gesturing for him to drink. “We’re a team, so my win is your win—don’t fucking roll your eyes at me—and P6 is nothing to get upset about. You’re in points. That matters.”
“You should tell my brother that.”
“I will. Is he here?”
Henry snorts. “This isn’t exactly my brother’s type of party. It’s not really my type of party, either.”
“Do you mean a fun one?”
“I’m fun,” Henry says as he playfully shoves at Alex’s shoulder. “I am, but this isn’t me.”
“It’s not me either,” Alex says, and Henry laughs. “Why is that funny?”
“Because it’s such a lie. You’re made for this.”
“No, I’m just good at acting like I am. This isn’t me. This isn’t how I was raised–yachts, champagne, and women hanging off of me constantly, only using me for a photo op.”
Henry wants to argue that that’s not him either, especially that last bit, but his father’s legacy looms too large, and Henry knows his privilege.
“Well, I must say you’ve caught on very quickly. And I wasn’t raised on a yacht. It was a thirty-foot schooner.”
Alex laughs. “Yeah, that makes sense.”
Henry’s fingers tap against the bottle as he pulls up fond memories of off-seasons spent out on the sailboat with his family. “My father taught me to sail when I was very young.”
“Was that before or after he taught you how to drive? Or was that just in your genes?”
“He taught me,” Henry says softly, pushing those memories back.
Alex nods and doesn’t push. “Do you still have the boat?”
“Yes,” Henry says. “Docked at St. Katherine.”
“You should take me out sometime,” Alex says, soft and eyes locked on Henry, and Henry nearly drops the champagne bottle.
“If you’d like,” he says, voice barely a whisper, but the way Alex’s gaze drops to his lip lets Henry know he’s heard.
the podcast i’m listening to just said “if no one else says it to you this month, let me be the one to say it: happy pride” and that really hit me so uh
if you have no one to say it to you, or if you’re in a situation where it’s not safe for you to say it to anyone else: happy pride 🏳️🌈❤️
No special banner for this week because I can't be assed to make one for Wednesday lmao. Thanks for the tags @onthewaytosomewhere, @kiwiana-writes, @energievie, and @three-drink-amy!
“What’s he like?” he asks. He doesn’t have to clarify who he means; B has apparently followed his train of thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. He knows he’s not supposed to ask, but he can’t help himself. “I don’t mean, like, identifying details, but just… I can tell you know him well. Can’t you just tell me about who he is as a person?”
“Well,” B begins, her expression going soft and fond, “he’s an incredible officer, but he’s so much more than that. He loves to read and write. He dresses like he’s allergic to color and has the musical tastes of someone twice his age. He’s gentle and kind, and more sensitive than he should be in this line of work. He’s… a hopeless romantic at heart.”
“Really?”
“Don’t tell him I told you that last part,” she warns with a huff of laughter.
“Huh,” Alex says. He chews on his lower lip for a moment, thinking, until he finally gets up the courage to ask, “So what do you think the likelihood is that his soulmate is platonic?”
B stretches back a little so she can look down at him, frowning a little. “Is that what you think?”
“I… don’t really know, to be honest with you,” he answers quietly, feeling more than a little lost.
An open tag for whoever wants it, tag me! Also tagging:
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Tonight, Henry's silly and warm and ready, his body quick and smooth to give Alex what he's looking for, laughing and incredulous at his own responsiveness to touch. Alex leans down to kiss him, and Henry murmurs into the corner of his mouth, "Ready when you are, love."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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