#henryalex

fluff #1: “Is that my shirt?” “You mean our shirt?” from this prompt list

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It’s their second day in London, because even though Alex is extremely happy that Henry decided to move to Brooklyn, he knows that he misses home. Henry’s too good to ever bring it up with him, which is why the responsibility fell on Alex to fix it.

After much deliberation, and multiple promises that he probably can’t keep to his mother, he bought them two tickets back to London, a couple of days before Christmas. He’s never not done Christmas with his family, not before his parents decided to split - and certainly not after, with his father making the trip no matter what political obligations he had; but the small smile on Henry’s face when Alex presented him with the tickets when they were in bed together made it worth it.

Well, almost worth it. If Alex could get over his jetlag, it would feel a lot more worth it.

He reaches out blindly for Henry as he wakes up, eyes still shut in some facsimile of a protest against the time before it feels like 3am even though the alarm going off means that that’s decidedly not that late at night; and only opens them when he grasps onto empty sheets.

The curtains are still drawn, which means Henry couldn’t have woken up that long ago - because his boyfriend had this annoying relationship with the morning sun and basking in it instead of appropriately hissing at it like the rest of civilisation.

His suspicions are confirmed when he hears water running from the tap, and the tell-tale sound of a toilet flushing; and Alex manages to blink himself away and push himself up by his elbows just in time to catch Henry walking out of the bathroom; illuminated by the soft light from inside.

“Good morning,” Henry says softly when he notices Alex, and it’s a testament to how good he must look that Henry by-passes opening the curtains completely in favour of leaning over and pressing their lips together. He tastes like mint and mouthwash, and when Alex teases his tongue he obliging deepens the kiss, even though Alex knows from past reviews that his morning breath isn’t the best. 

He lifts a hand up to fist it in Henry’s shirt, with the intent of pulling him in closer, but when his fingers touch the material; he pulls back with an inquisitive sound.

“Is that my shirt?” Alex asks, even though he knows the answer, because now that Henry is closer, he can see the way the shirt is pulled taut against his chest; barely covering his stomach, “Are you wearing my shirt?”

Henry hums and moves to pull him back in for another kiss, but Alex shifts, trying to get a better look.

“It is, isn’t it? You’re wearing my shirt. Why are you wearing my shirt? You’re the Prince of England are you telling me that you can’t afford your own shirts?”

Henry sighs, “Is this really how you would like to spend our morning Alex? Debating over whether or not this is your shirt?”

Alex blinks at him, “This isn’t a debate. There is no debate. This is my shirt. It doesn’t even fit you!”

“If you’re going to be pedantic over it,” Alex squawks, bu Henry either doesn’t hear him or ignores him, because he continues talking, “then I’m pretty sure you mean our shirt.”

“What do you mean our shirt, I never gave you this shirt.”

“No you didn’t,” Henry agrees, “but I distinctly remember you offering me your entire closet while I was trying to pack, because you were of the impression that I could be doing better things with my stuff than packing my own clothes.”

Alex pinks at that, “First of all, the argument I was making was that you didn’t need to be packing that many clothes because half your stuff was still in Buckingham Palace, and we were only going to be here for a week.”

“Secondly, and more importantly, are you objecting to how we spent our time? Because if I’m so distracting that you can’t focus on simple tasks like packing a suitcase -”

“Oh, for fuck’s - if it’s that much of an issue I can take it off.”

“No!” Alex says loudly, and Henry stills from where he’s got his fingers bunched on the end of the shirt.

“No?”

“No,” Alex says again firmly, and then more delicately, “I didn’t say you had to take it off, I just wanted to know if it was mine. That’s all.”

“Well it’s yours. Are you satisfied?”

“Very.”

“Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to kissing my boyfriend good morning. Or is there something else you’d like to discuss before that. Which toothbrush I can use perhaps.”

“No, that was it.”

“Good,” Henry leans in, before Alex can say another word, and presses their lips together, effectively shutting down any future communication.

Also Taylor Zakhar Perez: Red, White, And Royal Blue could be a trilogy.