they take their shots
but we’re bulletproof
and you know for me,
it’s always you
—
“So, how much does this cake cost?”
Henry fights back his smile at Alex’s voice in his ear and leans close, whispering, “I’m afraid I wasn’t made aware of the price, love.”
Alex squints at it, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a glass of champagne. Henry’s eyes trace down his figure in his suit, how it perfectly accentuates his waist, the way his pants hug his hips and arse, before returning his attention to his boyfriend’s face.
“It looks distinctively cheaper to me,” Alex muses, tilting his head at it.
“I do believe they were forewarned of your attendance and were being fiscally cautious,” Bea says as she walks up, eyes narrowed playfully. “Speaking of which, I was told to come make sure you remain at least ten yards from the cake at all times, so please do scoot about three steps in any other direction.”
“Look, according to Nora, the odds of us knocking down a second cake at a wedding are astronomically low,” Alex complains with a roll of his eyes, taking a sip of his champagne.
“But not zero,” Bea quips, shooing them. “It’s been eighteen months since the first cake catastrophe, and the general London public is still properly traumatized. Now, be dears and move away from the cake before they send the angry mob.”
Alex purses his lips. “Pitchforks and lanterns?”
Bea smirks. “Only if you’re lucky.”
Alex tosses his head back and laughs, even as he takes one large step away from the dessert. It draws the attention of a few attendees, but Alex either does not notice their gazes or is pointedly ignoring them.
Henry is a bit amazed by him, actually.
He’s braved everything today like a champion, even when one of Henry’s most obnoxious aunts spoke with them before the wedding began, practically scowling when she said, “So, I suppose this is the American we’ve heard so much about.”
Alex smiled congenially, that perfectly curated and charming grin, and replied, “That’s me. Thank God they finally let me out on good behavior.”
The aunt didn’t laugh, nose wrinkled in a way that further accented the frown lines on her forehead. But Alex appeared completely unconcerned when she walked away, muttering something to her husband that Henry could not hear.
It’s been like that most of the day—Alex has handled everyone’s snarls and glares and snide comments with poise and a smile, somehow.
Henry, by contrast, has been able to feel everyone’s eyes on them for the majority of the day, and it has soured his mood more and more as the wedding events have progressed. It’s not as though this is their first time being out together since everything happened last year—there was Alex’s speech, and election night, and Ellen’s inauguration only a few months prior.
It is, however, their first time being around Henry’s extended family since they were outed. Since their suitor photos dropped for the world to see. Since he abandoned his duties to run away with the American.
They’re here for his cousin’s wedding, and he honestly can’t be bothered enough to remember which one. Through what he assumes were his grandmother’s wishes, Philip contacted him a few weeks ago and was adamant that he come for appearance’s sake. Henry, in return, countered by insisting that he be able to bring a plus one, should he be essentially forced into attendance.
Surprisingly, Philip hadn’t put up much of an argument, though Henry certainly wonders how the news was received by the queen, who thankfully decided against attending herself.
So, here Henry is, surrounded by all those who would probably prefer him trapped in a tower or basem*nt over being allowed out in public. As a result, he’s spent a majority of the time trying to determine when it will be socially acceptable for him to bolt from the room with his boyfriend in tow.
Henry’s done his best to ignore the glances and whispers, all of the weapons that he can feel aimed directly at his head and heart.
Or, at the very least, he’s tried to give the appearance that he is ignoring them.
Within the overly crowded room, though, he feels vulnerable, like he’s surrounded and out in plain sight, all of his softest bits exposed and unprotected, easy for teeth and claws to tear into with nowhere to hide. He knows he has Alex and Bea here, and he’s grateful for their presence. But the entire experience makes him want to curl into a ball under the nearest table, away from the disgusted eyes and hushed remarks that always manage to reach his ears anyway.
The worst part, though, is feeling as if he must suffer through the torrent in his mind on his own.
Because overall, the wedding was lovely, and the day is going splendidly. Alex seems as vibrant as usual, and Bea is bubbly and charming, the perfect picture of elegance and grace.
They shouldn't be brought down by Henry making a big fuss over the hoard of people who think he should have kept himself in a locked closet, with an extra barricade on the outside of it.
They don’t need Henry to force this burden onto them.
So, he swallows the strange taste in the back of his throat and tries to breathe slowly through his nose.
In, out. Repeat.
He can keep it together for a few more hours—chin high, smile polite, demeanor calm. It certainly won't be the first time, and it very likely won't be the last. It’s what he was born to do.
If he can ignore the itch at the back of his neck, hold himself together until he's back in his rooms at Kensington and tucked in close to Alex—preferably naked—he'll be fine.
He can make it through this, and hopefully avoid any repeats for at least a couple of months. It may take him that long to rid himself of the headache forming behind his eyes.
The three of them sit down at their table, Bea and Alex chatting away about how excited he is for law school. It’s been a while since they’ve been able to catch up, and Henry finds himself happy to just listen to them talk, filling any silence with voices that he is almost always content to hear.
There is a shift to his left that draws his attention, and Henry turns his head to find the source of the sudden hole being burned into his skull.
It's an uncle on his mother's side, Robert. Henry doesn’t know him well, but growing up, he was always a bit terrified of his villain-esque mustache and dark, beady eyes.
At the moment, those eyes are staring him down from across the room. He looks as if he's trying to measure the amount of space between Henry and Alex and telekinetically increase that distance. His nose is wrinkled, his eyes narrowed so intensely from underneath his obvious hair piece that Henry wonders how he’s even able to see.
Henry wants to scream or cry or worse, anything that might release the knot taking up residence in his throat, the tension tightening his jaw. It's bloody ridiculous that even after all he's gone through, all that they've gone through, his extended family is making him feel like this.
He doesn’t want to let them make him feel like this.
Henry's hand twitches restlessly on top of the table, and he presses his fingers firmly into the fabric. He sees Alex look in his direction via his peripheral vision, frown pulling down the corners of his lips.
Alex reaches for his hand.
And Henry doesn't mean to do it—it's entirely a reflex that has been hammered into the fabric of his DNA for years and is apparently reborn in the presence of the royal vultures circling around him, ready at a moment’s notice to swoop down and devour him whole.
He yanks his hand away.
Alex's arm pauses midair, and Henry stares at his offending appendage in horror, the wine in his stomach turning and making him feel nauseous.
His head whips toward Alex, who is staring at him wide eyed, brow pinched on his forehead, his hand now held palm forward, looking almost defensive.
As if Henry is an unpredictable animal that Alex needs to protect himself from.
“Christ, love,” Henry whispers fiercely, the corners of his eyes burning. “I am so sorry. I did not intend to—”
“It's okay,” Alex interrupts, and his eyes are too soft, much too compassionate. He reaches again, slowly, taking Henry's hand and pulling it underneath the table and out of sight from most of the guests, squeezing his palm. “There. This okay?”
Feeling small, Henry nods. “Of course.”
“Good,” Alex says, as if it actually is. “Are you okay?”
“I—” Henry starts, but he stops, still reeling with guilt. He glances over at Alex and finds understanding staring back at him from those beautiful brown depths, but there's also the hint of a frown pulling down his lips, a wrinkle still caught in the skin between his brows.
Here they are, amongst the bloodthirsty sharks and those who would watch them be slaughtered for mere entertainment, and Henry has gashed them open by his own hand, putting them at risk. The last thing he wants to do is make matters any worse.
So, he lies. “I'm alright. Just a bit jumpy. I may have made my tea too strong this morning.”
Alex's eyes narrow, but if he sees through Henry's facade, he doesn't comment on it. Instead, he grins and rolls his eyes. “We gotta get that caffeine tolerance up, baby. It's practically shameful at this point.”
Henry smiles the best he can, and Alex brushes his thumb over the backs of Henry’s knuckles.
He tries to let that be the comfort Alex intends it to be.
Their food is served, and Henry manages a few bites despite the swirling in his stomach. They watch the newly wedded couple share a first dance while everyone gazes at them doe-eyed, as if their marriage weren’t half arranged by their families. After, other couples join them out in the dancing area as the song changes, gentle and melodic music perfect for tugging someone close and swaying back and forth.
“Do you wanna dance, baby?”
Henry turns to look at Alex, who is extending a hand in his direction with a raised eyebrow.
And Henry wants to, he does.
He was just thinking of it watching all of the others, imagining tucking Alex’s body against his in front of everyone. At the opportunity, though, his throat feels tight, and he’s ruminating on all of the people who will be watching, whispering, circling.
Heknows he should do it anyway, though, because it shouldn’t matter what they think.
Except he’s still stuck on accidentally snatching his hand away from Alex earlier, and regret mixes with the anxiety already wreaking havoc on his body, a heavy weight shoving itself under his sternum and making it difficult for him to take in air.
Dance with Alex, Henry thinks over and over like a mantra, trying to will himself to snap out of it. They don’t matter, but he does.
They don’t matter, but he does.
“Uh, sorry, I didn’t—it’s okay,” Alex says before Henry can respond, and he takes his hand back, wiping it in a circular motion on the leg of his pants. “Nevermind. You don’t have to, I’ll—”
Henry’s wretched heart is entirely blocking his airway. “N-no, it’s not that.”
Alex smiles, but it’s his press smile—careful and practiced. “It’s okay, sweetheart. No biggie.”
“Well,” Bea pipes up when Henry can’t get words past his lips, putting her napkin on her plate and standing. “I, for one, would love to dance. What do you say, Alex?”
Henry isn’t sure if he wants to scold her or thank her, but either way, any words die on his tongue when Alex turns his attention to her.
“Oh, yeah. Sure,” Alex agrees, and even with the dejected look on his face, he leans down to press a quiet kiss to the top of Henry’s head as he passes by.
It feels undeserved.
“I could teach you to waltz, actually,” Bea says as she links her arm in Alex’s, glancing at Henry with concerned eyes as they walk away, and then Henry cannot hear their voices anymore.
As he watches Alex turn Bea in a circle across the room and pull her back in with a laugh, Henry feels his chest ache so distinctly that he actually looks down to make sure it isn’t currently cut open and gushing blood.
It feels like it should be.
Tears sting in his vision, his inability to unlearn his fears a sharp, stabbing frustration in his gut. It’s one thing for them to experience the attacks that originate from outside of themselves. Those creatures are cruel and vicious, but ultimately beyond their control. Standing together against them feels like it brings him and Alex closer together, nudging them to lean on each other for support when anything occurs that has the potential to hurt them.
But it is another thing entirely for the monster to be him.
Today, it isn’t others that are trying to rip them in separate directions.
No, today the sabotage is coming from within himself.
His mind. His worry.
His fault.
It’s his fault that Alex is dancing with Bea and not him, his fault that even though Alex smiles, it doesn’t light up his entire face the way it normally would. It’s his fault there is still an uneasy look hiding in the corners of his boyfriend’s eyes.
All because he wanted to hold Henry’s hand and dance with him at a wedding.
Yet, here Henry sits, alone at a table, disgusted with himself because Alex is dancing with Bea, instead.
Sighing, he stands and heads to where they’re serving champagne, grabbing one and taking a long sip as he turns to face the room again. He finds Alex and Bea easily, blinking away the moisture in his eyes as he observes them. Bea is trying to teach him waltz steps now, though by the amusem*nt dancing in Bea’s eyes and the mild fear in Alex’s, it doesn’t appear to be going well.
It reminds him of turning among the statues with Alex a few months prior in the Victoria and Albert Museum. The dimly lit room was their own personal sanctuary as they’d held each other close, sealing promises to each other with the press of their lips. The future ahead of them was terrible and entirely unknown then, but within the circle of Alex’s arms, Henry had felt safe, loved.
Brave, even.
He could use some of that, now.
“Didn’t feel like dancing?”
Henry nearly jumps at the voice next to him, turning to see Philip standing to his left, a glass of red wine held in one hand.
“Well,” Henry tries, his tongue feeling cumbersome in his mouth. “I didn’t, uh—”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Uncle Robert, who is once again staring at him but this time from only a few feet away. Henry’s mouth snaps closed, irritation swelling in his chest. Philip raises an eyebrow at him, but he then follows Henry’s gaze.
Philip rolls his eyes. “For Christ’s sake, Uncle Robert, I know you don’t get out very much, but he is simply a human being and not a wild animal at a zoo. Do you mind?”
Uncle Robert’s eyes widen, and he nearly chokes on his wine, hand pressed to his chest as he coughs. For the briefest moment, Henry wonders if jolly old Uncle Robert choking to death at a wedding would be a worse press disaster than him and Alex knocking over a cake.
It might be a close competition, at the very least.
But Philip’s words work—once his wheezing has subsided and he is decidedly not dying, Uncle Robert walks to the other side of the room, striking up a conversation with someone. He’s likely still talking about them in some way, but his glare being on the other side of the room makes it a little easier for Henry to pull air into his lungs.
He exhales shakily, turning to Philip. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
Philip waves him off. “It’s bad form regardless, and you’re still my brother.”
Henry hums. “Still, quite nice of you to come to my defense.”
“Right,” Philip says, clearing his throat. “So then, why is our sister dancing with the American and not you? Certainly not due to the few stares you’ve been receiving all day.”
“Well.” Henry sits his nearly empty glass down on a nearby tray. “It may have influenced my decision in the moment.”
“That’s silly.”
Indignation flares, racing up Henry’s spine like an electric shock. He straightens his back, lifting his chin. “You don’t understand.”
Silence stretches between them for a prolonged moment, until Philip sets his glass down, too, sighing heavily. “I know it hasn’t exactly been… easy for you, and I also concede that part of that is my fault. But I suppose I expected this new, braver you to let the rest of this lot be damned before you let them get to you like this.”
“I don’t want it to get to me,” Henry tries to explain, gritting his teeth. “It’s just a difficult habit to break, I suppose.”
“You did spend quite a long time putting on a good show,” Philip allows, nodding. “But it just seems rather impish for you to go through all that you did to be with him openly, beg me to let him accompany you to the wedding, and then decide not to dance with him because the likes of Uncle Robert might turn their nose down at you, likely in the same way they’ve been doing all day regardless.”
Something strange and unfamiliar stirs in Henry’s stomach, and he looks over to see that same carefully composed expression on his brother’s face that he recognizes. His words settle somewhere in Henry’s chest, though, inside of a crack that has been there for as long as he’s understood his world.
It’s one that he never expected to heal.
“Careful, Philip,” Henry says, his voice quiet. “I would almost think you approve.”
Philip tilts his head, nose wrinkling. “I suppose I don’t necessarily… disapprove at this point in time. Although, surely there is something that can be done about some of the more… American quirks? We’d be wise to avoid another war with the United States.”
“He’s not going to—” Henry stops, attention catching on the slight crinkle at the corner of Philip’s eye. “You’re making a joke.”
Philip grimaces. “I am… trying.”
Henry’s head is going to explode any moment, he’s sure of it. “This is getting—”
“Right, we can discontinue the conversation whenever you’d like.”
“Yes, well.” Henry nods, wiping his palms on the front of his suit. “I’m going to go—”
“Please, do take the path toward the dance floor that leaves the most distance between you and the cake.”
Henry glances at him, expecting to see exasperation or something similar, only to see the tiniest twitch at the corner of Philip’s mouth, the ghost of a smile. “Right, I—thank you.”
By the time he reaches Bea and Alex, they are actually moving in simplified waltz steps, and Alex is grinning at her, big and bright and beautiful.
So, so beautiful.
Alex is everything good in his life, everything he wishes for when he looks toward anything resembling a future. Henry loves him so immensely, and even though he can still feel the attention of everyone in the room, he suddenly can only see him.
Everything else essentially falls away.
And God, how Henry loves him.
“May I cut in?”
Bea and Alex both turn to look at him, but Alex is the one that takes a step back, gesturing toward Bea with a dramatized flourish. “Of course, I’m sure the proportion of steps that end with Bea’s feet getting stepped on will decrease exponentially.”
“Oh.” Henry shakes his head. “No, love. I meant—I’d like to dance with you, if that’s alright.”
“Oh.” Alex blinks. “Uh, ye-yeah. Sure.”
Bea curtsies gracefully before sliding away, and then Henry has an arm around Alex’s waist, his other hand holding Alex’s palm. Their bodies brush together as Henry pulls him closer, Alex’s free arm moving to rest on Henry’s shoulder.
“You don't have to do this to make me feel better,” Alex says as they turn in a circle. “I get it.”
Henry frowns. “What do you mean?”
Alex averts his gaze. “I know I’m not exactly what your family finds appropriate, even if they’re able to get past me being a man. I’m the… loud American that snatched their precious prince’s heart in the middle of the night, or whatever. I understand if you need to distance yourself or—”
“Please stop,” Henry interrupts, his fingertips pressing firmly into Alex’s spine. “I cannot let you stand here and degrade yourself when this is my fault. You did absolutely nothing wrong.”
“Yeah, but you—”
“This is the first time we’ve been at an official event in London since we were outed,” Henry says quickly, moving to lean his cheek against Alex’s forehead as they dance. The feeling of Alex’s soft curls against the side of his face makes it easier to speak. “Or around my extended family. Philip is one thing—something I need to tell you about him later, by the way—but all the others are like… damned predators. I could feel them watching me, and it put me right back into… scared and closeted prince mode, I suppose. Unintentionally, but all the same.”
“I mean, it makes sense. Progress isn’t always linear, for anything,” Alex counters, his hand relaxing and sliding to cup the back of Henry’s neck. “I get it.”
“It wasn’t me intentionally trying to hurt you, still,” Henry pushes on, fighting the moisture trying to pool in his eyes at the thought. “I love you endlessly and want to love you where others can see. I just panicked when you reached for my hand and froze when you asked me to dance.”
“That’s okay,” Alex says immediately, like it’s easy. “You spent a really long time being afraid of people actually f*cking seeing you. I won’t rip you to pieces because you instinctively pulled your hand away with all your snotty family around. You don’t have to hold my hand in public for me to know you love me, as long as in private, you’ll still hold my dick.”
“Alex.”
Alex pulls his head back so that he can look up at Henry, and he’s grinning fully and charmingly, his eyes crinkling at the corners and his gaze alight with mischief. “Force of habit, sorry. You get jumpy around your family, and I make sex jokes during emotionally heavy moments.”
“What a pair we make,” Henry mutters, but he’s smiling, too. “Regardless, I want to find a way to… get past being scared, I think. So much of us got shared with the world without our consent, and I want to choose what they get to see, now. Sometimes I do think that I don’t want to give them anything else.”
“They won’t ever have everything, baby,” Alex says, detangling their fingers so he can wrap his other arm around Henry’s neck. Henry’s hand finds his waist as Alex continues, his voice low. “They don’t know about the Great Turkey Calamity of 2019. They don’t know that you cry when we watch romcoms and always want to cuddle after, or that I have to take your phone and credit card away from you during ASPCA commercials. They don’t know…” Alex leans closer. “... that you laugh when you come, especially when I have my mouth around you.”
Henry bites his bottom lip, a failed attempt to contain the chuckle in his throat. “You’re incorrigible.”
Alex smirks, lifting one shoulder. “You deserve to be loved out loud, baby. I’m happy to meet you wherever you want to be, do whatever you want the creepy uncle with a toupee to see.”
“So, you noticed him, eh?”
Alex scrunches his nose. “We’re angled the way that we are right now because he’s over your left shoulder, and I didn’t want you to see him while you were being all introspective.”
“You—what?” Henry stares at him blankly. “How did you manage that?”
“For a freakishly tall human—”
“I am only six foot, you miscreant.”
“—you’re surprisingly easy to shift when you’re distracted by giving me heartfelt apologetic speeches.”
Henry rolls his eyes, but then he tugs Alex a little closer. “Is he looking now?”
Alex glances, angling them in a slightly different direction. “Oh yeah, definitely looking. Looks absolutely miserable.”
Henry nods. “Let’s make it worse, then.”
The kiss that Henry presses to his mouth is sweet and a little reserved, particularly for them, but Henry still feels it all the way down to his toes.
“I love you,” Henry says when he pulls away, feeling braver than he ever has.
“I love you, too,” Alex replies, this thumb brushing against the underside of Henry’s jaw. “But also I need you to spill, like, now.”
“Spill what?”
“Whatever the f*ck you need to tell me about Philip,” Alex clarifies, eyes wide. “I’ve been thinking about it for at least five minutes.”
“Right. Christ, it was really a bewildering experience.”
Henry tells the story as they dance, and Alex’s smile is wide and genuine the entire time, his own personal beacon of light. The tension in his shoulders relaxes under Alex’s hands, and he feels like he can breathe easily for the first time all day.
A dance and a kiss don’t take away the throng of hunters that surround them—Henry can still feel their watchful eyes trying to pierce his skin.
But Henry smiles down at Alex, the love in his chest suddenly feeling like a protective shield around them, like any weapons meant to be used against them will simply bounce off and leave them entirely unharmed. Henry thinks that perhaps it’s been there all along, mended in the circle of Alex’s arms and fortified with the touch of his lips.
In time, Henry knows his anxiety-ridden mind will come to understand that they are safe as long as they are together. The outside world can do their worst—it won’t matter.
Eventually, he’ll learn that they can’t hurt him anymore.
And so will they.
Henry leans down and meets Alex’s mouth again, the gentle slide of their lips a salve to Henry’s wounds. Alex’s fingers thread into Henry’s hair as he tilts his face up and kisses Henry back.
Even as he melts into that touch, Henry hopes that everyone can see.
