Red, White & Royal Blue

by Casey McQuiston

“royal weddings are trash, the princes who have royal weddings are trash, the imperialism that allows princes to exist at all is trash. It’s trash turtles all the way down.”

“It’s cute how you think everything is about you.” “It should be, honestly.” “That’s the spirit.”

“Are you really not understanding how much I don’t care at all how you feel about this?”

Straight people, he thinks, probably don’t spend this much time convincing themselves they’re straight.

Alex feels the points of contact like a static shock

Can we please grow out of the "electric touch"? After so many romances abusing of the term, it has become annoying.

Alex pictures Henry barefoot in a Kensington Palace kitchen and the little sliver of vulnerability he got to see so early on, and he thrills at Henry now, in his bed, spread out and naked and wanting. This can’t be really happening after everything, but miraculously, it is. If he’s going by the way Henry’s body responds, by the way Henry’s hand sweeps up into his hair and clutches a fistful of curls, he guesses he does okay for a first try. He looks up the length of Henry’s body and is met with burning eye contact, a red lip caught between white teeth. Henry drops his head back on the pillow and groans something that sounds like “fucking eyelashes.” He’s maybe a little bit in awe of how Henry arches up off the mattress, at hearing his sweet, posh voice reciting a litany of profanities to the ceiling. Alex is living for it, watching Henry come undone, letting him be whatever he needs to be while alone with Alex behind a locked door.

There's a blowjob hidden in here. I find I must tell you, otherwise you would never guess...