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“As your mother, I can appreciate that maybe this isn’t your fault, but as the president, all I want is to have the CIA fake your death and ride the dead-kid sympathy into a second term.”
Whatever, fine. Henry is annoyingly attractive. That’s always been a thing, objectively. It’s fine.
Henry hesitates before stiffly bumping his own knuckles against Alex’s with the heavy air of an act of treason.
The power is great, the attention fun, but the people—the people are everything.
I think Luke is proof that it doesn’t matter where you come from or who your family is—you can always be great if you’re true to yourself.”
the next thing Alex knows, he’s been yanked sideways by his shirt and Henry is halfway on top of him, pinning him down with one thigh.
He’s been aware for too long that most people don’t navigate thoughts of whether they’ll ever be good enough or if they’re disappointing the entire world. He’s never considered Henry might feel any of the same things.
Instead, he’s as weird and manic as he wants to be, and Henry jabs back in sharp flashes of startling wit.
He learns about Henry’s life through a weird osmosis of text messages and social media.
Dad left us each more than enough, and I’d rather cover my expenses with that than the spoils of, you know, centuries of genocide. Philip thinks I’m being ridiculous.
One does not foster a lifelong love of Star Wars without knowing an “empire” isn’t a good thing.
He would really appreciate it if Henry would stop proving him wrong.
You are the thistle in the tender and sensitive arse crack of my life.
Are you hiding a turkey habitat up your ass, son?
Alex doesn’t know why Henry never responds to his selfies from bed. His selfies from bed are always hilarious.
Bro is so fucking clueless
Yes, famously the most sinister of all animal sounds, the gobble.
“Jesus Christ, it’s like they can see into your soul. Cornbread knows my sins, Henry. Cornbread knows what I have done, and he is here to make me atone.”
feeling very much like he is taking his life into his own hands and also very much like he has a point to prove, which is an intersection at which he finds himself often.
When the world seems awful, such as when you’re trapped in a Great Turkey Calamity, you can put it on and vanish into biscuit land.”
Real
“Bake Off makes Chopped look like the fucking Manson tapes.”
“A man should have some element of mystery.”
If these turkeys don’t end him, exhaustion will.
Cornbread is staring at him like he doesn’t get it. Me fuckin’ too, buddy.
This man really is so slow it hurts
yo there’s a bond marathon on and did you know your dad was a total babe
He smells the same as ever, salty and smoky and like well-treated leather.
As the days go by, Alex catches himself remembering sometimes, just for a second, how much he misses having everyone under one roof.
There used to be a lot of laughter in that kitchen, a lot of good food and loud music and parades of cousins and homework done at the table.
very intentionally, it stopped being a thing he had time to think about.
he’s right back in his teens, caring too much about his parents and helpless to change his situation. Except now he doesn’t have any AP classes to enroll in as a distraction.
Literally same
You know, you don’t have to do everything all the time.”
“The effectiveness of her nurturing kind of depends on what you need from her. Or what you can do for her.”
Can relate
That must be why something feels so restless and hot somewhere beneath his sternum. That and the whiskey.
Yep, THAT'S what it is
his voice is somehow different than Alex remembers. Like very expensive velvet, something moneyed and lush and fluid all at once.
Alex accepts a shot off a passing tray and drinks to the strange spark in his gut at the way Henry watches them.
Alex likes the look on Henry’s face, the sure curl of his hand around the neck of the bottle, the way his lips wrap around the mouth of it.
Ope
Maybe he can absorb some of the “much” from the place where their shoulders are pressed together.
It feels as steady and huge as the ground under their feet, as encompassing of every part of him, as likely to knock the wind out of his lungs.
Straight people, he thinks, probably don’t spend this much time convincing themselves they’re straight.
He thinks about Henry, and something twists in his chest, like a stretch he’s been avoiding for too long.
Henry who’s seen him in glasses and tolerates him at his most annoying and still kissed him like he wanted him, singularly, not the idea of him.
“Still waters, deep dicking.”
How dare Henry come into Alex’s house looking like the goddamn James Bond offspring that he is, drink red wine with the prime minister, and act like he didn’t slip Alex the tongue and ghost him for a month.
He’s focused on the burst of adrenaline carrying his feet over the antique rug, Henry’s tie wrapped around his fist, the flash in Henry’s eyes. He reaches the nearest wall, shoves Henry against it, and crushes their mouths together.
God, if any ghosts of Founding Fathers are hanging around the White House tonight, they must really be suffering.
He kisses back, but lets himself be kissed however Henry wants to kiss him, which right now is exactly how he would have expected Prince Charming to kiss in the first place: sweet and deep and like they’re standing at sunrise in the fucking moors.
Turns out being on the receiving end of Henry’s royal authority is an extreme fucking turn-on.
There’s something about the two of them, the way they ignite at different temperatures, Alex’s frenetic energy and Henry’s aching sureness.
He kisses Henry until it feels like he can’t breathe, until it feels like he’s going to forget both of their names and titles, until they’re only two people tangled up in a dark room making a brilliant, epic, unstoppable mistake.
He looks transformed in the lamplight, like a god of debauchery, painted gold with his hair all mussed up and his eyes heavy-lidded. Alex lets himself stare; the whipcord muscle under his skin, lean and long and lithe.
In an instant of sudden, vivid clarity, he can’t believe he ever thought he was straight.
