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He looks politely half-interested in that obnoxious way of his, like he has somewhere else to be.
“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.
omfg, one commenter writes, make out already. Alex laughs so hard he almost falls in a fountain.
You are the thistle in the tender and sensitive arse crack of my life.
Instead, he is in a prison of his own creation, sworn to babysit these turkeys until the pardoning ceremony, and is just now realizing his deep-seated fear of large birds.
yo there’s a bond marathon on and did you know your dad was a total babe HRH Prince Dickhead I BEG YOU TO NOT
“Oh my God, this is like all those romantic comedies where the girl hires a male escort to pretend to be her wedding date and then falls in love with him for real.”
But beneath it all, there’s the Prince of England kissing him under a linden tree in the garden, moonlight in his hair, and Alex’s insides feel positively molten, and he wants to throw himself down the presidential stairs.
Correct response
Straight people, he thinks, probably don’t spend this much time convincing themselves they’re straight.
Faintly, under it all, it occurs to him: This is all a very not-straight way to react to seeing your male frenemy kissing someone else in a magazine.
In an instant of sudden, vivid clarity, he can’t believe he ever thought he was straight.
And Alex’s heart doesn’t spread itself out in his chest, and he doesn’t have to grip the edge of the settee to steady himself. Because that’s what he would do if he were here in this palace to fall in love with Henry, and not just continuing this thing where they fly across the world to touch each other and don’t talk about it. That’s not why he’s here. It’s not.
The phrase “see attached bibliography” is the single sexiest thing you have ever written to me.
Should I tell you that when we’re apart, your body comes back to me in dreams? That when I sleep, I see you, the dip of your waist, the freckle above your hip, and when I wake up in the morning, it feels like I’ve just been with you, the phantom touch of your hand on the back of my neck fresh and not imagined? That I can feel your skin against mine, and it makes every bone in my body ache? That, for a few moments, I can hold my breath and be back there with you, in a dream, in a thousand rooms, nowhere at all?
Tho I long for the actual sunlight contact between us I miss you like a home. Shine back honey & think of me.
With me it is quite stark: I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal.
Here lies Prince Henry of Wales. He died as he lived: avoiding plans and sucking cock.
I know well that, at this hour, I could as easily forget your name as the food by which I live; nay, it were easier to forget the food, which only nourishes my body miserably, than your name, which nourishes both body and soul, filling the one and the other with such sweetness that neither weariness nor fear of death is felt by me while memory preserves you to my mind. Think, if the eyes could also enjoy their portion, in what condition I should find myself.
Sería una mentira, porque no sería él.” It would be a lie, because it wouldn’t be him.
“But the thing is, jumping off cliffs is kinda my thing. That’s the choice. I love him, with all that, because of all that. On purpose. I love him on purpose.”
October 2, 2020,
I couldn’t let a fucking predator be the most powerful man in the country if it was within my power to stop it.”
He’s so mad he has such a specific type of dude and never even noticed it for so long.
