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one of the hundreds of glowing pieces of fan fiction about him on the internet,
“I think you are.”
some homoerotic frat bro mishap,
“That’s because you are a nerd,” Alex says. “You want to protect those of your own species. It’s a natural instinct.”
“I didn’t know you wore glasses,”
dry.
Beta blocker
He sounds like he wants to punch Alex, which is probably the most Alex has ever liked him,
make out already.
He’s not sure how Henry feels, but some part of his brain that is likely soaked in tequila thinks maybe it would be helpful if Henry could take what he can handle, and Alex could handle the rest. Maybe he can absorb some of the “much” from the place where their shoulders are pressed together.
“Christ, you are as thick as it gets,”
right?
Mhmm thts wht straight guys do
Straight people, he thinks, probably don’t spend this much time convincing themselves they’re straight.
He’s absolutely sure that guys who kissed a Prince of England and liked it don’t get elected to represent Texas.
after-work drinks he never has time for.
Henry, who knows him. 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.
“Yeah, because princes aren’t allowed to be gay,”
“Oh, shit. Did you not know that either? Shit. I didn’t mean to, like, tell you.
sweet and deep and like they’re standing at sunrise in the fucking moors. He can practically feel the wind in his hair. It’s ridiculous.
Alex’s frenetic energy and Henry’s aching sureness.
his primary turn-on has always been competence.
Leaving your clandestine hookup directions to a Parisian cheese shop.
He’s just as attracted to Henry’s cloudy tempers, the way he comes back from them, and the millions of shades in between.
Henry George Edward James Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor.”
“Baby.”
whose affection for his charge shows in the way he tends to him like a favorite houseplant.
Alex feels somewhere, under the fifty layers of booze, something crystal clear radiating off her, a shared knowledge of how rare and wonderful this version of Henry is.
O, fathers of my bloodline! O, ye kings of olde! Take this crown from me, bury me in my ancestral soil. If only you had known the mighty work of thine loins would be undone by a gay heir who likes it when American boys with chin dimples are mean to him.
The fruity truth: My favorite English author is Jane Austen.
So, to borrow a passage from Sense and Sensibility: “You want nothing but patience—or give it a more fascinating name, call it hope.” To paraphrase: I hope to see you put your green American money where your filthy mouth is soon.
The phrase “see attached bibliography” is the single sexiest thing you have ever written to me.
“But you treat me like I do.”
I took that down to the gardens. I pressed it into the leaves of a silver maple and recited it to the Waterloo Vase. It didn’t fit in any rooms.
Catholic God made me to be the person you write those things about.
He wants to set himself on fire, but he can’t afford for anyone to see him burn.
Nobody’s supposed to see how much he needs.
“Sweetheart.”
