#chamel's fandom fest

[cha-melodius]

HAPPY 100 FICS / 1000 KUDOS DARLING

Could I please get Firstprince at some sort of pet store?

💜💜💜💜

(HAPPY BIRTHDAY CRICKET!!!! This is the fill for your fandom fest request of firstprince at a pet store. Thank you for being such an excellent doc gremlin and wonderful friend, I hope this fic brightens your day!!)

The Hazards of Unsolicited Toy Advice

(T, 2.2k, read it below or on AO3)

There’s a staggeringly gorgeous man loitering by a display of chew toys.

The sight of him momentarily brings Henry to a complete halt, which confuses David. He reaches the end of his lead and looks back at Henry with his head tilted, clearly wondering what could have interrupted their usual pilgrimage to the elaborate collection of bones, pigs’ ears, and various treats that make this store worth going out of their way to visit. Unfortunately for David, Henry needs a moment. He knows he’s being kind of weird, but surely he can be forgiven. It’s not every day one comes across the personification of pure sunlight in a pet store.

The man doesn’t seem to notice Henry’s watching, thankfully. His full lips pout thoughtfully as he pokes idly at a few toys, picking them up and putting them down again without much intention. A few dark curls fall forward over his forehead as he props one hand on his devastatingly narrow waist, perfectly emphasized by the way his tailored button-down is tucked into navy chinos that hug a truly perfect arse.

David chuffs softly, pulling Henry out of his reverie. Right. The beautiful man looks like he could use some decision-making assistance, perhaps. Henry will take whatever tiny opening he can get.

“If you need some advice on toys, I have some experience,” Henry said, only realizing the way it sounds once the words are out of his mouth.

Unfortunately, the beautiful man does not miss the innuendo. He looks up at Henry, warm brown eyes fringed by the longest eyelashes Henry’s ever seen flashing with mirth as his face breaks into a grin and, oh, if Henry was in trouble before, it was nothing on this. The man’s entire face lights up, nearly blinding in its brilliance, and Henry’s stomach swoops.

“Do you, now?” the man returns as his lips settle into a smirk. He looks Henry up and down, and Henry doesn’t think he’s imagining the interest in his expression.

Henry’s cheeks are heating, but he holds the man’s gaze. “Yes. David is a bit of a connoisseur.”

The man’s eyebrows shoot upward. “David? Is that your…”

“My dog, of course,” Henry says, gesturing toward where David is sitting obediently at his feet. “He’s got quite the collection.”

“Dog named David, ok,” the man mutters, laughing a little to himself. “Does he have a favorite?”

Henry reaches out and plucks a rubber toy shaped like a duck and hands it to the man. “This one is probably his first choice.” At his feet, David makes a noise of interest, and Henry glances down at him. “You have this one at home, Davey.”

The man turns the toy over in his hands, but before he can say anything an employee walks up and hands him a plain brown paper bag with the top stapled shut and some numbers written on the side.

“Anything else, sir?” she asks.

“No, that’s it. Thanks,” the man says, then looks at Henry and lifts up the duck. “Thanks for the advice.”

“Yes, well, if you need any further toy suggestions, we’re here regularly,” Henry manages to say, and it sounds like just as much of a come-on as he means it to.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” the man replies, smirking, then heads off to the front of the store.

~~~~~

Henry runs into the beautiful man again a couple weeks later, standing in the same place as last time. He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans today with his curls combed and tamed, and is no less stunning for it (though Henry’s always been partial to curls). Today, Henry is slightly more prepared; he’s thought about—ok, fantasized about—running into the man again. This time he’s getting a name, at the very least.

“So, was it a success?” he asks as he walks up to the man. Warmth blooms in his chest at the look of recognition that takes over the man’s face, though it’s quickly followed by a furrowed brow.

“What?”

“The toy. Did your dog like it?”

“Oh. Yeah, definitely,” the man says, bobbing his head a little. “Any other suggestions?”

Henry lets his gaze skim over the toys until he sees the plush strawberry David’s been favoring lately and picks it up, but the man shakes his head apologetically. “No soft toys.”

“A penchant for shredding them apart?” Henry guesses.

“Hard to keep clean,” he says, wrinkling his nose.

“Always an important consideration for any toy,” Henry agrees sagely, only for the man to raise his eyebrows again. It seems to happen with alarming regularity. As does the way Henry’s cheeks heat. He clears his throat and picks up a rubber toy with numerous large holes punched through it. “What about something like this? You can put treats in these for a bit of a challenge.”

The man looks at the toy consideringly before taking it from Henry. “That one could work.”

“I’m Henry, by the way.”

The man opens his mouth, only to be interrupted by another employee with a brown paper bag. After accepting it, he looks back at Henry. “Well, thanks again, Henry,” he says with a little wave, leaving Henry decidedly unsatisfied with the outcome of this encounter.

~~~~~

“The toy with the holes was a hit.” 

Henry turns to see the beautiful man approaching him this time. He’s already got his brown paper bag clutched in one hand this time, and his other stuffed in the pocket of his jeans.

“That’s good to hear,” Henry replies, smiling. At his feet, David starts wagging his tail, apparently having by now decided that the man is a friend. “You’re back again.”

“Turns out you have good taste in toys,” the man says, shrugging a little.

“You’re not the first person to tell me that,” Henry says without really thinking about it, and the eyebrows shoot up again. Henry coughs. “I mean, dog toys.”

He does not mean dog toys.

The man grins wickedly, like he is not fooled. “Well, be that as it may, I thought I might try my luck a third time.”

Henry thinks that it’s about time that he tried his luck, actually. “How about, you tell me your name, and I’ll give you another suggestion,” he counters.

“Oh, I wasn’t aware this toy advice came at a price.”

“Too steep for you?”

“Nah, that’s a bargain, sweetheart,” the man replies. “I’m Alex.”

“Alex,” Henry echoes softly, tasting the name on his tongue, and Alex’s lips part slightly. “And what about your dog?”

It seems to take Alex a moment to parse his question. “Oh, Miss Piggy. She came with the name. I adopted her from a friend of a friend that was trying to get rid of her.”

“That was good of you.”

Alex shrugs. “She’s low maintenance, and it’s kind of nice to talk to someone else in my empty apartment. Not that she talks back.”

Henry tries to suppress the little thrill of hope at the fact that Alex doesn’t live with anyone. “I understand,” he says. “David isn’t much of a conversationalist, but he’s an excellent listener.”

“How long have you had him?”

“Since he was a puppy.”

“So you chose the name David,” Alex says, a touch incredulously.

“I did,” Henry confirms. “It’s after Bowie.”

Alex blinks, like he’s re-evaluating something. “Oh. That’s cool.” He crouches down, which of course makes David start squirming in desire to get to Alex, but he stays sitting next to Henry’s feet. “He’s very well-behaved. Can I pet him?”

“He’d like that.”

Alex reaches a hand out to scratch behind David’s ears, which David immediately presses into, his tail thumping rapidly on the floor. “Who’s a good boy?” Alex coos, and Henry honestly counts himself lucky that Alex’s soft smile is directed at David instead of him; he might not survive it. But then Alex looks up at him in his current position practically kneeling on the floor, and Henry comes very close to shuffling off this mortal coil right then and there anyway.

“So,” Alex says as he stands again, brushing his hands off on his trousers, “what kind of toy advice do I get for my name?”

Henry very nearly suggests some quite different toy advice in response to that question, but manages to bring his brain back online at the last second. “Well,” he says, picking up a tube-shaped rubber toy, “if she liked the treat toy, then this one is a similar idea.” He holds it out to Alex, but he doesn’t let go when Alex grabs the other end. “I have another request.”

The eyebrows go again. “This is an expensive toy.”

Henry shakes his head. “Not a price. But I’d very much like to take you to dinner, if you’d be interested.”

The dimple in Alex’s cheek deepens and he drops his gaze before looking up at Henry through his eyelashes. Christ, but this man is lethal.

“I’m interested.”

~~~~~

Alex tugs Henry in by the front of his jacket as he backs up against the front door to his flat, and Henry wastes no time before sealing their mouths together again. At the end of their first date, Alex had dropped him off outside his building and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Henry’s mouth; it had been utterly lovely, but Henry has to admit he’s very much enjoying this, the conclusion to their second date. Alex’s tongue in his mouth and the cut of his teeth, Alex’s hands grabbing onto his waist, Alex’s thigh pressing in between his.

“You wanna come in, baby?” Alex asks in the gaps between their kisses.

The endearment makes something warm settle in his gut, and he grins against Alex’s lips. “Thought you’d never ask, love.”

They stumble through the door, and despite the fact that Alex has now attached himself to Henry’s throat, Henry finds himself distracted, listening for the tell-tale sound of claws on the hardwood. Nothing comes, though. Perhaps Miss Piggy is a heavy sleeper?

“What’s wrong?” Alex asks, clearly noticing his inattention.

“Sorry,” Henry says, shaking his head. “I was expecting your dog.”

For some reason, that makes Alex look down and bite his lip, and when he finally meets Henry’s eyes again, he looks decidedly sheepish. “I, um. Don’t have a dog.”

Henry blinks at him. Opens and closes his mouth. “You don’t?”

Alex shakes his head. “No.”

“So you let me suggest you dog toys…”

“Because when a ridiculously hot guy wants to talk to you about dog toys, you talk about dog toys,” Alex says, a little helplessly.

It’s honestly hard to be anything but insanely flattered, but he still doesn’t quite understand. “So all of that about adopting Miss Piggy, and the toy reviews… it was all made up?”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t,” Alex says, nonsensically. Then he takes Henry by the hand and leads him into the living room, where there’s a terrarium set up along one wall. Amongst the water dish and a fake-rock hut, Henry spots the duck, and the toy with the holes, and the tube, which has the head and tail of a small brown-and-tan-patterned snake sticking out of one end. “Miss Piggy is a snake,” Alex tells him. “A western hognose, to be specific. Hence the name, I guess. I was in the pet store buying frozen mice for her the times I saw you. I did adopt her from a friend of a friend who didn’t want her anymore, and she does like the toys, as you can see.”

Henry bends down to get a closer look at the snake, who has big eyes and a little turned-up snout. “I never thought a snake could be cute,” he says, unaccountably and unexpectedly charmed by the small creature.

“She’s a drama queen, is what she is,” Alex says. When Henry looks at him questioningly, he explains, “When they feel threatened, they either pretend to be a viper or play dead. Turn over onto their back, tongue hanging out and everything. She hasn’t done that since right after I got her, though. I think she’s happier here.”

Alex gets a kind of soft, fond smile on his face as he talks about the snake, and Henry can’t help but be ridiculously charmed by that, too. He takes a step closer to Alex and slips his arms around his waist, pulling him in and pressing a kiss to his temple, and Alex’s smile widens.

“What was that for?” he asks.

“You care for her,” Henry says simply. “It’s endearing.”

“Of course I do,” Alex replies. “How could you not love that face?”

“Mm,” Henry hums in agreement. “I suppose this means we don’t have to worry about her waking us early in the morning to go outside.”

Alex’s eyes sparkle as he turns in Henry’s arms, looping his own around Henry’s shoulders. “You planning on spending the night, baby? What about David?”

“Is it terribly forward if I said I already arranged to have someone take care of him tonight?” Henry asks, biting his lower lip.

“Not any more than what I was gonna ask you,” Alex says, smirking as his fingers play idly with a flippy piece of Henry’s hair.

“Which is?”

“Well, y’know, I wanted some advice.” He leans in close, until his lips are brushing the angle of Henry’s jaw, and murmurs, “On a different kind of toy.”

Henry doesn’t need to be asked twice.

#rwrb #red white and blue #firstprince #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fic #firstprince fanfic #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #my fic #chamel's fandom fest

[firstprince-ao3feed]

The Hazards of Unsolicited Toy Advice

by chamel The beautiful man looks like he could use some decision-making assistance, perhaps. Henry will take whatever tiny opening he can get. “If you need some advice on toys, I have some experience,” Henry said, only realizing the way it sounds once the words are out of his mouth. (Henry meets a gorgeous stranger in a pet store and decides to strike up a conversation about toys. Dog toys, obviously.) Words: 2240, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 12 of 100 Fic Fandom Fest Fandoms: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Alex Claremont-Diaz, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, David the Beagle (Red White & Royal Blue) Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Pet Store, Strangers to Lovers, Meet-Cute, Flirting, Misunderstandings, pure fluff, Pets, Getting Together via https://ift.tt/Rx7blMf

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #red white and royal blue #rwrb #firstprince #chamel

[cha-melodius]

oh man, okay, so, firstprince, Harrod's food hall

(In which I take Henry's canonical skill at recommending cheese to its logical extreme. This got longer than I intended because I kept waxing rhapsodical about cheese [only half joking]. I hope it lives up to your wildest dreams!)

chamel’s fandom fest info | read all the fics

Will You Brie Mine?

(firstprince, 5.8k, T; read it below or on AO3)

“Ah, Alex,” he says with a soft, fond smile curving his lips and crinkles at the corners of his blue eyes, like he’s pleased to see him.

Alex pointedly ignores the way that something in his stomach swoops.

“We have a new Manchego in this week that I think you’ll love,” Henry continues.

Right. Henry’s pleased to see him because Alex is his best customer. Alex assumes so, anyway. Surely no one else buys this much cheese on a weekly basis.

He hadn’t meant to start this little routine. June had been telling him since he moved to London that he had to go to Harrods and visit the food hall, so he’d gone just to be able to shut her up about it. And sure, it’d been reasonably impressive and he’d gotten some tasty stuff out of the trip, but he probably wouldn’t have been back if he hadn’t wandered by the cheese counter and caught sight of the most beautiful man he’s ever seen standing behind it. Alex hadn’t really spent much time contemplating his sexuality until he was suddenly confronted with floppy golden hair, ridiculously full lips, the finest cheekbones he’s ever seen, and broad shoulders only emphasized by the contrast of the green apron tied snugly around his narrow waist.

(It had still taken him several weeks of visits to the cheese counter before he realized why he was so drawn there, and a few more to come to terms with the fact that he really, really wanted to kiss the man behind it.)

Unfortunately, he’d been caught staring and had to play it off like he was particularly interested in cheese. He likes cheese, don’t get him wrong, but he never really thought too hard about it. Now he’s in pretty much every week to see Henry and has learned more about cheddar and brie and gruyere than he ever wanted to know. His fridge is always full. He brings cheese plates to pretty much every gathering he’s invited to. It’s kind of becoming a problem.

He hasn’t stopped visiting, though.

Today, as Henry tells him all about the Manchego, Alex tries his best to listen and not fixate on the mole next to the corner of Henry’s mouth or the way his shoulders strain the seams of his white uniform shirt. It’s not a particularly easy task for him, in all honesty.

“Would you care for a sample?” Henry asks, as if Alex has ever said no to him.

“I’d love one,” Alex tells him instead of saying I’d like to sample you.

The Manchego is quite good. Alex buys a chunk and takes it home, along with a baguette and a bottle of wine that Henry recommended to go along with it, then stands in front of his refrigerator and contemplates how absurdly pathetic he is.

Maybe he should make fondue for dinner.

~~~~~

“I don’t get why you don’t just ask him out?” Nora says as they weave their way through the various food hall areas. They’ve already purchased several pastries and a pile of chocolates, though Alex wouldn’t let them visit the wine shop until they’d seen Henry.

If Alex had his druthers they wouldn’t be here at all, but Nora is visiting for a job interview and pretty much demanded that Alex take her to see ‘the hot cheesemonger’ that he’s been talking constantly about for the last six months. (He hasn’t. She’s grossly exaggerating.)

“He’s in the service industry, Nora,” Alex argues. “Being hit on by customers is the worst. You get put on the spot and you have to smile and act all polite while you’re trapped because you’re at your job? I’m not going to do that to him.”

She pops a chocolate truffle into her mouth and chews thoughtfully. “Mm. You could casually ask when his shift ends and bump into him.”

Alex shoots an exasperated look her way. “That’s not better.”

“Oh, but accumulating the world’s finest collection of cheese in your one-bedroom apartment just so you can see him is a completely reasonable course of action.”

That, he doesn’t deign to dignify with an answer. Anyway, they’re nearing the cheese counter, which means they’re definitely done discussing this. He spots Henry immediately, looking unfairly adorable in his little green hat as he helps an elderly lady pick out some munster, and browses the display cases behind the counter as they wait. The fact that the other employee at the cheese counter doesn’t even bother trying to help him probably says something.

Eventually Henry finishes and turns toward them, though his smile falters slightly when he sees Nora. Weird. Probably Alex is just imagining things, because a moment later it’s back to normal.

“Hullo Alex,” he says, and Alex’s stomach does that swoopy thing at his name on Henry’s tongue, same as it does every week. “You’re early this week.”

Alex ignores the pointed look that he can feel Nora giving him. “Nora is visiting and wanted the ‘whole experience’,” he explains, gesturing with a sideways nod of his head toward her. “We’ve already hit the bakery and chocolate shop. Saved the best for last.”

Henry’s smile widens, and he ducks his head slightly before he looks back up. “Not actually last, though.”

“I mean, obviously Eric over at the wine shop is the best.”

“Of course,” Henry says solemnly. “Good to know where I stand.”

“You know me, always here to put you in your place,” Alex returns. Next to him, Nora loudly clears her throat and gives him a pointed look, and he has to bite back the too-revealing grinning on his face. “Right. Nora, this is Henry. Henry, Nora.”

“Hi,” she says, smiling in a way that makes Alex nervous. “Pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Nora.”

Henry looks bemused by this information, his eyebrows arcing skyward as he glances over at Alex. “Really?”

“Ignore her,” Alex tells him.

“I’ve heard a lot about your cheese, then,” she revises, eyes sparkling with pure mischief.

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Alex says. He can feel his fucking cheeks getting hot and prays it’s not noticeable. “Whatcha got this week?”

“Ah, a new one arrived that I think you’ll get a kick out of. Tête de Moine.”

Alex furrows his brow. “Tête…”

“… de Moine,” Henry repeats. “It means ‘monk’s head’.”

“Of course it does.”

Henry huffs a soft laugh. “It’s from Switzerland. This one’s aged four months, and it’s very full-bodied, with an earthy nuttiness to it. The real trick is in the serving though.”

“Oh?” Alex prompts. He has to admit, he could fucking listen to Henry talk about cheese all day. It’s not really the cheese, though; it’s how passionate and animated he gets, sometimes downright rapturous. It’s the spark in his eye and the confidence with which he speaks and the sheer depth of his knowledge.

Behind the counter, Henry holds up a finger to indicate they should wait a moment, then sets about retrieving a small wheel of cheese already set up on some kind of circular contraption. There’s a post sticking through the center of the wheel with a small blade radiating out toward the edge, which has a handle that Henry grabs. In one slow, smooth motion, he spins the blade around the top of the cheese wheel, and a delicate little rosette of cheese appears. Then he pinches it carefully by the base and holds it out over the counter toward Alex. It looks for all the world like he’s handing Alex a flower.

“Like this, it melts in your mouth,” Henry says, and Alex barely manages to avoid swallowing his tongue.

Their fingers brush as Alex takes the little cheese rosette from him, and Alex feels a little frisson of electricity even though Henry’s wearing gloves. Henry watches him expectantly as he sticks the whole damned thing in his mouth—because what else is he going to do with it?—and oh. Wow, that’s really something. It does melt in his mouth and it’s a little funky but not too much?

Henry’s cheese recommendations truly never miss.

“That’s fucking amazing,” he says once he’s finally swallowed it. “And it has to be served like that?”

“The only way to eat it,” Henry confirms. Then he turns his smile toward Nora. “Would you like to try it?”

“Sure,” Nora agrees, and as soon as Henry’s attention is diverted toward the cheese again she kicks Alex in the shin.

He gives her a what the fuck was that? look, and she in turn replies with some significant eyebrow raising and head tilting toward Henry, like he’s supposed to know what she’s on about. A moment later, she schools her expression back to normal as Henry reaches out to hand her a rosette, which she polishes off in about two seconds flat.

“Yeah, it’s good,” she says in her typical understated manner.

Whatever. Alex knows an exceptional cheese when he eats it. “So how do you sell it, then?” he asks Henry.

“Well, you can buy the whole wheel and the girolle to go with it, but I assume you’re not particularly interested in acquiring specialized cheese equipment,” Henry says. Honestly, Alex would probably let himself be talked into it, if Henry was doing the talking. This is definitely becoming a problem. “But I can shave you a collection of rosettes if you think you’ll eat them within a day or two.”

“A bouquet, then?” Alex jokes.

Henry’s cheeks go slightly pink, and Nora kicks him again. Alex ignores her.

“I suppose so,” Henry says.

“All right then. And the wine?”

“A full-bodied variety, like Bordeaux or Côtes du Rhône.”

“Perfect,” Alex says. “I have one at home, so I won’t even need to visit Eric.”

Henry’s lips quirk upward. “A shame to miss out on the best stop.”

“Did I, though?” Alex asks, scrunching up the side of his face in fake thoughtfulness.

It makes Henry laugh, which is pretty much everything.

He can’t even be annoyed that Henry pretty much ignores him to ask Nora about her visit as he works on the rosettes. Then he catches himself thinking that it’s kind of sweet that Henry’s making sure she’s included, before realizing that it’s his job to chat with the customers.

Jesus, Alex is hopeless.

“He’s nice,” Nora says once they’re done and have walked far enough away. Alex wasn’t looking for her approval, especially since probably nothing will ever happen, but still. He trusts her judgment. It feels good. “Also he totally wants to dick you down.”

“Nora,” Alex hisses, eyes going wide as he looks around to make sure no one heard her.

“And you obviously want him to, so.”

“How could you possibly know that after ten minutes?”

“Besides the fact that the entire time it looked like you wanted to eat him instead of the cheese?”

Alex huffs in frustration. “I meant about what he wants.”

Nora stops walking in the middle of an aisle between counters, and Alex drags her to the side so they don’t get mowed down. “Alejandro. Babe,” she says flatly. “The look on his face as he watched you eat that cheese was nothing short of pornographic.”

“You’re imagining things,” Alex scoffs.

“He. Wants. You,” she repeats firmly. “Ask him out. He’s not gonna say no, I promise. Ninety-six percent.”

Alex bites his lip. “Ninety-six?”

~~~~~

Nora’s numbers should be reassuring. Instead, Alex is freaking out. Ok, maybe he wants Henry, and maybe Henry wants him, but he’s never dated a dude before. He’s done precisely nothing with his bisexual revelation, partly because he’s always swamped with work and partly because he doesn’t want to go hook up with random guys. It’s not like he hasn’t kissed a guy before; he flat out made out with Liam back in high school, and it was nice but he still managed to come out of it thinking he was straight, so. That doesn’t inspire much confidence. The idea of kissing another man now makes him weirdly nervous because if he does and if the same thing happens—worse, if he kisses Henry and it doesn’t do anything for him—then he loses all of this. He likes what they have now. He still doesn’t know a lot of people in London outside his office. As ridiculous as it sounds, the cheese counter feels like a lifeline he can’t afford to let go of.

It’s probably better if they just stay friends. Acquaintances. Whatever the fuck they are.

Anyway, Nora is probably wrong. She couldn’t possibly be that certain after watching them interact for ten minutes. He holds firm to this (misguided) belief right up until he makes his weekly trip to Harrods and Henry positively lights up when he sees Alex approaching.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Henry says, not even bothering with a greeting as he immediately goes into the case to fetch something.

“Hello to you too,” Alex says with a lopsided smile.

“Yes, hello,” Henry huffs, “now come here and close your eyes.”

What.

Henry’s not even looking at him, he’s too focused on the cheese in front of him, and Alex has no fucking clue what to make of any of it.

“Uh, Henry? Is this some kind of new thing y’all are doing?”

Henry smirks at him. “Only for mouthy Americans. Are you coming?”

Jesus’ tits. Alex looks around, but not a single person in the bustling food hall is paying attention to them. Henry appears to be by himself at the counter today. With a deep breath, Alex braces himself for whatever’s about to happen and steps up closer to the counter.

“Now close your eyes and open your mouth,” Henry tells him, which is more or less what he expected, but still. Those words, in that voice. It’s a fucking lot.

“Henry, what—”

“Come on, after all this time, don’t you trust me?” Henry teases.

Well, when he puts it like that.

So Alex closes his eyes and opens his mouth, and a moment later a small morsel of cheese is deposited on his tongue—via toothpick, he realizes as he closes his lips around it, and not Henry’s fingers. Thank god, honestly. Fortunately, the flavor of the cheese completely distracts him from how insane all of this is, because wow. It’s hard and a bit crumbly, salty with a tang and kick of smoky, fruity spice that builds on his tongue. There are peppers involved, chiles like he has rarely tasted since he moved here, and the flavor of them just about punch him in the gut with the flavor of home.

He opens his eyes and finds Henry watching him raptly. That’s a lot, too.

“It’s unbelievable,” Alex says honestly. “What is it?”

“Queso de cincho enchilado,” Henry answers, with passable Spanish pronunciation. “Imported specially from Guerrero.”

“What?”

“I did some research and found out one of our suppliers had a contact in Mexico,” Henry explains. “And, well, you’re always complaining how it’s nearly impossible to get Mexican ingredients here, so I thought you might like it.”

Alex’s throat feels like it’s closing up around the emotion that’s trying to choke him. “You ordered it… for me?”

“If any of our customers deserve a special order, it’s you, Alex,” Henry says, a small, soft smile curving his lips.

“Oh,” Alex says.

His brain is spinning endlessly, like a gear never quite able to make contact with the next one. He needs something to make sense of this. He needs… a list.

1. Henry went out of his way to order something for him. 2. Henry saw a chance to bring Alex something that means something to him and made it happen. 3. Henry chose not just any Mexican cheese, but something special, something he wouldn’t get anywhere else. 4. Henry cares enough to know him.

Fuck.

With a truly heroic effort, he manages to paste on a smile, shoving the rest of it deep down where he will decidedly not inspect it later. “Well, thank you. It’s amazing. Honestly, I don’t know what to say.”

“That has to be a first,” Henry quips, and Alex protests with a ‘Hey!’ and a laugh, because the only other alternative is having a breakdown in Harrods about cheese.

They fall into something like their regular banter after that, and all of this is fine, it’s fine, it’s fine.

It’s totally fine.

~~~~~

The queso de cincho enchilado haunts him. Quite literally, since he bought a large quantity of it and every time he looks in his fridge he’s reminded of what Henry did for him. It feels like a lot. It feels like maybe too much.

Maybe Alex needs to take a step back before he goes spinning out of control and fucks something up, badly.

For the first time in a while, he doesn’t visit the food halls that week, or the next. He’s got a crazy case on his plate at work and can’t afford to spare the time anyway. It’s fine. Henry probably won’t even notice he’s not there.

Then, a couple of days after the day he usually visits, he’s in the middle of a long, brutal run through Hyde Park to try to clear his head when he nearly collides with someone in a wool peacoat and a Burberry scarf.

“Jesus fuck, asshole, watch where you’re—”

Alex cuts off because, when he finally regains his balance and turns toward the person, he looks up into a pair of startlingly familiar blue eyes.

“Alex?”

“Henry,” Alex exhales. He suddenly feels much more out of breath than he did a second ago. 

Alex would try to claim that he almost doesn’t recognize him out of his uniform, but that would be a lie. He’d know that face anywhere. Those eyes, those cheekbones, those lips curled into a small, pleased smile. He’s bundled up against the February chill, but he still looks effortlessly put together in a way that makes Alex starkly aware of how sweaty and bedraggled he is in comparison. Alex is so overwhelmed by seeing Henry here, outside the safe realm of the Harrods food hall, that he almost completely misses the beagle sitting, well-behaved, at his feet.

“You’ve got a dog,” he manages. He feels strangely unmoored by the situation.

“That I do,” Henry says with a little chuckle. “This is David.”

Alex doesn’t mean to make a face, but it happens. “Weird name for a dog.”

“It’s after Bowie,” Henry tells him.

“Oh, well. That’s cool.”

A beat of silence stretches between them. Fuck, this is awkward. It’s never this awkward when there’s a case full of cheese between them. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your run,” Henry ventures.

“No, it’s fine. You just surprised me.”

“So you usually berate innocent pedestrians while you’re running, then?”

His teasing surprises a laugh out of Alex. “Fuck off with ‘innocent’, you stepped into my path.”

“Well, yes,” Henry admits. “And I do apologize for that. David was very excited about a squirrel.”

“Oh, blame it on your dog, real smooth,” Alex says, grinning, and Henry laughs. Alex makes a motion toward the beagle. “Can I pet him?”

“I’m sure he’d enjoy that,” Henry says.

Alex squats down in front of David and holds out his hand for him to sniff, which David does and then proceeds to immediately tuck his nose under Alex’s hand and nudge it up onto his head. He’s utterly adorable, and Alex spends several minutes scratching behind his ears and feeling some of the remaining tension bleed out of him—dogs really are magic—before Henry speaks again.

“We missed you at the cheese counter the past couple of weeks,” he says lightly. We, like any of the other employees there care about whether Alex comes in. He’s probably just that weird guy with the cheese addiction to them. He can appreciate why Henry would put it that way, though.

With one last pat, Alex stands again and pushes a hand back through his hair before remembering how gross it is. “Yeah, I got slammed at work,” he says. It’s mostly not a lie. He doesn’t actually need to explain why he wasn’t there, except he feels oddly compelled to. He quirks his lips into a sardonic smile. “Sorry, I know I’m probably a substantial part of your monthly sales quota.”

Henry laughs softly. “You are,” he confirms, a teasing glint in his eye. Then his expression goes more serious. “But that’s not why I was concerned.”

Oh. Henry was worried about him.

“Well, I’ll be back this week,” Alex promises.

“That’s good to hear,” Henry says, and when he smiles his eyes crinkle at the corners. “I should let you go before you catch a chill out here.”

Alex doesn’t want Henry to let him go, although yes, he’s getting really fucking cold in his thin exercise gear now that he’s not moving anymore. He thinks maybe if he wasn’t completely disgusting and exhausted he might ask Henry if he wanted to go get a cup of coffee. Or tea, whatever (he knows, in fact, that Henry’s a tea drinker). It’d be low stakes, friends get coffee all the time, and he could feel things out a bit more. Asking if he wants to get together some other time feels more intentional. Like a date.

They’re not at the shop. Alex could just ask.

“Yeah, ok,” he says instead. “It was good to bump into you, man.”

For some reason Henry’s smile seems to go a little tight at the edges. “It was. I’ll see you soon, Alex.”

~~~~~

It doesn’t occur to Alex until he’s standing in the shower later that he could have asked for Henry’s number at the very least. Now who knows when he might run into Henry again. Maybe he could just haunt Hyde Park during the same time frame and hope that he runs into Henry walking David again. Maybe he should just take Nora’s suggestion to ask him when his shift ends and meet him then.

He’s still contemplating his options when he visits the cheese counter that week. It’s oddly busy for some reason, and he waits a while for Henry to be free. Unfortunately that also means that they’re not going to have as much time as usual to chat, which is quite honestly the whole reason he visits. He’s just wondering if maybe he should come back later when Henry appears in front of him, clearly tired and worn around the edges but no less beautiful for it.

“You guys are hoppin’ today,” Alex says, glancing around.

“Yes, well, lots of romantic cheese plates to sell, I suppose,” Henry sighs.

Alex frowns in confusion. “What?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow?”

“Right, yeah, I totally remembered that,” Alex says, shaking his head as he bites his lip. “Shows you where my head’s been.”

“I hope for your girlfriend’s sake that that’s not actually true,” Henry points out, and now Alex is confused again.

“Girlfriend?”

Henry frowns back at him. “Nora?”

Alex chokes out a surprised laugh. “Oh, Nora’s not my girlfriend. I mean, we dated a while ago, but now we’re just friends. She’s dating my sister actually.” Henry’s eyebrows shoot up. “Don’t ask. Anyway, that’s why she’s trying to move to London—her and my sister, actually—because June feels a need to watch over me or something, I guess. It’ll be good to have them here, though.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” Henry says. “Sorry for assuming, you just talk about her quite a bit.”

“God, don’t tell her that,” Alex groans.

“So no girlfriend, then?” Henry asks casually, or it would be casual if he weren’t avoiding Alex’s eyes and fidgeting with some kind of cheese.

Alex swallows and licks his lips. “Nope. No boyfriend either. I’ll just be hanging out with James Bond tomorrow, I guess.”

“What?” Henry asks sharply, for reasons that are beyond Alex.

“I dunno, Bond movie marathon sounds like a good way to spend Valentine’s Day alone.”

“Right, of course,” Henry says with a tight smile. No explanation for the weird reaction is forthcoming, so Alex shrugs it off. “Our special cheese this week might be kind of moot, then.”

“Why’s that?” Alex asks.

Henry turns away to grab something, and when he turns back he’s holding up what looks like some kind of heart-shaped brie. “Neufchatel,” he says. “From Normandy.”

“The heart shape seems a little gimmicky for the Harrods cheese counter.”

“Ah, but it’s not actually a gimmick. The shape goes back to the Hundred Years’ War,” Henry explains. “The English occupied the region, and the story goes that the French dairy maids who fell for their occupiers gave them as gifts to the Englishmen.”

“Ok, now it makes sense,” Alex laughs. “Of course y’all would sell something that commemorates the people you tried to conquer falling in love with you.”

“I didn’t say it was an admirable story,” Henry protests, flushing a delightful pink. “It is a wonderful cheese, though.”

“Well?” Alex prompts. “You gonna give me a sample of your occupier cheese?”

Henry laughs and shakes his head, but he cuts Alex off a chunk and passes it over the counter. It actually is delicious, ridiculously creamy and velvety on his tongue. It’s also the kind of cheese that’s probably not something you’re going to eat alone, since he doubts it will keep well after it’s been cut into, but…

Alex has to admit, he’s kind into the symbolism of Henry giving him this particular cheese. Not that Henry is giving it to him, Alex is buying it, not to mention that Henry has probably sold a hundred of these heart-shaped cheeses today, but still.

“Yeah, ok, it’s really good,” Alex says, like it pains him to admit it. “I’ll take one.”

Henry blinks at him. “Really?”

“For my date with James Bond.”

A kind of weird look passes over Henry’s face again, but it’s gone as quickly as it had come. “All right,” he says. “I’ll get that wrapped up for you.”

Alex watches Henry package up the cheese, which means he absolutely sees Henry pick up a pen and write something on the inside of the butcher paper that he wraps around it. But Henry also gives no hint as to what it could be as he hands over the cheese and rings Alex up at the cash register. As expected, he doesn’t really have time to linger; there are more customers waiting to be served, so Alex takes his purchase and heads home, the small package burning a hole in his pocket. He can’t very well unwrap a soft cheese in the middle of the London streets or on the tube or something, so whatever Henry wrote remains a mystery until he gets into his kitchen and nearly tears the paper off.

It’s a phone number. Henry’s phone number.

Alex checks the time, and by now it’s after the food hall counters close. With slightly shaky hands, he types the number into his phone and presses call.

“Hullo?” a familiar voice answers, slightly distorted over the line.

“Henry,” Alex breathes. He just saw Henry less than an hour ago, and yet still the sound of his voice sets every one of Alex’s nerve endings on fire. “Um. It’s Alex.”

“Ah. You got my message, I see.”

“I did,” he confirms. A little puff of disbelieving laughter escapes him. “Leaving your number on the inside of a cheese wrapper? Really?”

Henry laughs softly. “I suppose I got tired of waiting for you to ask me for it.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me for mine?”

“If I did, it would have to be for some kind of special order purposes,” Henry tells him. “And I couldn’t use it for personal reasons. It’s against company policy.”

“Oh,” Alex says. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” He takes a deep breath. “I wanted to.”

“Wanted to what?”

“Ask you. For your number. Or… on a date.”

He hears Henry exhale, and then, with immense fondness, he says, “You certainly took your time.”

“Fuck off,” Alex says automatically. Something thrums under his skin at Henry’s answering laughter. “I didn’t want to fuck it up,” he confesses.

“You didn’t,” Henry says softly. “You won’t.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“After six months, I think I know you at least that well, Alex.”

And yeah, Henry does.

“So, uh,” Alex starts, not even knowing where he’s headed with this until the words are coming out of his mouth, “Turns out I’ve got this really romantic cheese that probably shouldn’t be eaten alone.”

“I can confirm it’s better shared.” He can hear the smile in Henry’s voice.

“So you could come over, if you wanted. To my place. Tomorrow? I’ll make dinner. Not just cheese.”

“I’d love to,” Henry says, his voice full of something that fills Alex to the brim with warmth. “I can bring wine?”

Shoot. In his rush to get home, Alex forgot about the wine. So really—

“That’s perfect, baby.”

Alex feels the noise Henry makes over the phone in his toes.

~~~~~

Whatever possessed him to make their first date on Valentine’s Day at his own apartment and to volunteer to cook dinner, Alex is sure he doesn’t know. They could have gone for coffee. They could have gone out to dinner a few days later, or something reasonable that didn’t involve Alex fretting over last minute menu plans and laboring over the stove for hours. He considers something from his Mexican wheelhouse before deciding that sourcing ingredients at this point would be nearly impossible, and in the end he takes inspiration from the Neufchatel and goes French. Coq au vin, potatoes, haricot vert, crusty bread that he picks up from the French bakery down the road. For dessert, though, he dips into his precious supply of dried chiles that his abuela sent him and whips up the batter for a spiced chocolate lava cake that will bake while they’re eating dinner.

So, you know. Nothing fancy.

Henry shows up right on time with a bottle of wine to pair with the cheese and another for dinner, which he’d chosen after wheedling tonight’s menu out of Alex via text earlier. He’s utterly stunning in a blue sweater that looks ridiculously soft, and Alex desperately wants to touch it. Or maybe he just desperately wants to touch Henry.

He doesn’t, though. He greets Henry at the door, and they do the slightly awkward dance of knowing this is a date and knowing each other pretty well, but not knowing exactly what they are to each other yet. Are they on hugging terms? Kissing? Alex sidesteps the question entirely by taking the wine from Henry’s hands and leading the way back into the kitchen. 

It’s blissfully not awkward after that, though. The conversation flows easily as Alex finishes up the last bits of dinner. They drink wine and eat heart-shaped cheese and Henry drops light touches on Alex’s hip or his arm or his lower back as they maneuver around each other in the small space. He’s suitably impressed by Alex’s cooking and isn’t shy with his praise, which warms Alex to the core.

It is, all in all, probably the best date Alex has ever had, and by the time they retire to the living room couch after dessert he feels like he’s going to vibrate right out of his skin with anticipation. Something of it must show on his face, because Henry gives him a gentle smile that is clearly intended to put him at ease as he relaxes into the couch, his body angled toward Alex and his wine glass dangling loosely from his fingers.

“I’ve had a lovely time tonight,” he says, nudging a knee up against Alex’s.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Alex replies honestly, putting all of it into the smile he returns. “Me too.” Then he pauses, steeling himself, and Henry must sense it because he just waits. “There’s something you should know,” he says eventually. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Done what?”

“Dated a guy.”

Henry’s expression is maddeningly neutral. “But you want to.”

“I didn’t do all of this because I don’t want to kiss you,” Alex retorts. That, at least, brings a pleased smile to Henry’s face. “I just… this isn’t some experiment for me, but some things are going to be a little novel.”

Henry nods and sets his wine glass on the coffee table, then shifts on the couch closer to Alex. He slides one hand onto Alex’s thigh just above the knee, and the other he reaches up to the side of Alex’s face, gently cupping his jaw. “We can take things as slow as you like.”

Alex leans in, inhales the scent of Henry’s cologne. “And if I’m not interested in taking it slow?”

“I can’t say I’d complain,” Henry answers with a soft puff of laughter.

His eyes drop to Henry’s full, wine-stained lips, to the mole at the corner of his mouth, to the other one at the edge of his jaw. They both sway closer, until the tips of their noses nearly brush.

“I have another confession,” Alex says abruptly, and Henry lets out a fondly exasperated sigh as he pulls back again and looks at him expectantly. “I’m not really that into cheese. Or, I wasn’t, I guess. I only really visited to see you.”

“I know,” Henry says, biting back a smile.

“What do you mean, you know?!” Alex demands.

“I mean, it was clear that you didn’t actually know much about cheese, and though you seemed interested, you never really struck me as a connoisseur,” Henry tells him. He takes a deep breath and lets it out again. “That’s why I always hoped, even when I thought you had a girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Alex breathes. “So you wanted me…?”

“Christ, from the first time you stopped at my counter, Alex. Now will you please kiss me—”

Alex leans in and presses his lips to Henry’s, and it’s everything he could have imagined and more. Henry’s lips are plush and soft under his, and he tastes like red wine and chocolate and chiles, and Alex already never wants it to end. Kissing Henry is new in the best way—from the way Henry’s end-of-the-day stubble scratches against his own, to the strong hands in his hair, to the sensation of the hard planes of Henry’s waist under his palms—but at the same time there’s something achingly familiar about it. Like coming home.

The more they kiss, the more he realizes that there’s something else that’s different about this kiss: it feels, unmistakably, like the last first kiss he’s ever going to have.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fic #firstprince fanfic #chamel's fandom fest #my fic

[cha-melodius]

Firstprince, and look don’t ask me why this is what my brain came up with but: meetcute at the STI clinic

(OMG, I love your brain so much. This made me cackle and immediately start writing it. Thanks so much, hope you enjoy!)

chamel's fandom fest info | read all the fics

Getting Clinical

(firstprince, 2k, T; read it below or on AO3)

Alex has to admit that the very last thing that he expected to get upon coming out to his mother was an appointment made in his name at an LGBTQ+ focused sexual health clinic near his apartment. Really, he should have known better, given the PowerPoints that resulted from said coming out, but still. He’s a grown-ass man with a career. He lives on his own in a city in which she does not live. He can take care of himself.

He still goes to the appointment when he gets back to New York. It’s already made, after all, and it’s been a while since he was tested. Since he’s had any sexual partners, in point of fact; he’s been more or less a hermit for the past couple of years, throwing himself into his work and only letting Nora and June drag him out on rare occasion. The whole bisexual revelation had been a slow thing, born of the unexpected feelings evoked in him when one of the senior partners at his law firm came out as gay, in combination with finding himself staring a little too long at the shirtless male leads when he’d put on The Mummy or Indiana Jones on in the background while working late nights at home. He hasn’t actually acted on any of this newfound knowledge save for flirting a bit with the barista at the coffee shop in his building.

He’s gonna, though. He’s determined to get out there and meet someone. A number of someones, maybe—why not have some fun while he’s discovering a bit more about himself? Explore what’s out there. So it makes sense to just go when he gets the email from his mom with a screenshot of the appointment confirmation.

“I wonder if anyone’s done a comparative study of these lubes,” Nora says, too loudly, from where she sits beside him inspecting a selection of samples that she’s collected from a display in the waiting room. More than one person waiting nearby looks over at them, and Alex sinks a little deeper into his chair.

“Ugh, why are you here again?”

“For the moral support,” she chirps with too much glee. “Not like I have any need to be tested right now. Although, June and I did meet this very intriguing guy—”

“All right, enough of that,” he interrupts sharply before she can say any more about her and his sister’s sex life. He already knows far too much about it as it is. “No one asked you to come.”

Nora tips her head at him. “Not in so many words, no. But if I had to listen to one more minute of you hemming and hawing about whether you could make the appointment or whether this was the ‘right place for you’”—she adds the air quotes, annoyingly—“I was gonna start breaking things.” Something softens in her expression, then. “You do belong in these spaces, you know.”

“I know,” he mutters, staring down into his lap. He’s even getting better at believing it.

At that, Nora returns to her lube investigation, and Alex rage-reads some twitter threads until someone steps up to the empty chair next to him and says in a mellifluous British accent, “Pardon me, is this seat taken?”

The waiting room is not that crowded, so Alex doesn’t know why this guy needs to sit directly next to him. He’s in the middle of trying to figure out a polite way to convey this when he finally looks up and right into what he’s pretty sure are the bluest pair of eyes on the planet. Jesus fuck, this man might be the most attractive person he’s ever laid eyes on in person. He doesn’t actually seem like he could be real, but he’s here, looking hopefully at Alex like he wants to be next to him, which is, let’s just say, intriguing—

“It’s only— there’s an outlet on the wall here, and my phone is dying,” Blue Eyes says with an apologetic smile.

Right. So, not particularly interested in sitting next to Alex, then. And that’s definitely not a hollow feeling of disappointment settling into his stomach.

“Yeah, no problem, man,” Alex says, trying to school his expression into something appropriate for conversing with strangers. “It’s all yours.”

Blue Eyes thanks him and takes the seat as he reaches into his bag to pull out a phone cord. The thing is, the outlet is kind of under the chairs and between the two of them, which necessitates some twisting and bending as he tries to blindly reach for it. That definitely doesn’t seem to be working, though, so Alex ends up twisting in his chair too to try to see if he can help.

“A little lower, I think—”

“Oh, thank you, I just can’t quite feel—”

“Fuck, you’re too far now— look, you need to shift to the right, yeah, there—”

“Ah, there it goes,” Blue Eyes murmurs with a pleased hum that brings to mind a very different setting than the one they’re currently in.

This seems to occur to Blue Eyes at the same time as it does Alex, which is approximately when they both look up and realize that their faces have ended up quite close together. Blue Eyes’ cheeks are rapidly turning a lurid pink; Alex quickly replays their previous exchange in his head and yeah, fuck. Suggestive doesn’t seem to begin to cover it. Slowly, Blue Eyes straightens, his posture stiff and eyes fixed on the floor in front of him.

“Er, thank you,” he coughs.

“Don’t mention it,” Alex mumbles in response.

A strained silence settles over them that’s somehow heavier than your usual odd-encounter-with-a-stranger awkwardness. At some point during this encounter, Nora had disappeared to god knows where, so Alex doesn’t even have her company to fall back on. He scrolls on his phone without actually reading anything on it, half hoping one of them will be called into the doctor and half dreading it. Next to him, Blue Eyes is typing furiously with his thumbs.

Alex shouldn’t interrupt him. Just… mind his own business. That would be the reasonable thing to do.

Oh well.

“So, come here often?” he tries to joke, only to realize too late the implications behind asking such a question in a sexual health clinic. He grimaces, hard. “Fuck, I didn’t mean— you don’t have to answer that. I was just— trying to make it not awkward.”

To his relief, Blue Eyes just looks amused. “And made it exceedingly awkward instead?” he replies with a tiny smirk tilting his perfect mouth. There’s a mole right next to the corner of it that Alex would very much like to bite. “I do visit regularly, in fact,” he continues after a moment. “I consider my and my partners’ sexual health to be very important.”

Fuck, that just makes him hotter, which shouldn’t be physically possible. “Lucky person,” Alex hears himself say. “Your partner.”

“Oh, I, uh,” Blue Eyes stammers slightly. “I’m not dating anyone. Currently, that is. I’m just getting out of a relationship, actually.”

“Sorry,” Alex winces.

“Don’t be,” he replies lightly, a flickering smile on his lips. “I’m well shot of him. Anyway, it’s been long enough. Thought I should get back out there.”

“Oh,” Alex says. That’s a good sign, right? Alex could just ask him out. They could have fun if nothing else. That’s all he’s looking for right now. And he’s good at picking people—women, anyway—up. Or was, historically. He just needs to… say something charming. “Well, good luck, then.”

Not that.

He’s really, really hoping he’s not misreading the look of resignation that flickers across Blue Eyes’ face. Before Alex can figure out how to make his big mouth say something useful, though, Blue Eyes’ gaze flickers up behind him. “Ah, your partner’s returned.”

Alex glances back long enough to see Nora flopping down into the chair next to him with more lube samples. “Oh, she’s not my—”

“Alex?” a nurse calls from the other side of the waiting room, leaving him little other choice but to get up and follow her. Blue Eyes shoots him a tight smile and a tiny nod of acknowledgement that they’re probably never going to see each other again before Alex turns and starts walking away.

He’s halfway through the door to the exam rooms when he glances back to see Blue Eyes still watching him, which is frankly more than he can take.

“Sorry, just— forgot something,” he says to the nurse before all but sprinting back to his chair. He plucks Blue Eyes’ phone right out of his slack grip, opens a new contact page, and types in his number. Then, as if he’s in some kind of fever dream, he actually says, “Let me know when you get your results,” and winks.

Alex hurries off again before the nurse can call after him, leaving one extremely stunned Brit in his wake.

~~~~

A week later, Alex’s test results from the clinic show up in his inbox. He’s clean, of course, no surprises there, but the visit itself had been worthwhile—he’d found himself talking to the doctor about aspects related to his health and wellness that went beyond what he might encounter now that he’d be branching out, so to speak—so all in all, not a waste of time.

His phone stays silent, though.

Of course it was always a long shot. That doesn’t change the bitter taste of disappointment on his tongue that not even his endless cups of coffee can cover up. He gets the results on a Friday and lets himself be dragged out to a club on Saturday night to ‘celebrate’, though he ends up politely rebuffing the advances of everyone who hits on him. Nora gives him a look after the third one—a tall, gorgeous brunet with a jaw chiseled out of marble and blue eyes that do give him a half a second of pause—but he shrugs her off.

On Monday morning, he’s in the middle of a conference with a partner and a client when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He assumes it’s Nora or June, so he nearly drops the damned thing on the floor when he finally gets out and swipes open to see a screenshot of an email that looks suspiciously familiar. There’s one key difference, though: under ‘name’ at the top, the text says Henry Fox-Mountchristen.

The screenshot has been sent without comment or followup, just a dry, clinical report, and somehow it’s still one of the sexiest texts he’s ever gotten. Fuck, he’s at work.

Which is exactly what he sends back to Henry. (Henry, he thinks, mulling over the name. It suits him. Alex would very much like to taste it, pressed into his skin.)

Apologies, but you did ask to be informed.

Am I to assume this was an academic interest, or…?

nothing academic about what i want to do to you, sweetheart

Right, then. Jolly good. Are you free this weekend?

Alex wants to say he’s free tonight, actually, so they can put those results to good use, but halfway through writing his reply, he stops. Yes, he wants Henry in his bed, but he also doesn’t want Henry to think he’s only interested in sex. Which is exactly the opposite of what he told himself he was going to do when he started exploring his bisexuality. He shouldn’t be looking for a relationship, and there’s no guarantee Henry is interested in one either. Maybe he’s just busy until then.

Alex thinks another moment, then sends back: what did you have in mind?

~~~~~

(Henry takes him on a date date, all romantic candlelit dinner with a single red rose and a walk in Central Park afterward with their fingers tangled together. And when he finally leans in to kiss Alex, it’s soft and sweet and Alex feels it down to his fucking toes. So, like. That’s a whole thing.

Turns out that they do make good use of their test results that night, thoroughly. And again, the next morning in the shower. And again and again, until they each get a reminder email from the clinic that it’s time for a regular screening.

Which they each promptly delete.)

#firstprince #rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fic #firstprince fanfic #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #chamel's fandom fest #my fic

[cha-melodius]

A ship of your choice firstprince, please!

A location—(Although I dare someone to send the White House or Kensington, I WILL make it into an AU. I have ideas.) Also if you want a particular historical setting, you can feel free to include a time period too. GO NUTS, please.

Well sheesh, with that kind of tease, I suggest both the White House and Kensington Palace, circa the year 2068.

I look forward to seeing what you choose to do with this! I am certain to enjoy it, whatever it is ❤️

(This was such an intriguing prompt, and I hope you enjoy what I did with it. Also happiest of birthdays to @dumbpeachjuice, who's incredible fic "make me your god" inspired this one.)

The Impossible Soul

(M, 7.2k, read it below or on AO3)

“I shouldn’t let you do this for me,” Henry tells him in the moments before.

“You should know by now that you’re not letting me do anything, sweetheart,” Alex returns. “Anyway, I’m doing this for us.”

“Even though we still won’t be able to be together?”

“I told you, it’s only temporary. Once my mom’s no longer in office, I won’t be in the spotlight. But I can’t leave you trapped here for another four years. I won’t.” Alex cups Henry’s cheek with his hand and brushes a thumb against the corner of his perfect mouth. “Besides, what if I left you here and you forgot about me?”

Henry covers Alex’s hand with his, warm and soft. “Never.”

~~~~~

One Year Earlier

Alex didn’t think he could be surprised by AIDEs at this point, but the ones populating Kensington are really something else.

“It’s a pleasure to have you here,” Prince Henry says, his blue eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as he shakes Alex’s hand.

Alex can’t help but stare. The eyes are the hardest part, or so Nora says. All the Secret Service agents’ eyes have a kind of strange metallic glint behind them. Often it’s not even noticeable, but if you look too closely, it becomes obvious. Prince Henry’s eyes are flawless, though. Just endless, perfect blue. Really, the only flaw Alex can see in this model is that they made him inhumanly beautiful. No real person has lips like that.

Henry’s hand is warm in his, his grip firm but not too tight. Alex forces himself to let go.

“Yeah, thanks,” he says, looking around rather than staying trapped in Henry’s piercing gaze.

Palace servants flit about, attending to all of the gala guests’ needs along with those of the princes and princess. Apparently, it’s a perfect recreation of the palace’s operations from the turn of the century, back before the monarchy was abolished. Now they just keep fake royalty here, like they can’t quite let go of the idea. Alex has never understood it, and visiting hasn’t really helped. Of all the things he’s had to do on this goodwill trip, this is by far the strangest, pretending to hobnob with royalty at a fancy ball like anyone does this shit anymore. Then again, maybe showing off is the whole point, same as it ever was.

It’s not like Alex isn’t used to interacting with AIDEs. The use of Artificially Intelligent Dynamic Entities is still limited more broadly, but they’re common in dangerous or sensitive jobs. The entire Secret Service was replaced by them two administrations ago; their loyalty is never in question, nor their willingness to protect their charges at all costs. Use of AIDEs for entertainment purposes is growing in popularity too, like the Kensington ones. They play the role they’re programmed to without deviation, they don’t need to eat or sleep (though they usually do, to better mimic humanity), they can be abused or even killed without repercussion and, most importantly, they don’t need to be paid.

“I hope your visit to London has been pleasant?” Prince Henry asks with perfectly-tuned amiability. It makes Alex want to push a little, though he knows Nora would tell him it’s a futile exercise.

“Mostly I’ve been spending it in lots of meetings,” Alex says. “Kinda wish I had time to go out and see more of the city.”

“I can understand that,” Henry replies, glancing toward the doors in a way that Alex would call wistful if he didn’t know better.

Can he? Do they let them leave the palace? Probably not. Does Henry want to, though? That would be a weird thing to program into an AIDE that’s supposed to stay in one place.

“I guess you probably don’t get out much, huh?” Alex asks.

Henry smiles indulgently at his bad joke. “Not so much, no. Makes it ever-so-difficult to meet people, you know.”

Alex laughs despite himself. He’s never met an AIDE that was so self-aware. If he tries to joke with Cash about taking a day off, the agent just stares at Alex blankly. “You must talk with a lot of visitors to the palace, though.”

“I do,” Henry allows, taking a sip of his champagne. “Most of them aren’t very interesting, though. All they do is ask what it’s like to be a prince.”

“And? What’s it like?”

Henry smirks a little. “Bloody boring. Not that I can tell them that, you understand.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees, a little lost for words. Henry is nothing like what he was expecting. “So, what do you want to talk about, then?”

In response, Henry takes a step closer. He smells like fancy cologne, like linens and fresh grass, and something inside him seems to tug Alex closer. “Can I show you something? Still inside the palace, of course.”

Alex’s eyes flick over to June and Nora, chatting with someone he doesn’t recognize—AIDE or government official, he can’t tell—and the Secret Service agents linger at the periphery of the ballroom. He knows shouldn’t leave the event, but honestly chances are no one would notice he was gone. Plus, his curiosity is through the roof.

Henry takes him to a library. There are barricades set up to keep the visiting public to certain areas, but Henry slips past them and Alex follows him. Watches as Henry walks down the rows with a small, private smile curving his lips, trailing a finger along the spines. He pauses and plucks a book off the shelf—Pride and Prejudice, Alex can just make out—and smooths a hand lovingly over the cover.

“I love to read,” Henry says, almost to himself. His eyes flick up to Alex’s, shining brightly in the low light. “All those worlds… They’re incredible, don’t you think?”

Alex doesn’t know what to say. AIDEs don’t read. They don’t dream of other worlds.

“The rest of your… family,” Alex says, diplomatically. “Are they like you? I mean, with the reading.”

Henry laughs quietly and shakes his head. “No. No one’s like me.”

Alex is rapidly coming to that same conclusion.

~~~~~

“There’s nothing special about the Kensington AIDEs,” Nora tells him, sounding more beleaguered than necessary. “We talked to Princess Beatrice for like an hour, it was the same as any other AIDE. Pleasant, but a little vacant. The eyes are a neat trick, though.”

“I’m telling you, Henry is different,” Alex insists. “We talked all night. He’s aware of what he is. He reads and he thinks and he feels. Fuck, Nora, he dreams when he sleeps.”

“AIDEs don’t sleep. Not really.”

“Henry does.”

“Someone just got a little creative with the programming,” Nora says dismissively. “He’s supposed to say those things to make him seem more real. If you went back, he probably wouldn’t even remember you.”

“And what if he did?”

“Alex—”

“What if he did remember me? What if all of it really is real?” Alex presses.

Nora frowns at him. “Then there are some major ethical implications that current AI laws are frankly not prepared to deal with,” she says bluntly. “Look, it’s just not possible. They don’t have feelings, period. He’s just a fancy computer.”

“Fine. Whatever you say,” Alex huffs, mostly because he doesn’t want to have this argument anymore. She’s not going to change his mind, and clearly he’s not going to change hers.

“Promise me you’ll leave this alone. We can’t afford some kind of diplomatic incident because you got a crush on the prince AIDE.”

Alex glares at her. It’s not a crush. “I’ll leave it.”

He absolutely will not.

~~~~~

Cash doesn’t blink—literally—when Alex tells him that he’ll be visiting Kensington Palace again rather than the scheduled afternoon tea with some MP he couldn’t care less about. He sends his apologies with an excuse that he’s not feeling well and heads to the main entrance with the rest of the tourists. He has no idea where Henry might be, but AIDEs don’t take days off, so it stands to reason that he’ll be somewhere acting princely, or whatever he does all day.

Unfortunately, he gets stuck on a tour led by an AIDE with a dirty blonde bob and green eyes who most definitely shows none of Henry’s spark. It’s boring as fuck, and he almost bails more than once, but this place is huge and he’d probably get lost forever before he found Henry. They go past a few rooms Alex recognizes, but there’s no sign of the ‘royal family’ anywhere, and Alex starts to worry. Maybe they only trot them out for big events. Maybe you have to buy a special tour package. Ugh, his mom is going to kill him if he ditches any more events.

“Next, we’ll visit the palace library,” the guide says, and Alex perks up.

This has got to be his chance. Henry had said they were basically allowed free run of the palace so long as they remained in areas where they’d run into visitors during operating hours, and Alex knows there’s nowhere Henry would rather be than the library. Sure enough, he’s reading in a massive armchair by one of the windows, though he gets up when the tour group enters and comes over to talk to them. His face is fixed in a pleasant, bland smile as he looks over the group, until his eyes land on Alex. The flash of recognition is clear, even if he recovers quickly, and Alex’s heart thuds a little harder in his chest.

He lingers toward the back as the rest of the visitors ask Henry about living in the palace and being a prince—exactly as he said they would. He answers graciously, of course, the words so bland and scripted that Alex almost wonders if maybe he hadn’t been drinking too much champagne during the gala. But he hangs back when everyone else files out, and as soon as Henry turns to him, his eyes practically light up.

“You came back,” Henry says, his voice soft with something like wonder.

“Of course I did,” Alex replies. “We didn’t finish our conversation.”

Henry ducks his head, blond hair falling alluringly over his forehead as his cheeks turn pink. The way their bodies mimic human physiology is astounding sometimes. “I suppose we didn’t. Would you care to walk with me in the gardens? It’s a lovely day.”

“Can we do that?”

“Ironically, you’re allowed so long as you have one of us with you, and I’m allowed so long as I’m with a guest,” Henry explains. “Plus, you’re a foreign dignitary. No one will bother us.”

“Sure you wanna be seen with me? My sister would say I’m the furthest thing from dignified,” Alex says, grinning probably a little too broadly.

Henry’s smile slants mischievous as he steps close enough for Alex to get a noseful of linen and fresh grass again. “Maybe I like that about you.”

~~~~

“Have you ever been outside the palace?” Alex asks on his next visit. Nora had given him a look like she knew exactly what he’s been up to when he’d begged off from an official tour of the British Museum, even though he hasn’t brought up Henry again. The fact that she’d found him down a rabbit hole of academic papers about AIDE psychology probably hadn’t helped anything.

“Not that I remember,” Henry answers. It’s rainy today, so they’re ensconced in some kind of parlor with ornate, uncomfortable furniture. The fact that Henry only knows this life is outrageous. Has he ever truly been comfortable? Does anyone even care? “They gave me a basic knowledge of London as a background. I’m supposed to be fond of the Victoria & Albert Museum, but I’ve never seen it myself.”

“That’s fucked up,” Alex blurts.

Henry shrugs. “It’s just how it is.”

“How does none of this ever seem to bother you?”

“It can’t bother me, Alex. My entire existence has been—and will be—only this, and if I allowed any of it to bother me, I’d go mad.”

This does not, in fact, make Alex feel any better about the situation. “Guess I’ll just have to be angry for the both of us, then.”

“I’d rather you weren’t,” Henry says mildly. “It’s no use being upset about my life. Nothing can be changed.”

“Bad idea to tell me something can’t be changed, sweetheart. I fucking love a challenge,” Alex returns. He’s not joking, but Henry laughs anyway. “I’m serious, Henry. You deserve to get things you want, too.”

“What if I said I wanted you not to worry about it? That I want you to be happy?”

“Because you’re programmed to?” Alex counters, letting more bitterness than he means to slip into his voice.

Henry reaches out and slides a hand over Alex’s fist where it’s curled on his thigh. “Because I like you, Alex.”

~~~~

On the last visit he can manage before he leaves London, Alex brings Henry a cell phone.

“What’s this for?” Henry asks when Alex hands it to him. It’s a cheap smartphone, pay as you go, something that Alex can renew the data and minutes on remotely.

Alex frowns at him. He would have figured Henry would be familiar with the concept of phones, but maybe they purposefully programmed him to not recognize it. “It’s for communication. Audio, text, video—”

“I know what a phone is, Alex,” Henry says wryly, interrupting him before Alex can make a fool of himself. “I mean why are you giving it to me?”

“I’d like to keep talking to you after I go home,” Alex tells him, feeling oddly exposed by the question. “If that’s something you’d like, too.”

Henry smiles, almost bashfully. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“I assume you’re not allowed to have that,” Alex says with a nod at the phone.

“I don’t think anyone would consider it a possibility that we might,” Henry muses, “but I’ll keep it hidden nonetheless.”

“Good plan.”

“I’m going to miss your visits, Alex,” Henry says earnestly. “I’ll miss you.”

AIDEs can’t miss things, Alex’s brain supplies, an oft-repeated truism. He feels vaguely sick, leaving Henry here like this.

“Yeah,” Alex croaks, unable to quite meet Henry’s bright blue eyes. “I’ll miss you too.”

~~~~~

“How would you get a site-locked AIDE off the premises?” Alex casually asks Nora one late night at the Residence, when they’re deep in the weeds of polls and projections.

The campaign has been rough; rougher than the first one. Or maybe it’s just that Alex is far more involved in the filthy underbelly of it this time around. The experience has definitely made him question his resolve to go into politics. Then again, sometimes it feels like his only option to make a difference in the way he wants to. These days he frequently gets into arguments about the need for more protections for AIDEs, though right now it feels like a losing battle. They’re not supposed to need protections, that’s the point of them, and no one believes him when he suggests that they might have more in common with humans than previously believed.

It’s been months. Months of texting, and phone calls, and occasional video chats. Months of getting to know Henry—the real him, beyond his programmed backstory. For his part, Henry has seemingly blossomed further with access to the internet. Alex was admittedly not certain that was a great idea, but Henry seems to stay off the darker parts. He watches a lot of Bake Off, apparently. He’s obsessed with some cute beagle account on Instagram. He reads travel blogs and insists that just knowing that these wonderful places exist is enough for him.

Alex doesn’t believe him. Well, he believes Henry believes that, but that doesn’t stop Alex from yearning to show Henry some of them in person. Even something in London would be worth it. Hence, the question.

Nora looks at him like she knows exactly what he’s on about. He’s kept his correspondence with Henry a secret from everyone, but he’s pretty sure she suspects something is up. Him broaching this topic all but confirms that, but he needs the help.

“Permanently, or short-term?” she asks.

“Let’s go with short-term to start.”

Another capital-L Look. “Well,” she says eventually, “I would probably hack into the control system and override the barrier protocols. These systems are self-healing, though. You’d have a couple of hours at most.”

“And what happens if the AIDE was off-site when the system kicked back on?” Alex asks.

“Depends on the program. Possibly just an alarm or something. Most of the time it’s full deactivation though.”

“They kill them?”

“AIDEs aren’t alive, Alejandro,” Nora says pointedly. Alex bites his tongue. “But yes, in a manner of speaking.”

“Fuck,” Alex breathes, wiping his hands over his face. “And to permanently get him out?”

It’s a slip. He’s not dumb enough to think she missed it, though she doesn’t show it.

“Not entirely sure,” she admits. “I’d need one of the tablets they use to control them so I could go into the AIDE’s code. And good luck with that; the companies that make them have some of the tightest security out there.”

“Yeah, of course.”

She turns back to her laptop, and Alex half-expects the conversation is done, at least for now. But then, as she’s typing, she says, “I assume this isn’t idle curiosity.”

Alex sighs. “No.”

~~~~~

It takes nine months from their first meeting for Alex to find a reason to visit London. His mother offhandedly mentions sending someone to some conference he doesn’t really care about, and he jumps at the chance. All he can think about is Henry. Being in the same city as him again. Seeing him. Touching him.

Alex has had time to come to terms with his desire for Henry. Honestly, the bisexuality was easy compared to the AIDE aspect of it. Nora is fond of pointing out that they’re literally designed to be desirable, even the ones not populating what basically pass for sexy amusement parks, but Alex doesn’t just want Henry physically. He wants to spend time with him, to make him laugh and see the crinkle of his eyes not through a phone screen.

Frankly, he also wouldn’t mind a little clarity on the whole situation. To either get incontrovertible proof that Henry is fundamentally the same as a person, or else be reminded that he isn’t, that Alex has deluded himself into believing Henry was more than a machine (a possibility that Nora regularly reminds him of).

On the flight over, Alex finds himself watching Cash, not for the first time. He’s doing a sudoku puzzle, which can’t really be much of a challenge for him. Still, he works on them religiously. Did someone program that into him? Or does Cash actually enjoy doing them?

“Do you like your job, Cash?” Alex asks.

Cash looks up at him, setting his ballpoint pen down—he does the puzzles in pen because he never makes a mistake. He’s got an expression on like he doesn’t really understand Alex’s question, even though it should be straightforward. “It’s my job,” he finally says.

“Yeah, but do you like it?” Alex pushes. “Do you find it fulfilling?”

The tip of his head means Cash is analyzing Alex’s body language. After another moment, he says, “Yes.”

Alex can’t quite hold back a sigh. The answer is predictable. Cash is only saying that because he thinks Alex wants to hear it. That’s what AIDEs do, they anticipate your needs and wants.

“Is that not the right answer?” Cash asks, frowning.

“Don’t worry about it,” Alex says.

He knows Cash won’t.

~~~~~

Henry is understandably nervous about the plan. It is, after all, his life on the line.

“The control system will go down at the very end of the visiting day, so we can slip out with the exiting crowds,” Alex tells him. “It’s gonna look like maintenance, which shouldn’t set off any red flags right away. Between that and the roadblocks Nora’s set up, we should have five hours.”

“For what?” Henry asks.

Alex just grins. “It’s a surprise, sweetheart.”

Henry looks even more human in Alex’s Longhorns baseball cap and hoodie. Soft. Dangerously so. It makes Alex want to do reckless things. Instead, he sets his watch for four and a half hours and reminds himself how high the stakes are. He’s arranged everything just so tonight. No surprises.

The escape goes off without a hitch, and Alex breathes a sigh of relief once they’re making their way through the crowded city streets. Out here, the two of them are completely unremarkable, even with Cash trailing a few steps behind them. Henry seems to take it all in stride, though Alex doesn’t miss the quiet looks of awe that steal over his face as he takes in the city. They stop and get falafel at a food truck. Henry asks to pet every dog they come across. He looks indescribably happy in a way that makes Alex’s heart clench in his chest.

At the back entrance to the museum, Alex pays off the night guard—not an AIDE, thank god, they’re nearly impossible to bribe—and they slip inside, leaving Cash by the door. It doesn’t take long for Henry to catch on.

“You brought me to the V&A,” Henry breathes as he looks around.

It had seemed like the obvious choice, after what Henry had told him. “I’ve never actually been here,” Alex admits.

“That’s all right, love,” Henry says, grinning now. “I know my way around.”

Alex has never been so enraptured by someone telling him about art, but it’s impossible not to be taken in by the passion with which Henry speaks about the sculptures. He tells Alex about Tipu’s Tiger, about Giambologna, about Narcissus and Zephyr and Pluto rendered exquisitely in marble. His programming hadn’t bothered to give him anything more than a general interest; all of Henry’s knowledge comes from reading in the palace library—and now on the phone Alex gave him—and he’s apparently done a lot of it. His programming also has nothing to do with the wonder and emotion in his voice, with the tears that glitter in his eyes when he gets overwhelmed by the experience.

Machines don’t cry over art. They just don’t. Art is supposed to be a fundamentally human experience, which is proof enough to Alex that, whatever he was designed as, Henry is just as human as Alex is now.

~~~~~

In the Santa Chiara chapel, Henry finally pauses and turns his awe on Alex.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” he murmurs, closing the space between them until only inches remain. Alex has to tip his head up to meet Henry’s bright gaze, and his heart thuds hard in his chest. “You risked so much to give this moment to me. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You deserve it,” Alex tells him, meaning every word of it. “You deserve the entire world.”

“Alex,” Henry breathes.

Alex doesn’t think; he leans up and presses their lips together, a fleeting thing, over before he can convince himself it was a mistake. Except it was, because now he knows the softness of Henry’s lips against his, and he’ll never be satisfied with anything else. Henry’s eyes are wide when he pulls back, his lips slightly parted, and all at once Alex curses his impulsivity. What if Henry thinks that’s what he wants in return, that he owes Alex part of himself for this, when the last thing Alex wants is to take advantage of his programmed desire to please?

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

But Henry presses a hand against his face and pulls him in again, slides their lips together with intention, leaves Alex breathless when he pulls away again.

“You don’t have to do that,” Alex breathes into the silence afterward. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I want to,” Henry says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I want you, Alex.”

“You’re not just saying that because you think I want you to?”

Henry laughs a little, shaking his head. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you,” he confesses. “I can assure you, that wasn’t programmed. And neither is this.”

This time, when Henry kisses him, Alex can’t help but smile into it.

~~~~~

They go off-plan. There are two hours left when Alex takes Henry back to his hotel room and presses him back into the bed. Peels away their clothes and kisses across warm skin that feels no different from his own under his lips. Henry gasps and twitches under him as Alex takes him in hand; for an AIDE that was only supposed to staff a museum, whoever designed him really went all out on the anatomy.

“Have you ever done this?” Alex murmurs into the crease of his hip, breathing in the scent of him. Linen and fresh grass and something else, musky and heady.

Henry shakes his head, and relief floods through Alex. It isn’t some virginity kink, ok? He’s just heard stories of how some people treat AIDEs no matter what their jobs are, like they’re free for the taking because they never say no, and he’s glad Henry’s never been in that situation.

“And you’re sure you want to with me?”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Henry nearly growls. He drags Alex up from between his legs and kisses him hard, then rolls them over so he’s on top, straddling Alex’s waist. Slides back until Alex’s cock is pressing into the cleft of his ass and rocks his hips in a way that makes them both moan. “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

Alex is pretty sure he sees God when Henry lowers himself onto his cock, sitting upright with one hand behind him gripping Alex’s thigh and the other splayed over Alex’s chest. Or maybe it’s just that Henry looks like a god, like one of the mythical marble sculptures in the V&A, muscles rippling beneath his skin, but warm and yielding and vibrant and alive.

You’re unreal, Alex almost says, but that’s not quite it. Henry like this is very, very real. Impossible might be a better word.

Henry is impossible, and Alex is impossibly in love with him.

~~~~~

“Do you think you could steal one of the tablets they use to access your code?” Alex asks as they lie together in the darkness. His ear is pressed to Henry’s chest, listening to the steady thud of his circulatory pump—not quite a heart, but not not one either.

Henry’s hand cards through his hair, idly twirling Alex’s curls around his fingers. “What are you planning, love?”

Alex tips his face up to look at him. “Can you?”

“I doubt I can,” Henry answers after a pause, “but the technician responsible for us… he may be willing to help.”

“And you trust him?”

“He’s protected me before. I think he knows about my… differences.”

Alex hums. “How do we contact him?”

~~~~~

What Shaan Srivastava is not willing to do is speak over any sort of electronic form of communication, which Alex honestly takes as a good sign. They meet in a cafe on the other side of London, the day before Alex is set to leave.

“I want to get him out,” Alex tells him plainly. “For good.”

“Mountchristen Technologies puts numerous failsafes into the AIDEs they build,” Shaan tells him. “Trackers. Latent viruses. Kill switches.”

“Can they be disabled?”

Shaan takes a sip of his tea. “I have an idea, but I have no way of implementing it. I’m just responsible for keeping them in good working order. I’m not a coder.”

The hope that flares up in Alex’s chest is dangerous but oh-so-seductive. “I think I know someone who could help with that.”

~~~~~

“This is insane,” Nora tells him. “You honestly think it’s a good idea to pull off some kind of heist from the world’s biggest tech company a month before the election?”

“No,” Alex says reasonably. “That’s why we’re waiting until after. I convinced mom to let me take a trip to London between New Years and the inauguration.”

Nora shakes her head, every movement like a knife in Alex’s gut. “I can’t do this. I won’t. I never should have helped you on that little excursion in the first place, but this is a whole ‘nother level. We could both go to jail for who knows how long. And for what? Because you fucked an AIDE and now you want him for yourself?”

“Fuck you,” Alex nearly shouts. “I love him, asshole! I can’t let him stay a— a slave in that fucking palace.”

“He’s a machine! That’s what he was designed for, Alex!”

“Maybe he was, but that doesn’t mean that’s what he is now,” Alex insists. He holds out the tablet that she has yet to take from him. “Just look at his code. Even I can tell it isn’t like anything else out there.”

Finally, she snatches the tablet from him and jabs at it a few times. Her frown gets deeper. “There’s something wrong with this tablet,” she says eventually. “It’s not displaying things properly.”

“It is.”

“It can’t be, this level of complexity is impossible—”

“He’s writing his own fucking code, Nora,” Alex interrupts. Shaan had explained his theory on Henry’s code as best he was able before Alex left London. “With every one of the choices he was never supposed to be able to make. That’s why it looks like that.”

Heavy silence stretches between them as Nora stares at the tablet, occasionally swiping around and tapping. She chews on her lip. “It shouldn’t be possible,” she mutters, half to herself.

“But it is. He is. Please, Nora,” Alex pleads, not caring how desperate he sounds. “I’ll do anything.”

“Yeah, well. Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

~~~~~

“You need to understand that the changes to his code means that accessing the safeguards is much more difficult.”

“Ok.”

“And I can’t guarantee that this will work. We can’t test it out. Once we shut him down, there’s no way to know exactly what will happen when we boot him back up again. He might come back the same as he is now, but he also might undergo some kind of reset. Even if he retains his free will, he might not remember his life before. He might not remember you.”

Alex swallows hard. “I understand.”

“Does he?”

~~~~~

It takes Alex a month to work up the nerve to broach the topic with Henry. On video call not long after the election, he explains Nora’s plan, how they need to do a full shutdown so she can extract the safeguards like a surgeon. He makes himself explain the risks even though his first impulse is to downplay them. Henry deserves to know, deserves to make the decision for himself. Alex would be a huge fucking hypocrite to take that away from him.

That doesn’t mean he’s required to like Henry’s reaction, though.

“It’s too much risk,” Henry says, a stubborn look on his face that Alex is very familiar with by now. “Things are fine now.”

“They’re really not,” Alex argues. “You’re no better than a prisoner there, Henry. Your freedom is worth the risk.”

“It’s not.”

“Of course it fucking is!” Alex snaps, rapidly becoming frustrated by this argument.

“Not when it could mean losing you!” Henry bites out. He presses his lips together and looks away from the camera, but Alex can see the tears shining in his eyes. “My memories of you—of the museum, of us,” he says eventually, his voice unsteady, “are the only things I have that are truly mine. And you tell me I could lose them… I can’t do it. I’d rather stay here forever.”

“Don’t you understand?” Alex pleads. He wants to reach through the screen and grab him, turn his face and make Henry look at him. “I’m trying to give you the world, baby.”

“I don’t want the world,” Henry says miserably. “Please, Alex. It’s better this way. You may think this is worth it now, but one day you’ll change your mind when you realize that having a secret AIDE lover isn’t exactly compatible with a political career. You’ll want to be with a real person. Someone whose affection you can be certain isn’t just programming. Just… leave me here with my memories.”

Then Henry hangs up on him.

~~~~~

Henry doesn’t answer his calls or reply to his texts, and Alex couldn’t be more miserable. He doesn’t eat and sleeps only fitfully, which confuses his family. Everyone’s still riding a high from winning the election. They think Alex is seriously ill and try to bring in a doctor, but nothing’s physically wrong with him. He can’t tell them he’s suffering from a broken heart like some pining Victorian maiden.

On the fifth day, Nora comes storming into his bedroom in the White House and throws a duffle bag at his chest.

“Pack your shit, we’re going to London,” she says bluntly. “Also take a shower. You reek.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s Henry.” She waves the tablet in the air, which is still linked to Henry’s code in real time. “Someone’s trying to make changes to his code.”

Alex flops back down onto his bed and stares at the ceiling. “It’s probably just him deciding he’s done with me.”

“God, you’re pathetic,” she huffs, now rummaging through his dresser. “It’s not him. Looks like someone else is poking around, and that can’t be a good thing.”

That’s enough to make him rocket straight out of bed, an icy spike of dread shooting down his spine. “Have you gotten in contact with Shaan?”

Nora shakes her head. “No. He’s radio silent.”

“Fuck.”

“I booked us tickets with your credit card on a flight that leaves in two hours, so hurry the fuck up.”

“Nora, is he—” Alex starts before his voice clips off as his throat closes. He forces out, “Can you tell… is he ok?”

Her expression softens, and she puts a hand on his forearm and squeezes. “For now.”

~~~~~

The good thing about Kensington being a museum is that no one can stop him from just buying a ticket and going in. He’s been here enough times to know his way to the library, at least, which is where he goes first, barely aware that Nora’s following hot on his heels. All he can think about is Henry.

Henry’s not in the library, though, nor in any of the surrounding rooms. Alex stops a palace attendant and asks for directions to Prince Henry’s apartments, which she helpfully provides. It’s a part of the palace that’s not on any tours, but that doesn’t seem to matter. A palace attendant’s directive to be helpful to humans is off the charts, even for an AIDE.

Somehow he’s not expecting Shaan to answer the door when he knocks. Alex immediately shoulders his way into the room, anger and fear an unholy cocktail in his veins.

“Where is he? What going on here?” he demands, frantically looking around. “Henry, baby, where are you?”

“Mr. Claremont-Diaz—”

“Henry!” There’s no answer, and Alex rounds on Shaan again. “Are you doing this to him?”

Shaan sighs, and it forces Alex to look closer, to take in the bags under his eyes and the grim set to his face. “I told you, I’m not a coder, Mr. Claremont-Diaz. I have, however, been doing my best to slow their progress.”

“What’s happening?” Alex demands.

“Someone higher in the company noticed Henry’s unusual code. I’m not sure how. A standard review of the AIDEs in the palace, I suppose. Or your trip out of Kensington was less secret than you hoped.”

Fuck. None of that is good. Alex scrubs a hand over his face, forces himself to take steady breaths and not descend into a panic attack. “Ok, ok. Is he all right?”

“Alex?”

Alex’s head whips around so fast he nearly strains his neck. Henry’s standing in the doorway, dressed in his usual slacks and button-down with a blue v-neck sweater over it. He looks… normal, and Alex nearly sobs in relief.

“Baby,” he breathes, practically throwing himself across the room and into Henry’s arms. He buries his face in Henry’s neck and breathes deeply, and the barbed wire wrapped tightly around his heart loosens a little.

“What are you doing here?” Henry asks, his strong arms wrapping automatically around Alex’s body.

Alex yanks his head back and looks askance at Shaan. “Does he not know?” He stares up at Henry. “Your code is under attack.”

“Ah, yes,” Henry says carefully. “It’s not the first time.”

“This has happened to you before?” Nora asks, and Henry looks at her in shock, like he hadn’t realized she was in the room.

“You must be Nora,” he surmises. “Yes, it has. I might have thought you’d have noticed the effects in my code.”

A look of understanding dawns over Nora’s face, and she nods. “They’re like scars. Fuck. How many times?”

“It’s not important,” Henry says in a way that suggests he’s been doing this for a long time. “The main point is that I can handle them.”

“Fuck that,” Alex spits out. “I’m not letting them scar you anymore.”

Henry closes his eyes and sighs wearily as he extracts himself from Alex’s grip. “Alex, love, you shouldn’t be here—”

“No, you listen, asshole,” Alex snaps, his terror giving way to fury. “You can’t fucking hang up on me this time.”

“I told you my decision, Alex—”

“And what about what I want? Doesn’t that mean anything?”

“Fine,” Henry says shortly, his own temper flaring. “You know as well as I that we can’t be together as long as your mother’s in office and the public’s eyes are on you. So if you still want me in four years, come back and we’ll talk then. You know where I’ll be.”

He says it with a humorless slant to his lips that’s probably supposed to pass as a wry grin, like it’s a joke. Alex wants to fucking scream.

“And let them keep on trying to chip away at what makes you you? Take the chance that they’ll just get rid of you?” he retorts instead. “Fat fucking chance! I’m not leaving the man I love in captivity for four fucking years!”

It takes Henry’s eyes going wide and his mouth falling open for Alex to realize what he’s said. “Alex, you can’t—”

“What, love you? Because I do,” Alex says defiantly. “And I think you love me too.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you AIDEs can’t love?” Henry says, his voice wavering as he stares at the floor.

Alex steps close, forcing Henry to look up at him, until their noses are almost brushing. “Yeah, well, I know better,” he says, low and heated. “I also know I’m not gonna want anyone else, ‘real person’ or not. You’re a real person to me, Henry, and that’s what matters.” He raises a hand to Henry’s cheek and swipes his thumb through the tear track streaking it. “You’re it for me, sweetheart. I’m never gonna love anyone like I love you, and no one can take that away. Plus,” he adds, for the first time letting a corner of his mouth tug upward, “you know how annoyingly persistent I am. If you forget me, I’ll just make you fall in love with me all over again.”

Henry lets out a wet laugh and covers Alex’s hand with his. “It won’t take long.”

~~~~~

Seeing Henry shut down is wrong. He doesn’t even look dead, he just looks… not there. There’s no light in his eyes. Alex hates it. Can’t make himself watch as Nora works furiously.

It takes longer than he expected, but eventually she takes a deep breath and mutters, “Here goes nothing,” then taps a big green button on the tablet.

Henry’s eyelashes flutter as he wakes up. He looks around the room, eyes landing in turn on Shaan, Nora, and Alex. He holds Alex’s gaze and Alex stares back as if he could make Henry remember him through sheer force of will.

“Hello,” Henry says pleasantly. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”

~~~~~

Five Years Later

Alex stands at the end of the long driveway that leads to a small bungalow by the sea on a tiny island in the middle of the Caribbean. He’s got a bouquet of flowers clutched in one hand, which feels silly now. Maybe this was a mistake.

He’s kept tabs on Henry and his life after leaving Kensington. From what he can tell, Henry seems happy. He visits the markets and restaurants, knows the locals, and spends lots of time writing. He’s never taken a lover, but Alex doesn’t let himself believe that’s because of him.

It seemed easier, if they were going to have to be apart, to not fill Henry in on their history at first. At least one of them could weather the years without heartache. Alex threw himself into law school, letting nothing distract him. Graduated at the top of his class, got the job of his dreams working for a firm specializing in civil rights litigation, one of the few considering cases related to AIDE protections. He lives a pretty quiet life. No one really cares about what the former FSOTUS is up to these days. And now he’s here, half a decade later, with little more than hope.

Hope, and a wilting bouquet of flowers.

In his darker moments, he’s wondered if it wouldn’t be kinder to Henry to leave him be. Let him live his life. After all, Alex will get old and die, and Henry… won’t. No one really knows how AIDEs might break down over time—their organic-based bodies must, eventually—but their lifespans will surely be much longer than a human’s. In that context, coming back and hoping Henry will fall in love with him again seems nothing but selfish.

Still, he made a promise, and he owes it to Henry to tell him, if nothing else. Maybe Henry will decide that he’s happy as he is, that he doesn’t want the eventual heartache. He owes it to Henry to let him choose.

The gravel of Henry’s driveway crunches loudly under his shoes as he walks toward the bungalow, announcing his arrival as well as any doorbell. When he gets closer, he catches sight of Henry sitting on the porch that faces the beach, a notebook on his lap and a drink on the table next to him. They’d dyed his hair brown after fleeing Kensington, and brown it has remained. He’s still as pale as ever, though; AIDEs don’t tan or get sunburned.

He doesn’t turn at the sound of Alex’s approach, just stares fixedly out at the ocean until Alex stops at the bottom of the two steps that lead up to the porch. Alex’s heart is in his throat when Henry finally gets up and walks to the top of the steps. The smile on his face is warm, fond. Nothing like what he’d left Alex with when they’d parted.

It shouldn’t be possible… but then again, Henry is the very embodiment of the impossible.

He holds out his hand, and Alex climbs up to take it, letting Henry pull him in.

“Hello, love,” Henry says, raising a warm hand to his cheek. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fic #firstprince fanfic #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #my fic #chamel's fandom fest

[cha-melodius]

Hi friend! Congrats again on 100 works! Thank you for offering to write more for us! ❤️I'd like to request 1. firstprince and 2. Kensington as an AU, but only because you dared us to! Alternatively, if someone already requested that and you don't want to duplicate, I'd be interested in a hockey AU set inside the rink! Thank you again, I am so excited to see what you come up with and to read more of your words!

(Thank you so much for taking my bait lol, I've wanted to write this canon-divergence AU where they hook up in Kensington during the damage control trip for a while now. I hope you enjoy!)

Falling Down the Stairs of Your Smile

(firstprince, 4.1k, M; read it below or on AO3) read all the fandom fest fics

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. They were supposed to finish up at the hospital, and then Henry would go back to whatever the fuck he does while Alex went to the airstrip. He’d fly back to DC, so that maybe he’d be able to get some schoolwork done before Monday, and try to forget that this ridiculous weekend ever happened—barring the fact that he and Henry were still obligated to keep up the fake friendship for a few more months, that is.

Instead, Cash comes up to him as they stand outside of Kensington with a slightly grim look on his face and says, “Change of plans.”

“Huh?”

“They discovered an issue with the plane during the flight prep. It needs some part that they’re not going to be able to get until tomorrow morning. We’ll leave then.”

“What do you mean, they can’t get it? Why not?” Alex demands. Surely in a country with fucking royalty, nothing is out of grasp for said royals and their guests.

Cash shrugs. “Didn’t ask. The palace confirmed you can stay another night.”

Alex groans probably a little too dramatically. “What about my classes?”

“I am, in fact, very aware of your class schedule,” Cash says dryly. “You’ll be back in time.”

“I don’t have another change of clothes.”

“Pretty sure Kensington has laundry.”

“I’m really not getting out of this, am I?”

“Nope.”

Alex sighs and looks over to where Henry is standing with Shaan by the front gates. There’s a look of trepidation on his face, no doubt because he’s just been told that he’ll have to deal with Alex for another night. Of course, that’s not a given. Henry will probably disappear into his apartments and ignore him, which suits Alex fine. They may have reached a kind of détente today, but they’re not friends.

“Sorry to hear about your plane,” Henry says as they get back into the car that will drive them further into the palace.

Alex shrugs. “It’s fine. I guess I’ll have to survive the hardship of ten thousand thread count sheets another night.”

Henry huffs a little laugh and grins. It’s kind of amazing how different he looks when he smiles for real. “I know you’ve probably had your fill of me today, so feel free to say no, but…” He hesitates a moment, as if waiting for Alex to shut him down before he even makes his proposal. “I was thinking of ordering in curry for dinner tonight. There’s a place not far away that’s quite good. Maybe watch a film?”

It’s pretty much the last thing Alex expected him to say. He wonders if this is another olive branch, an acknowledgement that it’ll be easier to pretend they’re friends if they’re actually… kinda friends. Surprisingly, Alex doesn’t hate the idea.

“What movie?” he counters.

“Well, I would suggest one of the Star Wars films, but I’m not sure we could agree on one.”

“If we’re not going to watch the best one, aka Empire—”

“You mean Return of the Jedi,” Henry interjects.

“—I guess that leaves the next best.”

“So, Rogue One?”

Alex grins. “Ok, maybe we can be friends, after all.”

He’s absolutely not letting himself think about the warmth that grows in his chest when Henry laughs.

~~~~~

Alex discovers that there’s a room in Kensington that’s pretty much as tricked out as you can get without being in a movie theater—“There’s an actual theater in Buckingham,” Henry tells him, “but Dad had this put in for family film nights”—with a massive screen and a killer sound system. They eat their curry out of take-out containers on a surprisingly comfortable, normal couch as the movie plays, keeping up a running commentary between them that ranges from Star Wars lore to the cast (“Come on, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t follow Diego Luna anywhere. Look at him!” Alex insists, which garners him a strange look from Henry) to random things entirely unconnected to the movie.

Turns out Henry is actually really funny, which is a fucking shock and kind of annoying except for how he leaves Alex in stitches several times. It’s absurdly easy between them in a way that it shouldn’t be, and Alex can’t remember the last time he had this much fun just hanging out with someone. And it’s Henry. What is his life, even.

“I can’t believe you like this one,” Alex says as they watch Jyn and Cassian embrace desperately on the beach. “It’s pretty much the opposite of a happy ending. For the main characters, at least.”

Henry hums, tipping his head slightly. “They give up everything in the service of a cause bigger than themselves, and they succeed. There’s something beautiful about that.”

“God, you are a sap,” Alex teases, bumping his shoulder up against Henry’s. Somehow they’ve managed to migrate closer on the couch over the course of the movie, until they’re practically touching.

“And why do you like it, then?” Henry counters. “The action and spies and intrigue?”

“Not only that,” Alex says. “But there’s a reason I’m a big Bond fan.”

A smile flickers across Henry’s face that’s a little melancholy but mostly contented. “I suppose that makes sense given what I know of your movie tastes now.”

“Also, your dad was a total babe.”

Henry’s eyes go wide as he chokes on a laugh. “I beg you to not.”

They lapse into silence as the final scenes as the credits start to roll. The movie is over and it’s getting late, but all Alex can think of is that he really doesn’t want the night to end yet. Which is crazy. Twenty-four hours ago Alex was actively cursing this man’s name, and now he seemingly can’t get enough of spending time with him. It doesn’t make any sense, but somehow it does; it’s the same feeling that he was chasing all those years ago in Rio, the one that pushed him to go up an introduce himself at exactly the wrong time, the one that made the hurt of that encounter linger for so long in his psyche.

“Hey, uh,” he says eventually, turning slightly to look at Henry, “thanks for suggesting this. It was fun.”

“I hope it made up for being stuck in London longer than you wanted,” Henry replies, his voice low and soft.

“Definitely.”

Henry smiles, a warm and pleased one that stretches his lips and crinkles the corners of his eyes, and Alex feels like he’s being pulled in by the magnetism of it. He wants to get closer, despite how close they’re already sitting. His fingers twitch with the urge to touch—the soft blond hair falling over Henry’s forehead, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the fullness of his lips. He’s always known Henry was objectively good-looking, but Jesus, where does he get off being so pretty? It’s annoying, really.

Alex isn’t trying to make things weird, but he also can’t quite help the way his eyes are drawn inexorably down to those plush lips, still curved in a gentle smile. Who even has lips like that, does he get fillers or something, because they can’t be real, except they look very, very real, Alex hasn’t even ever kissed any girls with lips that nice, that look that soft—

Something short circuits in Alex’s brain and he just— has to know. How soft they really are. Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s leaning in and pressing his lips to Henry’s, which are, as it turns out, extremely soft. It only lasts for a second before his brain comes back online and he realizes Henry’s frozen stiff, which is fair, because Alex has no fucking clue what he’s doing. He hasn’t kissed a boy since Liam and this was not the fucking boy to just kiss out of nowhere. He’s gonna get, like, locked in the Tower of London or something.

He wrenches away as quickly as he leaned in, meeting Henry’s wide, stunned eyes (—still so so blue, how can they be that blue—), his lips slightly parted and just a little damp from Alex’s.

“Shit,” Alex breathes in a rush. “Fucking shit— I don’t know why I did that, I’m so sorry, Henry, I didn’t mean anything by it—”

“Alex,” Henry murmurs, but Alex is too far gone in his spiral at this point.

“—I promise, it was just— I mean, I’m not even—”

“Alex.”

Alex stops in the middle of a word, his mouth hanging open. Henry’s got some kind of strange look on his face that he can’t parse at all.

“Did it really not mean anything?” he asks slowly.

The thing is, Alex has no idea what it means. Absolutely none. Something inside him—something he doesn’t really understand—wanted to do it, but like, just as an objective experiment. Except that part of him wants to do it again, even though he already got his answer. Really wants Henry to kiss him back. Which is making him feel a little insane.

Alex closes his mouth, licks his lips, and swallows hard.

“That depends,” he says cautiously, “on what you want it to mean.”

For some reason, that makes Henry growl in frustration and cast his eyes to the ceiling. Then he groans, “Christ, Alex, you’re so—”, grabs Alex’s face between both hands, and kisses him soundly.

Alex’s insides go positively molten. Henry’s hands are gripping his jaw, and in his hair, and Alex can’t help but press closer. His own hands find Henry’s narrow waist, reveling in the dip of it, the heat of his body scorching through the thin fabric of his shirt, and the only thing currently occupying Alex’s mind is a desperate urge to feel bare skin under his palms. That is, until Henry slides his tongue along Alex’s lower lip, sucks it into his mouth and tugs on it with his teeth, and Alex stops thinking altogether.

Their positions are a little awkward, twisted toward each other on the couch as they are, and Alex isn’t sure if he pulls or Henry pushes—or maybe both—but a moment later Henry is unfolding his long legs and shifting to straddle Alex’s lap, which is both incredible and incredibly overwhelming. Especially when Henry’s hips rock forward and Alex can feel his growing arousal pressing into the rapidly tightening region of Alex’s pants.

Jesus, this is— it’s— it’s a lot, but the very last thing Alex wants to happen is for it to stop.

He absolutely does not whimper when Henry pulls back, sending Alex unconsciously chasing after his lips. Fortunately, Henry doesn’t go far. He presses their foreheads together, breathing raggedly into the space between them as his thumb swipes across Alex’s cheek.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Henry breathes, and yeah, Alex had no fucking clue.

His mind is spinning at a thousand miles an hour, and he has no idea what to say to that besides: “Fuck.”

Henry chuckles softly, nudging their noses together. “Indeed.” He presses a soft kiss to Alex’s lips, then another to the corner of his mouth and one to the edge of his jaw. “Do you want to… go somewhere we won’t be interrupted?” he murmurs into Alex’s ear, and his warm breath combined with the words makes Alex tremble under him.

Alex swallows hard as his hands tighten on Henry’s hips, but he hesitates a moment too long because then Henry is actually pulling back, a concerned expression creasing his brow.

“Which is not to say— we don’t have to do anything more if you don’t want— I just thought—”

“I want to,” Alex blurts, surprising even himself. He’s not entirely sure what more means to Henry, but he knows he wants it. Jesus, does he want. “Yes. Fuck. Let’s do that.”

Henry grins, wide and nearly blinding in its brilliance, and Alex thinks he would do just about anything to see that smile on his face always.

They clamber off the couch, adjusting themselves with shared, knowing giggles, then Henry grabs his hand and tugs Alex through formal, stuffy corridors lined with portraits and antiques, which just adds a certain something to the absurdity of the whole situation. Somehow it’s not a surprise that Henry’s apartments are just as impersonal and opulent as the rest of the palace, full of hideous floral wallpaper and baroque furniture. Before, he’d have put that on Henry himself, but now it feels wrong despite the fact that Alex still barely knows him. It feels like he knows enough. Henry eats curry on the couch and cracks crude jokes and sniffles at the tragic endings of Star Wars movies (yes, Alex noticed). Henry is warm and soft and feels like he belongs in cozy, simple rooms full of old books and tea and cardigans.

Alex’s musings are cut off when Henry pulls him close again at the foot of the hideous gilt monstrosity that is his bed, wrapping his arms around Alex’s waist and tugging him into a lingering kiss. It’s softer than before, delicate and sweet, exactly like Alex would imagine Prince Charming would kiss. From this angle Alex has to tip his head up to kiss him, which is definitely not something he ever thought would do it for him, and yet. Henry’s evening stubble scratches against his chin, and broad hands grip onto his hips and pull him against the hard, flat planes of Henry’s chest, all of it constantly reminding him of the unmistakable masculinity of the person he’s currently making out with.

Alex thinks, distantly, that he should probably be freaking out about this a bit more, but it’s too easy to give himself over it in the moment. He can freak out about what whatever the fuck it means later.

Henry’s hands move to the front of Alex’s shirt, and his nimble fingers make short work of the buttons before pushing it backwards off Alex’s shoulders. His fingers leave trails of fire where they linger against Alex’s bare skin, and even just this has Alex moaning into the kiss, desperate for more. He tugs at Henry’s shirt, yanking the tails out of his pants and nearly tearing the buttons open in his haste, which makes Henry laugh at him, the bastard.

“Eager, are we?” Henry teases, and Alex bites the grin right off his face.

“Shut all the way up,” he huffs before sinking his teeth into the absolutely irresistible collarbone he’s just uncovered.

Henry sucks in a gratifying breath at that, his hands tightening on Alex’s waist, and then he’s manhandling Alex back onto the mattress, which has no business being as hot as it is. Alex kicks off his shoes before scrabbling backwards so that he’s lying against the pillows, his heart racing as Henry crawls up over him with a nearly predatory grin on his face. The way his body fully blankets Alex’s is overwhelming in the best way, making every part of Alex ache with the need to somehow be closer, even as Henry presses the their bodies together from knee to chest and captures Alex’s lips in another deep, probing kiss.

They kiss and kiss until Alex’s lips are almost numb from it, their hands roving over heated skin and through thoroughly mussed hair. Henry’s hips roll slowly against him, almost a question, and Alex groans when he feels the hardness of Henry’s cock pushing against his hip. His own is straining against the front of his trousers, and his breath shudders in his chest when he imagines what it would feel like to have Henry’s hands wrapped around him.

But—

“Hey, uh,” he breathes as Henry’s mouth moves to his neck, and he’s nearly driven to distraction by the feeling of Henry’s teeth scraping lightly over his pulse point, but he wants to get this out, “I’ve never actually—” His voice fails, and Henry pulls back just enough to look him in the eye. Alex swallows. “Done this. With a guy. I mean, kinda, but not really—” He lets out a frustrated huff. “It’s a long story.”

Henry stares at him so intensely and earnestly that Alex feels flayed open by it, like Henry can see all the parts of him that Alex himself didn’t know were there. “We can just do this,” he says as he pushes a curl back from Alex’s forehead. “The last thing I want is to push you into something you’re not comfortable with.”

It’s completely reasonable not to rush things, but Alex thinks if he leaves London without seeing Henry naked he might fucking expire.

“Did I not already fucking say I wanted it?” he retorts, a little testily. Better that than admitting how desperate he really is.

“Well, to be fair, we didn’t exactly specify—”

“I want you naked,” Alex breathes in a rush. “I want your hands on me. Your mouth, if— if that’s something you want.”

Henry’s gaze goes dark and hot, and he actually licks his lips. Alex’s dick twitches in his pants. Jesus Christ.

Henry dips back down to kiss his neck, but a moment later he answers. “That,” he says, pressing it into Alex’s skin as he kisses a path down his chest, “is something I very much want.”

Then Henry’s hands are at his waistband, making short work of his belt and peeling off his underwear and pants in one go, and everything goes very, very hazy after that in the absolute best possible way.

~~~~~

The room is quiet after they subside, after every ounce of pleasure has been wrung from their bodies, after shouted names ease into murmured endearments.

“I should go,” Alex eventually whispers into the stillness, because he should. It would be better if he spent the night in his own rooms. Safer.

He doesn’t want to, though. He doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts right now, doesn’t want to give his brain the space to run wild with this. That’s what will happen if he goes. He’ll fall into a research spiral on google, and text Nora even though it’s too late, and quietly freak out about everything that’s happened tonight. Here, though, Henry’s got an arm thrown over his waist, and it’s not much, but the weight of it soothes something within him. Keeps him grounded.

Maybe it’s just Henry that settles him. He doesn’t want to think too hard about that.

“You could stay,” Henry murmurs back. He leans in, presses a kiss to the outside of Alex’s shoulder. “No one will notice. Tomorrow’s Sunday. The staff come in late.”

This is a terrible idea. This can’t be… anything, really, given who they are. Alex doesn’t even know what he wants it to be, but he knows that.

“You sure?” Alex asks anyway.

“Stay,” Henry repeats.

So Alex stays.

~~~~~

The bed Alex wakes up in is unfamiliar, which is hardly surprising given his travel schedule lately. What is unexpected is that he’s naked, and there’s a warm, naked body pressed against his back, and abruptly all of what he got up to the previous night comes slamming back into vivid clarity.

He slept with the fucking prince. Henry. His nemesis, except not actually, apparently, and oh yes, definitely also a dude. Alex sucked his dick and most definitely enjoyed the experience, so that’s a whole new thing. The freakout about his sexuality that he shoved to the back of his mind last night rockets to the forefront now, and he can feel his breath stutter in his chest.

Except then Henry’s arm tightens around him and he presses a sleepy kiss to the back of Alex’s shoulder, and the tightness in his chest unclenches somewhat. Not all the way, but enough.

He fumbles for his watch, then jolts up to sitting with a new fear once he sees the time. Jesus Christ, Cash or Amy is going to show up at his bedroom any minute now to pick him up so they can leave, and Alex isn’t fucking there. This is a disaster.

Henry grumbles at being disrupted, sleepily rubbing at his eyes in a way that’s definitely not adorable at all. “Time is it?” he mumbles through a yawn.

“Late,” Alex huffs, briefly getting tangled in the sheets and nearly falling out of the bed in his haste to find his clothing.

He’s halfway into his pants when there’s a knock at Henry’s bedroom door, and he almost falls on his face again. That seems to wake Henry up a bit more, and he finally sits up, his hair standing up in all directions and his eyes gone wide.

“Yes?” Henry calls out.

“The Secret Service seem to have misplaced their charge,” comes Shaan’s voice through the door, and Alex would very much like to die right now. Henry stumbles out of bed, throwing on a robe, then opens the door just enough so that Alex isn’t visible. “I told them I would inquire with you to see if you had any idea of Mr. Claremont-Diaz’s whereabouts.”

There’s something very knowing in Shaan’s tone, like he’s perfectly aware of where Alex spent the night and furthermore none of this is exactly a surprise to him, and Alex only barely manages to hold back the extensive collection of curses crowding at the tip of his tongue. What the actual fuck.

“Ah,” Henry says. His cheeks are bright pink. “Just a moment, I’m sure I can help you locate him.”

“I’m not sure I’ve properly conveyed how agitated they are, sir.”

“Tell them I’m ok,” Alex sighs begrudgingly, stepping into view now that his shirt and pants are on. It’s not like he’s kidding anyone; he’s still barefoot in Henry’s bedroom and the bed that two people clearly slept in is fully visible from where Shaan is standing. “I just—”

Shaan holds up a hand. “Believe me when I say that you do not need to finish that sentence. I will deliver the message, but”—he pauses, glancing between them—“you probably shouldn’t linger.”

He pulls the door closed behind him as he goes and, despite the warning, Alex stands there for a minute, rooted in place and staring at the floor. Maybe Shaan doesn’t want an explanation, but the Secret Service certainly will. Fuck.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” Henry says quietly, suddenly close beside him. Alex hadn’t heard him approach. He still looks so soft and sleep-rumpled, and something tugs at Alex’s chest that absolutely should not be tugging. “I shouldn’t have talked you into staying here.”

Alex huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “I didn’t take much convincing,” he says. “I shoulda just set a fucking alarm.”

“Probably,” Henry agrees, his lips tipping into a wry smile that fades into a look of concern. “Are you… ok?”

“Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be?” he answers, probably a little too quickly. Henry just stares at him in that way that makes Alex feel entirely too seen. “Probably gonna get chewed out for disappearing, but it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“That’s not exactly what I was talking about.”

Alex swallows. “I’m fine.” He offers Henry a little smile. “This was fun.”

“It certainly was,” Henry agrees carefully.

“Where’s your phone? I’ll give you my number, it’ll be easier to plan joint appearances or whatever,” Alex says in a blatant attempt to divert from a discussion about what happened or what this makes them. He’s got to figure his own shit out first. He doesn’t need Henry to know that he’s already wondering when he can arrange his schedule to see him again.

Henry gives him a look, but he fetches his phone and hands it over to Alex with a blank contact page open. Alex types in his number and hands it back.

“I’ll be disappointed if you only use that for booty calls,” he jokes.

Henry sputters out a laugh. “Noted.”

He’s endearingly pink-cheeked and smiling, and Alex doesn’t think before he takes the last step that puts him in Henry’s personal space, grabs the fronts of Henry’s robe, and pulls him into a kiss.

If he’d had any lingering doubts about the previous night, about whether what he’d felt was real or not, this thoroughly dispels them. The press of Henry’s lips to his, the way their mouths slot together as easily as if they’ve been doing this for years, the zip of electricity that fizzles under his skin and spreads out to tingle in the tips of his fingers and toes… Alex has never been kissed like this, has never felt like this being kissed, and it’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

Like he’s falling.

Oh. Fuck.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fic #firstprince fanfic #my fics #chamel's fandom fest

[cha-melodius]

Oh my goodness, I've just seen your fic festival request post and am excited to sneak in to participate before it closes. I love your writing and your stories so very much!

My prompt suggestion is... firstprince in Edinburgh, Scotland... in particular, the Edinburgh pride parade (if I may be so oddly specific). AU welcome, canon welcome, makeouts welcome, ahem.

Thank you and good luck wrangling everyone's prompts!

(Firstly, I have to say I love your url and your profile pic! Secondly, this is heavier on the Pride and lighter on the Edinburgh as far as the details go, but I hope it delights. Inspired in part by a tweet shared on tumblr; rated M for dick jokes. Happy Bisexual Awareness Week!)

Something To Be Proud Of

(firstprince, 3.3k, M; read it below or on AO3) read all the fandom fest fics

Henry stares at the carbon copy of the email in his inbox and wills time to go backwards. Just a few minutes, that’s all he needs. Enough time to go back and keep autocorrect from transforming whatever he’d typed after ‘he’ in his pronouns after his name into… that.

Thank you so much for all your help. Together we can make this a truly exceptional Edinburgh Pride. Regards, Henry Fox (he/hung Sent from Outlook for iOS.

How had he not seen it before he hit send on an email going out to every volunteer on their mailing list? How had he not noticed?

Maybe no one else would notice either. No one looks at email signatures that closely, right?

~~~~~

Ok, he’s not delusional enough to think that no one noticed. He had, however, naively believed that everyone would recognise it for what it was and politely ignore his gaff. He gets away scot free for a few days, and then, at the end of an email sent by a volunteer that is mostly as expected, he sees:

Best, Alex (he/him) PS: not sure I did the pronouns right. Does ‘Pride’ over here include being proud of your big dick?

It’s a damned good thing that he wasn’t taking a sip of his tea at the time, or he might be wearing it instead. Once he’s finished choking on nothing and perhaps isn’t quite the colour of a tomato (oh, who is he kidding, of course he still is), Henry professionally answers Alex’s questions about the schedule for the day of the march. He pauses before the sign off, wondering if he should acknowledge the flub or pretend it never happened. In the end, he writes:

Regards, Henry (he/him) PS: Your pronouns look correct to me, but they are, of course, your choice.

He only checks the email about ten times before he sends it. Hopefully, that should be the end of it.

~~~~~

It’s not.

Apparently, Alex has more questions. Apparently the law firm he works for is one of this year’s sponsors and is interested in potentially running a free legal clinic associated with the festival. A noble endeavour, which Henry is only too happy to assist with. He makes a mental note to look into logistics with Kate, the event’s chair, and continues reading. Finding out that Alex is apparently mature enough to be a lawyer lulls him into a false sense of security, though. At the tail of the email, he finds:

PS: regardless of the size of your dick, I’m impressed by the balls it takes to not acknowledge the typo. Then again, maybe it wasn’t? PPS: I’m trying out new pronouns. How do you think (daddy/sir) would go over?

Henry does spit his tea all over his phone this time.

He doesn’t email Alex back right away, but that’s because he has to wait to hear back from Kate. It has nothing to do with the fact that the prospect of dragging this interaction out longer is both horrifying and vaguely thrilling. Henry has noticed that he uses Americanised spellings in his text, which seems to fit with his general demeanour. It piques Henry’s curiosity, even though the thought of actually having to face Alex in person still makes him flush automatically. Eventually he gets an email from Kate that includes additional questions for the firm, as well as telling him that he can pass it off to someone in sponsor coordination. He is, after all, just the volunteer coordinator for the march. This need not involve him.

He still emails Alex back with the questions. And:

PS: Although I support your creativity, I am concerned those pronouns may not be appreciated in a professional setting such as, for instance, a court of law. Just a thought. However, I do suspect they might be rather popular at Pride.

~~~~~

They keep on exchanging emails, even though Henry should have sent Alex’s contact info to sponsor coordination ages ago, even though it becomes clear that Alex is not the one who will be ultimately responsible for the clinic either. On every one, there is a postscript in which Alex makes some kind of joke about the size of Henry’s dick.

do you have to get all your pants specially made with extra room in the crotch

do you have to check your dick as luggage when you fly

have you ever used it as a tripod

is your dick in another time zone

do you call your dick Sir Richard because it’s that prominent

In turn, Henry responds as dryly as possible, which only seems to encourage him. Oddly for someone who is volunteering at the event, Alex seems to have a lot of questions about Pride itself, as though this is the first one he’s attending on any continent. They exchange emails almost right up to the day of the march itself, but if they do taper off, Henry is too busy to notice. Coordinating volunteers for something as big as Edinburgh Pride is intense, and the days tick by before he even knows it.

He’s standing off to the side at the volunteer check-in tent on the morning of the march, going over some last minute logistics with one of his staff, when a voice carries over the hubbub, deep and rich with an out-of-place American accent.

“Sorry, but I was hoping… is Henry here?”

Henry straightens up and turns toward the voice only to find perhaps the most stunning man he’s ever seen standing at the front table. Dark, curly hair, a sharp jaw, big brown eyes with the longest eyelashes Henry has ever seen— he’s actually impossibly beautiful. Unbelievable, really. As is the fact that he’s asking for Henry.

“Hello,” Henry says as he walks over to the front. “How can I help you?”

The man’s eyes snap over to him, and he very clearly looks Henry up and down and swears, “Jesus fuck,” under his breath. Then his eyes come back up to Henry’s face, and he swallows. “You’re not Scottish.”

Henry cocks an eyebrow at him. “Neither are you.”

“Yeah, sorry. I just— need to adjust what you sound like in my head,” he says nonsensically. “I’m Alex?”

Oh.

Oh, Christ.

Henry should have known, because how many other Americans could there be volunteering at Edinburgh Pride? That reality does nothing to help him cope with the situation presented before him, though, in which this is the man who’s been teasing him about the size of his dick for the last month.

“I, uh,” he says eloquently as he tries to pull himself together. There are far too many people standing around watching this exchange. “Hello. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Did your firm get everything sorted with the clinic?”

“Oh,” Alex says, blinking. “Yeah, thanks. Look, I’m sure you’re busy, but I have something for you?”

It kind of comes out as a question, and he’s scratching the back of his head uncertainly, so even though Henry has no idea what’s coming, he nods. Then Alex reaches into his pocket, fishes out something small and round, and places it on the table between them.

It’s a button. A pronoun button, not unlike the one Henry’s already wearing, but instead it reads: he/hung.

Henry’s eyes snap up to find Alex grinning at him with the kind of mischief that Henry honestly should have expected from him sparkling in his eye. “Wanted to make sure you were prepared,” he says with a little one-shouldered shrug. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

Then he takes his volunteer t-shirt and saunters off—and Christ those jeans are ridiculously tight and doing everything for his arse—leaving Henry gawping after him. A moment later, one of his regular volunteers, Robin, bustles by, catches sight of the button, and lets out a sound that can only be described as a cackle.

“My god, it’s perfect,” they say. “Did he really make this for you?”

Henry can only sigh, dragging a hand over his face. “It appears so. Robin, can you do me a favour?”

“Make sure you’re working the same stations all day?” they surmise. Henry doesn’t need to look to imagine the knowing grin on their face.

Henry wants to say no. Just because Henry’s already managed to combine the affection engendered by their previous email conversations with Alex’s stunning good looks into a powerfully intoxicating cocktail of a crush—well, that’s on Henry and his poor decision-making.

Instead, he says: “Yes, exactly that.”

~~~~~ ~~~~~

Alex had only signed up to volunteer at Pride on a whim. He’s always complaining that he doesn’t know anyone in Edinburgh outside of his coworkers, and one such coworker—someone that he could safely call a friend—suggested that getting involved in the festival would be a good way to meet people. Alex had tried to explain that he wasn’t actually queer, but she’d just given him an odd look and told him that allies were welcome at Pride too. It had felt a little weird signing up despite her assurances, but also kind of good. He was finally going get out there and have a life beyond his job.

He certainly hadn’t expected to strike up a prolonged email exchange with the volunteer coordinator, Henry. He also doesn’t really know why he kept finding excuses to send him new messages, except for Henry’s responses to Alex’s stupid jokes made Alex imagine him rolling his eyes and trying not to laugh, which only egged Alex on further. It was fun. That’s all.

Nothing about any of this made him prepared to show up to the volunteer check-in tent  today and be plunged directly into a sexuality crisis. But that seems to be exactly what’s currently happening now that he’s been confronted by quite possibly the hottest man he’s ever seen. Alex doesn’t even get it because it’s not like he hasn’t been able to objectively appreciate attractive men before, and blond hair and blue eyes have historically never really done it for him. Even if they are combined with swooping cheekbones, and broad shoulders, and obscenely full, pink lips.

All he knows is that as much as this doesn’t make sense, it also suddenly does. Why he’d felt drawn to sign up in the first place. Why he spent the last month reading about the history of Pride in Edinburgh and around the world. Why he’d gone on a deep dive doing research about different sexualities, brushing it off as wanting to be informed before meeting new people.

Why he was so obsessed with Henry’s dick.

Jesus fuck.

He thinks he manages to hold a short conversation. Somehow he even gives Henry the custom button he brought as a joke, smiling the whole time like he’s not moment’s away from dropping to his knees. He flees the table safe in the knowledge that Henry will likely be too busy coordinating stuff all day and Alex probably won’t see him again. That confidence is shattered when, not even an hour later, Henry shows up at the station Alex is supposed to be working. He’s even wearing the joke button, under his regular pronoun button and next to a little rainbow flag pin. Alex is going to die.

“Oh hey,” Alex says in a reasonable facsimile of nonchalance. “Did you need me for something?”

“Not exactly,” Henry replies. “I’ll be working this station too.”

Yeah, Alex is definitely not going to make it through the day.

~~~~~

It actually turns out to be not as bad as he feared, despite how Henry’s volunteer t-shirt is probably a size too small (never mind that in the context of everyone else at Pride he looks downright conservative) and Alex keeps getting caught staring at his shoulders or his back or his waist. Henry keeps on giving him weird looks at the beginning, probably because he’s expecting Alex to be cracking crude jokes. Too bad Alex is way too wound up in his own head to think of anything at all.

They’re pretty busy all day, but they do get a chance to chat occasionally, mostly small talk stuff about jobs and how they both ended up in Edinburgh. Henry is there for grad school, apparently, and has been volunteering for Pride since he moved out from under his grandmother’s restrictive shadow. In turn, Alex tells him about applying for the law job on a whim, desperate to set himself apart from his parents, and how much he likes Edinburgh (despite the weather). As the day stretches on and the streets fill up, Alex feels himself relaxing into his skin again, undeniably enjoying the festivities as well as Henry’s company.

See, the other thing he never, ever expected is how good it feels to be here. All the people around him loudly comfortable in themselves, and the color and glitter and celebration— it’s amazing, but it’s not just that he’s watching other people be happy. There’s a kind of ecstatic joy that bubbles up inside him at the fact that he’s part of it, one that he feels down to his bones. A sense of belonging that he’s never really experienced before, and that, more than anything else, makes him more certain of his newfound revelation.

Straight people probably don’t feel like this at Pride.

At the end of the day, he’s helping pack up the main volunteer tent when he comes across a table full of pins depicting different pride flags. He dimly remembers seeing them when he’d checked in and thinking that none of them applied to him. Now, he stares down at them and bites his lower lip uncertainly.

“There’s a box for those under the table,” Henry tells him from across the tent, misinterpreting his hesitation.

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” Alex says, and Henry’s already turning back to whatever he’s doing when he manages to continue, “Hey, can I— um, can I take one of these?”

Henry stops, his brow creasing as he tips his head slightly. “Of course. That’s what they’re there for.”

“Right, thanks,” Alex says with a tight smile.

He puts his hand out, hesitates, then picks up one with pink, purple, and blue stripes. Stares down at it for another moment before he realizes he’s probably being weird and he’s pretty sure Henry is still watching him. He swallows hard, then pins it to his shirt next to his pronoun button.

No one jumps out to call him out for being an impostor. Henry offers him a careful smile, then turns back to his work like he knows Alex needs a moment to himself. He lets his fingers rub over the surface of the pin, feeling the little enamel ridges, and something settles under his skin, like an itch he hadn’t even been aware of until it was gone.

He feels almost normal by the time Henry walks up to him once they’re finished and everything is packed away in someone’s car.

“Thanks so much for your help today,” Henry says. 

“It was my pleasure,” Alex replies, and means it more than he can say. “I’m really glad I decided to sign up.”

“I realize you may very well be tired of my face at this point, but if you don’t already have plans, I was wondering if you’d like to go get a drink?”

Alex would like to make a joke about how it might be literally impossible to get tired of Henry’s face, but at this point he’d probably fuck up and confess his undying love for a guy he just met. “Sounds great,” he says instead, looking around at where a few of the other volunteers are lingering nearby. “Do y’all usually all go out together afterward?”

Henry coughs slightly and glances down at the ground for a few seconds as his cheeks turn faintly pink. “Well yes, a group of them usually do. But I was actually asking if you wanted to go out with me,” he says. “Just the two of us.”

“Oh,” Alex breathes as his stomach decides to do a backflip. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Spending all day volunteering with Henry was fun. Going on a date with Henry, being the sole focus of his attention, is intoxicating. Alex feels like he could sit here all night listening to Henry talk about his research on queer history, although that’s far from the only thing they talk about. As the night wears on and the pub slowly empties, Alex is buzzing with a few drinks and the euphoria of really clicking with someone, already wondering when would be too soon to ask Henry out again.

Henry shifts slightly so his legs press against Alex’s where they’re tangled together under the table—have been for several hours, actually. He’s playing with the stirrer in his empty glass, and a little teasing smirk sneaks onto his lips as he looks up at Alex.

“So you made me a custom pronoun button but forgot your own?”

“Ah, you know,” Alex replies with a shit-eating grin and a one-shouldered shrug, “thought it would be too distracting, what with how everyone would be hitting on me all day.”

Henry hums thoughtfully, biting back a wider smile. “If you wanted to avoid that, you probably should have chosen some looser trousers.”

“That’s fair. I suppose you had to go for the room in yours.” Alex pauses a beat. “You know, on account of the size of your dick.”

That makes Henry actually laugh and shake his head fondly. “I was waiting all day for that.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Alex says, chuckling along with him. It does feel like he owes Henry something of an explanation of why he was so weird all day. He looks down and licks his lips. “Can I confess something?”

“Of course,” Henry answers with a small, encouraging smile.

“A friend of mine suggested I volunteer for this because I wanted to meet people. Make new friends. But until today I actually thought I was… mostly straight?” Alex admits, trying not to wince as he stares fixedly into his empty glass. “Being part of this made me realize why I always felt a little like I wasn’t my whole self. So I was… kind of going through it a bit today.” He pauses, then adds, “Also you’re so ridiculously fucking hot that you kind of melted my brain.”

Henry laughs again, but it’s softer this time. Gentle. Alex kind of wants to sink into the sound. Henry’s cheeks are slightly pink as he extends a hand across the table, and Alex doesn’t hesitate before he slides his hand into Henry’s and links their fingers together.

“I’m glad to hear that, Alex,” Henry says. “I mean, the feeling like your whole self part. Not the brain melting part,” he adds, and Alex can’t help but laugh with him.

Henry doesn’t let go of his hand as they walk outside, and once they’re alone on the sidewalk he uses it to pull Alex close. He puts a hand on Alex’s hip and Alex has to tip his head up to look at him, and it’s a lot but he’s also pretty sure he’s never wanted anything more than to feel Henry’s lips pressed against his.

“I have a confession too,” Henry murmurs as he stares down into Alex’s eyes.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been dreaming of kissing you since the very first moment I saw you.”

Alex lets one corner of his mouth tug upwards. “What’s stopping you, baby?”

“Christ, Alex,” Henry breathes, looking momentarily overwhelmed, but then he’s pressing his lips to Alex’s, and Alex feels his blood sing. It’s brief and chaste and leaves him aching for more, but then Henry looks down at him with heavy lidded eyes and asks, “Given your recent personal revelations, would it be terribly forward of me to ask you back to my place?”

“Ask away, sweetheart,” Alex replies, then he reaches up to touch the side of the ridiculous he/hung button that Henry is still wearing for some reason. “I wanna find out how accurate this button is.”

(It doesn’t take long for him to find out that the answer is: extremely.)

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fic #firstprince fanfic #chamel's fandom fest #my fic

[cha-melodius]

Congratulations on the milestones!! I've greatly enjoyed all of your work I've read and these super fun prompt fills! If I may make a request for firstprince + a wedding venue that isn't theirs please? (If that's a step too far from just location please don't hesitate to ignore!) Thank you!!

(I wrote this because less than 48 hours ago I looked at the date and realized if I didn't publish something in the next couple of days, I wouldn't have posted anything in the month of January, which I haven't done since early 2021. This prompt won out.)

Trying My Patience (Try Pink Carnations)

Henry, by and large, does not handle deliveries for weddings. For one, he decidedly lacks Pez’s aplomb for dealing with harried brides or maids of honour or wedding planners on the day of. He’s a florist because he likes flowers, not people. It also happens that Henry is a hopeless romantic with a long string of ex-boyfriends who were decidedly not right for him in one way or another, and he usually finds being around all the trappings of two people who are deeply committed to each more depressing than aspirational. The main reason he avoids wedding deliveries like the plague, though, is because many of the vendors arrive at around the same time, which greatly increases his chances of running into Alex Claremont-Diaz.

(Or, Henry the florist and Alex the cake artist are forced to collaborate last minute at a wedding job, make a mess, and learn some things about each other in the process.)

Read it on AO3 (E, 5.7k) read all the fandom fest fics

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #rwrb fic #firstprince fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fanfic #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #my fic #chamel's fandom fest

[cha-melodius]

chamel's fandom fest

Hey y'all, I've hit some big milestones in the past month fandom-wise, particularly some big round numbers of tumblr followers and my first fic(s) to hit 1000 kudos, ever, which is mind blowing to me as someone who's mostly existed to this point in pretty quiet fandoms. I'm also imminently posting my 100th work on AO3, and all of this calls for a celebration!

So now YOU can request a fic from ME! All you have to do is drop into my ask box with a ship and a location, et voilà! A fic just for you. To spell out the rulz, the steps are:

A ship of your choice (firstprince, napollya, or lokius)

A location—please do not be limited by canon settings, most of you know I'm an AU queen these days. I encourage you to go wild! They can be as unusual (space! a fantasy world!) or mundane (the grocery store! the dmv!) as you like. (Although I dare someone to send the White House or Kensington, I WILL make it into an AU. I have ideas.) Also if you want a particular historical setting, you can feel free to include a time period too. GO NUTS, please.

...

profit! (in the form of a fic for you. no one actually profits here)

I have no idea what kind of response this is going to get, so for right now I'll leave this open for 2 weeks, until Sept 4. Also you don't have to follow me on tumblr, you can send your requests on anon, I don't care! If you want a fic, ask for it!

Jump on into my ask box!

I look forward to seeing what you come up with, and thanks for all your support! 💕

#chamel's fandom fest #firstprince #rwrb #napollya #tmfu #lokius #loki series #red white and royal blue #the man from uncle

[cha-melodius]

This is very exciting I can’t wait to read what you come up with.

For me?

Firstprince. A corner office.

(HELLO LOVELY thank you for this prompt, and I hope you enjoy the finished product. 💕)

chamel’s fandom fest info | read all the fics

Step Into My Office, Baby

(firstprince, 2.4k, E; read it below or on AO3)

Henry is staring out the window at the southern end of Central Park when he hears a very familiar cadence of footsteps entering the office behind him. A moment later, Alex gives a low whistle.

“Look at you, Mr Fancy Pants with the corner office,” he says, his voice low and teasing and shot through with fondness.

Henry still winces slightly. “I did try to turn it down.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re an idiot,” Alex says. He’s leaning up against the door frame, his legs crossed at the ankle and arms folded in front of his chest. It’s late in the day, and he’s shed his jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbow, revealing muscular forearms that Henry can’t keep his gaze from lingering on. When he manages to force his eyes up, Alex is smirking at him. “You earned it, H. Fair and square.”

If anyone had told Henry two years ago that this moment would happen, he would have laughed in their face. To say he and Alex did not get along at first would be putting it mildly. Or rather, Alex resented Henry and everything he embodied, and Henry saw the benefit of keeping Alex at a distance even as they were forced to share an office. Then, getting accidentally locked in the building overnight together yielded a tentative truce, and a fast friendship had bloomed in its wake. It’s been lovely and also dreadful, because now Henry is constantly forced to weather his warm smiles and his teasing smirks and his bloody forearms.

The owner of which is currently flopping bodily onto Henry’s new couch and wiggling his hips in a completely obscene manner as he gets comfortable.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna fucking live in here,” Alex tells him as he stretches his arms up and tucks his hands behind his head.

Yes, nothing to worry about at all.

~~~~~

The corner office comes with promotion and a whole heap of new responsibilities, and Henry quite quickly finds himself drowning in work beyond the long hours he’s used to spending with Alex at the office. He’s in the middle of a particularly terrible stretch at the moment, the looming deadline somehow simultaneously the light at the end of the tunnel and the headlamp of an oncoming train. Alex has been in the thick of it too, working late nights beside him, though that apparently doesn’t include tonight.

Henry loves him—truly, to his endless misery—but he needs to work, not listen to Alex chattering aimlessly while he sits on Henry’s couch tossing M&Ms into the air and catching them in his mouth.

“I was thinking about Thai,” he says, as if it isn’t gone one in the morning. “D’you think Noodies is still open?”

“No,” Henry huffs. They’ve been closed for three hours, and Alex knows this. “Why are you still here, anyway?” he snaps without meaning to, immediately regretting it when Alex’s face falls.

“Well, I was keeping you company and making sure you don’t collapse into an endless spiral of work like a fucking black hole, but I guess Mr Corner Office is too important to need anyone’s help,” Alex sneers, pushing himself angrily to his feet.

Christ, they haven’t spoken to each other like this since that horrible first year, and even more than the work, that’s what finally breaks Henry. Alex is halfway to the door by the time Henry catches him by the elbow, and he jerks out of Henry’s grasp immediately. Thankfully, he does stop, though the glare he levels at Henry does a poor job at masking the hurt written on his face.

“Alex, wait,” Henry pleads. He lets out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand over his face. Christ, he’s too bloody exhausted for this. “I’m sorry. It’s just this project is driving me batty. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“Well,” Alex says, fidgeting as he frowns down at the ground. “You’re right, you shouldn’t have.” He sighs as he looks up again. “But I get it. They’re putting too much on you.”

Henry reaches out and puts a tentative hand on his elbow again; this time, he’s not shrugged off. “Can you forgive the stuck up prick in the corner office who takes everyone else for granted?”

“That guy?” Alex snorts. “No. But you’re not that guy, H.”

“I feel like him sometimes.”

“C’mere,” Alex mumbles, and the next thing Henry knows he’s being tugged into a tight hug.

It’s not the first time they’ve hugged, but it’s the first time it’s been so fierce, and it feels like it fundamentally shifts something inside Henry. Alex winds his fingers into Henry’s collar and buries his face in his neck, and it’s all Henry can do to hang on like he’s clinging to a life preserver in a storm.

Except somehow, Alex is both the life preserver and the storm.

~~~~~

When the project finally wraps up, it’s a big deal, and the whole office celebrates accordingly.

“Work hard, play hard,” Alex sing-songs with a wink as he fills Henry’s champagne flute again.

He’s been ricocheting around the room, putting that patented Claremont-Diaz charm to good use. There’s almost certainly a promotion with his name on it after all of this, so he has more than enough reason to celebrate. He’s already been teasing Henry about stealing his office. Henry feels jubilant, effervescent like the bubbles bursting in his glass, and he forgets to be self-conscious about the way he watches Alex. Forgets to school his expression. Forgets not to smile too broadly when Alex hooks an arm around his neck and hangs off him like a monkey.

“Hey, hey, c’mere,” Alex says all at once, tugging him toward the door of the massive conference room that’s serving as the party hub.

“You quite literally just poured me a new drink,” Henry points out.

“So bring it with you. C’mon,” he almost whines, which should not be as endearing as it is. He’s unleashing his most devastating giant brown puppy dog eyes. Henry never stood a chance.

“Where are we going?”

“I just need a breather,” Alex sighs heavily. He drags Henry down the office corridors at nearly a jog, until the sounds of chatter and clinking glasses fade away, all the way to the open door of Henry’s office. At Henry’s cocked eyebrow, he laughs. “Best view in the building.”

He doesn’t walk over to the bank of windows, though. Once Henry’s inside the door, he pushes it shut, sealing them off from the rest of the office. Then he returns to Henry’s side and plucks the champagne flute from his hand. He downs half of it in one go, laughs at Henry’s affronted “hey!” as he deposits the glass on the desk, and grabs the fronts of Henry’s jacket before he starts walking backward across the office. Henry can’t help but laugh helplessly at Alex’s chaotic manhandling, at least until Alex stumbles into the couch and he’s dragged down by Alex’s dead weight dropping out from under him. They land in a giggling heap, and Christ, he’s in Alex’s lap, but when he tries to disentangle himself, he feels Alex’s grip go tight at his hip. An arm slides around his waist, loose enough not to be demanding, but firm enough to prevent him from moving away.

Oh.

Startled, he looks down at Alex, whose cheeks are flushed a dusty rose from the champagne and the exertion, who’s breathing heavily through pink lips temptingly parted as he stares back up with his bottomless dark eyes. He isn’t laughing anymore.

“I like this office,” Alex murmurs. “Something about it settles me. When I’m here.” His grip shifts on Henry’s hip, fingers tightening. “With you.”

“Alex,” Henry whispers, barely daring to breathe.

One corner of Alex’s mouth twitches. “Maybe it’s not the office.”

It’s impossible to tell which of them moves first to close the narrow gap between them, lips meeting in a fierce, hungry press that quickly deepens. Alex nearly bites at his lips, dragging his teeth along their inner edges, and it shouldn’t work for him but fuck, it really does. Henry finds himself pressing closer, revelling in the way that Alex’s arms tighten to bring their bodies together as he sinks his fingers into Alex’s curls. 

“Christ, I never thought you’d want—” Henry starts, though he doesn’t manage to finish that train or thought before he’s diving in to kiss the corner of Alex’s jaw.

“Yeah,” Alex breathes as he tips his head back to give him better access, “me neither.”

“What?” Henry asks, huffing a soft laugh against his skin.

“I mean, does anyone expect to fall in love with their work nemesis?”

That makes Henry pull back and stare down at him in shock. “You’re—”

“In love with you?” Alex finishes. There’s an impossibly soft look on his face, but it’s undercut by a flicker of nervousness. “Yeah, baby. Head over fucking heels.”

Henry feels himself tremble at baby, which is an entirely novel experience, though perhaps not unexpected given how his usual reaction when Alex teasingly calls him sweetheart. He’s so fucking overwhelmed that the only thing he can manage to do is lean in and kiss Alex again, slow and tender and full of all the words and emotions threatening to choke him. He presses his forehead to Alex’s when they part, and for a moment they just breathe together—unconsciously, perfectly, in sync. It’s everything he never let himself imagine, all those late nights together, all those meetings and emails and coffees delivered with sunny smiles that he refused to read into. Alex is warm and solid under him now, grabbing his waist as they kiss and kiss and it becomes heated again, until he’s rocking his hips up eagerly to meet Henry’s in a way that is rapidly going to become a problem.

Especially since Alex seems to find it not a problem at all.

“Wait, Alex, we can’t—” Henry tries, biting down on a groan when Alex palms over his hardening cock before making quick work of his belt and the fastening of his trousers, “—the windows.”

As if that’s the most troubling thing about them having sex in Henry’s office while half the company is just down the hall.

“We’re on the fiftieth floor, baby, no one’s gonna see,” Alex says, undeterred, grinning wickedly as he slips a hand into Henry’s boxers.

Right, then, that’s… good enough, actually. Henry’s been waiting for this for two and a half bloody years and he’s not really inclined to wait any longer. He kisses the smile off Alex’s face as he sets to work on the buttons of Alex’s shirt, rapidly pulling them open so he can get his hands on more of Alex’s skin. And Christ, he’d known Alex was fit—it’s hard not to know, with how ridiculously tightly cut he wears his suits—but it’s another thing altogether to drag his palms over the swell of his pecs and the hard lines of his stomach. Alex bites down hard on his lower lip when Henry tweaks one of his nipples, then retaliates by twisting his palm with just the right amount of pressure over the head of Henry’s cock. Henry moans as his hips buck up into Alex’s grip, chasing the friction that borders on just this side of too much.

“What do you want, baby?” Alex murmurs against his lips, and ‘everything’ feels like too big a concept in the moment, so Henry chokes out, “Just this, just you—” and lets himself get lost in the feeling of Alex’s hands on his skin. He’s so unbelievably worked up that it’s not long before the tension building in his groin is reaching a breaking point, but it’s looking down that finally does him in—watching the head of his cock appear and disappear within the tight circle of Alex’s long fingers, brown skin against dark pink. He tumbles over the edge with a choked off laugh, clinging desperately to Alex as he works him through it, until he’s hissing at the point of oversensitivity.

For a moment he just breathes, his face buried in Alex’s shoulder, mindful of Alex shifting slightly beneath him even if he’s trying not to be obvious about it.

“Not trying to harsh your afterglow here, but d’ya think you could move so I could get a tissue or something?” Alex asks eventually.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Henry rasps, dropping his hands to the fastenings of Alex’s trousers. He shifts back to get a better angle and tugs Alex’s boxers down enough to release his cock, long and rock hard and leaking at the tip, then takes Alex’s hand covered in his come and wraps it around his shaft with his own, weaving their fingers together.

“Oh,” Alex gasps, his hips immediately rocking up into their combined grip, Henry’s come slicking the way and filling the silence of the office with some of the most obscene sounds Henry’s ever heard.

He lets Alex set the pace, which starts out as a slow drag and rapidly picks up tempo, until Alex is quivering under him and swearing in at least two languages. Alex tips his head back against the couch, and Henry can’t resist ducking down to scrape his teeth along the long column of muscle so temptingly laid bare before him. The movement seems to make every muscle in Alex’s body tense up, and then he’s coming with a “Fuck, baby,” that has Henry groaning along with him. 

They clean up quietly, trading soft kisses that they occasionally get lost in, setting each other to rights enough so that they can— well, perhaps not return to the party, but at least leave the building. Henry doubts that their absence has been noticed, anyway.

“Jesus, I’ve been wanting to do that since you got this office,” Alex groans once they’re done, pushing a hand through curls as he stretches slightly where he sits on the couch. 

“What, that specifically?” Henry asks, furrowing his brow at him.

“I mean, more or less,” Alex admits. One side of his mouth tugs upward into a smirk. “To be fair I think I’ve imagined every possible way of taking you apart on this couch.”

“Christ, Alex.”

Alex grins broadly and shifts over to press his lips to the corner of Henry’s mouth. “You wanna hear the list?”

“You’re an incorrigible delinquent,” Henry protests, letting himself be drawn into another kiss. Then he leans in, lips brushing the shell of Alex’s ear, and whispers, “Tell me at home.”

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fic #firstprince fanfic #chamel's fandom fest #my fic

[cha-melodius]

Aaaaaaah congrats on 100 fics! I’m so excited that you’re doing this! Can I request Lokius in a western/cowboy setting?

(You were a prophet when you sent this back in August, Old West Lokius is quite the in vogue thing now lol. I hope you enjoy!)

Ain't No Place for a Better Man

(3k, M; read it below or on AO3)

They’ve had easier jobs, that’s for damned sure.

Protecting an entire train of stagecoaches was always going to be a strain on his crew, especially through this territory. They’re good, but they’re not that good. Mobius should have insisted that the client cough up the money to bring on another couple of folks, but they’d been reluctant and Mobius hadn’t wanted to risk the job going to someone else. And really, against most bandits, they’d probably have been fine.

They weren’t up against most bandits, though.

Mobius flips a blood-streaked silver dollar at the barkeep and collects a bottle of whiskey and four glasses in return without a single word exchanged. His crew is damn-near legendary in these parts; people vacate ‘their’ table when they enter the saloon, tip their hats when they pass on the road, and generally treat them with the kind of wary respect they’ve worked hard to cultivate. Mobius’ crew may be nominally ‘good’ guys, but a hard world makes hard people, especially ones who are hired to protect what passes for civilization out west.

Verity grunts in appreciation when he deposits the glasses on the table and sloshes a generous helping of whiskey in each one. Wincing a little as he leans forward, Mobius pushes two across to the others then settles back into the rickety chair. He tosses his hat on the table and kicks his feet up next to it, crossing them at the ankles and ignoring the dirty looks from the barkeep. The burn of cheap whiskey flows down his throat and spreads out in his chest, dulling the ache of what’s probably a bruised rib. 

“How do you think he found out they were moving the gold?” Casey asks, fidgeting with his glass. Twitchy guy, but surprisingly good with a rifle. He’d been riding with the trailing coach on the job and had caught the butt end of a pistol to the face when they’d been boarded, which is now darkening to a mottled purple across his cheekbone. Hadn’t gotten shot, though, which was a small blessing.

“How does he always? He’s got his ways,” Mobius returns with a shrug. “Weren’t one of us.”

“Obviously,” Verity snorts. “Slippery bastard has his fingers in plenty of pies, and people are easily bought. What I don’t get is how no one has managed to shoot him off his horse yet.”

Mobius snorts. “You’re the marksman, Ver. You tell me.”

“Swear he’s goddamn magic. One of them spirits. No one should be able to dodge all those bullets.”

“I assure you, he’s just a man.”

“And how exactly do you know, Mobius?” Verity counters, a too-shrewd look on her face.

Mobius blinks at her slowly and takes another sip of his drink. “Didya forget how I got this?” he asks, tugging aside the collar of his shirt to reveal an ugly scar twisting just under his collarbone. “He was flesh and blood when he drove that dagger into me.”

She looks chastened, but not completely convinced. “Could be he takes human form sometimes,” she mutters into her drink. 

“I heard of spirits like that,” Casey puts in. “One of the girls at the Mariposa was tellin’ me about this guy who comes in—”

“Enough,” Mobius says. His voice isn’t particularly loud or sharp, but everyone falls silent nonetheless. “You tell these stories, you let him get in your head. He ain’t a spirit, or a witch, or whatever else has been said about ‘im. Bleeds as red as the rest of us. Now,” he says, swinging his legs off the table and throwing back the rest of his whiskey, “I’m beat. And I’m takin’ this with me.” He grabs the bottle of whiskey off the table, ignoring their protests, and tugs his hat back on before he turns and walks away.

His steps are onerous as he climbs the stairs leading to the rooms over the saloon, heavy with a deep weariness he can’t seem to shake off these days. He’s getting too old for this shit, that’s for certain, but there’s something else weighing him down that he’d rather forget about in the bottom of this whiskey bottle tonight. He takes another swig as he kicks open the door to his usual room, only to find it already occupied.

The black-clad figure is little more than a lump, sitting hunched over in a chair next to the a small table with his hat pulled down low so that the broad brim of it hides his face from view. He doesn’t react when Mobius enters—unconscious or dead or just uninterested in the newcomer is difficult to say. Mobius’ hand is on his pistol before he knows he’s moving, even as something familiar twinges in his mind at the shape of the man’s shoulders.

“Think you’re in the wrong room, buddy,” he says evenly. “This one’s spoken for.”

The man looks up, a curtain of dark hair falling back from his face, and his lips twist into a wry smile. “I’m exactly where I intend to be, in fact.”

“Shit,” Mobius swears, his hand falling away from his gun as he takes another long swig from the bottle. Kicking the door shut behind him, he pulls his hat off and tosses it onto one of the bed posts. “You know they’re all downstairs, right? This is the last goddamn place you should be.”

“Didn’t have much choice in the matter.”

“What are you doing here, Loki?” Mobius sighs.

“I can’t want to see you?” Loki asks, trying for flippant and falling short by a mile.

As Mobius draws closer, he can see that Loki’s even paler than usual—which is really saying something—and he’s still hunched over, clutching his shoulder. Mobius reaches out and gently takes hold of Loki’s slender wrist, tugging his hand away and sucking in a breath when it comes away covered in red.

“You took a bullet today.”

“Astute observation,” Loki returns dryly. “I fear that Verity of yours is going to shoot me dead one day.”

Mobius squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, forcing his hand not to tremble. “She’d like that.”

“And you, Mobius?”

“Don’t you dare ask me that, Loki.”

Loki bows his head again, and Mobius turns away before he accidentally says something powerfully stupid. He steps out into the hallway and flags down a maid for a basin, a rag, and some clean water—well, clean as it gets, anyway—then returns to dig through the saddlebag slung over the foot rail of the bed for the sewing kit within, the one that’s mended more flesh than fabric. He leaves it on the table next to Loki along with the whiskey and goes to fetch the basin and water at the sound of a light knock on the door. The legs of the other chair grate loudly against the rough wooden floor as he pulls it around in front of Loki and settles into it, close enough that their knees are knocking together where they’re interleaved.

The silence stretches out between them, somehow heavy with unspoken words and comfortable all at once, even as Loki flinches when Mobius pushes his jacket off his shoulders, even as Mobius’ fingers find a familiar path in the buttons of his shirt, even as Mobius takes another swig of the whiskey before passing it to Loki. A subtle shine to the fabric of his black shirt is the only visible trace of blood on it, but when Mobius carefully peels it away from the wound, the bright red staining his pale skin tells another story. The disturbance brings a fresh surge of blood oozing to the surface, and Mobius pretends that he doesn’t notice Loki trembling under his hands.

He works with movements far gentler than most people would think him capable of, and the water in the basin steadily darkens as he cleans around the wound. Even though Mobius’ attention is focused on his work, he can tell Loki is watching him raptly the entire time, his eyes fixed on Mobius’ face, until Mobius pulls out the long forceps he keeps in the kit just for this purpose. Only then does his trepidation show on his face, the knowledge of what’s coming only too familiar at this point. Mobius shoves the whiskey bottle at him again, and Loki dutifully drinks before handing it back. The muscle of his jaw jumps when Mobius pours a glug of the alcohol over the wound, but his stoicism is put to the test under the assault of the forceps. Loki inhales sharply and turns his face to the ceiling when Mobius goes digging for the bullet, as if that might hide the tears welling in his eyes.

Fortunately, the bullet comes out easily along with the bit of shirt that it pulled in with it. The unassuming hunk of lead clinks dully when Mobius drops it into the basin, the sound of it a bleak reminder of how close he’d come to losing Loki entirely. Another few inches…

Mobius shoves the thought out of his head. He can’t let his mind travel down those roads, not when he needs his hands steady to finish this hellish task. One thing at a time, one stitch at a time, until the hole in Loki’s shoulder is finally closed and Mobius lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He rinses his own hands, then dampens the rag again and carefully takes Loki’s, gently wiping the now-dried blood from his skin as best as he can manage.

Loki’s head is bowed when he finishes, and Mobius reaches out with both hands to cup the sides of his face. His expression is impassive, but dried tears streak his cheeks, leaving pale tracks through the dirt and grime, and Mobius can’t help but rub his thumb through them in an ineffectual attempt at wiping them away.

“You’re all right, sweetheart,” he says, barely more than a murmur. He lets one corner of his mouth tug upward. “Gonna take more than that to take out the legendary Loki Odinson.”

Something fractures in Loki’s expression. “Mobius—”

“Shhh,” Mobius hushes, pressing a thumb to his lips.

Then he pulls his thumb away, leans closer, and presses their lips together instead.

It’s chaste at first, the barest brush of contact, but a moment later Loki is gasping into it, almost a sob, and his hands come up to curl desperately in Mobius’ shirt. He deepens the kiss hungrily, his teeth tugging at Mobius’ lips and tongue licking into his mouth, until the angle becomes untenable and he’s climbing into Mobius’ lap instead.

“Loki, you can’t—” Mobius protests, but can’t is not a concept that Loki is well-versed in, and he’s swallowing down the rest before Mobius can put voice to it.

He kisses Mobius like a drowning man in the desert slaking his thirst with Mobius’ lips, sinking his good hand into grey locks to pull them ever closer together. Mobius’ hands find the narrow dip of his waist without really meaning to, only that he could never resist that spot, the way Loki’s wiry muscles flex under his grip, the soft smoothness of his skin under hard calloused palms. His own shirt long discarded, Loki sets to work on Mobius’ instead, and despite the way his cock is definitely taking an interest, Mobius stills Loki’s hands with one of his own.

“I just sewed you up,” he scolds, a frown settling into his features.

Loki has the audacity to look annoyed. “And now I’m fine, can we move along—”

“You gotta take care of yourself.”

“Mm, not in my nature,” Loki says bluntly, leaning for another kiss before Mobius can reply. “That’s why I’m here,” he murmurs against Mobius’ lips, “because I know you’ll take care of me.”

“Loki,” Mobius exhales on a shuddery breath, squeezing his eyes closed against the emotions threatening to choke him.

A moment later, Loki’s forehead contacts his, and he brushes their noses together. “Please, Mobius,” he whispers into the narrow space between them. “I could have died today—”

“I know,” Mobius grinds out.

“—so I need you to fuck me until both you and I forget about it.”

Mobius can’t deny it’s an appealing prospect. “But your shoulder—”

“You’ll be careful,” Loki cuts him off. His lips twist wryly. “You’re always careful with me, even when you shouldn’t be.”

For two people who are constantly at odds, Mobius has always been terrible at saying no to him. He doesn’t manage it now, either. “Alright,” he surrenders, his hands already sliding over Loki’s back, lingering in the dip of his spine. “Alright.”

It’s not easy, between Loki’s shoulder and Mobius’ own injuries, but Mobius takes his time. He presses endless kisses to Loki’s skin, perfect in its imperfection, marred by countless scars inflicted over the years. Some by Mobius’ own hand; more by his crew, including the starburst that will form at his shoulder, no matter how neatly Mobius stitches it closed. If Mobius had his way, he’d never gain another one.

In this, Mobius knows he’s destined to be disappointed. Instead, he focuses making sure the pleasure overwhelms the pain, in treasuring every moment like it might be the last. He works Loki open with endless care—well, Loki wasn’t wrong—sinks into the impossible heat of him, rolls their bodies together as Loki urges him on, chasing the moments where they are just this. Not opponents, not adversaries, but two men seeking comfort in each other’s arms, finding what solace they can in a hard world.

In the aftermath, Loki tucks himself against Mobius’ side, pillowing his head on his shoulder, leaving no trace of space between their bodies. He’s unusually quiet, and Mobius doesn’t know if it’s just the trials of the day or something else weighing on him.

Loki’s hand moves idly over his chest, eventually finding the very scar under the collarbone Mobius had showed off earlier that evening. “Do you remember this day?” he asks, trailing a finger over the gnarled flesh.

“Are you asking if I remember the day you stabbed me in the chest?” Mobius returns incredulously.

Loki shrugs. “You’ve had closer calls.”

“Not from someone I love.”

Loki’s hand stills, not unexpectedly. It’s not the first time Mobius has said it, but he doesn’t deploy it often. It tends to make Loki… skittish.

“You didn’t know me back then,” Loki says eventually as he spreads his palm out over Mobius’ heart.

“I know you coulda killed me, but you didn’t.”

“I fear you’ve always made me soft, Mobius,” Loki murmurs, like a confession pressed against his skin.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is in this life.”

“Don’t have to be,” Mobius says. “Not all the time, anyway.”

That, apparently, was a step too far. Or maybe this was always going to be the end of their limited time tonight. Loki doesn’t reply for a long moment, letting the statement hang in the air, then his hand curls into a loose fist.

“I should go before anyone finds out I’m here,” he says. He sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and grips the edge of the mattress tightly. “I’ve already lingered too long.”

“You don’t have to run,” Mobius tries.

Loki laughs, without a single goddamn trace of humor in it, as he stands and grabs his trousers off the floor, tugging them on and doing up the buttons. “It’s not that simple.”

“It could be,” Mobius insists. He sits up, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I have contacts. People in the marshal’s office, they could get you a deal—”

“And what makes you think I want a deal?” Loki snaps, though a second later his shoulders sag. “I appreciate that you’re willing to stick your neck out for me. I do. But just because you’re on the side of law and order doesn’t mean you’re in the right.” He bends down snag his shirt off the floor, wincing as he tugs the bloodstained garment on. “How do you think your employer got all that gold, hm? It certainly wasn’t by asking nicely.”

This is not the first time they’ve had a similar argument. 

“Don’t know. Don’t care. The law says it’s his,” Mobius answers with a shrug. “You expect me to believe you’re stealin’ out of some kind of highfalutin moral righteousness?”

Loki flashes him a wicked smile as his long fingers fasten his shirt. “Of course not. I’m stealing it because I want it. Which I’m fairly certain is also true of the man who’s paying you.” Once he’s finished with the buttons, he crosses back over to the bed and stands between Mobius’ legs, lifting a hand to the corner of Mobius’ jaw as he stares down at him. “You and I, we’re not all that different, in the end.”

Mobius slides his hands under the loose tails of his shirt until his palms find warm skin again. “In that case, if I asked you, again, to come join me…”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Loki murmurs, bending down to press a lingering kiss to his lips. “I can’t. Not— not yet.”

“I’m never gonna stop asking, you know,” Mobius tells him.

A melancholy smile tips onto Loki’s lips. “You’d break my heart if you did.”

That, right there, is why Mobius will never be strong enough to end this. It’s the hope that kills you, so they say.

“When will I see you again?” he asks instead.

“When’s your next job?” Loki jokes. Or not. It might not be a joke.

“Not funny,” Mobius huffs. 

“I’ll find you,” Loki tells him, then quickly adds, “not during a job, all right? I’ll always find you.”

It shouldn’t be so comforting. Nothing is certain in this life—especially not for men like them—and yet this, he’s come to rely on. “Take care of yourself, sweetheart.”

“All right,” Loki promises. “just for you.”

#lokius #loki x mobius #loki laufeyson #mobius m. mobius #cowboy loki #cowboy mobius #western au #lokius fanfic #lokius fic #my fic #chamel's fandom fest

[cha-melodius]

Inspiration Weekend

Thanks for the tag @orchidscript! This is one that you know about, but definitely a surprise for everyone else lol. Another prompt fill—anyone recognize the location?

Tagging @welcometololaland, @rmd-writes, @three-drink-amy, @clottedcreamfudge, @indomitable-love, @stutteringpeach, @cricketnationrise, @14carrotghoul, @historicallysam, @myheartalivewrites, @iboatedhere, @nontoxic-writes, @kiwiana-writes, @lilythesilly, @tintagel-or-cockleshells, @loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @mirilyawrites

#inspiration weekend #rwrb #my wips #firstprince #chamel's fandom fest

[cha-melodius]

Inspiration Weekend

Thanks @welcometololaland for the tag! I decided I'd give you all a little glimpse of the sheer scope of the different locations I've gotten as prompts for my fandom fest. At first I was just going to post nine photos and be done with it, but then I thought: no. They need to know how insane this is so far. 😂

So yeah. Really putting those guys in situations here. I don't think I even got all of them in, tbh. (Some were kind of impossible to find a single picture for "location", which should be a clue that they don't exactly fit the prompt rules lol).

I don't know who's done this but what's inspiring you this weekend @rmd-writes, @three-drink-amy, @indomitable-love, @stutteringpeach, @loki-is-my-kink-awakening, @nontoxic-writes, @mirilyawrites, @cricketnationrise, @clottedcreamfudge, @jettestar, @kiwiana-writes, @historicallysam

#my wips #inspiration weekend #what did i get myself into #do you see your prompt?? 😉 #chamel's fandom fest

[cha-melodius]

Firstprince + Versailles for your fandom fest!

Congrats on your milestones!

(Versailles was such an interesting choice! A different palace? I got it in my head to write a historical AU, so you get 1785 Versailles and rival ambassadors to the court of France. I hope you enjoy!)

chamel’s fandom fest info | read all the fics

Lessons in Foreign Diplomacy

(firstprince, 5.3k, E; read it below or on AO3)

It had only made sense when Congress had sent him to Paris in 1784 to negotiate a large number of treaties with various European states. Alex is damned good at negotiating, and getting a good outcome for these agreements was vital to the continued success of their new republic. What he was not as pleased about is the missive from Washington a few months later assigning him to succeed Franklin as Minister to the Court of Versailles. Don’t get him wrong, living in Paris is— well, it’s pretty great, actually, but he’d still rather be back in Philadelphia, helping govern the country he worked so hard to liberate. Alex knows he’s helping shape U.S. foreign policy, and that’s important too. Much of the work he does is extremely rewarding.

What he despises are the times when the King and Queen decree that he come to the palace at Versailles for some inane weekend of fancy balls and dinner parties and lawn games. He daren’t refuse, though; Louis’ support in the war was instrumental, so Alex has to go pretend to be delighted no matter how distasteful the trappings of the monarchy are to him. The gatherings never fail to make him feel utterly out of place, full of the kind of European nobility and extravagantly wealthy people who look at him as some kind of shabby, poor, charity case from across the sea.

Then there’s the British Ambassador, Henry Fox-Mountchristen. He’s new in the position, just like Alex is, and a Duke of somewhere or other—Alex tries not to pay attention, honestly. All he knows is that any representative of the British government is automatically his enemy. The fact that he’s a noble on top of it is just icing on the cake. Alex had met him first at one of these fancy parties; he’d made no attempt at hiding his disdain, Henry had looked down his nose at him, and they’ve loathed each other ever since.

Annoyingly, he’s very good at his job. In the year that Alex has been working out trade deals and new commerce treaties, Henry has been there representing British interests in the negotiations, and is usually the only one in the room who can go toe-to-toe with Alex. He is constantly getting in the way forcing Alex to settle for less than he’d hoped for (except for that one time when he actually helped Alex negotiate a better deal with Portugal by tying their terms to Great Britain’s, which— Alex still doesn’t know what that was about).

Even more annoyingly, he’s hotter than the fucking sun.

It’s kind of ironic that, in a lavish, opulent court full of lithe young women in low-cut gowns, the one person Alex can’t tear his eyes away from is the Brit wearing frocks that are about as boring as you could get away with at Versailles. It’s those fucking cheekbones, and those piercing blue eyes, and those full lips that Alex kind of wants to bite. Alex’s frustrating desire—as shocking as it had been to recognize—absolutely does nothing to soften his feelings toward the other man; if anything, it just stokes his anger. Why the fuck did it have to be him?

Tonight, Alex is at one such fancy party, drinking too much champagne, dancing with beautiful women, and glaring at Henry from across the room. He is, as always, wearing a stupid powdered wig that makes him look absurdly pale (Alex refuses to wear one, of course, and his appearance never fails to cause a stir even when he’s wearing ridiculously ornate silk coats and waistcoats, though he suspects it’s just as likely because of how brown he is). Henry’s dark blue coat, finely embroidered with silver thread, is downright subdued in comparison to the flash surrounding him, but every time he moves the embroidery catches the light and he shines.

It is so irritating.

Alex watches as he stands off in a corner, drinking champagne and blatantly ignoring the obvious flirting of many hopeful ladies looking for a dance. It’s absurd, really—not that he draws that much attention, because just look at him, but that after nearly a year of this he still hasn’t managed to get the stick out of his ass. Alex despises everything these parties represent, and he still manages to attend them without acting like he’d prefer to be put in the stocks.

Drinking plenty of the free-flowing wine and cognac usually helps with that.

He’s not even really aware of his feet carrying him over to Henry until he’s standing next to the other man. Alex doesn’t even look at him, instead staring out at the ballroom floor where the guests are dancing increasingly haphazard waltzes as the night stretches on, though he sees Henry tense out of the corner of his eye.

“So is there something wrong with your feet, or do you think you’re just better than everyone?” Alex asks eventually.

Alex hasn’t turned his attention away from the room, but Henry’s face snaps toward him. “I beg your pardon?”

“They say you’re the most eligible bachelor here, and you haven’t danced with anyone tonight.”

“Watching me that closely, are you?” Henry returns dryly. Alex has to bite down on a protest that he wasn’t because, well. Trying to deny it would just make him sound like a petulant child. When he doesn’t respond, Henry continues, “None of them interest me, and I wouldn’t wish to… lead anyone on.”

Alex huffs out a scornful laugh as he finally turns to face him. “So you are that conceited, got it.”

“That is not—”

“You just said that no one in this room interests you,” Alex interrupts before he can finish. “You do understand how that sounds, right?”

Henry stares at him for a long moment, a piercing look in his eye that Alex wants to turn away from. He doesn’t, though.

“I didn’t say that no one here interested me,” Henry says, his voice a low rumble, barely audible above the din of the party, that makes something flare hot and bright low in Alex’s gut.

“I— what?”

“You know, I think I’ve rather had enough festivities for the evening,” Henry announces in his usual clipped cadence. “Good night, Mr. Claremont-Diaz. Do try not to cause another international incident tonight?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Alex spits automatically. That was one time, and it wasn’t an incident anyway. Marie Antoinette thought it was fucking hilarious.

Alex knows for sure that Henry’s had plenty to drink himself when the corner of his mouth twitches and he quips, “Another time, perhaps,” before he strides off, leaving Alex gaping as he tries desperately not to imagine exactly what that would entail.

~~~~~

Despite the sheer amount of alcohol he consumed the previous night and how late he was up, Alex wakes fairly early the next morning. He knows from experience that the rest of the court won’t show their faces until much later today, which means he can enjoy the solitude of the empty gardens as he strolls along finely graveled paths between carefully manicured hedges and sculpted trees. He lets his feet carry him aimlessly, trusting that he’ll be able to find his way back eventually and not really caring that much if he ends up late to some stupid event.

He’s certainly not expecting to encounter anyone else out here.

The quiet crunch of footsteps on gravel alerts him to the other person’s presence somewhere beyond the next turn. He could walk the other way, keep to himself and avoid the intruder on his thoughts, but he doesn’t. Alex keeps moving forward as the other footsteps approach him, until they meet at the juncture of two hedges, a statue of a cherub marking the intersection.

Henry.

He’s wearing a light blue coat with almost no decorative embroidery, which is subdued and boring and also makes his eyes shine with the pale, icy, breathtaking blue of the sky in midwinter. Without a wig, his golden blond hair looks absurdly soft as it flops over his forehead, and Alex catches himself wondering what it would feel like between his fingers before quickly closing the door on that. Jesus fuck, he’s got to stop thinking these things.

Especially since it’s clear Henry doesn’t care for his company either. The corner of his mouth pinches and his posture goes rigid, as it always does when he sees Alex, and for a moment Alex thinks he’s going to just keep walking. He does stop, though, inclining his head minutely in stiff politeness.

“Mr. Claremont-Diaz.”

“Ambassador,” Alex returns, because he refuses to use Your Grace. “I hadn’t expected to meet anyone else out in the gardens this morning.”

“Yes, well,” Henry says in an odd tone. His eyes skitter away across the landscape and he tips his chin slightly. “Only part of this bloody place that’s tolerable, aren’t they?”

Alex blinks several times, sure he didn’t just hear that. Henry’s member of the aristocracy, born to this kind of bullshit; Alex never really considered that Henry might detest the opulence and artifice as much as he does, even though, looking back, it should have been obvious from the way he comports himself.

He’s not entirely sure what to do with this information.

“I’m glad to see you upright after your indulgences last night,” Henry adds, as if to prove he’s still a prick.

Alex opens his mouth to respond, but before he can get anything out, a rumble of thunder cuts him off. The clouds have been thick all morning, but now they’re downright menacing, heavy and dark and foreboding of a storm. The kind of clouds that impress upon you a desire to get under cover with some speed; too bad they’re deep in the middle of the garden and Alex has no clue where the nearest shelter is. Hardly a moment later, a few fat drops of rain splatter down onto his shoulders and head. Henry turns a frown up at the clouds as dark spots appear on his pale coat.

And then the sky fucking opens.

It’s a pounding, torrential rain, the kind that soaks through layers of fine wool and linen within minutes so that you lose all hope of staying even a little dry. Still, one hardly wants to stand out in it. Alex spins aimlessly, wondering which way to run, when he feels a tug on his elbow and Henry is calling, “this way,” over the din.

Apparently, blindly following his bitter enemy is a thing he’s doing now.

They run, even though they’re both already drenched, and before too long they emerge from the woods next to a small octagonal building overlooking a lake—the Belvedere, sometimes used as a lounge when the Queen entertains guests out at Trianon. At the moment it’s empty save for a collection of couches, and they stumble in, dripping liberally all over the marble floors. Alex wastes no time before stripping off his coat and tossing it onto one of the lounges, silk pillows be damned, and he’s got his waistcoat halfway off when he hears a strangled noise from behind him.

“What are you doing?” Henry asks, a scandalized expression on his face. It’s irritating that even now, when he kind of looks like a wet dog with his blond hair plastered against his head, he’s still breathtakingly beautiful.

“Not particularly interested in standing around in soaking wet wool,” Alex huffs. At least if he gets his outer things off, his shirt might dry a bit while they wait out the storm. It’s not like he’s getting fucking naked.

Which is definitely not something he’s thinking about now.

“Apologies if I’m offending your delicate sensibilities, Your Majesty,” Alex sneers as he drapes his waistcoat over the back of the couch.

Henry’s cheeks have gone decidedly pink, and when Alex turns toward him fully, he looks away, crossing his arms over his chest and staring fixedly at the opposite wall. Outside, the rain continues to pour down, surrounding them with a dull hiss as it pounds on the roof and lashes against the windows.

“What is your grievance with me?” Henry asks eventually, sounding nothing so much as tired.

Alex stares at him. “Is that a joke? I’m American. Maybe you heard, we fought this whole war against you—”

“Not against me,” Henry interrupts firmly.

“Fine, your country. It makes no difference.”

“It bloody well does!” Henry snaps. He turns away again, pressing his lips into a thin line as he stares out of one of the windows. “Did you ever think to ask me what my views were on American independence, Mr. Claremont-Diaz?”

“What?”

“Of course not. You just assumed.”

“You’re a representative of the British government. Why wouldn’t I assume?” Alex thinks it’s a fair question. He knows Henry was a member of parliament before he became Ambassador. His family is exceedingly well-connected and highly placed in the government. It feels like a pretty fucking safe assumption.

Apparently not, though.

Henry gives him a withering look. “Oh, and I’m sure there was no dissension in the writing of your little Declaration, then?”

Alex bristles at ‘little Declaration’, but Henry unfortunately has a point. “Fine,” he grits out. “What’s your opinion on American independence, Ambassador?”

“I wasn’t the only one in Parliament who spoke against the prospect of an expensive and bloody war,” Henry says evenly, staring out the window again. “A few even genuinely believe in the principles of self-governance, as it turns out. We’ve had to be… cautious in expressing ourselves, of course. I happen to feel strongly that people should have a say in their own lives,” he adds, and somehow it doesn’t sound like he’s talking about government anymore. He lapses into silence, letting the sound of the rain fill up the space between them. Then the corner of his mouth tugs into a tiny smirk. “Thought we should have cut you lot loose ages ago, actually. Much more trouble than you’re worth.”

“Hey!” Alex exclaims, but it also shocks a laugh out of him. Which is… weird. He stares at Henry, trying to make all of this new information fit into a portrait he now realizes was startlingly incomplete. He thinks, a little distantly, that he kind of needs a whole new painting. “I’m sorry for assuming,” he says eventually. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re always a prick to me.”

“You hate me, Alex,” Henry says flatly, his mouth going tight again, and something inside Alex turns over at the use of his given name. “Am I supposed to merely smile through the insults?”

Alex can’t help but wince. He wraps his arms around his waist, which he blames on the chill and not the way he’s feeling a little too vulnerable at the moment. Spring’s warmth seems to have abandoned them today, and the cold stone of the Belvedere is doing nothing to help, nor is the way his damp shirt is clinging to his skin.

“I don’t hate you,” he admits quietly. He has a lot of conflicting feelings about Henry. Somehow hate has never been one of them. “I wanted to, but I don’t.”

“I’m not certain that’s better,” Henry says, an obvious wariness in his voice. 

Alex doesn’t really know what to say. He hugs his arms a little tighter around himself and shivers.

“For Christ’s sake, this is why you leave the wool on,” Henry huffs unexpectedly, and a moment later he’s crossing the room and grabbing Alex’s discarded coat. He stands right in front of Alex and reaches around him so that he can drape the coat over Alex’s back. “There,” he says as he tugs the fronts close by the lapels, then reaches up to smooth his hands across Alex’s shoulders.

It’s only then that Henry seems to notice their proximity, or the way he’s still holding onto Alex. Their eyes lock together, and a bolt of heat shoots down Alex’s spine that has nothing to do with the coat. A flush of pink blooms across Henry’s cheeks and his lips part slightly as he inhales, and then he starts pulling away, which is the very last thing Alex wants.

“Henry, wait,” he murmurs as one of his hands reaches out to snag the front of Henry’s coat almost of its own accord. Henry freezes. “Don’t… don’t go.”

Alex thinks of all the times he’s caught Henry staring at him with a look he couldn’t quite read. Of the way that Henry had said I didn’t say no one here interested me only last night. He looks searchingly up into his blue eyes now, dark and slaty in the low light, full of both trepidation and something like hunger.

“I can’t…” Henry starts, but his voice trails off. He lets himself be tugged in closer, his eyes dropping to Alex’s mouth. “We can’t,” he whispers.

“Fairly certain those aren’t words that are allowed in the Court of Versailles,” Alex quips softly.

He takes a step backward so that he’s leaning against the back of the couch, hoping that Henry will follow when Alex pulls him along. He doesn’t really want to think about the relief that surges through him when Henry does, nor how it feels when Henry lets Alex pull him so close that their hips are pressed together. One of his thighs slots between Alex’s, and Alex inhales sharply at the contact.

“Alex, please,” Henry murmurs tightly, his face tipped down toward Alex’s. Alex can’t tell if it’s please yes or please don’t.

“Shhh,” Alex hushes. He lets his grip go slack, but Henry doesn’t pull away. “It’s all right, sweetheart.”

Henry closes his eyes and lets out a shuddery exhale, then he sways forward until their foreheads meet. Their noses press together, and Alex breathes in deeply, filling his senses with Henry. Who turns out to smell like wet wool—which is admittedly not great—but also like the cologne he wears and also something that reminds him of the spring air. Alex nudges forward, tipping his head slightly, until finally Henry closes the narrow gap between their lips and presses their mouths together.

Alex had always thought that if he were to end up kissing Henry, it would be rough and rushed. A battle, as much as their verbal sparring matches had always been, each of them trying to gain the upper hand. He never once imagined it could be like this, soft and syrupy slow, a languid give and take. One of Henry’s hands is clutched almost possessively at the nape of Alex’s neck, the other curled carefully around his jaw, and he takes his time mapping out Alex’s mouth as the kiss gets deeper and more heated, like he’s trying to commit it to memory.

It’s a lot to take in, so Alex stops trying; he lets it wash over him, soaking into his bones as thoroughly as the rain had done. His chilled fingers move to Henry’s waistcoat, fumbling with the slippery buttons until he finally gets it open. He slides his hands underneath it, onto the dip of Henry’s waist, his hot skin searing through the thin linen shirt against Alex’s palm. Henry groans at the contact, his hips rocking forward against Alex’s, and the movement makes the depths of their mutual arousal all too clear.

Alex drops a hand to the front of Henry’s breeches and cups him through the wet fabric, which draws another ragged please from Henry’s throat as he presses into Alex’s palm. That one, at least, Alex is sure of. He flips them around so Henry’s pressed up against the back of the couch, then pulls back just enough to reach the buttons holding his fall-front breeches closed. Too many fucking buttons, actually, but he gets them undone, and then he’s tugging out the long tails of Henry’s shirt and dropping to his knees as he finally, finally gets a hand around Henry’s cock.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he says without really meaning to, but it’s worth it for the way that it makes Henry shudder and tip his head back as he thrusts into Alex’s grip.

Henry’s knuckles are going white where his hands are tightly gripping the ornate scrollwork carved along the top of the couch, and Alex prises one off to bring it to his head instead. Henry’s fingers twine into his damp curls in a way that makes a hot jolt of arousal lance through Alex, and that’s new information he’s absolutely not going to think about later. Alex licks his lips in anticipation as he works his hand up and down the shaft of Henry’s cock, thumbing over the crown and grinning at Henry’s moan when he rubs at the sensitive spot on the underside.

“Have you ever—” Alex starts, though he can’t quite make himself say it. “With another man?”

Henry lets out a soft puff of laughter before he opens his eyes and looks down at him. “More than a few times.”

There’s something indescribably attractive about Henry’s confidence, in the idea that he’s experienced in something like this, but it does absolutely nothing for Alex’s nerves. He must not manage to keep them off his face, because the smirk on Henry’s lips softens.

“You haven’t,” he says. It’s not really a question. Alex just shakes his head, and Henry’s hand slides down to thumb tenderly along the edge of his jaw. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Alex says firmly. “I want you.” He swallows. Works his hand on Henry’s cock again just to see the way his eyelids flutter. “Want to feel you on my tongue. Want to taste you.”

“Christ, Alex,” Henry groans. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“Not just yet,” Alex says, then wraps his lips around Henry’s cock and slowly sinks forward.

It takes him a moment to get used to it, the weight on his tongue, the taste of his skin, the stretch of his jaw muscles as he moves. He carefully catalogs Henry’s reactions, every gasp and moan and shiver as he swirls his tongue or twists his wrist around what he can’t quite take in his mouth. Henry slowly falls apart under his ministrations, and it’s so unbelievably arousing that Alex is aching in his own breeches, unsure if the curses spilling from Henry’s lips in his posh accent or the way he says that’s good, Alex is doing it for him more.

Then Henry’s fingers close more tightly around his curls as his gasps reach a crescendo, which Alex only later realizes might have been intended as a warning; at the time it just makes Alex moan and try to take him deeper, and then Henry is spilling onto his tongue with a breathless, delirious laugh.

Henry’s chest is still heaving when he hooks his fingers into the front of Alex’s shirt and drags him up into a searing kiss. It’s hard and deep, Henry licking into his mouth and biting down on his lower lip, and it’s all Alex can do not to whimper into it. He’s never had a kiss that felt this all-consuming, like he’s been ignited from the inside and he doesn’t even care if it burns through him and leaves nothing but ash.

He barely realizes what’s happening when Henry grabs his hips and pushes back, manhandling him over to some kind of chaise longue that he only becomes aware of when his calves hit the edge of it and he collapses backward onto the seat.

“Hey, so, uh,” he says as Henry climbs over top of him, a predatory glint in his eye that absolutely does not make Alex’s cock throb. “When you said you weren’t not interested in anyone at the party…”

“Was I talking about you?” Henry finishes, giving him a look like it’s a stupid question.

Look, Alex knew it was a stupid question before it finished leaving his mouth. Still.

“Well, I dunno, maybe you have a list or something.”

Henry stops inches from his lips and glares down at him. “No, you rebellious miscreant, it’s only ever been you,” he says, then kisses him so thoroughly that Alex might actually forget how to speak.

Which is probably the point.

~~~~~

They’re seated next to each other at dinner that evening, which is probably Marie Antoinette’s idea of a joke. A day ago, Alex would have been annoyed beyond belief. Now, though, he knows what Henry looks like as he slowly comes apart. Now he knows what Henry’s lush lips look like wrapped around his cock.

What a difference a few hours makes.

Henry is standing stiffly next to his chair when Alex saunters up, his face perfectly composed in rigid formality as he inclines his head. “Good evening, Mr. Claremont-Diaz.”

“Your Grace,” Alex returns, pitching his voice to convey just the right balance of insolence and provocation.

Something flashes in Henry’s eyes, probably meant as a warning, but also suggesting that he might enjoy hearing it in a very different context, and also that he’d really like to drag Alex off into the nearest cupboard and do terrible things to him. Alex certainly understands the impulse. It’s been less than six hours since the Belvedere, and Alex still wants him so intensely that it’s nearly a physical ache. His fingers itch to reach out and touch, to tug that stupid wig off his head, to press his thumb to the corner of Henry’s mouth. Fuck.

Instead, he puts on his politician smile and turns to greet the person sitting on his other side, who turns out to be some Spanish princess. She does not seem very impressed with this arrangement—typical for royalty, really—but warms a bit once she realizes she can speak Spanish to him rather than the obligatory French. Alex and Henry spend most of the dinner seemingly ignoring each other and talking to the other guests seated around them. Seemingly, because Alex actually uses the cover of the table to variously press his knee to Henry’s, or hook their ankles together, or slide a hand high up onto Henry’s thigh and squeeze. The latter he does when Henry’s attention is turned away, and it makes Henry choke on his wine and direct a vicious glare at him, which Alex marks down as a victory.

Sometime during the third course, they find themselves both at liberty when the rest of their dinner companions become thoroughly wrapped up in other conversations. Henry is quite clearly trying to ignore him, which Alex just as obviously cannot allow to stand.

“Did you mean it?” Alex asks, his voice low but casual, so as not to draw any attention from those around them.

“What?” Henry asks as he slants a look toward Alex.

“When you said maybe I could fuck you another time.”

Henry’s fork slips out of his grip and clatters to the plate, and several sets of eyes turn toward him. His eyes are wide as he stares at Alex in shock, but there’s also something undeniably heated in his gaze. “You are, without a doubt, the worst person I’ve ever met,” he says flatly, loud enough to be overheard.

Alex can’t quite suppress his grin. It draws a few titters of laughter and whispers from the surrounding guests, most of whom are well aware of Alex and Henry’s mutual enmity. When nothing further comes of it, though, they return to their conversations.

“So is that a no?” Alex asks eventually, still smirking.

Henry glances around, but no one seems to be paying them any attention. “Come to my chambers tonight,” he says crisply, as if they were going to be meeting about policy, “and we shall discuss the matter further.”

~~~~~

They don’t truly revisit the conversation until much later, when Henry is splayed out naked on top of the silk bedding and Alex is two fingers deep inside him. Well, they did cover the obvious question, but:

“The worst person you ever met, huh?” Alex says, pressing the words against the inside of Henry’s thigh.

“Are you really bringing this up now,” Henry huffs, exasperated.

“I dunno,” Alex says. He twists his fingers to reach the spot he’s discovered that makes Henry gasp and tremble. It’s been an enlightening experience so far. “What you really think of me seems relevant.”

“I think,” Henry gets out tightly, “that you’re stubborn—”

Alex bites down on the tender skin at the crease of his hip.

“—opinionated—”

A slow lick up the length of his shaft.

“—arrogant—”

A hot breath, ghosting over the crown.

“—uncouth—”

Alex curls his fingers, and Henry whimpers as his spine arches up off the bed.

“—and if you don’t get inside me right now, I’m going to stonewall all of your treaty negotiations for the next month.”

Alex laughs softly as he withdraws his fingers and climbs up the bed, seeking out the oil to slick himself up. “Oh, well then, how could I refuse?” he returns, grinning at the look of desperation on Henry’s face when he teases the head of his cock at his rim. “You’ve got a real honeyed tongue there, sweetheart. Know how to make a boy feel special.”

Henry gets a hand behind his neck in an iron grip and drags him down into a kiss, digging his heels into the back of Alex’s thighs until Alex is sinking into the tight heat of his body. It’s a lot more intense than he thought it would be, and he makes an embarrassing punched-out sound at the sensation of Henry utterly surrounding him.

And that’s before Henry releases his neck, looks up at him with his face impossibly gorgeous and undone, and murmurs, “I also think you’re the most incredible man I’ve ever known.”

It’s too much, like the first kiss in the Belvedere was too much; Alex knows how to handle the verbal sparring, the familiarity of traded insults, even in the middle of sex. He doesn’t know what to do with the strange twisting in his chest at Henry’s words, with the knot that’s lodged in his throat. They’re not— this isn’t—

He lets Henry pull him into another kiss, lets the give and take of their bodies quiet his spiraling thoughts, until there is only Henry’s hands in his hair, and the cut of his teeth against Alex’s lip, and the roll of their hips together in perfect, earth-shattering harmony.

~~~~~

Alex needs to go. He needs to get out of this bed, get dressed, and go to his own chambers. It’s not as though people stumbling out of others’ apartments is an unusual sight in the palace during one of these weekends, but if he were to be seen leaving Henry’s—

Well. The rumors wouldn’t stay quiet for long, of that he’s certain.

Instead he curls a little closer against Henry’s side, presses a kiss to his shoulder. That’s probably too much, too, but Henry just hums softly, a small, blissful smile curving his lips. Somehow, Alex thinks he’s even more beautiful in this moment than he’s ever been before.

“So,” Alex says eventually, “when we get back to Paris…”

They both live there, not even that far away from each other. They could…

He doesn’t know what. Have some kind of sordid, illicit affair? What would that mean for their lives? Their occupations? It’d be messy. Dangerous. A terrifically, catastrophically stupid idea.

A little crease forms between Henry’s brows as he frowns, and for a moment Alex fears that he’s misread everything. Maybe this was never supposed to leave Versailles. Alex doesn’t know what’s even possible for them to have outside these walls, but he also doesn’t know how he’s meant to go back to what they were before now that he’s had this.

“It seems to me,” Henry says carefully, “that there should be ample opportunity for… improving diplomatic relations when we return?”

There’s a beat of silence before Alex can’t choke back the laugh bubbling out of his chest any longer, and the smile that’s been slowly pushing its way onto Henry’s lips finally breaks free. Then they’re both dissolving into giggles, and Alex is grinning like an idiot when Henry pulls him into another lingering kiss.

Yeah. Worst idea he’s ever had.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fic #firstprince fanfic #chamel's fandom fest #my fic

[cha-melodius]

Cold Light

(For @natendo-art, who asked for Loki & Mobius in Norway or Iceland, potentially watching the northern lights; tumblr ATE your ask, but fortunately not before I got your prompt out of it. Thank you so much!)

chamel's fandom fest info | read all the fics

(lokius, 3.6k, M; read it below or on AO3)

I

With a sickening crunch of grinding gears, the engine of Mobius’ rental car seizes up and leaves him coasting to a stop on the side of the road. He’s about fifty kilometers outside of the nearest town of any size, and it’s late. There hasn’t been another car on the road for a while. His phone shows not a single bar of service.

In short, he’s completely screwed.

For a few minutes he considers his options. He could conserve heat and wait until morning in the car, when hopefully there might be more traffic traveling this route. It’s not yet fully winter, so he might be ok. He could see if he can tell what’s wrong with the engine, though that seems futile. He does enough remote research to have a working knowledge of simple engines, but a late-model car with all its electrical components is probably beyond him. Walking anywhere is pretty much out of the question, though he supposes there’s a chance he might find some kind of farmhouse.

It feels fatalistic to not even look at the engine. With a sigh, he pops the hood and extracts himself from the warm cabin of the car. About five seconds after he lifts the hood, he realizes he doesn’t have a flashlight. It’s probably moot; there’s a rather sickening burnt odor emanating from the engine block.

Lovely.

He’s just turning away when he hears the tell-tale purr of an engine approaching, and a moment later twin headlights swing around the curve down the road. As the light washes over him, Mobius puts his hand up and prays for a good samaritan. The car continues to get closer seemingly without slowing, resolving into something black and sleek and expensive-looking, and Mobius is already mentally cursing the driver when it abruptly screeches to halt next to him. Even if his night vision hadn’t been blasted to hell, the windows are tinted, so he can’t see a damned thing about the car’s occupant until the driver’s side door swings open and a tall person in a long, dark coat gracefully unfolds from within.

“Thank god,” Mobius breathes, sending a cloud out in front of him. It’s colder than he thought. “Hi. Hello. Sorry, my Norwegian’s a little rusty. Do you speak English?”

Lit up from the side by the glow of the headlights, his savior resolves into someone more-or-less masculine-presenting as Mobius approaches, with shoulder-length dark hair framing a handsome, angular face. From what Mobius can see, he’s wearing a suit under his wool coat, with a luxurious green scarf looped around his neck. He looks like he belongs in New York, or London, or at the very least Oslo, and not in the middle of fucking nowhere in the farthest northern reaches of Norway.

“I do,” the man answers in an unexpectedly British accent. “I take it you’re in some trouble?”

“You could say that, yeah,” Mobius huffs, glancing back at the vehicle. “Engine’s caput.”

“Yours?”

“Rental.”

“Ah,” the man says. “Mind if I take a look?”

Huh. Unexpected, but Mobius just shrugs. “Knock yourself out. But, er. I don’t have a flashlight.”

In response, the man pulls out a phone and turns the flash on—Jesus, why didn’t he think of that?—then hands it over to Mobius to hold as he gingerly leans over the engine.

“There was a crunch,” Mobius offers. “Before it stopped.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” the man replies as he straightens up again. Whatever he was doing he seems to be done with, even though he hasn’t touched a thing. He stares up at the sky for a moment, as if lost in thought; in the silence that follows, Mobius watches ribbons of what’s shaping up to be a rather spectacular display of the aurora borealis begin winding their way across the night’s sky behind him.

“So? What do you think?”

“Hm?”

“About the engine.”

“Oh, I don’t actually know anything about engines.”

Mobius stares at him for a beat in disbelief. “Then why’d you want to see it?”

The man shrugs, a vaguely amused expression playing on his features. “Seemed like a thing one does when your vehicle breaks down.”

Mobius can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes him, and he shakes his head. Everyone’s a comedian, apparently.

“I presume you might like a ride?” the man asks.

“Is that a real offer or just something you do when you see someone stranded by the side of the road?” Mobius counters.

The smile pulling at one corner of the man’s mouth deepens. “A real one. Although I think I’m headed in the opposite direction of your travel.”

“Not picky,” Mobius says. “If you can get me somewhere with cell service and a place to stay the night, I’m good. I’ll work out the rest in the morning.”

The man inclines his head and makes an ‘after you’ gesture toward his car, so Mobius grabs his belongings from the backseat of the rental and transfers them to the other vehicle. It’s meticulous inside, all gleaming black leather without a single scuff, and Mobius feels distinctly shabby in comparison. His bag is beat to hell and filthy. He probably should have put it in the trunk.

It’s only once he’s buckling himself into the front seat that Mobius realizes that they never actually introduced themselves. “I’m Mobius, by the way,”

The man’s attention flickers over to him momentarily as he pulls back into the road. “A pleasure to meet you, Mobius,” he replies. But then, instead of offering his own name in return, he just asks, “What brings you Magerøya?”

Hm. Mobius considers pushing, but in the end he lets it go. For now. “Research,” he answers. “I study the effects of climate change in the boreal forest.”

“So you know the area well.”

“Spend three months of every year here collecting data.”

“In the middle of winter?”

Mobius smirks to himself; it’s a question he gets a lot. “Best time to detect the effects I’m looking for.”

What is surprising is how many questions the man asks; he gets Mobius going, and it’s easy to forget that he’s not shared a single thing about himself. Easy, but Mobius doesn’t, in fact, forget. Maybe he wants to be mysterious, but Mobius has brash American inquisitiveness on his side. He likes to know people.

They’re approaching the outskirts of a small village when the conversation lulls and Mobius sees his chance. “So are you gonna tell me your name, or am I just going to have to refer to you as my tall, dark, and handsome savior?”

The man glances over at him, clearly amused, though whether by the question or Mobius calling him handsome is unclear. After another beat, he answers, “It’s Loki.”

“Suits you,” Mobius says, which earns him a quirked eyebrow. “I just mean— I don’t know. But it does.”

“I’m sure my parents will be very pleased.”

“Are you from around here originally?”

Loki glances at him again, his expression unreadable. “Not exactly.”

They ride the rest of the short distance in silence, and before Mobius can figure out something else to say, they’re pulling up in front of a small tavern that’s miraculously still open. The warm lights spilling out of it shine through the window and highlight the fine lines of Loki’s nose and cheekbones, and Mobius spares a millisecond of disappointment that he’ll never get to find out what’s lurking behind those blue-green eyes. Instead, he thanks Loki for the ride and gets out of the car, ducking into the back for his things.

He’s halfway to the door of the tavern when he hears a window roll down behind him.

“You’re wrong about one thing, Mobius,” Loki calls out to him as he turns to look back.

“What’s that?”

The expression on Loki’s face is grim. “I’m nobody’s savior.”

With that, he speeds off down the road like some kind of spirit that has granted a boon and disappeared into the night, leaving you wondering if they were ever really real.

~~~~~

II

Loki, as it turns out, is very, very real.

Real enough to push him up against a wall outside the one bar in town, slip a thigh between his legs, and kiss him hard enough to bruise. Real enough to dig long, slender fingers into his neck and under his belt, to make him gasp as his hips grind forward, to bite down on Mobius’ lower lip until it stings.

“I’ve got a room in town,” Mobius manages at one point when they come up for air, as he stares up into the night sky. It’s cleared up after the storm earlier, and delicate green tendrils are twisting their way across the milky way.

“Perfect,” Loki purrs into his neck. “Let’s go.”

Running into Loki again had not been on Mobius’ bingo card for this field season. He’d come into town from the field station for supplies, only for the weather to turn and certainly make the dirt roads back to his site impassible. Fortunately he’d been able to grab a room at a little bed and breakfast that was only too happy to have the off-season business. When he’d ventured out to the tavern for a beer and some food, the very last person Mobius expected to see had been sitting at the bar.

At first, Mobius wondered if his company would be welcome after how they’d parted. He’d taken the stool next to him, but left the approach up to Loki. It hadn’t taken long. Loki seemed to be in a better mood than their first encounter. He’d asked how Mobius was doing (fine), inquired about life at the field station (a bit monotonous). Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was something else. Mobius wasn’t going to question it.

The next surprise had been the flirting. Look, it’s been a while—too busy with his work was the old excuse—but Mobius knows when he’s being hit on. They’d talked, they’d drunk, they’d laughed, they’d drunk some more, Loki had suggested they move to a booth, then hooked his foot between Mobius’ in a way that left little open to interpretation.

And now they’re here, Mobius pressed against the wall next to the light switch of his room, even though the bed is barely ten steps away, with Loki’s lips wrapped around his cock. The man is a wonder with his tongue, and it really has been a while, so Mobius is rapidly hurtling toward the precipice of his own release when Loki pulls off with an obscene pop.

“Will you fuck me?” he asks, clear evidence of his previous activities in the rough scratch of his voice.

Shit. Mobius swallows hard. “I don’t have any—”

“I do,” Loki interrupts before he can finish, which is really something. “Will you?”

For all their conversation tonight, he still knows basically nothing about this man. This is insane. But then Loki slides a hand up along his shaft, thumbing teasingly under the head, and he bites back a groan. “Jesus, yes.”

This time, at least, they make it to the bed.

~~~~~

III

Loki is gone without a trace before Mobius wakes up the next morning, and Mobius doesn’t see him again for another three weeks. That, too, is a surprise: Bea said she hired a guide with a boat to take him out to some remote fjord that’s unaccessible by any other means, a new place he hasn’t actually sampled. Mobius imagines some grizzled Norwegian fisherman with a white beard and a wool cap pulled down over his lined face. What he finds when he gets to the dock at the designated time is Loki.

Loki, looking down as he coils a rope next to a small but well-kept fishing boat with the name Frigga painted on the side, wearing a thick, oatmeal-colored cabled sweater, his black hair falling like a curtain around his face. Long fingers that pressed so cleverly to Mobius’ skin work through a knot in the line, and Mobius feels something hot flare in his gut. God dammit, this is not what he needed today.

“You’re the one Bea hired,” Mobius says in lieu of a greeting as he approaches, shifting his bag of gear over his shoulder.

Loki looks up at him, his face unreadable. “It appears so.”

“Didn’t know you had a boat.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Mobius says pointedly. To this, Loki says nothing, returning his attention to the rope in his hands. “Did you know it was me when you took the job?”

“I had an idea.”

That’s… something. Mobius doesn’t know what. It feels silly to be hurt by the fact that Loki left without so much as a note when it was pretty clear what he’d been after from the start. They’re not friends; they’re barely acquaintances. They fucked once. It didn’t mean anything.

(It felt like it had meant something, when Mobius had called him sweetheart and said let me take care of you, and Loki had whimpered out a broken please and held on tightly enough to leave bruises on Mobius’ skin that had lingered for days.)

“Well,” Mobius says. “Ready when you are, I guess.”

Things are tense at first. They don’t speak except to confirm the sites on the map where Mobius wants to visit. Loki watches him intently as he works, though there’s no sense of impatience in it. He just… watches, with some degree of interest. Maybe his questions about Mobius’ research that first night in the car weren’t just deflection.

“D’ya wanna help?” Mobius asks at the third stop.

Loki actually looks around like there could possibly be anyone else in the vicinity. “Me?”

“No, the marmot half a hill over,” Mobius says sardonically. “Yes, you. Would go faster with two pairs of hands.”

“Don’t you have a field assistant?”

“She had other sites to visit today.”

Mobius doesn’t wait, just starts setting up the equipment as he has at the previous localities. Somehow, he feels like he has learned something about this man, and his instincts are right. Sure enough, a few minutes later Loki cautiously approaches him.

Got ‘im, Mobius thinks, hiding his smirk.

“What, er,” Loki hedges, “would you like me to do?”

It does go more quickly with two people; quickly enough that Mobius thinks he can get in a few more sites before the early sunset. When he proposes this to Loki, he’s surprised again.

“We can keep going until nightfall,” Loki tells him.

“You can navigate back in the dark?” Mobius asks uncertainly. He hadn’t seen much in the way of electronics in the cabin.

Loki just nods as he stares out in front of the boat. “I know these waters well.”

They settle into an easier routine after that as they visit the remaining sites. Now that the dam has been breached, Loki starts talking again—though for a man who clearly likes to talk, he almost never says anything. He tells stories about nothing, regales Mobius with Norse myths of his namesake, gossips about the townsfolk that Mobius has had occasion to get to know. Mobius can tell that Loki doesn’t think he’s giving anything away, but Mobius is not your usual observer. Not by a long shot.

Night falls swiftly this time of year, and with it comes yet another vivid aurora. The phenomenon isn’t uncommon up here, of course, but Mobius feels like he’s never seen them quite so spectacularly as when he’s with Loki. But maybe that’s just the hopeless romantic in him.

Loki has somehow managed to—accidentally, no doubt—get himself talking about his boat as they head back toward the village, and Mobius pounces.

“Why Frigga?”

Loki is silent for a moment, his skin washed a faint green by the northern lights. “For my mother,” he says, so softly Mobius almost doesn’t hear him over the motor. He looks over at Mobius, and there’s something terribly laid bare in his expression. “To remind me of her and her stories.”

This time, Mobius doesn’t push.

~~~~~

+1

“Who the everloving fuck is knocking at the door at this hour?” Bea says, with no small amount of irritation.

Mobius can’t help but agree with her sentiment, if not her delivery. The field station is three hours outside of the closest village on terrible roads. He’s not sure a single person has ever come out here that they didn’t explicitly ask to do so. Certainly not at nine o’clock at night. In fact, it’s more likely that whoever it is could be in trouble of some kind. There aren’t a lot of hikers around this time of year, but the ones that are here often seem to have a bit of a screw loose. With a sigh, Mobius levers himself out of his comfy chair and heads over to the front door, which creaks on its hinges as he opens it.

The person on the other side is not, in fact, lost.

“Loki? What are you doing here?”

“Well, hello to you too,” Loki replies. He’s quite thoroughly bundled up against the midwinter chill, his nose gone slightly pink, but there’s a tiny, tentative smile curling his lips.

“Hi, yeah, sorry,” Mobius says, taking a step back. “C’mon, get in out of the cold.”

Loki just shakes his head. “Actually, I was hoping you’d join me?”

“Join you where?”

“There’s a clearing at the top of a cliff nearby with excellent views. I have good reason to think the northern lights will be particularly stunning tonight, and I thought…” Loki trails off, looking abruptly sheepish.

“Close the goddamned door!” Bea calls from behind him, making them both jump.

Mobius makes a snap decision and grabs his winter gear, following Loki out into the cold and tugging the door closed behind him. The air has that heavy silence it only gets in the winter, when there’s snow on the ground deadening all sounds. It’s a crystal clear night, and Mobius’ breath plumes out in huge clouds in front of him as he shrugs into his coat.

“You thought?” Mobius prompts.

Loki looks briefly startled. “Oh, I just thought we could… spend some time together?”

“Did you now?” Mobius replies, unable to stop the grin that’s taking over his face. Especially when Loki makes a point to look exceedingly pained by this admission.

“Do you want to go or not?” Loki huffs with an attempt at irritation that doesn’t quite hit the mark. “I brought wine.”

“Oh, well, if there’s wine.”

“I don’t know why I came out here.”

Mobius levels a look at him. “Why did you come out here, Loki?”

“I told you, I was nearby—” Loki tries.

“No one is nearby here,” Mobius says, cutting him off. “Ever.”

A beat of silence passes, then another as Loki looks up into the trees and blows out a pensive breath. “Because I wanted to, all right? Your company isn’t… unpleasant.”

“A truly glowing endorsement.”

“Yes, well,” Loki says, biting down on a smile. “If you knew me better, you’d know that it is.”

“I think I’m starting to get the picture,” Mobius tells him as they start walking. He’s pretty sure he knows where they’re going, since he knows the area around the field station quite well, but he’s happy to let Loki lead. Their boots crunch on the snow as they wend their way through the trees along some ancient path toward the sea. “You’ve been here before,” he ventures eventually, not quite a question.

Loki gives a small nod. “Not for quite some time, though. Certainly there was no field station the last time I was here.” He slants a small smile toward Mobius. “Love what you’ve done with the place.”

“The university said the landowners were very encouraging of research activities on the property,” Mobius says, watching him carefully. “That’s you? You’re the landowner?”

“My mother left it to me,” Loki confirms. “For a long time after her death I couldn’t really bear being up here, so I left its management up to a third party. I do try to keep up with the active projects, though.”

“So that first night, when you asked me about my research…”

“I figured out who you were rather quickly, yes. But I was curious,” Loki says as he slows to a stop near some low boulders in the middle of the clearing. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who made me so curious as you do, Mobius.”

“I’m really not that interesting,” Mobius protests, huffing a self-deprecating laugh.

Loki shifts closer, sliding a gloved hand onto Mobius’ waist and drawing him in until their noses nearly brush together. “I disagree,” he murmurs, then he closes the remaining gap between them.

His lips are cold and dry from the winter air, but they part readily, welcoming Mobius to the heat within. It’s so different from every kiss they’ve shared previously; there’s no urgency, no desperation, no sense of being kept at arm’s length even as they fall into each other. Loki kisses him with slow and unwavering purpose, as if pouring weeks of unspoken feeling into it, all the things he hid behind idle chatter and silver words, and it leaves Mobius far more breathless than can be explained by a simple lack of oxygen.

Eventually they do part, though not without a few more stolen kisses, and Loki pulls him down to sit on the boulders. They huddle close, tangled in each other’s arms against the chill, and because it feels impossible to keep any space between them now that Loki is letting him in.

“So does this mean I get to learn more about you?” Mobius asks cheekily as Loki fishes a flask of wine out from somewhere deep in his coat. Loki gives him a look, and he grins. “I’m curious.”

A soft puff of laughter escapes Loki. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about your mother,” Mobius says. “If you want.”

Loki smiles softly at him, and there, under the breathtaking northern lights, he tells a story.

#lokius #loki x mobius #loki laufeyson #mobius m. mobius #loki fanfic #loki fic #loki series #loki tv #my fic #chamel's fandom fest

[cha-melodius]

For your fandom fest requests: Lokius, in the middle of the ocean.

(In which we see that a very unusual location like this is absolutely bait and will cause me to bite even when you submit on the last day. 😂 Thanks so much, I hope you enjoy!)

Enemies of the Ocean

(lokius, 3.3k, T; read it below or on AO3) read all the fandom fest fics

Day One

“What are you doing?” Loki asks, squinting across the lifeboat in the harsh light.

The storm that had come out of nowhere and laid waste to their ship had blown off in the night, leaving nothing but endless blue sky in its wake. Their lifeboat is equipped with a canvas roof to keep off most of the worst rays, but it can’t fully hold back the intensity of the tropical sun.

“Taking inventory of our supplies,” the man across from him says. He’s got a slight folksy American drawl, grey hair, and a mustache under a nose broken long ago and set improperly. “We should be prepared.”

Loki watches him for another minute as he sorts through the survival box that had been in the raft. He remembers seeing the man in passing on the ship, but never had cause to meet him. Now they might be the only two people who survived the storm.

“Prepared for what?” The man pauses in his sorting and looks up. Loki raises his eyebrows. “Surely we won’t be out here long before someone picks up our distress beacon.”

“If we’re lucky. If the beacons are actually transmitting. If I know this ship, and I do, making sure the rescue beacons were functioning wasn’t high on anyone’s priority list. These survival packs are designed for one person, for ten days. We have two. Steve Callahan was drifting for seventy-six—”

“All right, all right,” Loki interrupts. He briefly wonders what this guy’s story is—why he knows the ship and random facts about castaways—before deciding he doesn’t care. He’s interested in surviving, not making friends. “I’m getting the picture.”

“Not sure you are,” the man mutters under his breath, but he returns to focusing on his task and leaves Loki to stare out at the endless, hopeless horizon.

~~~~~

Day Two

Loki is seriously considering throwing him overboard. He doesn’t really see any downsides. He’d get the supplies all to himself, which gives him a better chance of survival. He knows how to use the solar stills to make fresh water. And he wouldn’t have to listen to this.

“Would you stop the bloody whistling?” he snaps eventually.

The sound cuts off abruptly and the man looks up from where he seems to be attempting to fashion a fish hook out of nail he dug out of the side of the lifeboat. “Oh, sorry,” he says sheepishly. “Didn’t even realize I was doing it.”

Loki shoots him a supremely unimpressed look, and the man smiles and gives a little apologetic shrug before returning to his work. It’s not endearing. Loki is not endeared. He watches the man a little longer before he speaks again.

“What’s your name?”

The man frowns at him. “It’s Mobius,” he says. “You didn’t know and you waited this long to ask?”

Loki makes a noncommittal gesture with his hand. “Didn’t seem pressing.”

Mobius scoffs and shakes his hand as he looks down again. They lapse into silence, the only sound—now that the whistling is ceased—the soft sound of water lapping against the hull.

“You’re not going to ask me my name?” Loki prompts after a little while, mostly out of curiosity.

“I know who you are,” Mobius tells him flatly. “Loki Odinson. Heir to a media empire. What I don’t know is what you were doing on that ship.”

“Huh,” Loki says. He doesn’t answer the unasked question, though. “Going fishing?”

Mobius snorts. Shakes his head again. “Something like that.”

~~~~~

Day Four

“You’re can’t seriously expect me to eat that.”

“Whatsamatter? You don’t like sushi?”

“I like sushi. That is not sushi.”

“Same difference.”

“It’s bloody. Can we at least rinse it—”

“No! If you put it in the sea water you’re going to consume too much salt, and you’re not using our fresh water for this. Eat it or don’t, but you’re not getting anything more from the supplies.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you’d make a superb dictator?”

~~~~~

Day Seven

“I was escaping,” Loki says.

Mobius stirs, cracking one eye open as he looks over at Loki. He’s stretched out on the opposite bench, hands linked and pillowed behind his head. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to. Their conversations over the last week have mostly concerned their survival and little else; Loki told himself he wasn’t interested in knowing or being known by the other man. But truth be told, the prospect of talking about something other than fish is more appealing by the day. Despite their frequent arguments, Mobius seems… kind. Loki doesn’t have a lot of kind people in his life.

“My mother died, and in the aftermath I found out I was adopted. I didn’t take it well, to put it mildly. I just… needed to get away from it all.”

“I’d say you succeeded at that.”

Loki huffs a laugh despite himself. “Overshot a bit, I think.”

“Mm,” Mobius hums, closing his eyes again. “Where were you headed next?”

“Oh, I hadn’t decided. Brazil, maybe. Starting to think somewhere colder sounds more attractive, though.”

Mobius smiles. “Can’t imagine why.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

Loki rolls his eyes, though Mobius isn’t looking at him. “Where were you headed?”

“Oh, wherever the ship goes next,” Mobius answers, shrugging a little. “I don’t really pay much attention. Just go where they send me. You know, I think this is the most time I’ve had off in the last fifteen years.”

“You can’t be serious,” Loki says flatly, blinking at him in disbelief. “What about going home? The holidays?”

“No family to speak of. Don’t really have a permanent address to call home.”

“So, what? You’re just a nomad, living for your career?”

“S’pose you could put it like that,” Mobius says. He doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.

“Isn’t that a little… depressing?” Loki asks, trying and failing not to make a face.

Mobius snorts softly. “Not really. I’m happy enough.”

Loki contemplates this—thinks about his messed up relationship with his family, but how he still can’t help but want to see his brother. How he misses home when he’s away too long, even if there’s not much there for him anymore. It’s not like he needs anyone, but being happy alone is one thing. Having nothing outside your job is another thing entirely.

He reclines back on the wooden bench, already feeling the sore spots from constantly laying on the unyielding surface. It’s saying something that he can already feel his eyelids falling shut anyway.

“Hey Loki?” Mobius ventures softly after another few minutes.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry about your mother.”

Loki swallows against the ache in his chest, the one that’s never truly gone away and never will. “Thank you, Mobius.”

~~~~~

Day Twelve

Mobius is braiding a rope, and it’s driving Loki to distraction.

The combination of Mobius’ polo shirt being stretched out after constant wear and his already noticeable weight loss means the garment hangs off him, gapping open at the collar to reveal a wedge of chest covered by fine blond hair and entirely-too-enticing collarbones. His arms and forearms, once pale, have been tanned a deep russet-brown by the unrelenting sun, which only makes the muscles working under his skin all the more obvious. Not to mention the way he’s got his tongue pinned between his teeth in concentration, a slip of pink glimpsed between pillowy lips, somehow no less alluring for how they’re cracked and peeling.

Loki wants to tell him to cut it out, but they he’d have to admit he’d been watching and, worse, that Mobius is affecting him.

It’s just the sun getting to him, that’s all. The boredom. It’s not like he has literally anything else to do besides watch Mobius. He has been passing some of the days idly carving a design into the wood of the lifeboat, but he did that all morning. Plus, Mobius keeps nagging him about dulling their only knife, even though Loki has been careful to use only the very tip to preserve the rest of the blade. 

The point is, he’s bored, and surely no one could blame him for looking, and Mobius hasn’t even noticed—

“Feels kinda like you’re trying to set me on fire with your mind,” Mobius says, startling him out of his thoughts. 

“What?”

“You’re staring.”

Loki huffs and looks off into the endless horizon. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“You could help,” Mobius suggests.

“Do what?” Loki asks skeptically. The fact that he doesn’t refuse immediately should frankly be concerning. He is bored, though.

“Here,” Mobius says, shifting across the boat to sit next to him. “You can continue with this one.”

He shoves the half-braided rope into Loki’s hands, apparently expecting him to be able to focus on this and not how their legs are now pressed together from hip to knee. Mobius isn’t any less attractive close up, and he also doesn’t seem inclined to move back to his side of the boat. To be fair, the sun is sinking toward the horizon and there’s more shade on Loki’s side, but still. Does he have to sit right there?

“You’re staring again,” Mobius says, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“Maybe I’m just watching you so I know what to do.”

“Are you?”

Loki huffs and looks down at the rope in his hands. “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

~~~~~

Day Nineteen

“Hey! Hey, over here!” Loki shouts at the top of his lungs, standing in the boat and waving his arms frantically.

“They’re not going to see you,” Mobius says wearily.

“Hey! Mayday!”

“Loki—”

He can’t just give up. He can’t. There’s a ship right there. It’s not even that far away. He could almost swim if he wasn’t horribly underfed and weak.

“It’s a container ship. Even if they saw us—which they won’t—they wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t.”

“That can’t be true,” Loki insists.

“It is. Now get down before you turn us over and we lose everything,” Mobius says, though not unkindly.

With a heavy sigh, Loki collapses into the boat. He didn’t have the energy to stay standing up much longer anyway. “So we just have to sit here and watch our only link to the outside world sail away?”

Mobius hums. “Pretty much.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

~~~~~

Day Twenty-six

Sometimes Loki feels like he’s acclimatizing to the unending hunger, the constant dehydration, the mind-addling heat that the canvas shade barely mitigates.

Then he realizes: no. He’s just slowly going mad.

Every day is much the same. They wake up when the sun rises, eat a small portion of their rapidly dwindling stores, check the fishing lines they left in overnight. One day it rained, and they spent the entire time collecting as much fresh water as they could and washing away the salt that crusts their skin and leaves sores scattered over their bodies. It had felt euphoric in the moment, but it hadn’t lasted.

They have next to no modesty around each other anymore—difficult to, when you live within arm’s reach at all times. Loki has watched Mobius’ slightly soft form shrink, until his limbs are all sinewy muscle that’s slowly wasting away as well after almost a month of near-immobility. He knows all Mobius’ ticks and habits by now, which is why he knows immediately that something’s wrong when he wakes up to find Mobius curled up on his side.

Loki drops to his knees next to the other bench, wincing at the pain that shoots up through his aching joints, and puts a hand out to Mobius’ shoulder. He’s shivering. It’s not even a little cold. Loki swears under his breath.

“Mobius? Hey, are you all right?”

For a moment Mobius doesn’t respond, and Loki’s stomach drops. But then his eyelids are fluttering half-open. He tries to lick cracked, chapped lips with a too-dry tongue. “‘M fine,” he lies.

“I don’t know why I asked,” Loki huffs. He presses a hand to Mobius’ face and almost yelps at how hot his skin is. “You’re burning up.”

“‘M fine,” Mobius insists, making an abortive move to push himself up. Loki’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have made it even if Loki hadn’t been holding him down. He groans. “Maybe ‘m not fine.”

“What can I do?” Loki asks desperately. “Please tell me there’s something I can do.”

“There’s a small medical kit. Should have a few ibuprofen in it.”

“A few.”

“Better than nothing.”

“I’m not sure it is,” Loki mutters under his breath, but he goes to find the kit. Small is accurate—mostly bandaids and a few alcohol wipes. A roll of gauze. A few individual packets of pain relievers. Loki grabs one packet and what’s left in the solar still of their fresh water. They have a bit more in a larger jug, but they need it to rain again to replenish their supplies. “Here,” he says, dropping the pills into Mobius’ hand and holding out the water. “Drink up.”

Mobius throws the pills back and swallows them dry. “Don’t need it.”

“You do, you’re sick.”

“‘M fine,” he insists again. Loki wants to scream. “Not thirsty.”

“Bullshit,” Loki snaps. “Drink the goddamned water, Mobius.”

Mobius eyes the container uncertainly. “Did you already have your portion today?”

“Yes,” Loki lies. “Drink the rest.”

Fortunately, Mobius doesn’t fight him. The fact that he doesn’t have the strength to is something Loki is absolutely not considering.

~~~~~

Day Twenty-eight

“You need to eat,” Loki insists.

“Don’t,” Mobius mumbles. “Better to save it for you.”

“You need energy to get better.”

“And you need it to survive.”

“I’m not eating if you don’t,” Loki says stubbornly.

Mobius glares up at him from where he’s cradled against Loki’s chest, though in his current state it’s not very intimidating. To be fair, Loki doesn’t think it would be that intimidating under normal circumstances either.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” 

“I don’t care what you think of me. The only thing I care about right now is that you live,” Loki retorts, and somewhere, deep under the fear and exhaustion, he knows he means it completely.

~~~~~

Day Twenty-nine

In his near-delirious state, Loki almost misses the ship. Fortunately, the ship doesn’t miss them.

It’s a sailboat. One mast, not that big. There’s a man standing on the bow, waving to them. “Hei der borte! Lever du?”

Loki blinks and rubs his eyes. He is one hundred percent hallucinating this. They’re speaking Norwegian.

“Anyone alive over there?” the man calls, this time in English. A woman emerges from the cabin: tall, thin, white-blonde hair, a hand shading her eyes as she speaks to the man too quietly for Loki to understand.

Well, if this is a hallucination, he might as well indulge in the fantasy. Loki pushes himself up slightly, careful not to jostle Mobius, and lifts an arm.

“We’re alive!” he yells—or tries to. It comes out as a croak, if it comes out at all, though with the hand it probably doesn’t matter if it doesn’t carry.

There’s a bit of a commotion as the Norwegians spring into action, maneuvering their boat closer. Loki is still convinced he’s hallucinating, even when their hull bumps up against the lifeboat, even when the man leaps down into the boat, even when strong, capable hands try to remove Mobius from his grip. He automatically puts up a brief resistance at that, but he lacks the strength to do much of anything.

A few minutes later, he’s being hauled up on board the sailboat in some kind of sling and watching the lifeboat—their little refuge, the only thing separating them from the deep blue sea for the past month—slowly drift away.

And then, everything goes black.

~~~~~

Five Days Post-Rescue

The sound of a squeaky wheel rouses Loki from his dozing, and his eyelids flutter open to reveal Mobius pushing himself into the hospital room on a rickety wheelchair. His eyes are bright and there’s a smile under his beard, and the sight of him makes something contract almost painfully in Loki’s chest.

“I’m quite certain you’re not supposed to be up,” Loki tells him with as much reproach he can muster, though he can’t quite keep the smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“It’s fine,” Mobius says, grinning wider. “If they didn’t want me to go anywhere they wouldn’t have left the wheelchair next to the bed.”

“Hmm,” Loki hums doubtfully. “I’m beginning to suspect you’re secretly a troublemaker.”

“Who, me? Never. I always follow the rules. I’m just very good at finding loopholes.”

They’ve come a long way since the first days on the boat when they couldn’t stand each other. It’s extremely annoying how much Loki likes him, actually, but Loki supposes it was that or they’d have killed each other eventually.

“Good to see you’re doing well enough to be a nuisance,” Loki says as Mobius finishes wheeling over to the side of Loki’s bed, which is not something Loki is sure he could accomplish if their positions were reversed.

Despite his impressive show of vigor, Mobius collapses back heavily into the wheelchair once he’s arrived, and Loki can see he’s breathing heavily. “Yeah, I’m doing well,” he says, nodding. Then he narrows his eyes at Loki. “Better than you, I hear.”

Loki shrugs. “I’m well enough. Getting stronger by the day.”

“Maybe you can help me out with something,” Mobius says in a pointed tone of voice that spells trouble. “See, I was pretty out of it at the time, but now that I think back on it, it seems like you were giving me all your food and water rations those last few days. But that can’t be right, can it?”

“You’re right, you were delirious,” Loki says tightly, looking away. He swallows hard. Mobius wasn’t supposed to remember. “Why would I do something like that?”

“That’s a good question.”

“Well. I’m sure I don’t know.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Mobius reaches out and takes his hand where it’s lying on the bed. Loki turns his head to watch as he carefully weaves their fingers together, then finally looks up to meet his eyes when he squeezes gently.

“You know, I probably would have done the same thing in your place,” Mobius murmurs, a quiet confession almost overwhelmed by the street sounds drifting in on the warm breeze.

“You’d be an idiot, then.”

“Loki,” Mobius sighs. His eyes flit over Loki’s face, like he’s searching for something. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“What—” Loki starts, but then he’s being pulled in until he’s close enough for Mobius to stretch up and press their lips together.

It’s brief and chaste, both of their lips still dry and cracked, and it still makes something impossibly warm and soft kindle deep in his chest. Before he can fully process it, Mobius is pulling back, giving him the promised out, and Loki stares at him, wild-eyed.

“This is insane. I’m not— we’re not—” Loki stammers, but then he cuts himself off, chasing after Mobius’ mouth almost without meaning to.

He presses forward again, kissing the smile that’s bloomed across Mobius’ face until Mobius’ lips are moving against his, until he feels the gentle scrape of teeth and flick of a tongue, until all the doubt fades away and all that’s left is a certainty that he feels down to his bones.

They are, actually. More than strangers on a ship, more than companions in extremis, more than friends, more than potential lovers. More than can ever fully be put into words, Loki suspects.

Good thing he doesn’t have to.

#lokius #loki x mobius #loki laufeyson #mobius m. mobius #loki fanfic #loki fic #loki series #loki tv #my fic #chamel's fandom fest