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If Mary saw Henry now, she’d probably call blasphemy, or go on another one of her terrifyingly calm rants. But Mary doesn’t matter to him now, and Henry feels no shame looking at himself in the mirror covered head to toe in “the whole cowboy-get-up,” or so Alex says.
He’s wearing a warm brown Buckskin jacket lined with a white trim and fringes, along with black chaps on top of his white pants, the same shade of white as his Stetson. It’s been two months since he first got it, and he has been obsessed with it ever since. The perfect shade, the soft texture, the weight of it in both his hands and words.
Henry thinks of his father, imagining him in one of those cowboy movies complete in full Western Wear. He had never shot any cowboy movies, Henry knows. Mary said it’d be too unpatriotic, or something of the sort.
He knows he spent most of his life with Arthur in the palace, he knows he grew up there. But Henry looks out of the window of their new house and sees his father, or at least the essence of him. The warm air, the soft rolling hills in the distance, the glimmering lake, the feeling of home. In some unexplainable way, Texas reminds him so much more of Arthur than the cold grey palace walls ever did.
Henry continues to look out the window, and down by the patio he sees his husband, glowing like the sun couldn’t compare. And almost instinctively, Alex turns around and looks up, meeting Henry’s gaze. He grins, beckoning him to come outside. So that, he does.
Henry carefully closes their patio door behind him, finding Alex waiting. He looks him up and down, and Alex nods in satisfaction. “Those chaps, and those thighs ? Jesus. I can’t believe you look better than me in chaps, but I’m not really mad about it," Alex's hand reaches out, and Henry holds it without even thinking. He runs his thumb over the ring like second nature.
It’s now Henry’s turn to properly look at Alex, and he’s absolutely lovestruck. It’s not the first time he’s seen him wearing Western Wear, but god does it get Henry every damn time. He’s wearing a black leather jacket in the same shade of his cowboy hat, with dark jeans that hug his figure so perfectly. Yet despite how dark his outfit is, it doesn’t stop him from positively glowing. He shines in the orange hues of the sun, his freckles shining through his warm skin.
Alex has always and will always be beautiful to Henry. He’s beautiful when he’s in a classic tuxedo, giving a captivating speech. He’s beautiful in Henry’s oxford hoodie, his glasses crooked on his nose while he types furiously on his laptop. But there’s a special quality seeing Alex like this in his prime, here in Texas. It takes Henry’s breath away every time.
“Oh, please. You were practically made for chaps. Or perhaps chaps were made specifically with you in mind.” “I know that, just wanted to be nice,” Alex smirks smugly, and Henry shakes his head with the roll of his eyes and a smile.
They sit on the stairs of the patio, Alex’s head resting on Henry’s shoulders as their hats knock together. The sun sets over the distance, reflecting on the lake, and it doesn’t take long until everything is cast in golden hour.
“So, how is it?” Alex asks, fiddling with their interlocked hands.
“Well, the chaps are rather tight, though I’m sure it was a deliberate choice.”
“Not the chaps, you ass. I meant Texas, baby.”
Henry looks away from the sunset and down towards Alex. Alex must realize this, because he sits up and properly looks at Henry as well. It takes Henry a moment to answer, but really it’s the easiest question.
“It’s perfect, love.”
They both stand up as the sun settles over the horizon. Henry holds Alex’s hands in his, the cool touch of their wedding rings in contrast with the warmth between their palms. He looks at the unruly curls of brown hair barely tamed by Alex's black Stetson, his vision slightly covered by the brim of his own creamy white Cowboy hat, and Henry thinks this must be one of the universe’s perfect pairs. The sort of pairings where it just makes total and complete sense, like they were made for each other.
Peanut butter and jelly. Tea and coffee. Two Stetsons in midnight and sandy white. The stars and the night sky. The First Son of the United States and the Prince of Wales. Alex and Henry. Henry and Alex.
Henry leans in, and the brims of their hats knock together clumsily. Alex scrunches his nose up and grins at him, and Henry can’t help the giddy laugh that escapes. They get it right the second time, and Henry smiles as he kisses his forever sweetly.
