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“Hen?” Alex calls from his side of the bed, the top sheet draped over his outstretched legs and a book hanging lazily from his hand. “Are you coming to bed?”
“I’m trying,” Henry answers from the bathroom. “I might be able to get there sooner if you’d help me out a bit, dear.”
The roll of Alex’s eyes is so fond it shouldn’t be considered an eye roll at all. “I offered,” he says with the beginning of a smirk clear in his voice, “but you said, and I quote, I don’t need any help, Alex, I’m perfectly capable of -”
“I know what I said,” Henry scowls as he finally steps out of the bathroom. He doesn’t look up at Alex just yet, instead hovering in the doorway with one arm braced on the doorframe and the other tucked underneath his belly to support the extra weight. Alex watches him, as mesmerized as ever, as Henry rubs the lower half of his bump and ambles across the room. “I’ve changed my mind. If you could please just fix - oh. You already did.”
“I already did,” Alex smiles as he tosses back the sheets and meets Henry on his side of the bed. Although Alex would rather have done something a bit more helpful than just preparing the bed for Henry - fluffing up his pillows and plugging in his phone and refilling his water - the grateful look on Henry’s face reminds him that even the smallest gestures are very, very appreciated by his husband.
His husband, who is just over eight months pregnant and looking every bit of it. Their little girl has been growing like mad these past few months, Henry right along with her, and Alex has had to learn to tread the fine line between doting on Henry 24/7 and still allowing him the independence he knows Henry needs.
So if Henry would rather Alex get their bed ready for him than help Henry into his pajamas, that’s exactly what Alex will do.
Speaking of pajamas… Henry has opted for a matching plaid set tonight, the top stretched beyond recognition in order to cover his belly. Even though it’s just a damn pair of pajamas, Alex finds himself caught up in yet another flurry of thoughts about how infatuated he is with both Henry and his pregnancy style.
Cashmere sweaters that hug his bump just right have been Henry’s favorite lately. He looks every bit the writer slash budding father that he is, choosing his nicer pieces for their rare ventures out of the house and the cozier ones for their time behind closed doors, just the two of them in their own little world.
Button-ups are a thing of the past, along with some of Henry’s favorite tailored pieces, tucked away in the back of their closet for the time being. For the most part, though, Henry hasn’t had a problem with his new wardrobe. Maybe it’s because he’s as in awe of his body as Alex is, or maybe it’s because Alex had come home one evening to find Henry sitting on the sofa in one of his old Claremont Forward Together t-shirts, a pale, taut strip of skin peeking out between its hem and his sweatpants, and Alex had promptly given him the best blowjob of his entire life.
Alex is always going a mile a minute, his mind in a million places at once. Right now is no different. He’s daydreaming about every version of Henry that’s ever existed while fawning over this version of Henry; the one tucked into his side at the edge of their bed, his warm body pressed against Alex’s from head to toe. Suddenly there’s a hand on Alex’s cheek, turning his face to meet Henry’s eyes.
“What are you thinking about, love?”
Alex doesn’t hesitate. “You.”
Henry’s eyes go impossibly soft. He takes Alex’s face in both of his hands now, pulling him close enough for a short, soft kiss. Alex brings his hands down to Henry’s hips and loses himself in the taste of Henry’s mouth against his own as Henry’s belly presses softly into Alex’s bare stomach. It’s so incredibly domestic, Alex thinks he might explode.
There’s just something so intoxicating about Henry like this. Well, Henry all of the time, every iteration of him, but this heavily pregnant version of Henry fills Alex up with more emotion than he knows what to do with. He did this. Henry wanted this with him. Henry is getting bigger each day, physical proof of their love and the future they’re building together, and it makes Alex feel drunkenly in love.
He savors the feeling of his husband against him for a moment before gently guiding Henry into bed. Their bed has become a haven for Henry lately, all memory foam pillows and soft sheets and a stack of novels on the nightstand. Henry sighs contentedly as he leans back against his pillows and then pats Alex’s half of the mattress expectantly.
Alex doesn’t waste a second climbing in. He shimmies himself as close to Henry as possible as soon as he’s under the sheets, knocking his forehead into his husband’s shoulder. “Are you comfortable?”
Henry responds with a kiss to the top of Alex’s head. He leaves his face nestled in Alex’s curls for a moment before answering the question. “I am. You can go back to your book now.”
“Yes sir.”
The next hour passes in the comfortable sort of half-silence that Alex and Henry have perfected over the years. They chat here and there, Alex narrating half of his book aloud while reruns of a sitcom Alex can’t remember the name of play softly on the TV across the room. He’s in the middle of recapping the latest plot twist when Henry takes his hand and gently kisses his knuckles, which turns into Alex forgetting the entire storyline and kissing Henry (on the lips, this time) until they’re both giggly and out of breath.
Nights like this are heaven on earth, and Alex wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world. Nights like this are when the rest of New York City, the rest of the world, fades into the background, and all Alex knows is Henry, Henry, Henry. Over the last few months, Henry has become Henry and their daughter, resting beneath Alex’s fingers against Henry’s warm skin. Sometimes, if he’s lucky, he’ll feel her toes press against his palm. Sometimes Henry will wince, and Alex will rub at the spot until the pain disappears from his face. Other times, though, most times, Alex will look up to find Henry beaming, staring down in blissful disbelief at Alex’s hand over his stomach.
It’s that position that Alex takes up as he finally closes his book for the night and curls into Henry’s side. He settles his hand in its usual position atop Henry’s belly, slipping it beneath the hem of his husband’s shirt and rubbing his thumb gently over the painfully stretched skin. Henry releases a shuddering, satisfied breath as he scrolls on his phone, and before long, Alex feels his eyes starting to drift closed.
“Oh, they didn’t,” Henry suddenly gasps, and Alex’s eyes snap straight back open. He leans up on his elbow, trying to see what Henry is scowling at.
“Who didn’t do what?”
“See for yourself,” Henry sighs, dropping his phone unceremoniously into Alex’s lap and then slowly turning onto his side to mirror Alex.
The bold headline jumps out at Alex immediately.
PREGNANCY FASHION FLOP - Former Prince Henry Sports Sloppy Look Outside Brooklyn Home
“These motherfuckers,” Alex hisses at the words on the screen. If he was tired a few minutes ago, he’s certainly wide awake now. “I’ll sue their asses, I swear to -”
“Darling,” Henry interrupts, and when Alex finally looks away from the phone in his hand, he finds Henry laughing. “Did you see the photo? It’s quite funny, honestly.”
Right beneath the title is the picture Henry is referring to, with a little box promising more where that came from. Most likely taken from the park across the street from their front door, it’s a shot of Henry and David, the latter taking a bathroom break as Henry shields his eyes from the sun.
What stands out most, though, is Henry’s outfit - Alex’s bright orange Crocs, patterned pajama shorts, and a concert t-shirt so old that the tour dates on the back have been lost to time and the washing machine. The hand that isn’t raised towards the sky is settled firmly against Henry’s lower back in an obvious attempt to counteract the weight of his rounded belly, with his shirt not even covering it completely.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Alex breathes out as he stares at the photo, once again in awe of the fact that this perfect, perfect man is his. Messy or polished, Alex doesn’t care. Never has, never will.
Henry laughs again. “Thank you, love. Although I don’t think that ensemble is going to get me on any best dressed lists.”
Alex shifts his attention back to the article, skimming it as he scrolls. It’s mostly the clickbait nonsense he expected, but there’s far too much unnecessary commentary about Henry’s clothes, criticizing his “lazy” look as if they’d caught him at the Met Gala rather than on his own front steps.
The secondhand embarrassment I have rn is unbelievable reads one comment, embedded into the body of the article. The writer compares Henry to Martha, acting as if he should be ashamed that he hasn’t matched her former pregnancy elegance. Alex thinks, distantly, that he should really stop reading this shit before he cracks Henry’s phone screen.
Henry shifts closer and rests his chin on Alex’s shoulder. Without thinking, Alex turns the phone away from Henry, a protective sort of reflex. Henry rolls his eyes and swats at Alex’s outstretched arm until he relents and sets the phone down on the mattress beside them.
“Alex,” Henry says simply.
“Henry.”
“It’s okay.”
Alex starts to shake his head, because no it isn’t, but Henry reaches up to stop the movement before it begins. “It’s just a stupid article. A few months ago I might have cared what they had to say, but I don’t anymore. All that matters to me is that the three of us are healthy and safe. Nothing else.”
Alex knows what Henry isn’t saying. That far worse, more invasive things have been published about the two of them. That this is just internet stupidity at its finest, and that no sane person would judge Henry for dressing comfortably while he’s literally growing a human being inside of him. It’s immensely comforting to know that Henry isn’t bothered by it, but… Alex still is.
“That’s all that matters to me too,” Alex says. It’s the complete truth, the anger still simmering in his chest set aside at the sincerity in Henry’s voice. He wants to say that he can’t believe websites like this one would stoop so low, but… the sad part is, he can believe it. He just wishes it wasn’t directed at his husband. “I love your style,” Alex adds as he shimmies forward and brings his hand up to play with the collar of Henry’s shirt. Henry laughs a little, rolling his eyes fondly. “I do! You’d look good in anything.”
“I beg to differ. My clothing options are very limited lately. I can’t quite outshine you the way I used to.”
Henry laughs even harder at the affronted look on Alex’s face and then, without warning, tugs Alex towards him. Alex smirks, and Henry bats at his chest. “Not now, you heathen. I was just going to ask you if you like these pajamas.”
He looks up at Alex with shiny doe eyes, and Alex is so in love he could die.
There isn’t much room left for Alex to lean up on his elbows over Henry anymore, so instead, he straddles Henry’s thighs and bends forward to kiss him. He moves from Henry’s lips to the side of his neck more gently than he’s ever done anything, knowing exactly what Henry is asking for - Alex’s lips and warm breath against his sensitive skin, reminding him just how incredibly loved he is.
“I do,” Alex mumbles. He reaches a hand down to fiddle with the shirt’s hem while the other strokes Henry’s cheek. “You look so good like this, baby.”
Henry hums. “Will you help me take them off?”
Alex makes a strangled noise against Henry’s neck as Henry’s fingers dance up his spine. He nods and then shifts down a bit, weaving a hand behind Henry’s back and guiding him far enough off the mattress to tug his shirt over his head and drop it onto the bed beside them. “You can keep kissing me now,” Henry says as he settles back down, clearly noting Alex’s lovestruck expression as his eyes flutter closed. “Please.”
Alex, of course, keeps kissing him.
He resumes where he’d left off at Henry’s neck and travels down his collarbone to the center of his bare chest, bowing his head against Henry’s heart. Alex takes a moment there, willing his own heart to stop pounding as Henry buries his fingers in Alex’s curls. “I love you,” Henry says, breathless above him, and Alex kisses a million I love you too’s into Henry’s skin.
There’s another heartbeat he wants to be close to right now too. It takes a bit of maneuvering, but he manages a successful line of kisses down Henry’s upper body and up the front of his belly. He stops at the highest point, pressing feather-light kisses everywhere he can reach. Henry’s gotten huge in the very best way, and Alex can barely look at him without feeling a rush of love, affection, pride, and so much more.
“Hello, little love,” he whispers into Henry’s skin. He cups Henry’s hip with one hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth to let Henry know he hasn’t forgotten him. “We can’t wait to meet you.”
Alex loses himself for a few minutes. Henry doesn’t mind. He kisses up and down Henry’s belly, running his lips over stretch marks and mumbling sweet nothings into Henry’s skin. It’s worship - the purest definition of the word - and Alex recites prayers for the three of them alone until Henry squeezes his shoulder. “Come back up,” he breathes out, and Alex obliges immediately.
They kiss once, twice, three times, and then Alex settles down on his side of the bed, pulling Henry gently to his chest and brushing a thumb over the shell of his ear. “I love you.”
“I love you more,” Henry smiles softly, punctuating it with a yawn. He curls impossibly closer, and Alex barely has time to argue before Henry’s eyes are drifting closed and he’s dozing, his lips parted against Alex’s bare skin.
Henry is fully passed out in a matter of minutes. Before Alex does the same, he reaches for his phone on the nightstand.
@TMZ, he types, I know saying this won’t change a thing since you’ve always been the shittiest fucking publication out there, but I’ll say it anyway. Find something better to do than criticize my husband and stay the fuck away from our home. Pathetic.
His notifications are buzzing with likes and reposts a split second after the tweet goes up. He doesn’t read a single one. With his phone set to airplane mode, Alex sinks back into the mattress and buries his face in Henry’s hair.
“You’re perfect,” he mumbles. Some words might be right for millions of people, but these are for Henry alone. “Crocs and all.”