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“Alex, my love, why are you wearing your court suit?”
“Because I’m courting your family?” Alex quips, but it comes out more like a question. Henry is standing outside his apartment, looking incredibly fond, but otherwise very casual. He has on jeans, for one, and a soft sweater that Alex kind of wants to rub his face against.
“Remember when we agreed to be honest with each other?” Henry asks, pushing his way into Alex’s apartment. He makes his way directly to Alex’s bedroom, and the fact that Henry even knows where his bedroom is, the fact that he moves around Alex’s apartment like he belongs here, makes something incredibly warm settle in Alex’s chest.
“No, you agreed to be honest with me,” Alex says. He crowds Henry up against his bedroom wall, relishing in the way Henry’s hands immediately find his waist. “I’m a lawyer, baby. I read the fine print.”
The tips of Henry’s ears tinge pink, like they always do when Alex calls him baby. Alex is expecting a kiss next – another usual direct consequence of Alex calling Henry baby – but instead, Henry just pushes Alex away gently and moves towards his closet.
“I know you’ve never been to afternoon tea before–”
“Because drinking tea isn’t typically an event–”
“But it doesn’t require your finest wears,” Henry says. He reaches into Alex’s closet and pulls out the Oxford crew neck that Alex distinctly remembers telling Henry he didn’t steal. “This would do, probably.”
“I’m not meeting your family wearing your clothes,” Alex hisses, pulling the crew neck out of Henry’s hands. “I’m already eleven years younger than you. I don’t need them thinking you dress me, too.”
“Oh, so that’s what this is about.” Henry’s expression softens considerably, no longer open and playful. He grabs Alex’s hands and drags him close, and Alex is helpless to do anything other than rest his head on Henry’s shoulder. “Alex, you understand that you’re the only one who cares much about the fact that I’m older than you?”
“Maybe right now, but what if I meet them and they decide I’m weird and immature?”
“Bea is the very definition of weird and immature and she’s three years older than me,” Henry says. Alex scoffs; he’s heard Bea over the phone talking to Henry, and she’s even more British than Henry is. By proxy, that must mean she’s very sophisticated and probably rubs elbows with the Queen.
“I just want them to like me,” Alex admits, voice muffled by the fabric of Henry’s sweater. He was right – it is very soft. He wonders how hard it would be to convince Henry to skip afternoon tea altogether and just let Alex curl up against his chest for the foreseeable future.
“They’re bound to like you because I like you.”
If Alex has to bite his lips to keep a giddy giggle from escaping, that’s nobody’s business but his own.
Henry squeezes Alex waist once, twice, then pulls away after dropping a kiss to his temple. He turns back to Alex’s closet as Alex goes about changing out of his suit. Henry tosses a pair of chinos on his bed, followed by a shirt that Alex is pretty sure he wore on his and Henry’s first official date.
When he looks at Henry, eyebrow raised, Henry just shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a romantic guy.”
Alex, because he’s a demon, according to Henry, says, “I was always under the impression you didn’t like this shirt. What, with how quick you were to take it off of me.”
“You,” Henry says darkly, “are the worst person I’ve ever met.”
“Wrong, I can think of three people right now you dislike more than me.”
Henry doesn’t say anything – because he knows Alex is right – and Alex dutifully buttons up his shirt. When he wore it out with Henry, he kept the top three buttons undone (absolutely sinful, Henry had called him) but now he buttons it all the way up to the collar and is reaching for his tie again before Henry stops him with a hand on his wrist.
“Alex. Take a deep breath and unbutton your bloody shirt.” Henry moves Alex’s tie farther away with his free hand. “I’ve seen you in court less buttoned up.” Henry unbuttons the top three buttons of Alex’s shirt, and Alex follows right behind him and buttons up everything but one.
“Alex.”
“Henry,” Alex mocks. Henry obviously notices the nervousness still on the edges of his voice, because he heaves a sigh and drags Alex close again. Alex thinks he could spend the rest of his life in Henry’s arms and feel fulfilled.
“Love, there is no reason to be nervous. It’s just Bea, who already kind of loves you because you make me happy.” Alex’s heart does not melt at that. “And my mum, who has sent me no less than a dozen messages about what kind of patisserie you prefer.”
“Did you tell her–”
“Madeleines, yes I did.” Henry squeezes Alex once more before letting him go, fingers coming up to dutifully unbutton his shirt again. “Now, can we get going? I’m quite interested to see how you fare against Bea’s inevitable interrogation.”
“What?”
Henry doesn’t answer him, just laughs and pulls Alex out of his own apartment.
__
There are many things that Alex likes about Henry, but one of his favorite things is Henry’s truck. Henry’s truck is so old it has a bench seat, which means that Alex can press up against him while he drives and have it be totally appropriate. Usually Alex is pressing up against Henry for very inappropriate reasons, but as they crawl up the stone driveway to Henry’s mom’s house, Alex finds himself needing the contact of Henry’s leg pressed against his to keep himself from opening the truck door while it’s moving and running in the opposite direction.
“Henry, why didn’t you tell me you grew up in a fucking mansion?” Alex hisses, staring at the building as it looms ever closer. There are well kept flower beds in the front, a riot of colors sprouting out of any available slice of earth. The house also has a white picket fence surrounding the front yard, and Alex sees two rocking chairs sitting on the porch.
“As you’ll remember, I didn’t grow up here,” Henry says matter-of-factly. Alex reaches under Henry’s arm and pinches the soft underside of Henry’s bicep. “Mum decided to purchase a house where she could host grandbabies in one day. Unfortunately for her, Pip lives in the UK, Bea makes a retching sound in the face of anyone who approaches her, and I, well. You know.”
“You could still have kids one day,” Alex says without thinking. He glances at Henry out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge his reaction. Alex surely wants kids one day, maybe five or six. He’s always wanted to be a dad. Maybe eleven, then he could have his own little football team.
Henry looks incredibly soft as he looks over at Alex. He finds Alex’s knee where it’s pressed against his own and squeezes it tightly. “I suppose you’re right.”
Alex’s throat feels a little tight as he imagines a little kid with his curls and Henry’s blue eyes bumbling around in the world. Voice hoarse, he says, “I usually am.”
Henry puts the truck in park, and Alex takes a deep breath. It’s just Henry’s mom and sister. Alex is great with moms. He’s also pretty good with his own sister, but if Bea is half as protective of Henry as June is of him, well. Alex has some serious charming to do.
“It’s gonna be great, love,” Henry says, then he presses a gentle kiss to Alex’s temple, and Alex has to try very hard not to die on the spot.
There’s a petite blond woman waiting on the porch as Alex and Henry approach, her arms already spread. Henry falls into them easily while Alex stands back, trying to figure out what to do with his hands. Cross his arms? No, too closed off. Put his hands in his pockets? No, he’ll look disrespectful. He settles on letting them hang by his sides like limp noodles until Catherine, assumably, turns to him with a smile.
“And you must be Alex, the one who’s been stealing my Henry away from me for these past months,” Catherine says warmly as she pulls Alex into a hug.
“My apologies, ma’am–”
“Don’t apologize!” Catherine waves her hand dismissively. “No grown man should be calling their mum everyday, anyhow. I much prefer the once a week, extremely fond, calls I get now as opposed to the same old ones I used to get each morning. Also, don’t call me ma’am, just Catherine will do.”
Alex tries not to dwell on the extremely fond part of that sentence, and instead follows Catherine inside when she beckons him and Henry forward. Almost immediately, Alex feels Henry’s arm curl around his waist.
“See? Fine,” Henry whispers. Alex rolls his eyes and needles his fingers into Henry’s side but doesn’t say anything.
That is, until an excitable beagle comes hurtling out of nowhere and practically rockets itself into Alex’s arms. He’s suddenly thankful for his years of lacrosse, because he catches the dog with relative ease.
“And who are you?” He coos, letting the dog lick excitedly at his chin. Upon closer inspection, he realizes he’s definitely seen this dog before, but he was much more asleep. “Hen, did you bring this guy to the office once?”
Alex tries not to let himself think about anything that happened between them more than six months ago, but the memories come flooding back. Henry on the office couch looking soft. Alex demanding to know what Henry was hiding. Henry telling him they weren’t friends.
And all the while,
“David, enough,” Henry scolds.
And all the while, David asleep in the corner, oblivious to it all.
Henry takes the beagle out of Alex’s arms, sets him on the ground, and gives him two firm pats on the ass. David immediately runs away, apparently satisfied. Alex thinks to himself that he would probably be pretty happy if Henry decided to give him two firm pats on the ass.
“Yes, I did. When I work weekends mum makes me take him with me. She thinks it will force me to take breaks, but Davey just sleeps the whole time,” Henry explains. He starts walking again and Alex follows dutifully behind. “He lived with me until I made partner at the firm, then I felt bad leaving him alone all day. Mum’s retired, so they go on many walks and drink tea together. It’s all very wholesome.”
Alex isn’t really sure what comes over him, but before Henry can enter the kitchen, he curls a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him down, pressing their mouths together probably a little too hotly for being in Henry’s mother’s home.
When he pulls back, he finds Henry looking at him in such a way that his spine feels like molten lava. Alex almost asks if Henry has a room here, and if anyone would notice if they were gone for like, fifteen minutes, but instead he just mutters, “David is a weird name for a dog.”
“After Bowie,” Henry mutters back, eyes still caught on Alex’s mouth.
Alex is about to cave, about to ask if there’s a bathroom, or a closet, or something within ten feet of where they’re standing, when the kitchen door opens and the person behind it coughs loudly.
“Hey, lovebirds, it’s tea time. Mum’s just brought out the Victoria sponge.” The woman – Bea, presumably – peeking out from behind the door is almost an exact carbon copy of Catherine, but where Catherine is all soft edges, Bea’s smile is sharp and mischievous when she looks at Alex. “Alex. Lovely to meet you in the midst of you necking my baby brother.”
“Bea,” Henry says, obviously going for exasperated but edging on incredibly fond. Bea disappears into the kitchen without another word, leaving Henry and Alex to marinate in their joint mortification until Henry finally leads Alex into the kitchen.
It’s just as grand as the rest of the house, with huge windows on each wall, a stove that Alex is pretty sure has eight burners, and a fucking chandelier dangling over the table, tucked into a corner.
“You should have let me wear my suit,” Alex hisses in Henry’s ear. Henry, the asshole, laughs at him and merely pushes Alex towards the table. Henry pulls out his chair for him, and Alex bites the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from smiling like a fool.
Henry takes the seat next to him and makes no attempt to hide the fact he scoots his chair closer to Alex’s. Under the table, he presses their knees together, and Alex thinks he might be a little in love with this man.
“So, Alex, what do you do?” Bea asks. Beside him, Henry snorts as reaches for the pot of tea.
“I’m an associate at the same firm as Henry,” he says, despite the fact he knows Bea knows that. He’s been in the background of plenty of Henry’s facetime calls with her these past few months. “I work primarily with Rafael Luna.”
“Oh, Raf! What a delightful man,” Catherine says. She reaches for Alex’s tea saucer and loads it with a handful of madeleines, even though Alex knows that’s not etiquette.
He did his research, okay?
“Yeah, he’s great,” Alex says, fiddling with his tea saucer. Henry is dutifully filling everyone’s cup one by one, long fingers supporting the spout of the teapot. Alex lets himself stare for probably a second too long, judging by the way Henry’s smirking when Alex finally looks at him. He rolls his eyes in an attempt to distract from his blush. “Shut up.”
“I haven’t said anything, dear.” Henry smiles wider, and Alex practically white-knuckles his tea cup so he doesn’t do something stupid, like drag him down by the back of his neck and make out with him with his family literally right there .
Alex sits back and eats his madeleines while Henry chats with his family, chiming in only when someone speaks to him directly. Usually, Alex never shuts the fuck up. It’s one of his more lovable traits. But he finds himself smiling while he listens to Henry talk to his mom, and he’s content to just sit back and let himself bask in Henry’s deep voice and the way he’s tracing soft circles on Alex’s shoulder, Henry’s arm thrown over the back of his chair.
When he does finally look over at Bea, he finds that she’s already looking back at him, a look on her face that Alex can’t read. She’s running her finger over the rim of her teacup, and stares fully at Alex without caring that he’s looking back at her.
Henry, absorbed in his own conversation, doesn’t even flinch when she says, “Alex, come with me, please.”
Alex looks at Henry, but he’s busy trying to help Catherine figure out how to increase the font size on her phone. Without another choice, Alex pushes away from the table and follows Bea out of the kitchen. She leads him to a small sitting room down the hallway and motions for him to sit.
“Stop looking at me like you’re going to throw up,” she says, taking a seat across from him. Alex does his best to school his expression into one that looks less nauseated, but he’s not sure he’s doing a good job. “Please forgive me, but I wouldn’t be doing my due diligence as a big sister if I didn’t at least ask you a few questions.”
“Um, okay?” Alex shifts in his seat, fiddling nervously with the band of his watch. Henry bought it for him a few weeks ago on a whim, and Alex only takes it off to shower and sleep.
“You’re quite young, and I just need to make sure you’re not going to break my brother’s heart when something new and shiny catches your eye.”
Alex can’t keep the offended look off his face. “Excuse me?”
“Alex, please. You’re what, twenty four–?”
“Twenty five.”
“Sure. Twenty five. Your frontal lobe is hardly developed, and you expect me to believe you’re ready to settle down? Because that’s what Hen wants. He wants a family and a house and someone to come home to at the end of a long day.”
Bea still has a hard look in her eyes, but Alex can’t help the way his heart melts in his chest. Because that’s what Alex wants. He wants to wake up in Henry’s arms and cook him breakfast on the weekends after a lazy morning in bed. He wants to haul a Christmas tree into the back of Henry’s truck and decorate it while Englebert Humperdink turns on the record player. He wants to make Henry soup when he gets sick and fix his tie for him before they leave for work each morning.
“Really?” Alex asks, fondness seeping into his tone. Bea’s expression softens considerably at Alex’s inability to keep his heart off his sleeve.
Bea reaches over and places her hand on Alex’s knee. “You really love him, huh?”
“I– we haven’t– well–” Alex looks down at his knees, trying to hide his blush. He takes a deep breath before looking up at Bea, trying to look as serious as he can while his cheeks are on fire. “Yes. Yes I do. I know it’s still early for us, but I can’t imagine life without him anymore.”
Bea pats his knee, says, “good chap,” and then walks away without another word.
Alex sits there for a minute, stunned, until he finally gains the wherewithal to find his way back to the kitchen. Bea and Catherine are at the kitchen island, fussing over yet another pastry, and Henry is still at the table, scrolling through his phone. Henry looks up as soon as he steps back into the room, and Alex thanks his lucky stars that his knees don’t entirely buckle underneath him.
“Hi, love,” Henry mutters, pressing a kiss to Alex’s temple as he sits down. Alex, forgoing his tedious hours of etiquette research, drags his chair close enough to Henry’s that he’s practically sitting in his lap. Henry throws an arm over the back of Alex’s chair and Alex burrows into the space, feeling like it’s been carved just for him. Henry, resting his cheek on the top of Alex’s head, asks, “how did your chat with Bea go?”
“She called me a good chap.” Alex wiggles his arm between Henry and his chair until he can get a firm grip on Henry's waist. He turns his head just enough to press a soft kiss to Henry’s neck. “Sleepover at your place tonight?”
“Whatever you want, love.”
Everything, Alex thinks. He wants everything with Henry.