Henry's hands won't stop shaking. They flutter from his lap, to his hair, to his sides, and back again; weaving knots of anxiety that tighten in his chest as the car prowls closer to the White House. Towards Alex.

The images start piling up with every slipping second; crawling up from the barred depths of his mind- where Henry keeps his fondest dreams, his darkest nightmares. Which one Alex is... well, that will be decided today. His fingers seek stillness in the coiled locks of his hair; and they tug insistently at his skin as he feels his will fading, and gives into the flood of Alex.

Alex at the wedding; drink flushing his cheeks and unravelling his tongue. Alex in Henry's house- perched on the kitchen counter; glasses he'd never known he had adorably crooked. Alex in the hospital- Alex in the storage closet- Alex with the turkeys- Alex at the party- Alex in the snow.

Alex's lips.

As Henry kisses him.

He lets out a kind of strangled moan; letting his head slam into the blacked-out window beside him. A PPO's head jerks up beside him, eyeing Henry questioning- but he just shakes his head vaguely, and sets his eyes out the glass again.

He feels like a shattered record- it's like his mind is stuck on loop; pictures of Alex, Alex, Alex cycling through his head.

It's always been Alex.

By the time Henry exits the car, smoothing down the lapels of his suit and anxiously double-checking his hair in the window, he's made up his mind. Act normal. Like nothing ever happened- like he's totally fine.

Totally fine.

Henry is totally, absolutely, utterly fine.

Gravel crunches beneath his feet, as he draws up short in front of the open doors. The new prime minister brushes lightly past him, and heads on in- but Henry hovers behind for a moment; just focusing on breathing. Because even that seems difficult, right now. Banishing Alex's face from his mind, he draws himself up straight, exhales in a puff, and starts to walk.

One step.

Two.

Three.

One more- and then he's over the threshold, and inside.

Henry fights to keep his eyes trained on the floor; dredging up years of blurry etiquette lessons as he models his face into what he sincerely hopes is a polite, vaguely charming smile. The Perfect Prince mask; back in place. His hands are still trembling; mirroring the butterflies swarming his rib cage internally- so he clasps them behind his back- but then someone bumps into him, and his head whips up and somehow- impossible- across the sea of people, his eyes lock onto Alex's.

And Henry forgets how to breathe entirely.

The suit he's wearing drags his mind back to New's Year Eve. The party. The kiss. The way Alex's hair brushes so infinitely perfectly across his forehead makes Henry want to scream, and the intent gleaming in his eyes makes him want to whisk them both away to a private place where no one can ever find them again, and do unspeakable things to the First Son- until Alex screams as much as Henry wants to right now.

Turns out, it's a lot harder to act fine than he thought.

Henry's footsteps have stuttered; frozen by the eyes still captivating his own- but when they look sharply away, his body kicks into autopilot- even while his head swirls with a thousand different fantasies. Heat rises in his body; staining the tips of his ears, as he starts up the stairs. And he's so close to Alex, and everything inside him is burning, and if someone doesn't do something, he's going to jump him right here and now and screw everyone else in the world because Henry needs to feel Alex again. The kiss has unlocked a tidal wave of too-long suppressed wants and needs and desires that he never knew he was capable of feeling.

"All right, photos," Zahra hisses over Alex's shoulder. And he swears to God, Henry has never been more relieved to see that woman in his life.

"Oh," is all he can manage in reply; slightly breathless and dazed.

"Hey," Alex mutters under his breath; accent softening the edges of the vowels- turning Henry's insides into molten gold. They shake hands, and Henry wonders if Alex can feel him trembling; feel how hot and sweaty his palms are. Cameras flash all around them, and he tries for a grin to match Alex's personal one. The one that has the power to completely disarm Henry from a mile away. He just wants to slam Alex's back against a wall and kiss him until they both lose themselves completely.

Only, that's not an option. Alex hated him before- and he probably hates Henry again, now. He just had to go and ruin what tentative friendship they had- and now his whole world's on fire. And the only person who could possibly save him now is most definitely, completely, 100% straight. Just his luck.

"Cool to see you're not dead or anything," Alex continues. Henry, who's only really been half listening, and now lacks the ability to scrounge together more than single syllable sentences, replies:

"Er." He feels like an idiot. This was definitely not part of the plan.

"We need to talk," Alex adds hurriedly. Damn right, we do, Henry thinks. BUt also, he's dying inside. He really doesn't think he can survive another interaction with Alex, without being swallowed up by his gravitational aura. Henry's mouth falls open; probably about to make another fool of himself- but then Zahra begins bodily herding them into formation, and cameras continue clicking as The Whitehouse Trio head off in one direction, and Henry is prodded in another. He glances back. Alex doesn't.

Behind Henry's painfully plastic smile, throughout all of the endless photo ops and greetings and small talk, he's thinking about Alex. When he's finally allowed to take his place in the State Dining Room, he's thinking about Alex. When he's slowly making his way through a plate of rice pilaf, he's still thinking about him. Occasionally, he'll glance up and catch Alex's eye- then whip his head away and blush to his roots, regretting the day he was ever born.

When the heap of rice on his plate is finally dwindling, Henry looks up yet again- to find Alex leaning across the table to whisper into Nora's ear. Recalling their kiss at the party, jealousy brews in Henry's gut; souring his mouthful of food. He takes a swig of whatever's in his glass, and promptly chokes. Someone slaps him on the back, and he curses himself profusely. Way to go, Prince Charming. Choking on your food; incredibly charming. Just what people expect from the Royal Family.

When Henry recovers from both his bouts of coughing, and his embarrassment, Alex is over talking to his intimidating PPO; his best, wheedling smile pinned onto his face. Oh God, what's he planning now?

"Hey! Fancy some chocolate?" Nora shouts; right in Henry's ear. He jumps, and snaps his eyes away from Alex guiltily.

"Uh... sure?" He offers up. Henry is pretty sure that whatever Alex is planning, Nora is playing her part in it- and, just for once, he decides to play along. She grabs his elbow with a chaotic grin- as if Nora knows something she's not letting on- and leads Henry over to a stand of ornamental chocolates in the corner.

"So... I hear you and Alex have been getting along well," She starts up; waggling her eyebrows teasingly at him. Henry wonders just how much Alex has told Nora, with an increasing feeling of dread.

"Er..." He answers; reverting back to his monosyllabic responses. Nora just laughs in return, her hand shooting out to sneak a few particularly expensive-looking chocolates into her mouth.

"Want one?" She asks Henry; voice muffled around her mouthful.

"Erm... I'm good, thanks."

Henry closes his eyes for a millisecond; breathing deeply- and when he snaps them open again, Alex is planting himself firmly between him and Nora.

"Hi," he says. Nora grins at him; the two of them communicating seamlessly with their eyes. "Sorry to interrupt. Important, um. International. Relations. Stuff." And he grabs Henry's arm, and yanks him roughly away.

"Do you mind?" Henry huffs; painting an expression of mild annoyance over his face, to hide the impact Alex's touch has had on him.

Reluctant to break their contact, Henry lets Alex lead him briskly away from the tables and out of the dining room. When they reach the doors, the PPO from earlier is standing there. Her hand hovers for a moment on the knob, and she asks- sounding genuinely concerned:

"You're not going to kill him, are you?"

"Probably not," Alex tells her.

Oh God.

What has Henry got himself into now?

The PPO opens the door a crack, and Alex squeezes through; tugging Henry after him. There's a moment before he fully registers where he is, in which a thousand possibilities fly through Henry's mind: maybe Alex has taken him to a dungeon- to murder him. Or maybe it's a different type of dungeon... a different, much more enjoyable, type of murder. God: Henry really wants to die.

But then... everything swims back into focus.

And Henry's tie is caught in Alex's fist, and he's being dragged across the floor, and they reach the wall and-

Henry's back hits the plaster.

Alex's lips hit his.

And for a moment, all his senses are shocked out of him.

There's the heat- the searing heat of Alex's skin against his own. The seamless way their mouths fit together- the way Alex lets loose a small moan when Henry starts kissing him back.

Because yes, Henry's kissing him back.

One last thought registers, before he's lost forever; high on the feeling of Alex's tongue inside his mouth. Maybe he's not as straight as Henry had thought.

Henry's just about to lose it; just about to tip over the edge of the cliff, and give into himself- give into that burning need that makes heat rise in his cheeks and, embarrassingly, in his pants- but then he thinks of his brother.

Phillip- the echo of the words "Dad would be ashamed of you," branded into his skin. He thinks of his family; their disapproving glares; disappointed glances. What he could do to them- their reputation. Henry has the power to ruin everything. And so, even though every single part of him screams at him not to- he repeats history. He pulls away.

"Wait," He pants, and Alex's face falls momentarily, "Should we-"

"What?"

"I mean, er, should we, I dunno, slow down?" Henry scrambles desperately for some words that won't sting too badly; cringing at himself. Alex just stares. "Go for dinner first, or-"

"We just had dinner."

"Right. I meant- I just thought-"

"Stop thinking."

And there's just something about Alex at that exact moment; the vivid, lipstick red of his mouth; the mess Henry's made of his hair; the wild glint in his eyes, like he's got his mind set on doing something totally, irreparably stupid- and he just doesn't care. It's the way his words rasp in his throat as he talks- voice hoarse from kissing. It's the way he's still holding Henry's tie in one balled fist.

And Henry just melts.

He gives up and gives in, and gives every single part of himself over to Alex.

"Yes. Gladly."

And it should be scary. It should be awkward, and clumsy, and fumbling. But it's not.

Alex knocks a candelabra off the table next to them, and shoves Henry onto it; back against some random portrait- and he fits so perfectly between Henry's legs that he almost lets out a giddy laugh, caught somewhere between adrenaline, lust and disbelief.

And it's all electric.

And Henry can't believe this is real.

But the clang of Alex's teeth against his is real enough. The hand snaking further and further up Henry's thigh is real enough. The pressure in his pants is real enough. The rattle of the portrait frame as Henry tips his head back and moans at the ceiling is certainly real.

And then there's Alex.

Like Henry's said before: it's always Alex.

Alex who drives him crazy.

Alex who makes him laugh.

Alex who calls him late at night with a pair of insane turkeys in his bedroom.

Alex who kisses him like nothing matters more; who makes him feel truly alive for once.

Alex who gives him a reason to live, when all Henry feels like doing is dying.