Orion || RWRB fanfic || Henry's POV

34- The Red Room

A/N- I wrote this originally as an extra scene, by request of KnihyNavzdy

***

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.