Alex does not fail to notice that Henry’s dress code for this evening is of something rather striking, as he is wearing a velvet bright red fishtail suit. Henry starts galloping around June as soon as the music assembles and Alex watches the way his legs easily bend backwards as he moves. It’s probably because Henry is dancing more or less in his and Bea’s eyeline, therefore they both find themselves glancing at them whilst they chatter.

“You did not fancy participating in this particular dance then?” Alex makes light, a mere breathless chuckle escaping from his lips.

“No,” Bea responds, her eyes drifting back towards the floor. “I shall let my brother take the reins on this one, he seems to be doing a very remarkable job of it.”

What Alex does fail to notice, however, is that when he nods back at the floor in agreement, Bea is smirking up at him.

“Beatrice, Sir Claremont-Diaz,” Catherine’s voice greets them as she approaches in a navy ball gown and matching hat. With that, Alex’s gaze flickers and moves to the Duchess of Edinburgh.

“Your Grace,” Alex bows his head. “What a pleasant evening this is.” He compliments, indicating the energetic atmosphere with his arm outstretched and gravitating around the room. “We were also just admiring the Prince of Wales’ dancing skills.”

Catherine’s eyes are diverted to the floor and she smiles wistfully as she watches her son dance with June. Henry’s look tediously falters as he frowns at his mother when he notices that she is watching him.

“He has always been a very good dancer, my boy - that's when he wants to be,” Catherine recalls, her voice soft and her hand on her heart as she turns towards Bea, “Right Bea?”

“Right,” Bea nods in agreement. “Always could be quite the performer.”

“Let’s head back,” Henry faces away from the sky. “We need to find the others and make way.”

Henry trumples over the leaves and does not look back to see if Alex is following behind, but he can hear him through the sound of his strides that are following him. Though, he does get his definite answer that Alex is following close behind when he steps hastily on a bit of mud, where the pouring rain has made it wet and without hesitation has caused him to slip, falling flat on his arse with a loud groan and his rifle landing next to him.

And then there’s Alex, looking down at him with a witty smirk on his lips and chuckling.

Ah, there’s that irritating knobhead.

“It is not funny,” Henry growls. “Do not just stand there and shed your amusement.”

“I apologise,” Alex smirks. A long breath elicits from his lips and the laughter dies down, “Do you want a hand getting up?”

Henry looks unimpressed as he is now faced with Alex’s offering hand…and his long fingers directly held out in front of him. He gulps. “I am perfectly capable of getting up myself, thank you very much, I am not an invalid.”

“I never said you were as such,” Alex argues. “I just cannot imagine a prince getting on his hands and knees that is all.”

You would be surprised. Henry says to himself, but instead he huffs out exasperatedly and grabs hold of Alex’s hand and feels the force of him pulling him up off the ground.

And he was so close until Alex misplaced his footing and ended up slipping himself, tumbling with him to the ground. And just as Henry’s luck goes, Alex falls on top of him. In the worst position imaginable. The rain has clearly washed away the alignments of the stars because even though Henry did not fall flat on his back and is sat fairly upright, Alex has somehow ended up straddling his lap. And the even worse thing is that neither of them has made absolutely no hesitation to move.

“He has got nice lips has he not? I notice that you have been looking.”

“What is it that you are getting at,” Henry snaps, suddenly on the defensive, trying to stop the heat from rising in his cheeks as he starts to get all flustered - thretting that the game could be up.

Bea is over to him in an instant, taking hold of his hand reassuringly. “It’s okay Henry. If I am being honest, I have also seen Alex’s eyes wandering to other men.”

Henry’s eyebrows shoot up as he says, almost horrified, “He’s been what?”

Bea’s smile just grows. “Especially you, Hen. I think he also might think that you have pretty lips. Ones that even I am very jealous of. At the races when you two were bickering and in a heated debate, it felt like the rest of us did not exist.”

Henry’s breath starts to hitch and the heat in his belly is starting to tingle in desperation. He tentatively starts to trickle his hand further down, feeling the muscles in his abdomen clench and moving swiftly past his belly button as the heat starts to rise. His snail trail tickles lightly against his fingertips and Henry lets out a low breath as he starts to feel his heart pound against his chest as he gets closer. On instinct, his feet slide up the bathtub and his legs start to bend at the knees in itching anticipation.

Nobody has to know.

A highly satisfying sigh escapes Henry’s lips once he feels down his pubic hair and his hand finally reaches down to grab hold of the base of his throbbing cock and holds it upright. Henry’s mouth forms the perfect ‘o’ and his breathes start shaking as he slowly works his hand up the shaft, and his thumb rubs over the tip of what Henry likes to call a bellend, feeling its wetness (as it had been laying in water and precum has most likely accumulated in the last few minutes) and collecting it.

Henry allows himself to let out a low moan as he slowly starts to stroke up and down, behind his eyelids he is imagining the beautiful American in the bathtub with him in between his legs and doing things that can only exist in his fantasies. When he flicks his wrist the way he likes, the fire in his belly roars.

“They have chocolate chips and peelings from oranges, hence the citrusy flavour.”

“I suppose you might not have heard of oranges where you come from, Sir Claremont-Diaz?” Henry jeers from his place on the opposite settee.

Alex turns to Henry to find his eyebrow challengingly propped up and a smirk that has a hint of slyness about it.

“Actually, Your Royal Highness, as a matter of fact I have had oranges before, especially since they first originated in my hometown,” Alex points out. “Texas.”