Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Are you sure this is a good idea? It doesn’t make me seem…vain?” Alex asks the group at large, to a variety of reactions. Zahra rolls her eyes; his mom is typing on her phone and doesn’t seem to have noticed he asked a question; Nora looks ready to give him the statistics; June is looking mildly concerned. It isn’t until he sees the interest on Henry’s face though that he seriously starts to consider saying ‘yes.’ 

“Leave the spin to me, but the designer specifically requested you,” Zahra adds before holding up her finger to signal a minute and stepping away from the residence dining table - laid with a full spread of sandwiches and chips - to take a phone call. 

Henry, who’d come down to DC with him for the weekend because they have serious co-dependency issues but also neither of them have a problem with that, runs his fingers through the curls at the nape of Alex’s neck, then grounds him in a simple reminder that he’s safe, and loved, by holding him just precisely there. The trip is somewhat of a ‘family meeting’ that the First Family holds from time to time, normally minus Oscar. He and Henry are meeting up with his dad tomorrow for lunch, though, before they take the train back to New York, since Congress is in session. 

“Probably to get Henry in the front row,” Alex scoffs, holding back a wince when Henry just taps a finger lightly on his neck as a reminder against negative self-talk. It doesn’t hurt at all, but he just hates disappointing his fiance.

“Did Angel send any of their sketches?” Henry sounds appropriately interested, but Alex knows all of his voices, all of his tones now: Henry wants him to do this. His dom wants him to do this.

He’s probably going to have to wait til they’re alone to ask why, though.

“You’ve heard of the designer?” he asks instead, taking the folder Zahra had in front of her - she’s still taking her phone call - and passing it along to Henry. 

“Mmm, yes. You have, too. They designed Pez’s outfit for the Okonjo Foundation gala we attended. Mmm, yes, there it is.” 

The outfit is on a model, not Pez, but Alex does indeed recognize it. Hell, he’d admired it aloud to Pez at the time. The turquoise tone had gone extremely well with his skin tone, and it hit the perfect balance of sexual androgyny that Pez delights in. 

Alex chews on his lip, only to get another reminder tap on the back of his neck. “You think I’d look good in this kind of stuff?” 

Henry looks him directly in the eye. “Darling, you would serve face, you would absolutely eat and leave no crumbs. The way you’re able to move your body, your hips? You’d…probably give my grandmother a heart attack.” 

“Okay, who are you, and what have you done with my lit major fiance?” Alex jokes, enjoying seeing Henry’s cheeks go pink when he realizes that most of the table had heard their conversation. He also loves seeing this side of Henry, that Oxford slut phase poking through before he becomes more reserved again. “However, anything I can do to hurry along that event so it doesn’t conflict with our wedding in 2026, sounds good to me.” 

“Sugar, I did not just hear you call for the current Queen’s death, did I?” 

“No, Ma, of course not.” Alex winks at Henry, though, belying his words. 

“The designer, Angel, donates a portion of their proceeds for their Fashion Week shows to queer youth shelters in the city. I believe Pez knows them personally, if you want his opinion. But, darling, you’d look exquisite, and it only reinforces your platform.” 

Alex pages through the runway shots and sketches for what the designer had been thinking of putting him in, then closes the folder with a nod. “I’ll do it.” 

“Perfect,” Zahra says as she returns to the table, apparently completely capable of having two conversations at once. “Madam President, we’re needed in the West Wing for that meeting.” 

“Of course.” Ellen pushes away from the table, then gives her children both a motherly stare. “I’ll see you for dinner, yes? Leo’s making lasagna.”

With a chorus of “Yes, Mom” from June and Alex, the impromptu lunch meeting breaks up, and Alex delights in dragging Henry back to his room - their room for when they’re visiting, now. 

In the room, Henry takes over the dragging, sadly to the couch and not the bed, but Alex’s mood lifts when Henry drags him onto his lap, truly one of his favorite places to be. 

“Okay, truth time. Do you seriously think I’ll be a good fashion model?”

Henry captures his chin and tips Alex’s face until they’re eye-to-eye. “You will be. And I was serious, earlier. You being up there, head held high, as my royal consort, wearing clothing that blends masculinity and femininity - you are going to knock the socks off of everyone in the old guard, in a way I’ve never been able to, darling. You’ll be able to look down on them with disdain while I cheer. And yes, you might just give Gran that heart attack.” 

Alex’s heart pounds in his chest at the vision Henry is creating in his brain, at the mere fact that his partner sees him that way, sees the potential in him to be… that. He swallows, and then immediately has to deflect. “Okay, but tell me the real truth, sir, are you hoping you’ll see me in some sleepwear?” 

“It would be ridiculous for them to not put you in something that shows off your body, love, but I must admit that I prefer that particular style of lace and silk remain for my eyes only.” Henry pulls him closer, ghosting his lips over Alex’s jawline. 

“Mmm, has someone been shopping for me again?” Alex tips his head back to give Henry better access, ringing his arms around Henry’s neck at the same time. As always, Henry’s careful not to make marks, but it still feels sinful, those bowed lips scraping over the scruff he’s accumulated since he shaved yesterday morning, and landing by one of his most erogenous zones, his ear. He involuntarily gives a full-body shiver and an accompanying soft sound. 

“You like that, don’t you, my good boy?” Henry whispers, his breath ghosting over the shell of Alex’s ear and making him shiver again. 

“I-” he stutters his reply when Henry bites his earlobe lightly, “I love everything you give me, sir.” 

“I know you do. You’re such a good boy for me. So lovely to spoil.” 

Alex groans as Henry cups his cock. “Did you lock the door?” 

“Of course. I’ll always take care of you.” 

“I was thinking the opposite, actually. You should fucking ride me, sir. Ride me into the fucking bed.” 

Henry doesn’t say anything, just maneuvers them up off the couch with a grin and pulls them to the bed.

Prep for a fashion show takes much longer than Alex had thought it would, but the designer, Angel, really had been delighted at securing him as the headlining model and had been happy to work around his school and volunteering schedule. Pez and Henry had gotten involved as well, organizing the charity event around the show to benefit the Okonjo Foundation’s youth shelter in London. There’s talk that if this goes well, Angel will work with them for New York’s Fashion Week next year, too. 

Over the weeks of prep, Alex finds himself practicing his walk and turns down one of the long hallways of the Brooklyn shelter while he waits for Henry to be done with meetings, and gains an audience amongst the teens there more than once. The audience normally comes with critique, but also with suggestions, so Alex doesn’t mind. 

He’s still incredibly anxious, though, all the way up to the night before, as he paces around Henry’s Kensington bedroom - the palace still insists on Alex using the guest suite but literally everyone on the staff knows they just put Alex’s stuff in that bedroom for show. 

He’s brought his schoolwork to distract him, but he can’t concentrate on it. He’s about ten seconds away from calling Cash to drag the bodyguard out for a run on the Kensington grounds when his fiancé catches him mid-pace and takes him by the shoulders. 

“Darling, if you consent, I’d like to take over for the rest of tonight, soothe your anxiety, and tire you out completely so you can get your beauty sleep. Are you amenable?”

Alex’s brain immediately fritzes out and rewires itself as it always does when his dom takes control. “Yeah. Yes. Green. Just, you know, remember what Angel said, no marks anywhere because-“

“Yes, because that final number shows an absolutely slutty amount of thigh, I remember. And I promise, no marks.”

“Well then, distract away, sir. If you really think you can.”

Henry rolls his eyes at Alex’s, admittedly weak, attempt at bratting. He’s never at his best brat when he’s this anxious, but at least Henry knows that. 

“I don’t want to ruin all of your hard work, so I think we’ll stay away from fucking, tonight. I was thinking about starting with a spanking though. Nothing too hard, but just to take some of the edge off of the nerves, hmm?” 

Alex can only nod dumbly, and be led to the bed. He assumes a familiar position over Henry’s lap; they’ve been doing their maintenance spankings for almost a year now, and Alex swears they’re the only way he gets through finals season each semester. So he knows this ritual by heart, how Henry likes to warm him up with comforting rubs over his ass, through the material of his boxers. How he likes to take the first slap when - oh! - when Alex least expects it, different every time. How he hits both sides of Alex’s ass and makes Alex melt over his lap and slide into the spinny gold place. Pleasure and pain lick together up his spine. He’s hard, aching already, leaking against Henry’s lap, but neither of them care. Henry doesn’t normally make Alex keep count unless it’s for a clear punishment, and this definitely is not. 

“Doing so well for me, love,” Henry murmurs, rubbing over one of Alex’s cheeks, then immediately slapping it again. Alex jumps in his skin before the feeling spreads through him like molten gold, reaching every limb, each finger and toe and every last neural pathway in his brain. 

He’s so out of it, he doesn’t even notice when Henry pulls down his boxers to leave his ass exposed until he feels the sting of Henry’s skin on his. Warmth follows after, Henry cupping his cheek and rubbing it soothingly, before squeezing the muscle and setting Alex’s skin aflame again. 

Alex moans into the bedspread, trying to keep still but unable to stop himself from rocking in Henry’s lap. 

“Does my pretty boy need to come? Move those gorgeous hips for me, love. You can come whenever you want, darling.” 

Alex feels his cheeks flush even more deeply than they already are at the humiliating permission to hump Henry’s stomach until he gets off. The feeling zings through him like electricity, and he groans, fisting at the sheets. Between the two of them, they get a rhythm going, Henry slapping in between Alex’s thrusts against his lap. 

“Close, close, sir,” Alex groans. His ass is on fire, his cock harder than rock, but the orgasm remains stubbornly locked away. 

Henry must sense his frustration because he pauses his slaps and cups Alex’s thrusting ass, then slides his clever fingers down and presses against Alex’s perineum, stimulating his prostate from the outside. It’s not as good as getting fucked, but it’s enough to push Alex over the edge. He screams into the sheets, hoping he’s done a good enough job of muffling it as he comes all over Henry’s lap. He melts, completely boneless, only to feel Henry’s cock pressing against him from below - and Henry’s moving. 

More precisely, he’s moving his hips at the right angle to get some pressure on his cock from Alex’s spent body. He’s using Alex to get himself off. Oversensitive, Alex’s cock still gives a valiant twinge in its mess. 

“C’mon, baby, ge’dd’off on me,” Alex slurs, turning his head to look at Henry but leaving his cheek smooshed into the sheets.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful, my Alex,” Henry says, not looking at his face but at his flaming ass. Alex grins, and tiredly closes his eyes, giving a few words of encouragement here and there. 

Henry groans and stiffens, and Alex feels the wet spot between them get even bigger. When he peeks an eye open and looks at his fiance, Henry’s leaning back on his hands, his abs beautifully flexed as he breathes heavily in his release, a look of absolute bliss and joy on his face. Alex gets it, it’s the same feeling flowing through his veins right now.

He closes his eyes again and drifts, groaning a complaint that turns aroused when he’s moved, then realizes it’s because Henry has lifted him, wedding-carry style, into his arms to go clean up in the bathroom. He cuddles against Henry’s neck, listening to the steady beat of his heart, his brain absolutely useless for anything beyond existing. Which is exactly what his dom wanted. 

From there, it’s pampering in the shower, Henry half keeping him propped up as he goes through both the hair and skin routine approved by the stylist for tomorrow. Outside the shower, he applies the cooling cream to Alex’s ass, then helps Alex step into the lounge pants Alex loves after spankings that are soft as clouds. Half-asleep already, Alex lets Henry tuck him into bed, and then he’s out like a light. 

He’s modeling three different outfits, so two quick changes that he’d practiced yesterday at the dress rehearsal, but by the time he’s being pulled out of his second outfit and being prepped for the grand finale, he barely even notices how many hands are on him, changing him, redoing his makeup, the whole shebang. His first two walks had been passable, he thinks, if a little shaky, but an entire front row of his friends and family, including Jones from Georgetown and a whole line of teens from the London youth shelter, hyping him up has boosted his confidence. 

Angel gives him a final approving once-over and then he’s in the queue, waiting behind two other models before his final walk. Angel joins him - he’ll come collect them when he’s completed his circuit for the final bow - and reaches out to squeeze his hand and give him a smile. “You look amazing, Alex. Enjoy this moment,” they say over the pounding beat of the show music. 

“Thanks for everything-” Alex attempts, but he’s cut off and directed onstage. 

The final look is something he imagines will end up in Pez’s wardrobe - if Henry doesn’t beat him to the jump and secures it for Alex himself. It involves a red and green kilt that lands above his knee and flirts with showing off everything due to the slit in the side. The kilt makes Alex nervous, but only about his body hair. He’d asked if they wanted him to shave his legs, and Angel had just laughed at him while shaking his head. Now he feels self-conscious showing off his hairy legs in a way he hasn’t even felt in shorts, and isn’t that a mindfuck. But, the look of approval on Henry’s face at the dress rehearsal had sealed the deal - no shaving, all hairs out and proud. 

The top is a mesh tank top in black, showing tantalizing glimpses of his stomach, his pecs, his nipples. Nothing wilder than he’d wear to Pride, but it still feels scandalous on stage. And on top, what he’d had to spend all those practices perfecting, he’s wearing a crown - or maybe a tiara? It’s kind of in-between, both solid and dainty, in rose gold and shimmering with various jewels. The headpiece had been hanging out in a suitcase literally handcuffed to a body-guard like his mom’s nuclear football, and Alex had basically had to sign his life away to even touch it. As far as Alex knows, it’s not a part of the crown jewels, but he hasn’t totally eliminated the possibility. 

He reaches the end of the runway and strikes a solid pose, his feet wide, his shoulders strong, his back straight. His eyes automatically find Henry in that split second before he must turn around again, and the look on Henry’s face says everything, and washes away any ounce of regret Alex might have had about doing this. He can only imagine the look on the Queen's face when she sees the pictures of this final look and pose.  

He turns, strides back along the catwalk and emerges backstage, only to appear again a minute later with Angel at the end of the parade of models. He holds their hand for them to drop into a deep curtsy, then does his own well-rehearsed bow - without losing the headpiece, thank God. He has no desire to be tackled by a well-paid bodyguard that gives Cash a run for their money. 

The cheering is deafening, but all Alex can see is Henry’s face. The crowd is on their feet, and Henry is clapping as loudly as the rest of them, but from here, and with the lights - even with all that, Alex can tell that Henry’s eyes are black with desire. He grins at his dom and gives him a wink, which has Henry shaking his head. Brat, he reads from Henry’s lips. 

Alex’s grin only grows wider as he takes Angel’s hand and they walk backstage again to get ready for the after-show. He doesn’t mind in the slightest having riled up his fiance.