#me: louis xvi chair...wait no xiv...xv?

[meneatyoghurt]

Paris, 10am

I couldn't resist a little fic inspired by that blooper.

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Read on AO3

The room is different in the morning sun. Where it was bathed in a warm glow as they fell into bed last night, it's now bright with natural light, the freshness of spring. Henry watches as Alex shrugs on his jacket, the last thing he needs. He's still lazing around in one of the hotel's soft dressing gowns, leaning back into a Louis XV chair with his ankles crossed on a footstool. If Alex has to leave, Henry is going to use every second before he goes to drink his fill.

"You're really just going to lounge there looking like…" Alex gestures towards Henry's general presence, searching for the right words with his hand and grasping nothing but air, "that—"

"Eloquent," Henry deadpans.

"—looking all coquettish—"

At that, Henry's nose wrinkles, "I preferred the first attempt, uninspired as it was."

"—wearing nothing but a robe, when you know I have to be on a plane in an hour." Alex ends his fit of pique with a throw of his hands, always so expressive in the way he moves his body. Not like Henry, who has been taught to hold himself up and in since he was in short trousers.

"Something to think about while you're on said plane. Remember me fondly, darling, for who knows when we shall see each other next." He takes a pointed sip of his tea, a flourish to his verbose affectation, too posh even for his own usual speech patterns.

"You are insufferable," Alex says, but he's coming closer anyway, leaning in to kiss the faux innocence from Henry's face.

He slides a deft hand inside Henry's robe, palming the warm flesh underneath. "You're sure you're not too sore?"

"Mm, only pleasantly so. I might have a soak in the bath after you've left."

"Now that's something to think about on the plane." Alex's gaze drifts upwards a little, a smile sweeping his face, as if he's already thinking about it. Or looking at where the plane will be.

"If you're lucky, maybe you won't have to imagine it."

"Naughty photos? Hell yes. Count me in."

Henry holds his hand out to Alex, a silent 'help me up', even though he in no way needs it. It's just an excuse to have once last physical connection, to feel the softness and hardness of Alex's palm in his, the firm grip and the silken skin. When he's on his feet, he palms Alex's cheek and jaw with one hand, then leans in to embrace him.

What's meant to be a hug goodbye doesn't remain one for long. Alex flutters a butterfly kiss to his cheek, his brow, his jaw, before taking his earlobe between his teeth and gently nipping. He moves down to Henry's neck, alternating kisses light and heavy, his tongue peaking out to taste the skin, still salty from the night before.

He lets Alex manoeuvre them and lower him to the bed, and lets himself enjoy the moment. Alex buried in the juncture between his jaw and shoulder, secreting kisses into that most intimate and sensitive of places, and Henry resolves to hold them there as he closes his eyes.

Until the soft kisses turn into trumpeting vibrations, loud, rude and wet. He instinctively starts hitting out at Alex, a childish response to a childish act.

"Ugh, go back to America!" is what comes out of him as he pushes Alex off him and the bed. "You absolute tosser. See if I ever let you near me again."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I had to!" Alex manages to get out as he laughs with his whole body.

"I really don't think you did," Henry says primly, trying to purse his lips but fighting a losing battle against the smile tugging at him.

"You said it yourself, who knows when I'll get another opportunity." He straightens his jacket and gives the room, and Henry, one last look. "And now I really have to go." He grabs a croissant and takes a monstrous bite from it, declaring "One for the road," as he chews. Leaning in to kiss Henry again, chasing when he tries to dodge, he presses flaky pastry into his lips. "And one of those too."

"Get out of here. I'll see you…when I see you," Henry concludes, thinking that they haven't yet made any solid plans on when they'll next meet. Something is sure to come up.

"Oh, one more thing," Alex stops himself abruptly just before he leaves, suitcase in hand.

"Yes, Columbo?"

He leans in close, lips and breath tickling the shell of Henry's ear, as he whispers in his very best French accent, "Croissant."

Henry can't help the decidedly unregal snort that comes out of him. "Mm, not bad. Keep practising and you'll soon sound like a real Parisian."

"Hope not, those guys are rude as fuck. See ya later, Henry George Edward James Hanover-Stuart Fox." With one more kiss to Henry's cheek he's out the door. Henry can just hear Amy's exasperated "Finally," drift through before it closes behind him.

Ten minutes later, just as he's slipping into the bathtub, he receives a text from Alex. I don't believe you've ever seen Columbo. It's swiftly followed by a GIF of a Bake Off contestant butchering the pronunciation of 'guacamole'.

He sends back You're rapidly talking yourself out of those photos before he melts into the water, a giddy, blissful laugh bubbling out of him.