Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy

Alex arrives home from his speaking engagement in Boston to a rather quiet house.

It's not the first time the old brownstone that Henry and he had moved into had been quiet obviously, but this is a different kind of quiet. It's not the calm, peaceful kind of call to relax or come in to hang out or sleep. No, it's a restless quiet, the only light being a faint one coming from upstairs as he takes off his coat and leaves his bags at the door, calling out. "Baby?"

He doesn't get a response, which kinda makes him squirm slightly internally, but nevertheless, cautiously heads upstairs towards what he's identified as lamp light coming from their bedroom door. Pushing it ajar, his eyes only land on a still freshly made king sized bed, shadows swimming around the room as he calls out again. "Hen?"

"Oh. Hello darling. Home so soon?"

Henry's voice makes Alex's previously freezing insides melt and he turns to find a dark corner of the room not touched by the golden glow the bedside lamp is giving, a silhouette in black sitting in a chair within what he can make out. "Hen, what's with the theatrics?" His voice teases, grinning and shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. "You been reading Lord Byron again without me here?"

"Perhaps a little." Henry's voice takes on a husky tone, which dries Alex's mouth out in seconds as he stands there, rooted to the wood floor. "You know how you said that you were going to do some bad things to me once? A long time ago?"

Oh fuck. Oh shit. Alex can almost feel the stitches in his suit pants start to rip as his pelvis and what's attached practically makes it's own gravity field. "Yeah, I...kinda remember that."

"Well, I decided I should get the jump on you. Or more to the point, be allowed to jump on you, in the right attire of course."

Suddenly, Alex can't breathe, he can't speak, he can't even move as Henry, beautiful unpredictable Henry steps out of the shadows finally, dressed to his finest in his polo uniform Alex swears he left over in the UK, sans mallet and helmet of course, considering they don't exactly do polo in the States.

The long boots make him look like the 6 foot 2 everyone said he was before Alex came along and proved them wrong, white pants with not even a spot on them still hug his ass in a way that makes Alex's entire adult set of teeth click together, wishing they were on the skin, while his Kensington House red and blueish-black (listen, he's not got enough brain power for this) shirt practically clings to his arms screaming 'look at me, look at your forthcoming demise' while Alex is physically struggling to meet Henry's actual, darkly simmering eyes as he walks over to him. Putting a forceful hand under his chin, Alex's knees almost give out as Henry tilts his face up to look at him directly. "Hello."

"Oh...my...god." Alex wheezes, pretty sure the sudden feeling of adrenaline surging through his brain is concerning given he's had a ton of energy drinks and caffeine this last week just to stay awake to finish his work, but he doesn't care as Henry /can't/ look that good. "Hi."

Henry smiles, though it's more of a smirk to the other right now, before his face turns ashen and serious again, the Englishman adopting a tone of authority. "Kensington House has been invited to a private polo match."

"Oh." Alex can't bring himself to say more, feeling like if he breaks this spell, he'll wake up to Henry, sure, but it'll be in daylight in bedsheets that smell like Covent Garden with a splitting headache and unsatisfied morning wood. "I see."

"Yes, quite. I find myself, however, with a lack of a good horse." Henry's face tips down and Alex can see the glint in his eyes from the light that equally casts shadows on his face, making him look older and more sinister than usual. "I don't suppose you know of anyone who could provide me a service? It's a very important match you know."