Henry being uncomfortable because he’s in America, with people who are Alex’s friends and his acquaintances, but he pushes through it because Alex’s lips look nice around the rim of a bottle and sometimes he’ll lick a drop of his drink from the corner of his mouth and all thoughts of excusing himself to his hotel disappear. They’ve just started dating, most people at the party don’t know and they can’t tell them. Henry has to stay at an appropriate distance from Alex and it’s killing him. The guy who hits on Alex isn’t someone Henry can remember the name of, but at one point they were probably introduced to each other. He puts a hand on Alex’s shoulder, offers him a too-sweet drink and doesnt move away when Alex declines. He lingers, in a spot that’s carved out for Henry, unaware or careless of the way Alex shifts beneath the weight of his arm around his shoulders. Alex seems oblivious to the intention, just mindlessly entertaining an overly-friendly stranger. Maybe it’s something he’s used to, and that thought fuels the fire in Henry’s chest even more.
The guy leans forward, halfway through telling some dumb joke, and plants a kiss on Alex’s cheek—and that’s what finally breaks Henry’s patience.
It’s one swing. A punch with too little force and too much alcohol behind it. It leaves a soft red mark and a stunned expression on the guys face. Alex is pulling Henry away and out of the room before more can happen. Before the guy realises that the prince of Wales just punched him and decides that the power of the crown isn’t enough to dissuade a retaliation.
Alex is a little pissed, a little flattered. He pulls Henry into a closet and kisses him with messy, drunk lips. There’s not enough coordination between the two of them for it, and it’s interupted by Alex’s giggling as he slowly processes how much shit they’re going to be in.