Oh they'd revisit it time and time again, without a doubt. Henry should resign himself to a life of Alex's commentary on his height and other common squabbling issues. It was who they were. They were too wise to woo peaceably, to paraphrase some old British bard.

Right now though there was no quipping, no banter, there was the warmth of Henry's lips against his own, soft and full and sweet, and Alex wanted to disappear into the taste of him. The dancefloor moved on, but in their small sphere with just the two of them, they were still and caught up in each other.

He had no plans of trying to escape this kiss just yet, nowhere near satisfied when the feeling of Henry's arms around him only spurred a hunger he hadn't realized he possessed, ravenous and unquenchable. Those parted lips were impossible to resist, though Alex made no attempt to anyway, instead taking the invitation to deepen the kiss, tongue dipping past Henry's lips, plundering his mouth like this might be the only chance he had.

His hands came to frame the prince's face, one sliding back to bury in soft blond hair, holding him close, holding him for dear life.