Chapter Text
“I can’t do this anymore…”
Ilya’s eyes ripped open.
He could still smell the sweat and cum lingering in the air. The soft orange glow of the hotel room barely brushing against his senses. His head rested against Shane’s chest, sweat cooling against his cheek.
A second ago, his body had felt boneless.
Now every muscle locked up.
Shane’s chest rose and fell rapidly beneath him. Their hearts had been beating together moments ago, but now something felt wrong.
Like a cold wind.
Then Ilya heard it.
Sniffling.
Ilya slowly lifted his head. His breath puffed across Shane’s dusky nipples as his own pulse began hammering harder.
Shane had his hand thrown over his eyes.
Tears streamed beneath it.
Ilya froze.
What the fuck happened?
Did he hurt him?
No. No, he fucked Shane the same way he always did. Sure, Ilya could be rough, but Shane never complained. Never. His man was a soldier, and could take whatever Ilya threw at him.
Ilya opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out except rough breathing. His chest tightened with something ugly and unfamiliar.
Fear.
Slowly, as if not to startle either of them, Ilya rose up, his hands on either side of Shane, his breath hitched as he could see rivers of tears racing down Shane’s rosy cheeks.
Was it a mercy that Shane covered his eyes with his hand? The same hand Ilya held when they came together?
Shane’s teeth clenched hard enough to crack. His neck strained, freckles standing out sharply against his reddened skin.
Without uncovering his eyes, Shane pushed lightly against Ilya’s chest.
Gentle.
But somehow it still felt like getting hit.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
Something invisible wrapped around Ilya’s ribs and squeezed.
Like a ghost was pulling him out of Shane’s warmth and leaving him cold.
Ilya slowly sat back as Shane shakily stood from the bed, still completely naked.
Usually Ilya would’ve stared. Usually he would’ve said something filthy just to make Shane blush harder.
Now all he could focus on was the sound of Shane's breathing.
Uneven.
Broken.
The sniffles quieted as Shane grabbed his clothes from the nearby sofa. They were folded neatly, like always.
Except this time, they weren’t.
The sleeves hung loose. The folds were crooked. Too many wrinkles.
Shane’s hands had been shaking before they even got into bed.
Ilya should’ve noticed.
But he’d been too busy kissing him.
Too busy touching him.
Too busy wanting him.
Seeing those creases now made dread settle heavier inside his stomach.
Why wouldn’t Shane look at him?
Ilya realized Shane hadn’t looked him directly in the eye all night.
Not once.
Another sniffle dragged Ilya from his thoughts. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off Shane, but his mind kept racing, trying to figure out what the fuck went wrong.
They’d won another game.
Gone out drinking.
Ended up in bed.
Same old same old.
The hotel door clicked open.
Cold hallway light spilled across the floor.
Shane was leaving.
Ilya’s hand lifted slightly.
His mouth opened.
Nothing happened.
For one terrible second, Shane froze too.
Then Shane slipped through the doorway and slammed it shut behind him like he couldn’t get away fast enough.
Like the room was on fire.
If Shane was on fire, Ilya was ice.
The sweat drying on his skin suddenly felt disgusting. Wind drifted through the cracked window, making his teeth chatter.
He hugged himself.
Something he never fucking did.
He was Russian.
He was born in the cold.
So why did he feel so…
Iced out?
His eyes stayed locked on the door.
Ilya could be oblivious sometimes, but he wasn’t stupid. Something was wrong. Something important.
And somehow he had missed it.
That uncomfortable feeling swelled harder in his stomach.
Shane always spoke up when Ilya pissed him off. Their arguments were practically foreplay half the time.
But this?
This wasn’t anger.
This was defeat.
Ilya gripped his own arms tighter until he tasted blood.
He’d bitten the inside of his lip without realizing it.
That finally forced him to move.
He hissed as he stood, peeling the condom off and absentmindedly wiping himself clean. He was halfway to the bathroom when something on the floor caught his attention.
Shane’s underwear.
Ilya stared at it for a moment before picking it up.
Without thinking, he brought it to his face and inhaled deeply.
His chest tightened.
It was the first thing Shane had ever left behind.
Ilya knew Shane’s room number. They always exchanged them whenever they traveled.
But Shane clearly needed space.
Fine.
Ilya would give him the night.
Tomorrow morning he’d bring the underwear back, buy Shane his favorite breakfast, crack some dumb joke, and everything would go back to normal.
That’s what he told himself anyway.
The next morning, Shane was gone.
“Yeah, he came back super late and started shoving all his clothes into his bag,” Hayden said, eyes wide with concern. “I think he was trying to sneak out without waking me up, but he did anyway. He kept apologizing and shit.”
Ilya’s stomach sank.
“Did he say where he was going?” he asked carefully.
Hayden shook his head. “He was supposed to fly back with us.”
Ilya nodded once.
The breakfast bag in his hand suddenly felt heavy.
So did the underwear stuffed into his jacket pocket.
Outside, he handed the food to the first homeless man he saw.
Shane would’ve done it.
Back in his hotel room, Ilya finally looked at his phone.
Shane’s contact stared back at him.
I can’t do this anymore.
Ilya’s jaw tightened hard enough to hurt.
Then he shut the phone off completely.
Alex checked his watch again.
Ten minutes until the hotel.
His leg bounced rapidly against the leather seat while Amy talked on the phone with Cash, calmly going over security details.
Normally, Alex hated charity galas.
Too many fake smiles. Too many rich assholes pretending they cared about people for one night before disappearing back into their mansions.
But this event?
This one actually sounded fun.
And Henry had looked genuinely excited about it too.
The thought alone made warmth spread through Alex’s chest.
He turned toward the car window before Amy could catch the stupid grin on his face. Palm trees stretched across the glowing streets of Los Angeles while the Hollywood sign sat proudly in the distance.
God, he missed Henry.
Months apart always drove him insane, but every reunion made it worth it.
The last time they’d seen each other had been at a hockey game.
Which still felt surreal.
Alex never expected Prince Henry Fox to become obsessed with hockey of all things.
Henry played Polo. Pretentious rich-people sports where everyone looked one second away from attending a funeral.
But hockey?
Apparently hockey made Henry lose his Goddamn mind.
“Yes!” Henry had shouted over the roaring crowd, shooting to his feet the second Shane Hollander scored the winning goal.
The entire arena had exploded around them afterward.
People screaming.
Beer splashing.
The glass trembling from thousands of fans pounding against the rink walls below.
Even from the privacy of their luxury box, Alex could still feel the energy vibrating through the floor beneath his shoes.
And somehow Henry looked even more electric than the damn arena.
His cheeks had gone pink with excitement beneath the flashing stadium lights, blue eyes bright while he laughed breathlessly at the chaos unfolding below.
Alex could still picture him standing there proudly in Shane’s jersey like some ridiculously posh hockey groupie.
Honestly?
It should not have been as attractive as it was.
Unfortunately for Alex, Henry had stayed more focused on the game than on him.
Especially every time Shane touched the puck.
Alex had leaned closer afterward, one hand sliding along Henry’s thigh beneath the shadows of the private booth.
“You keep looking at him like that,” Alex had murmured low against Henry’s ear, lips barely brushing warm skin, “and I’m gonna have to bend you over this luxury box just to remind you who you’re leaving with tonight.” Henry nearly choked on his drink.
Alex shook the memory away quickly before his jealousy embarrassed him all over again.
It didn’t matter.
Henry was his.
And after the game, Alex had made very sure Henry forgot all about hockey for several very satisfying hours.
“Hey, Amy.”
Amy glanced over immediately. “Yeah?”
“You know exactly who’s gonna be at this thing?”
“A lot of politicians. Celebrities. Singers. Athletes.” She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Why?”
“What athletes?”
Amy snorted softly. “NBA. NFL. NHL. They booked basically whoever they could get months ago.”
Alex tried to sound casual.
“Do you know if Shane Hollander’s gonna be there?”
Amy slowly lowered the phone from her ear.
“Oh my God,” she muttered.
“What?”
“You’re jealous of a hockey player.”
“I am not jealous—”
“You looked like you sucked on a lemon that entire game.”
Alex crossed his arms defensively. “Henry was being weird.”
Amy gave him a look. “Alex. Henry looked at Shane Hollander the same way normal people look at puppies.”
“That is not helping.”
Amy laughed quietly before her expression softened.
“Relax, kid. Henry’s crazy about you.”
Alex’s shoulders loosened slightly.
“I know,” he admitted quietly. “And I trust him. I do.”
Amy nodded once. “Good. Keep trusting him. And remember where you are tonight.”
Alex sighed dramatically. “Yes, Mom.”
“This event is packed with politicians, media, athletes, celebrities, and probably half the internet. So no reckless flirting.”
Alex looked offended. “I never recklessly flirt.”
Amy stared at him.
Alex paused.
“Okay, fair.”
A few minutes later, the car finally rolled toward the massive hotel entrance glowing beneath gold lights and swarming photographers.
Alex stepped out first.
The California heat wrapped around him immediately, warm sunlight spilling across golden bronze skin while he breathed in the familiar air with an easy grin. Thick dark curls had already gone slightly tousled from travel, messy in a way that somehow only made him look better, and long black lashes fluttered against his cheeks when he squinted toward the bright Los Angeles sun setting on the horizon. Even exhausted, Alex still carried himself like he belonged everywhere he walked into.
Camera flashes exploded nearby while PPO agents moved carefully around the entrance.
Alex adjusted his suit and scanned the crowd instinctively.
Then his phone buzzed.
Henry:
Just arrived. Where are you?
Alex smiled instantly.
Alex:
Over here, Your Majesty.
A moment later, Henry appeared near the entrance surrounded by PPOs and his trusted equerry Shaan beside him.
Even after all this time, Alex’s breath still caught a little whenever he saw him.
Henry looked exhausted from traveling, dark circles faintly shadowing beneath his eyes, but somehow it only made him prettier. His golden blond hair had gone slightly messy from the flight, soft strands falling across his forehead while the arena lights caught against the sharp lines of his face. He looked like a beautiful disaster wrapped in designer clothes and royal exhaustion.
Their eyes met instantly.
And there it was.
That stupid soft smile Henry only ever gave him.
Alex walked over quickly before he could do something embarrassing like kiss him in public.
Instead, they hugged briefly.
Friendly.
Casual.
Totally straight-looking.
Probably.
“You made it,” Alex said softly, his lips carefully brushing against Henry’s ear.
“Barely,” Henry muttered, though his cheeks pinked slightly beneath the hotel lights.
Alex grinned.
Cute.
Beside them, Shaan watched the entire exchange with poorly hidden amusement, one eyebrow slowly lifting while Alex and Henry stared at each other like they’d forgotten the rest of the world existed.
“You two done staring at each other?” he asked dryly.
“No,” Alex answered immediately, his gaze lingering on Henry like he’d forgotten anyone else was standing there.
Henry tried to hide his smile behind his hand, but the growing pink flush across his cheeks completely gave him away.
Across the entrance, another pair of eyes followed the interaction carefully.
Ilya Rozanov leaned against a marble pillar nearby, watching the two men from beneath lowered lashes while the noise of the hotel drifted around him.
So that was Prince Henry.
A polished-looking service robot suddenly rolled up beside him carrying a silver tray of bottled water.
“Good evening, Mr. Rozanov,” the machine said politely. “Would you like complimentary refreshment assistance?”
Ilya barely glanced at it.
“No.”
The robot smoothly rolled away again without protest.
His attention drifted back toward the prince instead.
Interesting.
Henry looked softer in person than he did on television. Less guarded somehow. Tired too. The blond prince leaned slightly toward the tall dark-haired American beside him like it was instinctive.
Like gravity.
And the American was none other than Alex Claremont-Diaz.
Right.
The president’s son.
Ilya remembered him immediately from the hockey game months ago. Loud. Flirty. The kind of person who treated personal space like a polite suggestion.
Back then, Alex had spent half the evening orbiting Prince Henry, finding excuses to stand too close, touch his shoulder, brush his arm, and generally act like the prince was the center of his universe.
Even now, Alex stood too close to Henry for somebody who was supposedly just a friend. His hand brushed briefly against Henry’s wrist while they talked, and Henry didn’t even seem to notice it anymore.
Too comfortable.
Too natural.
Ilya’s mouth twitched slightly.
Yeah.
Those two were absolutely fucking.
He’d bet his entire hockey career on it.
Honestly, they looked pretty fucking obvious.
But Ilya didn’t care enough to think about it for long.
His thoughts drifted somewhere else entirely.
Back to Shane.
Six months.
Six fucking months.
And still nothing.
Ilya exhaled sharply through his nose and finally moved inside the hotel toward one of the lobby couches. He dropped into it heavily, spreading his arms across the back cushions.
His fingers slipped into his pocket for his cigarettes.
The hotel probably had some stupid no-smoking policy.
Whatever.
Someone could come yell at him later.
He had just pulled the pack halfway out when the lobby doors opened again.
Cold air drifted inside.
Ilya glanced up lazily—
—and froze.
Shane stood near the entrance looking like a deer caught in headlights.
Their eyes locked instantly.
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them breathed.
Ilya felt something painful twist deep in his chest.
“Shane…” he whispered.
(Want to watch this scene animated? Click Here!)