Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Chapter 1 

The Proposition

Shane Hollander had always understood the order of things. The ways in which society functioned that served the greater good, served his family, and served to protect his people. As Crown Prince, Shane understood his duties, even if he didn't agree with them.

To maintain order in society, the Fae had, for thousands of years, been divided into classes: High, Mid, and Low. Biases and negative associations with the powerless were encouraged, and inequalities and hatred grew. 

The more power a Fae held, the more successful they were in society. Over the years, for all classes of Fae, the oppressive status quo repeated in a self-fulfilling prophecy. Fae society was stilted, stagnant, and immovable. 

Today was the day it would all change. He knew the power he’d hold on to would still be strong. He would still be the Prince. His mother, Yuna, would still be Queen, and his father, David, the King Consort. But instead of absolute power, their titles would mostly be figurehead positions, with democratic relationships taking precedence, and the Hollanders agreeing to vote on important decisions.

It was his family’s fault that no Fae had been able to rise above their station without significant support from the Crown, despite any powers or success a Fae might have. Whilst technically possible, moving up in a station was, for all intents and purposes, impossible. Even for Fae with more than one power.

For thousands of years, the more power in one's bloodline, the more likely you’d pass on great power and abilities to your children. Hollander descendants routinely held three or four powers, but they hoarded their secret method to pass multiple powers to their offspring. Hollanders took their methods to the grave. 

Propaganda assured the lower Fae that in exchange for having only a single power (or no power at all), Fae were blessed with long life. They were told that was all they needed. 

Despite that. changes were won by Low and Mid Fae over the last few centuries. Now, Fae from all classes were experiencing great shifts in the power they passed to the next generation, with some Low Fae inheriting extremely powerful abilities, and some High Fae inheriting none. 

High society slowly declined. The bricks and pillars that had stood for thousands of years were fading into dust, no longer relevant. All Fae began asking why their society had such a rigid structure when it was not making progressive changes that benefited all the Fae. 

Shane knew better than most inheriting a great deal of power was not always a good thing. He had struggled to mask his abilities. Keeping a stopper on his power felt like a full-time job, a stranger lurching beneath his skin. This was the way of things. High Fae were taught from a young age that exposing their powers would give their opponents the key to their downfall. 

Never speak of your power, Shane, his grandmother had berated him. They will use it against you. Shane’s only known power, to the world at least, was flight. The only people who knew of his other abilities were his parents. Inside, Shane believed it shouldn’t matter about powers. All Fae deserved to be treated equally, and that was that. 

The unrest had begun with the servants. Feeling unprotected, unvalued, unpaid, and disrespected, they yearned for more. Fae felt trapped, unable to love freely, work freely, or want for anything above their station. 

He knew that Yuna had asked her mother, Queen Harumi, questions about society. Yuna was kind and just and wanted a better future for her people, despite the past. Yuna was demanded to right the wrongs her forebearers had committed.

The day after Queen Harumi abdicated the throne, Yuna summoned the Ambassador of the Low and Mid Fae, Ilya Rozanov.

Rozanov was the leader and chief organizer of the movement that challenged the long-standing hierarchy among the Fae. Rather than dividing society into High, Mid, and Low Fae, he argued that all should simply be recognized as Fae. His proposal called for the kingdom’s resources to be shared more equitably among all its inhabitants, instead of reserving the most valuable assets for the wealthy and the titled.

It was a deceptively simple idea, yet one with the power to reshape the entire kingdom.

Hearing one of Ambassador Rozanov's speeches for the first time, Shane was moved by the power of his words, despite his fear of what this might mean for his position, his comfort, and society. He felt cautious excitement about a future in which Shane could be proud and not embarrassed about his legacy.

Shane dreamt of a future where Fae wouldn’t balk at being friends or lovers with Fae of any class, because class was only important when society said so. Fae were all cut from the same cloth and were to be treated with equal fairness and respect. Some Fae had wings, some had flame, or light, some had immense mind-power—but they all deserved the same good things from life. 

His title had made it hard for him to find friends or lovers. He’d toyed with the idea of beginning something with Hayden, a Mid Fae at his university, but of course, it would never have been accepted publicly. Hayden studied law and but wasn’t eligible to practice at the higher levels due to his lower status. To Shane, that showed how a relationship with Hayden would never be equal or accepted. 

And now Hayden was married, he'd seen on Instagram, anyway.

Shane knew that he wanted that for himself one day. But he had not even admitted to himself that he was attracted to men, much less allowed himself to imagine being with anyone at all.

He knew that his work with the Ambassador would be critical. Shane wondered about Rozanov's powers. He knew that he had wings. Was he blessed with other powers? He couldn’t stop his curiosity about the man from quietly blooming.

His very prestigious law education had shaped the man he'd become. His law skills would make working on the cause a much smoother transition.

Shane was objectively very handsome, with soft features revealing his White Canadian father and Japanese Canadian mother. Shane had a sharp nose, soft, rounded cheeks, brown eyes not quite almond-shaped, a little more rounded, and lips made for kissing. He had constellations of freckles, as his mother liked to call them, smattered across his nose and cheeks. Shane worried they made him look immature, rather than handsome or sexy. His thick dark hair was often mussed and growing longer by the day. Keeping his hair longer was a silent act of rebellion against all the structure he maintained daily, holding his anxiety at bay.

His wings were one of his favourite features. Large and feathered, in shades of deep blue and white, they spanned two metres, which meant Shane was well-practiced in keeping them tucked politely by his side. Wing-spreading was generally reserved for affection, or for those you were most comfortable around, and for sex. There was a vulnerability in displaying your wings. Manipulating someone’s wings was a boundary kept for those closest to you. It was safer to keep your wings in check, close to your body at all times.

Shane looked good and wanted people to admire him. He never turned a compliment down, always politely offering thanks and ever denying the truth of it. 

Today, as always, Shane dressed with fashionable purpose, a pair of navy YSL slacks sitting perfectly on his toned waist, with a crisp black t-shirt lazily tucked in. He finished the look with interesting rings collected over his years of op-shopping. He wore his grandmother's Heir Apparent ring and matching Crown, made of delicate gold with a diamond circlet, simple and timeless. His hair flopped lazily onto his forehead. 

He tried to exude confidence in public appearances. Behind closed doors, of course, he came undone; panic attacks, anxiety, and fear of failure plagued Shane throughout his life. He spent hours every day worrying and ruminating. Structure and routine were critical for Shane and without them, he felt himself falling apart. His morning flight, work-out, and smoothie helped Shane to feel some semblance of control.

Shane could almost admit he was nervous and having difficulty concentrating during the peace negotiations. He could almost admit that one reason was Ambassador Rozanov, with his haughty, domineering attitude, those hazel eyes, his hair that curled around his forehead. Shane had seen Rozanov on television many times and, on occasion, around the palace, but they had never met in person. Yuna was apprehensive about Shane working with Rozanov, but she also knew Shane was their best option for success.

The negotiation was his first official meeting with Ambassador Rozanov. Shane found him smoking outside before the meeting had begun. 

Rozanov was standing casually in a light grey double-breasted suit, a gold cross necklace peeking out from his white silk shirt and glinting softly in the sunlight. His white, feathered wings spread wide, stark against the dark grey of the colonial building. The way he stood brazenly in front of Shane made it obvious the Ambassador did nothing to make his wings appear smaller.

As Shane approached, Rozanov flashed him an aloof smirk and continued trying to light his unlightable cigarette. 

Shane could admit that Ambassador Rozanov was a beautiful man, truly one of the most beautiful fae men he had ever laid eyes on. He had a sharp, chiseled jaw, plush lips that ended in a cupid’s bow, piercing hazel eyes, a crooked nose, and a hint of a golden tan, suggesting holidays somewhere where the sun shone over a lake. His delicate curls were slicked back today, with one pesky curl escaping across his forehead. 

Shane swallowed, approaching him slowly. 

“Ambassador, hi. I don't think you can smoke here. Maybe if you move to the dedicated area over to the right, it would make others more comfortable?” he said, with a tight smile.

Rozanov looked up from his cigarette, raising an eyebrow, and laughed, ignoring him.

Rozanov went back to trying to light his cigarette, looking over at Shane pointedly. “Okay,” he said in his oddly alluring Russian accent. “But I am not here to make others comfortable,” as he finally lit his cigarette and took a long drag, exhaling dramatically. 

Shane found himself glancing to where the Ambassador’s arms had fallen to one side, Shane’s hands flexing in agitation as his throat bobbed in embarrassment. Shane fumbled awkwardly, nodded and walked away.

Despite Fae living for hundreds, if not thousands of years, both Shane and Ambassador Rozanov were roughly the same age. But somehow Rozanov had an air about him of a much older man. Something that darkened behind his eyes.

After their awkward interaction, Shane tried to pull together the remnants of his self-respect and headed towards the boardroom, where he would meet Yuna, the Justices, and Rozanov. 

Queen Yuna, resplendent in a tailored emerald pantsuit, black Louboutins, and emerald encrusted Crown, began the meeting as Shane and the four territory heads greeted one another.  All four Justices were High Fae. Shane had known these Fae his entire life and greeted them politely. Despite knowing them for so long, they were still merely acquaintances.

The Fae may be conservative in their societal structure, but never in their fashion choices. Shane absolutely loved clothes and adored expressing himself fully through his fashion choices. It was clear that the people in this room agreed that, to the Fae, fashion was a form of self-expression. Shane liked to think it could be a quiet rebellion.

Justice Fabian glittered in a black sequined bodysuit, an oversized blazer, and tailored black slacks. Justice Wyatt wore a traditional yet contemporary navy suit, and Shane noticed he had a ‘Superfae’ pin on his sleeve. Justice Rose looked immaculate in a crisp beige suit, with a navy silk shirt French-tucked, the navy complementing her eyes. And finally, Justice Svetlana wore a low-cut blouse that showed off her lovely decolletage, with an A-line skirt and kitten heels. 

The parties all shook hands and greeted one another politely. Ambassador Rozanov arrived just after the initial handshaking, prompting another round of handshakes and pleasantries. 

Shane noticed the Ambassador appeared very comfortable with all of the dignitaries, complimenting them and making what Shane suspected were charming inside jokes to each Justice in turn. Shane had known all of them for his entire life and had never been able to form a comfortable rapport with any of them. Of course, the Ambassador had made quick, fast friends with everyone but Shane. 

The boardroom was in the war chambers of the Palace. The extensive room had been tastefully decorated by his mother. Yuna delighted in beautiful things and had a flair for decorating.

Sleek and modern, the room featured warm lights hanging from the ceiling, spilling light over the large marble table. The dark tiled floor added to the room's coldness. White magnolias in vases starkly contrasted against the minimal decor. Thick, regal blue curtains covered the vast expanse of a window overlooking the exceptionally tended Palace gardens.

Rozanov caught Shane’s eye with a slow look. His hazel eyes filled with teasing. “You look pretty,” he said in a low tone,  gesturing to Shane's crown and smirking again with that lopsided grin. 

“Kind of you to say, Ambassador.” Shane managed to say.  “Do you usually forego formalities in the presence of royalty?” Shane hoped he looked annoyed at Rozanov’s arrogance. He was also fighting the impulse to smirk back at the man. As pink rose to his cheeks, Shane hoped his freckles had hidden in the bloom of his blush.

Rozanov stared directly at Shane, darting his eyes up and down, surveying him with interest like a cat about to pounce. Shane coughed and decided to retreat. But Rozanov just shrugged, extending his hand. 

“My apologies, Prince Hollander; manners escape me in the presence of royalty, as you say."

Shane was aware the Ambassador was making fun of him. There was no way of challenging the mockery, and even if he did, to what end? Shane knew there was no getting around this relationship. 

The meeting continued, although the room was filled with a tension that Shane couldn’t quite place. Shane watched as beads of sweat formed on the Ambassador’s face in the heat of negotiations. He watched the way his brows furrowed whenever anyone stumbled over new terminology in place of old hateful words; politely but firmly correcting them with the appropriate new language. 

"We do not speak of 'High Fae’ in the law now; we are equal. All fae," Ambassador Rozanov reprimanded when Yuna slipped up, giving Shane’s mother a pointed look. 

Shane listened to the Ambassador’s heavy accent. He rolled his r's and enunciated his vowels, but his language was clear and precise. His accent was very attractive to Shane and he knew why Rozanov had captured the hearts of the peoole.

Yuna spoke earnestly, dipping her head in apology. "My apologies, Ambassador,” she said. “I will strive to do and be better every day. My entire family will, and all those closest to me. We want the same thing, Ambassador."

At this exact moment, Shane was idly staring at Ambassador Rozanov’s rather stunning beauty spot on his cheek, and watching how, when he smiled, it was swallowed in his dimple … and, god, Shane really didn’t need this distraction in the most important moment of his career. 

Catching Shane's eye, the Ambassador raised an eyebrow in challenge. It was imperceptible to anyone but Shane. Shane chose to ignore the eyebrow and stared blankly at the marble table, shuffling the papers provided by his staff.

“I appreciate your acknowledgement of outdated thinking, Queen Yuna. And please, call me Ilya. We will be working closely together, and I must admit, as someone not raised amongst such privilege, these formalities bore me,” Ilya stated plainly but with a charming grin at Yuna. 

“Of course, Ilya,” Yuna said confidently. “We extend the same to you. Please feel free to call Shane and me by our names, as well as my husband, David. David will be working closely with you on the division of finances towards the Democratic alliance and supporting policies in our Kingdom that are fair and just for all.”

“We have used the customary old formalities throughout the negotiation period, but I no longer want power imbalances present in our conversations,” Yuna spoke with a kind smile. 

“Thank you, Yuna. Shane,” Ilya responded. His gaze landed on Shane with an intensity that made Shane want to spontaneously combust.

No, actually, Shane wanted to scream. His mother was giving up the power and control they had at the table to Rozanov, seemingly without a second thought. Shane understood why she must, but he was still coming to terms with the significant changes this would mean, especially for Shane’s own future lifestyle. Shane was pleased, of course, and supported the cause, but he secretly worried this new Shane would be seen as weak, immovable, or worst of all, unlikable. Especially compared to someone like Ilya. 

Shane supposed that out of respect for their budding professional relationship, he should call him by his first name as Ilya asked. 

Shane spoke next.  “Ilya, I look forward to building a brighter future with you as the Ambassador.”

Even in his tailored (extremely well-tailored, mind you) suit, Shane could see the contours of Ilya’s firmly sculpted abdomen beneath his shirt—the width of his pectoral muscles staring at Shane. Ilya flexed his strong hands, licking his finger for page-lubrication. Shane’s mind went blank. Gods, please stop, Shane thought desperately.   

Ilya’s muscular forearm pushed out of his shirt sleeve as it rode up his arm when passing documents to Shane for approval. His neck strained. Shane watched him in slow-motion pull at it, moving and stretching to one side, pulling at his shoulder on the other side. Suddenly looking like bone-deep exhaustion, Ilya rubbed his eyes, answering further questions from the table of Fae officials. Shane saw his exhaustion underneath the comedy, bravado, and kindness. 

Representatives from the other regions were in agreement on the Treaty’s terms. Shane and Yuna held the most power; although their position was not absolute even prior to the uprising, it required sign-off from representatives in certain cases. 

They would adjust this even more, bringing four new representatives who were deliberately not High Fae into the ruling group. Ilya had already been officially appointed as the Democratic Representative for the Fae. He’d been chosen in a landslide vote weeks ago. Many Mid and Low Fae had been roused by his commitment to justice, finally accepting their worth and fighting for what they deserved all along.

Ilya seemed so different from Shane. His no-bullshit, fierce nature and his often surprising ability to see every issue and person wholly objectively. Ilya had been brought up with next to nothing and could clearly appreciate beauty in the mundane. Shane could tell. Raised in Russia in a very conservative family, Shane had heard that Ilya had a reputation for poor behavior. Shane thought maybe he had just been struggling to be himself. At least Shane had always struggled with self-acceptance. Ilya casually complimented everyone in the room, always with something unique. He seemed so genuine. 

For example, he was currently murmuring to “Sveta” about the beauty of her necklace. Then it was “You look like you have been doing good things,” to Wyatt,  and a sincere “Don’t second-guess your professional abilities,” to a frustrated Rose. “You are my favourite diplomat,” was said with a wink to Justice Fabian. “You are making progress your mother would never have dreamed of making,” he assured Yuna 

And in an aggravating tone to Shane, “You are so pretty.”

Feeling his racing heart as Ilya looked into his rosy face, Shane knew he clearly had a problem.

Shane had been pretending he didn’t know these things for a while. He could almost admit he’d been obsessively thinking about Ilya for months. In dreams, and daydreams. He was stuck on thoughts of him, refreshing his social media, watching all of his press interviews, trying to find a trace of who he was outside of all of this.

No way would he act on any of his thoughts, especially the ones that left him breathless while he was alone at night. They were going to be colleagues. Shane needed to control the power imbalances between them. So, Ilya-shaped thoughts were completely off limits. No matter what.

Plus, they had important professional obligations. Yuna had requested that Shane directly oversee each part of the formal restructuring alongside Ilya, educating him on changes that needed to be made internally to the Crown.

The meeting came to a close. Ilya shook hands with kind eyes, his many thanks going around the room. 

Shane let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding the whole meeting and hugged Yuna. This was a monumental step forward, towards peace. 

His mother and the Justices stepped out of the room.

This left the two of them standing rather awkwardly, looking at one another. 

Ilya glanced directly at Shane as the silence swallowed them. A clock bell rung—a reminder that time existed beyond these walls. Ilya did not look away. Instead, he stretched his wings out, arms moving from side to side, shaking out the stagnation of a meeting that had gone on too long. 

Shane instinctively copied Ilya’s movements, stretching and moving as Ilya surveyed him, eyes glacing up and down; swallowing him. Ilya looked over Shane’s wings, as Shane's hand twitched at his side, containing the nervous energy that surrounxed him. Ilya watched Shane so closely, now.

Neither of them folded their wings back. They didn’t retreat from the blatant, brazen display. Shane knew then that something had shifted between them. He felt himself getting hard through his pants, as he shifted, readjusting.

Ilya stepped toward him, circling Shane, before he took more steady steps, leaving their faces a breath apart. 

Shane felt Ilya's warm breath on his neck as Ilya surveyed Shane intently. He was so close now. Shane's neck arched slightly, adjusting to the feel of Ilya. He knew instinctively that he needed to move out of this dangerous situation. To retreat. But he couldn't bring himself to.

Instead, Shane locked eyes with Ilya—inclining his head in question, looking up at him. Ilya was huge, everywhere. His body, his forearms, his neck, it all bulged and consumed and stretched as moved a hand to grab Shane's chin, tilting it up towards him; his hand stroked languidly over Shane's plush pink lips. His mouth instinctively parted for Ilya, as he rubbed his thumb over them, Shane sucked at Rozanov's thumb, as his head inclined, Ilya purred in satisfaction, "You are so eager, Prince."

"Fuck you, Ambassador," Shane said in a hushed voice, stifling a smile. The pulsing in Shane's heart quickened, as he breathed him in. Shane's eyes were blown wide, as he licked his lips, staring at Ilya's beautiful cupids bow, a snack waiting to be eaten.

“I am very much looking forward to knowing you, Shane Hollander. We will meet later without all of the other boring people. Maybe you will come to my room at the Royal Apartments?” Ilya said. His mouth rose on one side into a lazy smirk. “You must be careful with these wings.” Ilya gestured towards Shane, waggling his eyebrows in a way that kind of looked deranged, he pulled away slightly, the lack of contact left Shane desperate. 

Shane's wing jerked uncontrollably, as he grazed the back of a vase behind him, as it precariously knocked back and forth, refusing to topple over.

Despite all of his rational hesitation and fears, Shane didn't think he would be able to deny himself this.

Shane shifted his mask to show the cool indifference that he wore in public.

“I'll see,” Shane said as he tried to sound as casual as possible, failing miserably as his voice was hitched and somewhat breathless. ”I might knock on your door tonight, if I have any free time.”

Ilya responded simply with a shrug and cool indifference, “I might open.” He turned swiftly and walked away. 

Shane could have sworn Ilya's ass muscles flexed as he sauntered off.

Shane's wings trembled.

He was so fucked. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

The Agreement 

Ilya knew it was dangerous to make his intentions so plain. But he couldn’t help himself. Danger had always been attractive to Ilya; he knew this was a part of why he had propositioned Shane. It didn’t hurt that Shane was incredibly beautiful and seemed like an egg he wanted to crack open and look inside, metaphorically speaking, of course. 

Ilya sauntered slowly back to the apartment in the Royal Suites. He took a stroll through the gardens, they were incredibly beautiful, even as the chill of Canadian winter peaked into existence. Ilya had never seen such opulence before. Ilya’s apartments were the same. Tastefully decorated using sleek modern furniture, and the floor heating was a nice touch. 

He imagined the winters were much more comfortable when one was royalty. For Ilya, winters in Russia had meant trying to make sure his fingers didn’t fall off or he didn’t catch hypothermia. And the Royal family were sitting in a toasty 22 degree palace, drinking mulled wine and probably playing Scrabble. Or some combination of bullshit that the Royal family would probably do. Ilya rolled his eyes to himself.

And now he would wait. He would wait and see if Shane had the balls to meet him. Either way, this was a power move. Ilya knew that it was stupid, he had worked so hard to become Ambassador and cared deeply about the cause. Representing the interests of his community meant everything to him and he could not afford to fuck this up. 

He knew this was a serious conflict of interest. But something about Shane made him trust him, despite his better judgement telling his dick to calm the fuck down.

Ilya was not secretive about his sexuality. He was openly bisexual, but as an Ambassador; kept his romances close to his heart (or, dick - really). Ilya hadn’t ever felt close to real love with anyone, and doubted greatly that this would happen anytime soon. 

Sure, there had been many lovers—he found pleasure in the chase, in lust and in sex. He wanted his partners to want him and to hear what they wanted.

Vocalising his wants had never been an issue for him and he made sure his partners felt valued, heard, and respected. Always. But, he’d never really felt the pull for anything closer than a regular fuck.

Ilya could feel his cock pressing against his tight slacks and knew that he needed to calm down before Shane arrived. Well, he hoped he would arrive at least. 

Ilya decided a cool shower would help. Even though it was freezing outside, his apartment was warm and Ilya hoped that a shower might help to pull himself together and not seem like a horny teenager when (if, Ilya reminded himsellf) Shane arrived. 

The shower only slightly dampened the spirit of Ilya’s cock. Ilya decided he might as well get a little more comfortable, in a pair of black fleece Adidas sweatpants that sat low on his hips and a fitted white singlet. This was a power move for Ilya. He knew he looked the hottest when he was comfortable and casual. 

A man at ease with himself. Ilya ran a hand through his curls and curled his finger around the pesky one at the front; pulling it forward in an attempt to make it do that thing where it sat nicely around his forehead, framing his face. 

Ilya ate his dinner (delivered promptly at 7pm thanks to scheduled Royal room service). These people really were entitled but Ilya could admit to himself this kind of comfort was something anyone could get used to. And quickly.

lya scrolled on his phone and waited for the knock at his door. He didn’t know what time Shane would come. Or if he would not come at all. Ilya could only hope his horny and irresistible display after today’s formalities had tempted Shane.

At 8:02, the knock came. A simple knock, knock, knock. Nothing fancy. Ilya should have expected that Shane Hollander’s knock would also be boring. Because Shane was super hot, but mostly, seemed boring in how he carried himself publicly. 

Ilya didn’t even know if Shane was gay, bisexual, or something in between. Semantics really, as he knew for certain that Shane was attracted to him. Ilya got a sense of people this way, and never had he missed a cue that someone wanted to jump him. Maybe he didn’t always act on it, but he was perceptive in that regard. 

Ilya took a moment to smooth out his untamed curls, twirling a ringlet around his finger. He wanted to make a good impression and make his intentions known. And really, the singlet was not leaving a lot to the imagination. 

As he opened the door, he saw a nervous Shane standing awkwardly with his hands by his side. He looked kind of sweaty, eyes darting from side to side. Shane was dressed in grey sweat pants and a black hoodie. He wore stylish white hi-tops and his hair was the epitome of a 50’s heartthrob, grazing over his forehead haphazardly. 

“Well? Can I come in?” Shane asked abruptly. 

“Sure, I invited you, didn’t I? Please come and relax,” Ilya responded, emphasizing the word relax.

Ilya opened the door and gestured inside, then to the sofa once Shane entered. Shane took his shoes off by the door, leaving him in crisp white socks. 

Shane looked around the apartment, taking note of Ilya’s things scattered around. While his bag sat neatly on the suitcase stand, there was a full view of his clothes that weren’t exactly neatly folded inside. His slacks from today were resting on the back of the deep grey sofa, not folded but Ilya had thought it was a fine location to abandon them. Shane looked uncomfortable and did not sit.

“And why is it that you invited me, Ilya? Seems a little inappropriate to meet like this when we will be working together so closely,” Shane said.

“I think you know,” Ilya replied simply.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking. I don’t waste time on questions I already know the answer to,” Shane responded, hotly. 

Shane was becoming agitated and Ilya noticed one of his wings twitched. This was part of the fun, for Ilya. He liked playing like this. 

Ilya circled him, approaching him from the door. Shane was staring at Ilya now, eyes blazing with heat. Shane bit his bottom lip, and gazed up to Ilya, a question in his eyes. You may be able to hide from others, Shane Hollander, but never from me, Ilya thought to himself, smirking at Shane. 

Ilya closed the distance between them. Only slightly taller, Shane gazed up at him. He could see that Shane’s breath was picking up. Ilya leaned in, almost grazing Shane’s ear. 

“Hollander. Do you mind if I call you that because I think it sounds very cute? I think you know why you are here and we don’t need to pretend. You make me very curious,” Ilya pulled back to look at Shane in question. 

“I saw the way you looked at me outside. And in meeting. And I don’t blame you, I am hot. But you are also hot. We don’t need to confuse what this is with business. I am committed to working with you and keeping things professional when we are working. But I have a proposal for you. I can see that you do not have much experience with this," Ilya gestured back and forth with his hands. 

“But… I like what I see and would like to show you how things can be…with the right person," Ilya finished.

Shane’s eyes were wide but curious. Assessing the situation. He looked like he might run for a second. 

“It seems like a bad idea. Mixing business with… whatever this is. But ok, yes, you are hot,” Shane admitted with an awkward laugh, trying to hide his smile. “I don’t know how to do this though. I’ve never been with a man before and… I…,” he trailed off.

“It's oke,” Ilya responded softly, taking a step closer to Shane again and placing both of his hands gently at Shane’s waist. “We can take it slow. I always care very much that my partner is comfortable, and checking for me is part of fun. I want to hear you telling me what you want. What you like. This way, is good for both of us. I would like to kiss you now, of course, if you would like this too?” Ilya was gazing down at Shane now, in question. 

“Yes,” Shane said breathlessly. 

Ilya moved, placing a hand softly on the edge of Shane’s jaw, and tilted Shane’s mouth up to meet his. Tender but wanting, their mouths collided. 

The kiss was an exploration, beginning with Ilya moving softly against Shane’s mouth, as Shane adjusted to the feeling of kissing a man. Not just a man, Ilya Rozanov, Shane pushed the thought out of his mind.

Ilya gently prodded Shane’s bottom lip with his tongue in question, finishing with a soft nibble. Shane opened for him, his hands remaining awkwardly at his side. Ilya grabbed his hands and placed them on his chest. Continuing his exploration, Shane sunk deeper in the kiss; letting himself feel, and want, and crave.

“This is oke for me if you want to touch me,” Ilya stated. Shane liked the feel of Ilya’s firm chest under his hands and his mouth on him, exploring Ilya's body shamelessly.

The kiss moved from exploring to ravenous. Shane was grasping at Ilya’s chest, hands moving down to explore further. He lifted Ilya’s white singlet. Was the singlet a trap? Shane laughed internally. Shane felt Ilya’s firm ab muscles tensing with want and needed to feel more of him. 

Shane stared up at Ilya, he was so beautiful, his wings were spread out slightly behind him, not completely open, but no longer tucked. Did Ilya want this as much as he did? Shane peered up at Ilya in question. They were both breathless and panting now. 

“Do you… I mean, would you like if I…,” Shane trailed off awkwardly.

Again, Ilya tilted Shane’s face up towards him, his eyes piercing into Shane’s as he said,

“Hollander. It is important we are honest in these situations. I want to make sure you comfortable all the time. Don’t be worried to ask me things or tell me how you are feeling oke? This important,” Ilya said firmly. Ilya placed his hand over Shane’s, in reassurance.

“I… I would like to suck you, if you’d like that. Rozanov,” Shane said, switching to his surname felt natural. A universe apart from the Ambassador.

“Rozanov? Oke then. I thought you’d never ask. Hollander,” Ilya responded breathily, lifting his eyebrows in challenge. 

Shane then took the lead, pushing Ilya backwards towards the bed. They both fell in a crash of firm muscle and wings. Ilya took the lead, pinning Shane’s arms and wings as he kissed him deeply and Shane’s wings spread out beneath him, where they fell ever so slightly over the edge of the bed. 

Ilya knew that fitting them on the bed would be a challenge, he observed the same problem himself; despite the overly large style of the beds which must be designed for winged Fae. Ilya kept his wings tucked, wanting to focus on Shane until he was ready.

Ilya looked down at Shane with lust-filled eyes, “We should remove some layers, Hollander?” gesturing to their clothes. Ilya’s wing twitched, an invitation, but he kept them tucked firmly behind him. 

Shane quickly and awkwardly removed his pants and shirt, endearingly leaving his underwear and socks on. Ilya looked pointedly at them and raised his eyebrows in question with a grin. Shane rolled his eyes and quickly removed them, folding them together and placing them on the nightstand with his other (neatly folded, Ilya noticed) clothes.  

Ilya noticed that though Shane was smaller than him by about an inch, he was by no means small. While he was not built like Ilya, Shane was slim but strong, with taught muscles that spoke to his fitness, rather than his focus on his looks. He had powerful thighs, arms, and shoulders from years spent in the sky and on the pavement, working out his anxieties. Ilya marveled at Shane’s naked body. Somehow, he was even hotter without clothes on, which was saying something. 

As Shane scrambled back to the bed, wings fanned out behind him. Ilya stood, taking his time, he made a show of removing his clothes. 

He began with his shirt, suggestively pulling it over his head, pinching the end with one finger, and dropping it on the floor by his bed. Shane stared at the discarded shirt, clearly offended, but said nothing. Ilya grinned in challenge, he took measured steps back towards the bed. What will you do Hollander? 

Shane moved from his back into a slow crawl, approaching Ilya on all fours. Time stood still as Ilya watched this beautiful Fae male crawling to him, his mouth open, hungry, and wanting. He was impressed with the veracity in which Shane was coming to the party and accepting Ilya’s challenge. Very impressed. 

“I want you, Rozanov,” Shane said, breathless now. His need showing through his rock hard cock, he adjusted himself against the mattress. 

“Then take want you want, Hollander,” Ilya responded, brushing his hand over Shane’s face and tilting it up to him, as Shane nuzzled his cock through his pants.

Shane slowly pulled Ilya’s pants down, until they pooled at his ankles. Ilya kicked them away, waiting for Shane’s next move. 

Shane hesitated, looking at Ilya’s cock with wonder, or fear. Or a mixture of both. Will it fit? Shane wondered to himself, knowing that he had choked before just trying to eat a regular sized banana. And this was not a regular sized banana. Ilya’s cock was hard, a silent invitation to Shane. Ilya was watching Shane intently, considering. 

“Hollander. It’s oke if you are not ready for this. Is big step for you. Do not feel pressure. We have time,” Ilya said gently, pulling Shane onto his knees and his chin with his hand into a chaste kiss. Shane was weak, weak at this powerful male using his name like a prayer, weak at the thought of him inside Shane.

“No, Rozanov. I want to,” Shane said, gathering himself. He looked up at Ilya as he returned to his hands and knees, as Ilya remained at the end of the bed.  

“Oke, but any time. We stop. No questions if you don’t want,” Ilya added to make sure he was clear. 

Shane agreed, “Okay,” with a slight nod.

Shane approached cautiously, wrapping his hand around the base of Ilya’s cock. 

“Hollander….,” Ilya gritted his teeth, a demand for more. 

Shane started moving his hand slowly, adding pressure and speed. Ilya’s hand touched Shane’s chin, tilting it towards him and moving Shane’s hand towards his mouth. 

“Come here,” Ilya gritted out, spitting into Shane’s hand. 

Shane returned to his task, mixing Ilya’s saliva with his cock. This time taking Ilya into his mouth, starting with the tip, a question of how it would feel in his mouth. Shane was scared. But Shane was ready, he wanted this and he wanted it with Ilya. He knew that Ilya was a dangerous choice to fuck, but he couldn’t help himself. Ilya being forbidden just made it that much hotter. 

Shane began moving steadily, bobbing up and down Ilya’s cock, and while he had never sucked one before, Shane was a quick-learner and was a very enthusiastic partner, which always helped Ilya to get off. Shane’s tongue experimented, moving flat against the bottom of Ilya’s cock, dragging it towards the tip, and licking the slit before looking up at Ilya through his eyelashes. 

Ilya had not taken his eyes off Shane and he used this moment to reassure him. Shane instinctively knew what would make Shane relax.  

“Eyes on me, Hollander,” Ilya said commandingly, stroking his hair. 

Shane’s eyes collided with Ilya’s, his desperate need for instruction fulfilled.

"Good," Ilya praised, leaving Shane feeling satisfied with himself.

Shane just nodded while continuing to suck Ilya’s cock with enthusiasm. Shane did as Ilya asked and continued to watch Ilya as he came undone. Though he was unskilled, Shane was observant, watching Ilya’s throat move as he got closer to climax. Shane could see Ilya breathing through his mouth, his head falling back in pleasure. 

“Fuck, keep going Hollander. I am close,” Ilya hissed through his teeth. 

Shane grabbed Ilya’s hand, placing it at the back of his head, begging for all of it. Ilya sucked in a breath, as Shane started working himself quickly, moving at the same pace as he sucked Ilya in. Ilya ground into Shane’s mouth, thrusting gently, but not losing control - he didn’t want to hurt Shane. Shane willingly took Ilya into his throat, breathing through his nose, hollowing out his cheeks, and moaning as he thrust into his own hand, his cock leaking over the sheets. Shane’s eyes were hooded and continued to gaze up at Ilya, tears now clearly visible. 

Shane knew that Ilya wouldn’t last long if he kept this up and neither would Shane. He didn’t want to rush the moment, but knew there would be others. The way the night had spiralled so quickly, to need and lust and come, told Shane all he needed to know about sex with Ilya Rozanov. 

He knew instinctively that he needed to touch Ilya’s wings, he moved one hand in the direction of Ilya’s wing in question, earning a silent nod of approval. 

Shane could feel Ilya on the brink now. Breath hitching, sweat beaded at his forehead and chest. “You going to come for me, Rozanov?”

Shane could feel Ilya’s come mingling with his saliva now. The taste of Ilya in his mouth was almost enough to drive him over the edge. 

Shane moved his hand along the curve of Ilya’s wing, light as a feather, sending Ilya over the edge, all consuming. 

“Hollander, fuck. Fucking make me,” Ilya gritted through his teeth in warning and challenge, an offer to retreat if Shane wasn’t ready. Ilya continued thrusting into Shane’s mouth, as Shane’s eyes watered. 

Shane didn’t want to be sick from trying to hard to deep throat Ilya, so he continued, greedily sucking the head of Ilya’s cock, until he felt Ilya’s stomach muscles tense and convulse. "Fuck Hollander," Ilya spilled down the back of his Shane's throat, as Shane greedily drank it down, and even though it was a gross sensation—Shane had to admit to himself he enjoyed the feeling of Ilya bending to his will, like a dog to his master. 

Shane continued to suck Ilya, riding the waves of his orgasm until he was dizzy and oversensitive. 

Ilya stilled, still stroking Shane’s head, he lifted his chin up to meet his mouth again. Shane looked spent, a beautiful angel - wings splayed out behind him on the bed, twitching with need and dripping with come. Shane’s cock remained hard in his hand. 

Ilya returned to himself, ready to show Shane how it was done. 

“Hollander, do they offer lessons on sucking cock at the palace? Maybe I need to sign up? Maybe you can be the judge of that,  no?” Ilya laughed.

Shane grumbled, “Don’t be stupid,” embarrassed and missing Ilya’s meaning.

“No Shane, that was incredible. For first time, you very enthusiastic and that is the most beautiful thing. I wanted to come apart in first 2 minutes,” Ilya said, a little too earnestly when Shane still had come dripping from his mouth. But, for Ilya, these were the situations that needed the most care. 

Sex and romance and consent, they were all fun and beautiful - but taking care of a lover at the end of fucking, that was just as important. Making sure they felt special and seen. 

Shane took this in his stride, feeling proud of himself and exhilarated that he had sucked cock for the first time. “Well, thanks… I guess,” Shane grinned.

Ilya then relaxed his wings, dropping them to his side. He took his chance to move towards Shane, pushing one hand into Shane’s chest, as he shuffled back on the bed, twitching wings spreading out behind him. Shane was dripping with need now and Ilya wanted to lick it all up. 

Shane and Ilya were face to face now, a breath apart. Ilya could feel Shane’s breath hitching.

“Do you want my mouth?” Ilya asked Shane, looking into his eyes unblinkingly. 

“Please, suck my cock Rozanov,” Shane begged and Ilya wasted no time in obliging him. 

“Fucking make me, Hollander,” Ilya said with a grin. He was toying with Shane now, walking his fingers slowly up Shane’s cock but not giving him the friction he craved. Shane ground against him, Ilya giggled, actually giggled, pushing Shane back to the mattress and pinning his hands down to meet his wings as Shane looked up at him with a pout. 

The pressure of Ilya’s strong hands pushing down on Shane’s wings only made Shane plead more desperately for release. “Please,” Shane sounded desperate now, so needy, as he gazed up at Ilya. But he didn’t care. His body demanded friction or it was going to explode.

“Please, what?” Rozanov demanded.

“Please…Rozanov?” Shane queried. 

“I prefer Sir, I think there is a power imbalance we must correct, Hollander,” Ilya quipped.

Shane swallowed, considering his next move. “Please….sir,” Shane ground out, staring up at Ilya with pleading eyes.

“Hmm, Hollander. I am not sure I believe you. You sound a little hesitant. It oke, we can wait,” Ilya said, as he unpinned Shane and attempted to move away. Shane grabbed Ilya, pulling his arm back towards him. Shane pulled Ilya’s face to his and kissed him passionately, holding nothing back.

“Okay okay,” Shane said, giving in to Ilya’s demands, “Yes, sir! Happy? Now would you please suck my fucking dick?”

Ilya laughed against Shane’s neck. He began planting delicate kisses along Shane’s face, noting his cute little freckles on his cheeks and nose. The kisses quickly turned heated, as Ilya held a hand to Shane’s throat, delicate planting kisses and he moved down Shane’s body. Focusing on what made Shane’s breath hitch.

When Ilya got to Shane’s navel, Shane arched into him, demanding more and Ilya refusing to give in. Not yet. Ilya tutted and stopped, looking at Shane.

“Hollander. Would you please stay fucking still and let me do my job,” Ilya ground out. 

Ilya could see beads of sweat on Shane’s firm stomach and drops of pre-come around his delicately trimmed pubic hair. Ilya licked his lips in anticipation and did not miss a beat. Placing a hand firmly on Shane’s stomach, he pinned him to the bed and took him deep into his throat in one go, drinking him in. Shane audibly gasped and shook with need. Shane’s cock, also an impressive size (if not as girthy as Ilya’s), also had a few freckles, Ilya observed. How even does this male have a cute cock? Ilya wondered to himself. 

Shane was panting with need now as Ilya gobbled him up. Shane could hear the vicious sounds of Ilya gurgling and taking him deep into his throat. He felt the pressure building, knowing this would not take long. He had been so turned on from just touching Ilya, he was surprised he even lasted this long, especially since Ilya touched his wings. 

Shane gurgled, grabbing a pillow to muffle his cries. Ilya stopped immediately, removing his mouth from Shane’s cock. 

“Are you oke?” Ilya asked, looking at Shane intently. He knew this was a first experience in many ways for Shane and wanted to make sure he was not taking too much.

“Yes yes, I don’t want anyone to hear me. It’s embarrassing,” Shane responded, the pink in his cheeks continuing to grow. Shane was a male undone, wings splayed, beautiful and covered in Ilya’s come and sweat, and oh fuck, this was bad idea, Ilya thought to himself.

“Oh, but I need to hear you, Hollander,” Ilya gritted out, removing the pillow from his face and throwing it off the bed. 

Ilya went back to sucking Shane’s cock vigorously, holding his hips to prevent Shane from face-fucking him. This would come later, Ilya wanted to be in control, for now. Ilya felt Shane’s release approaching. Shane’s stomach tensed as he tried again to push against Ilya with his hips, grinding into his face to get more friction. 

“Oh fuck, Rozanov. Fuuuuck,” Shane yelled, as Ilya kept his pace, sucking Shane in deeply and licking the slit of Shane’s cock. Ilya laughed against Shane’s cock, a low rumble sending sparks through Shane’s whole body, as he erupted into Ilya’s mouth. 

Ilya kept sucking him until Shane pulled away, spent and oversensitive now. Wings trembling and neglected, he grabbed a pillow and panted against it, looking embarrassed at his enthusiasm. 

Ilya knew that Shane would be disappointed that his wings didn’t get any attention. Not this time, Ilya thought. But he had to keep some surprises up his sleeve for Shane to come back.

Ilya moved towards Shane, cupping his face and kissing him delicately. 

“One minute, I will get us cleaned up,” Ilya said, as he moved off the bed and to the bathroom

Shane stared at the ceiling, coming down from the high that was Ilya fucking Rozanov. 

We are so fucked, he reiterated to himself. Because it was no longer just him, Ilya was in this too and clearly very enthusiastic about fucking him.

Ilya returned with two warm washcloths, passing one to Shane. They both cleaned themselves up, as Ilya hoisted himself up on one arm to look at Shane. He leaned it for a quick kiss, not heated, but safe. 

Ilya and Shane just laid there for a moment, listening to their heartbeats and slowing breaths. 

“Well, I guess work is going to be interesting, ah?” Ilya chirped, poking Shane in his side. 

Shane rolled away, needing to put space between himself and this beautiful male that just drank him down greedily, looking like a fucking devil doing it. 

Ilya offered Shane a shower but he refused, stating he would get fully clean when he was back in his wing. Shane had a thing about showering in places other than his home and wouldn’t be breaking that rule tonight, even if he felt really dirty. 

Instead, he drank the glass of water Ilya offered him, got dressed, and decided that he needed to get the fuck out before this got any more intense. It already was so hot that Shane knew he would not be able to deny a second invitation to Ilya’s apartment, if there was one, Shane wondered. He should ask Ilya questions about how they will be moving forward, but he decided against it. Not wanting to ruin a night that would be burned into Shane’s memory as one of the hottest experiences of his life. 

By the time Shane was ready to go, Ilya had showered and gotten into some clean grey sweat pants that hung low on his hips. Shane stared, mouth open. He had to get the fuck out of here. Now. He could feel himself hardening in his pants. Again? Fucking get it together, Shane said to himself. 

Ilya knew that he had found another weakness of Shane’s, him in sweatpants. Well, to be honest, Ilya knew he was pretty irresistible to anyone when he wore his grey sweatpants. He had put them dangerously low on his hips, showing off the deep v of his abs. 

“I have to go now. Goodbye Rozanov. It was a fun night,” Shane said with a smile, as he stood holding the door handle. 

Ilya was on the other side of the apartment and took three quick strides to get to Shane, he couldn’t miss one more opportunity to kiss those beautiful lips or stare at those freckles. 

“Shane, it was my pleasure. I am glad you enjoyed yourself too, as I will not forget this anytime soon. Especially your pretty mouth around my cock. I don’t think I’ve ever had a Prince’s mouth around my cock. I wonder what CNN would think,” Ilya joked. 

“Well, they better not find out.” Shane grumbled.

Ilya responded with a laugh, “What am I going to tell them, Prince Hollander and me, Ambassador, sucked each other’s cocks after the Peace Treaty meeting? I don’t think this helps me get reelected next cycle. But oke.”

Shane nodded, seemingly understanding that Ilya had absolutely nothing to gain by sharing this information.

“This our secret, Hollander. Ours. We both agree to not tell anyone about this situation, because I would not want to miss out on more of this,” Ilya’s hand raised, gesturing back and forth with his index finger between him and Shane.

“If you say so, Rozanov,” Shane grumbled, pushing down his smile and looking to Ilya’s cupid’s bow.

“I say so,” Ilya commanded, gently caressing Shane's jaw with his calloused fingers. 

“Well, okay then, sir,” Shane laughed, glancing up at Ilya.

Ilya swallowed the laugh, kissing him passionately as want still flickered between them.

Pulling back, Ilya said, “Goodnight Hollander.”

“Goodnight, Rozanov,” Shane responded. He was still a little breathless as he pulled away and walked out of the door.

Ilya closed it quickly, not wanting Shane to see the stupid smile that lit up his face. Little did he know, Shane was leaning on the other side of the door, grinning to himself like a cheshire cat.

Shane knew that tomorrow he would have to put on a new face for Ambassador Rozanov and ensure he was professional, but for now, he basked in the glory that was his first sexual encounter with a man. And a hot man at that. 

Well, Shane thought to himself, I guess I wasn’t wrong when I said we are so fucked.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Formalities 

After last night, Shane didn’t know how he was going to look Ilya in the eye during their scheduled brunch meeting at 9:30am. He shuddered. The faces, the noises. Shane had revealed too much. But Ilya was into it too, wasn’t he? He certainly seemed like he had enjoyed himself, Shane thought, picturing Ilya’s face as he had gritted out, “fucking made me,” as Shane had sucked him.

Shane shook his head, attempting to clear Ilya from his mind as he walked towards the gym, stretching out his wings.

He hoped Scott wouldn’t clock him.

Over at the Royal Apartments, Ilya was showering and blasting Rage Against The Machine. The perfect pump up music to start his day. 

Last night was… Ilya’s mind trailed off. It was so hot. So forbidden. Ilya had not expected Shane to be so freaky and so good for him. He put his face into his hands and through his hair, as he washed the suds off his toned body and squirted a generous amount of coconut shampoo onto his hands. He needed to look good today and his curls were one of Ilya’s best features. 

Ilya’s mind was daydreaming a little too thoroughly about Shane, drifting onto their activities from the previous night. He wasted another 10 minutes showering, thinking about Shane’s mouth and working himself. He hoped it would be enough to stave off his hunger for the day.

Ilya got out of the shower, fanning out his wings behind him and shaking them off. 

He looked into the mirror. He had always been a male that took care of himself. Ilya was not a “wash your face with soap” kind of guy. While his bank account did not allow for anything too high-end, he made do with several oils, an eye and face cream, and a hyaluronic acid mask once a week. His tanned skin thanked him for it, because Ilya loved flying, he was often exposed to the sun and thus, needed to give his skin some love. 

Ilya added a generous helping of curling product to his hair, drying his hair and wings off with a hair dryer. He left his hair a little wet, scrunching it to create extra volume and adding a bit of mouse to encourage the curls to behave. 

Ilya donned simple jewellery, two gold hoops in his ears and a cross necklace that was a gift from his mother. He threw on his grey business slacks, a crisp black tee, and an oversized blazer, Ilya admired himself in the hall mirror as he popped on his shoes and walked swiftly out of his rooms. 

Shane also took his time with his appearance, wanting to make a point of looking effortlessly hot and professional. Wearing a light blue button-up shirt and business pants, Shane was the picture of a sexy business man, he thought.. 

As he approached the dining room, Shane glanced at the large painting of his family that hung over the art deco divided stairs and quickly looked away. He had already sabotaged this project before it had even begun, he could have sworn his grandmother was staring directly into his soul, cursing him. 

He was thankful that his grandmother was not going to be at the Palace for some time. The family had agreed that her presence here may create more difficulty for the Peace and Treaty negotiations. 

Not to mention, the Ambassador had lived his life in a structure that had condemned him and everybody he loved, largely due to his grandmother and Shane supposed, the rest of the Crown. It would be best for everyone that the former Queen was not present. 

So, thankfully, his grandparents were not there to micro-manage and criticise everything Shane did. He breathed a sigh of relief, his grandmother would probably be the first person to notice if something seemed off with Shane. She was perceptive like that.  

Shane shuddered thinking about what Ilya’s life might have been like growing up in Russia as a Mid-Fae. He seemed so well-rounded, with a good education (Shane supposed he must have fought hard for this), nice clothes, and seemingly decent manners. Shane wondered how Ilya had become the man that he was today. 

Shane knew that he would be nothing without having everything fed to him with a silver spoon. He was a decent student, but he was nothing to write home about. Mostly he thrived because of his tutors dedication to helping him to structure his work, he knew most students were not afforded these luxuries to support their educational development. Shane also knew that the only reason he was afforded such a prestigious education was due to his name and title. 

Shane wondered what it would be like to truly earn something in life. He probably would never know.  

He knew that there were no luxuries for those that weren’t High Fae and it was mostly survival, with a basic education, food, and housing (if you were one of the lucky ones). And, this wasn’t even considering the Low Fae, who historically were the most discriminated against and shunned, Fae that were powerless were seen as unworthy because, in the eyes of The Crown, they had nothing to contribute to society.

Shane now knew this was bullshit, after being fed propaganda about the class system, so naive to believe everything his grandmother and education told him. But, Shane knew his mother and father were also active participants in raising him and they always had encouraged him to see the other side of the coin. 

He knew he had a long way to go in addressing the injustices inflicted by his family, he hoped that as the months went on that he would be able to show that he was dedicated to peace and a prosperous future for everybody. He considered that a formal apology coming from his family would also be inherent to showing their remorse for the actions towards the Mid and Low-Fae.  

He hated that he had so much responsibility in making things right when he didn’t make them wrong in the first place, but Shane took some responsibility for not trying to address the situation sooner. 

Shane remembered how his mother had listened to him intently the first time he had raised that his generation of Fae were protesting, rioting, and talking a lot online about the systemic oppression that was ruining lives everywhere. 

Yuna was scared, she had known about the uprising but not the extent of discrimination that her people were experiencing. She had turned a blind eye, but heard Shane out and agreed to begin taking steps towards Peace. After several conversations with Queen Harumi, she had agreed to step down and allow Yuna to manage the situation moving forward. And that was the day that she called Ambassador Rozanov. 

The one issue with being the head of a Royal Family was that people only fed you information that they thought you wanted to hear. And no one wanted to hear that people had hated them. 

Shane smiled to himself, thinking of how Ilya and him had a real chance to reshape the world for the better. Together. 

Shane shook his head from side to side, focusing. He had to keep his professional life professional and make sure that this meeting was productive. He took a breath and kept walking, briskly now, realising he was almost late. As he turned the corner, Shane ran into his mother, startling them both.

“Mom, I’m so sorry. I was rushing. I have that brunch meeting with Ambassador Rozanov this morning,” Shane said apologetically.

“It’s okay, honey. I’d rather you ran into me than be late,” she responded, glancing at her gold watch to check the time. “9:28, honey. It’s not like you to even almost be late.” 

“It’s been a weird morning,” Shane said with a frown.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yuna asked earnestly, furrowing her brow.

“It’s okay, mom. I’m just really nervous about this meeting. I want everything to be perfect,” Shane explained.

Gently placing her hand on Shane’s face, Yuna responded reassuringly, “Well, you will be there Shane. And you are perfect. Just remember the end goal. We are all on the same side now and we all want the same things. If you remember that, you will be fine.”

“Thanks mom. I better run or I actually will be late,” Shane said, giving Yuna a quick smile as he walked away. Yuna continued to watch Shane curiously as he walked away.

Ilya was sitting at the 12 seater dining table, glancing at the prepared meeting agenda that Shane’s assistant, Rachel, had placed there earlier today. Rachel had also organised the kitchens to put out a large array of breakfast offerings, cereal, fruit, muesli, buttered toast, jams, bacon, eggs, it was extravagant. 

Meeting Agenda:

• Division of Royal Assets to support Mid and Low Fae social and community development

• Educational restructuring and reform (primary, secondary & tertiary)

• Legal planning (including finalising Anti-discrimination and Inclusion Act) 

• Planned media activities to demonstrate support from Royal Household 

• Announcement of partnership between Prince Hollander & Ambassador Rozanov to implement structural change and enable government processes - Agreement of phrasing regarding relationship and commitments 

Boring. But must be done, Ilya thought to himself. He didn’t really find it boring, but he was concerned about his ability to focus when Shane would be sitting a foot away from him.

Shane knocked twice, not waiting for a response and walked inside the informal dining room. Shane glared at the food guiltily, wondering if the obscene display of wealth would be off-putting to Ilya.

Rachel stood in the middle of the room, greeting Shane, “Prince Hollander, welcome. Ambassador Rozanov is already seated and waiting. I have poured you both some sparkling water and there are two lattes on the table, as requested. If there is anything else I can get either of you, please let me know. Would you like the staff to stay during the meeting or would you prefer to work in private?”

“That will be all for now, Rachel. Thank you,” Shane said, dismissing Rachel and several other staff that had been lingering. They all quietly shuffled out of the room.

Standing, Ilya greeted Shane with a polite smiler, “Prince Hollander, it’s nice to see you again. And your glasses,” Ilya observed, raising his eyebrows. He had not known that Shane wore glasses. Ilya’s hands moved to offer a hand-shake.

“Ambassador Rozanov, hello,” Shane said awkwardly with a laugh, firmly shaking Ilya’s hand. A spark ran up Shane’s arm, as he pulled his hand away abruptly. Shane could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Shane cleared his throat, gesturing for Ilya to sit.

They both sat down, exchanging simple pleasantries as they sipped their coffees and helped themselves to some of the breakfast (muesli, fruit and yoghurt for Shane, and bacon, eggs and toast for Ilya). 

Shane had already read and reread the agenda, wanting to be prepared for the meeting ahead of him. They had a lot of heavy topics to discuss and Shane knew that the first meeting would be a battle. Shane looked up from the paper, noticing Ilya was staring at him, mouth parted slightly.

Ilya was mesmerised again by Shane’s constellations and had forgotten entirely the purpose of the meeting. He tried pulling himself together and invited Shane to discuss the first agenda point. 

They worked through the points tirelessly, with many heated discussions regarding the community inclusion policies. Shane loved seeing Ilya like this, passionate and relentless. He knew that they both wanted the same thing and they had to get it right. 

Working with Ilya in this way, Shane began to understand how Ilya had become so prominent in the political world. He was a force. He was also startlingly witty, with a quick sense of humour that had lifted the spirits of the meeting a number of times when Shane was on the verge of drifting into an endless sleep.

Staying on task was hard when Ilya was right across from him, his teeth biting his lower lip, considering a problem. Shane’s back started to protest, so he stretched out his leg, accidentally kicking Ilya’s foot under the table. 

“Sorry. Back was going numb,” Shane laughed in apology, as he looked up at Ilya from the notes, glasses falling down his nose.

“That’s okay, Hollander. With those glasses, you can kick me. Walk me. Anything. Anytime you want,” Ilya said with a lopsided grin, looking up at Shane from his lashes and put the pen he had been holding into his mouth, biting it suggestively. 

Shane bit down a laugh, heat rising to his cheeks and looked up at Ilya from behind his paperwork. 

“Ambassador, this could be considered sexual harassment in the workplace,” Shane replied with a muffled grin. 

“Prince Hollander, really. I do not want to make you uncomfortable or feel you will compromise the project if you don’t continue to engage with me in this way. I am an open book and would love a repeat performance, but I respect the work we are doing and would never want you to feel any pressure for a relationship. Da?” Ilya responded, his eyes fixed on Shane. 

Shane did appreciate Ilya saying this. Shane was glad Ilya had broken the ice and that he could now breathe. 

Shane understood that there could be a power imbalance here in normal circumstances, however, they were both enthusiastic and consenting participants, who seemed to accept this fact and move on from it. Regardless of who was in charge, the push and pull of this between them felt tangible.  

“No, no, I was really joking,” Shane said with a laugh, “Honestly, I’m glad we aren’t circling around anymore. I do have every intention of keeping these meetings professional, but, I am pretty sure we had covered all the agenda issues for now. Meeting closed?” Shane asked, in question.

“Meeting closed, what?” Ilya quipped, an eyebrow raised.

Shane's eyes met Ilya's in challenge.

Was he really going to do this while sitting behind a sky high stack of legislation proposals, funding commitments, and fucking brunch? I guess he was. 

“Meeting closed, sir?” Shane stated, a question in his eyes.

“Oke,” Ilya stood, packing up his paperwork and laptop. “Thank you for today, Prince Hollander. You have been great in resolving some of my concerns in liaising and working alongside the Royal family. It gives me great pleasure to say that, by the way.” 

Grasping his hand in thanks, Ilya walked out of the room, hiking his messenger bag around his shoulder as he walked through the double doors and into the hall, where the staff had been quietly waiting. 

Turning back around to look back at Shane, Ilya’s wing grazed the top of the door as he took three measured steps towards Shane, “Prince Hollander, I wonder if we could schedule in a dinner at some point? To discuss some of the upcoming public appearances we need to schedule, hmm?”

Heat rose to Shane’s cheeks, a quiver of his wing. Shane hoped it hadn’t been obvious but Ilya’s eyes darted straight to it, he smirked in recognition.

“Uhh sure, a dinner. Ummm, that can be arranged. Right, Rachel?” He said, peering into Rachel's office which was across from the dining room. 

Rachel stood from her desk, approaching them with a smile.“Yes of course, that will not be a problem. Would you like it held in the formal dining room or in your chambers, Prince?” 

“Ummm, my chambers, tomorrow at 7pm?” Shane said, looking at Ilya.

Rachel glanced between them, a thought spreading on her face as her mouth quipped into an almost imperceptible smile. Looking at Ilya, she awaited his confirmation.

Ilya looked over to his assistant, Jacob, who gave a slight nod indicating availability.

“Yes, that is good for me,” Ilya responded, as he looked at Rachel and smiled.

“I will make the arrangements,” Rachel said, looking over at Jacob, who nodded politely and padded over to Rachel to exchange further details. 

“Thank you, Rachel,” both said, in unison, Rachel’s eyes awkwardly darting between them.

“Jacob, can you please add that to my agenda and ensure that Prince Hollander has my mobile number? You know how I find these formalities so boring, much easier to organise ourselves,” Ilya responded, looking towards his assistant with a smile.  

Before they departed, contact details were exchanged between Shane and Ilya. Well, at least now they wouldn’t have to awkwardly communicate through official channels and their respective assistants, Ilya thought.

Both males left the meeting feeling flustered. As the night approached Shane and Ilya both had equal frustrations that needed to be worked out. Thoroughly. 

In an effort to address his frustrations, Ilya texted one of his regular hook-ups, Maddie, “Hey gorgeous, I could use some company if you are up for it. I have a few hours to kill?” alongside a selfie of him in the mirror.

The selfies always seemed to do the trick. Maddie responded that she had started seeing someone a bit more seriously and didn’t want to jeopardise the new relationship. Ilya understood and responded that it was fine, with a smiley face. 

Ilya couldn’t muster up the energy to booty call anyone else, so he left it and went to bed.

As Ilya fell asleep he pictured Shane’s watery eyes staring up at him, Ilya’s cock bobbing in and out of Shane’s soft lips.  

Ilya really struggled to sleep that night.

Shane slept like a baby but he dreamt of the way Ilya’s eyes gazed down to Shane, as he spilled down his throat. 

Shane was dressed and ready at 6am when the knock at his door arrived. His trainer and long-term friend, Scott Hunter, had arrived to beat his ass into shape. Shane knew he would pay for not attending training yesterday. Scott had been training Shane for around 5 years and was nothing if not honest, consistent, and brutal. 

Shane appreciated how frank, dedicated, and unyielding that he was. Scott and Shane shared these traits and they had become friends over the years, separate from their time spent training together. 

Scott was almost a foot taller than Shane, with dark blonde hair that was cut close to his head, green eyes, and the body you would expect of a male that trained all day, every day. Scott was kind, but serious, always ensuring he was professional during Shane’s paid sessions; he kept frivolity and his friendship with Shane on hold for after-hours. 

Scott had several abilities that differed from Shane. He had no wings, therefore no ability to fly, but he had extreme strength and was able to amplify others feelings. The feeling had to already be present, even in a miniscule way, but Scott could grasp onto any feeling and make it stronger, almost infinitely. 

Shane had asked him once to try it on him in training when he was feeling ready to pump hard and he did. Shane had never felt so powerful and good in training. It was a God-like experience, but he hoped that Scott would never ever use it on him again and wondered in what other circumstances he would even use it.

Although for many generations Hollanders had inherited wings, they were actually only inherited by about 25% of all Fae. Although they were quite commonplace, Shane found it incredibly attractive that he could share that part of himself openly with a male who understood the significance of wings during intimacy. 

Focus Shane, he reminded himself, as he walked towards the gym with Scott. He really didn’t want to get hard right now and have to adjust his cock so that Scott wouldn’t notice. 

 “So, how are things with the Ambassador? I ran into your mom on the way here. She said you had a meeting yesterday that she had heard that the negotiations went well, from Rachel?” Scott said.

Of course Rachel had communicated with Yuna. Even though she was Shane’s assistant, his mother was Queen, therefore Rachel would of course answer her truthfully if she had asked how the meeting went. 

He had just hoped that Rachel hadn’t passed on any other observations she may have had of Shane and Ilya, if she had made any at all. Shane hoped not, but knew they probably were pretty obvious.  

“Umm, yeah I’d say it went well. He seemed to agree that our marketing strategies and plans to connect with the people would be something positive. And in terms of our ideas to address equity issues, education and community building, we put together a great plan and were able to agree on funding division into several projects,” Shane rambled, Scott raising an eyebrow. 

“Hm, well that all sounds positive. I’m surprised, I heard he is an asshole,” Scott responded with a laugh.

“I wouldn’t say he’s an asshole. I guess you don’t get to a position like that at his age by walking on egg shells though, do you?” Shane responded defensively. 

This pretty quickly shut this train of conversation down, moving onto Scott’s dating life (he was single but lonely, he wanted to meet a guy but found it hard because with how he looked he attracted all the fuck boys and no nice boys). 

He had asked if Shane was dating anyone, being careful not to ask if he had a girlfriend, Shane suspected that Scott may have an inkling of Shane’s sexuality. It’s not that Shane was embarrassed or ashamed, more that he wanted to be sure before he started telling the world that he liked guys. 

He was almost there, particularly after the encounter with Ilya, but still, he needed time to process that life-altering event. 

Shane had dated girls in the past and had sexual encounters with them, but it never felt natural, and never like it had felt with Ilya. Nothing came close to that, Shane thought.

Scott was setting up the circuit now, today was leg day and Shane was dreading it but he knew his muscular thighs would thank him later. 

They worked out hard, Scott pushing Shane to his limits, as he always did. Shane was left breathless, laying in a heap on the ground, breathing deeply and holding his ribs. 

As they were finishing up their warm-down, Shane heard the automatic gym doors opening and spotted Ilya walking inside, a white gym towel slung over his shoulder, he was dressed in black adidas basketball shorts and a short-sleeve hoodie, his sunglasses sat haphazardly on the top of his head, almost covered by his mess of curls. 

Shane had been stretching out his hips and hamstrings, and Ilya very pointedly glanced down at Shane’s thighs, raising an eyebrow. Scott cleared his throat.

“Ambassador. Good to see you,” Shane said with a smile, still breathing heavily, he stood up and offered his hand.

“Prince. Yes, you too. I hope you had a restful night after the many hours of decision-making yesterday,” Ilya responded with a laugh and a small smile, looking between Scott and Shane now.

Scott was rising to his feet now and approached Ilya. Scott looked super hot, despite being really sweaty, in fact the sweat somehow enhanced his features, Shane noticed. 

“Hi, you must be Ambassador Rozanov. I’m Scott. Scott Hunter. I’m Shane’s full-time personal trainer and sometimes friend,” Scott said with a laugh, shaking Ilya’s hand and pointedly looking him up and down. Shane rose an eyebrow in surprise. Maybe it was jealously, if you considered the knot that formed in Shane’s stomach. 

“Nice to meet you,” Ilya said simply, not really look at Scott. Ilya kept looking towards Shane, who had been packing up some of the weights and wiping down the equipment.

Scott packed the last of his belongings, “I’ve gotta run, I have another session on the other side of town. But I’ll see you tomorrow. Text me if you’ll be free this weekend, Shane, the gang were thinking of going for a little wine thing if you could go into Prince shut-down mode for a couple of hours?” 

Despite all of Scott’s efforts to include him in his social circle, Shane never went. He wasn’t social and was always too worried about how others would treat him, being the Prince. They were all High Fae and Shane really needed to distance himself from social situations that favoured the class system. 

It was Tuesday now, so Shane guessed he could put off thinking about that one for at least a few more days. 

“Sure, uhm, I’ll try,” Shane responded with a polite smile. 

Scott left Ilya and Shane in the gym, alone. 

Ilya had started adding weights to the bench press, a lot of weights. 

Shane was impressed but wasn't surprised, he'd seen Ilya naked, after all. 

Shane awkwardly stood there. His workout was finished and he really should go. Especially as he’d be seeing Ilya tonight for their scheduled dinner. 

“Can you spot me quickly, please Hollander?” Ilya ground out, as he finished a set. “I’m trying to do a personal best and want to make sure I don’t die,” he laughed. Shane noted the use of Hollander rather than his title, taking him back to how Ilya had made him feel when he had touched him the last night. 

“Uhh sure,” Shane said awkwardly, approaching the bench press. 

Shane was now looking down at Ilya, as he laid on the bench press, wings splayed out below him, Shane imagined this was probably how he had looked the night before, coming apart for Ilya. Shane shuddered, Ilya catching it.

“Problem?” Ilya asked with a smirk.

“No, no,” Shane said quickly, wiping his brown and shaking his head, he moved to spot Ilya as he lifted. 

As Ilya lifted the weights, breathing through, Shane could see the firm pull through Ilya’s trapezius muscles, spreading out beneath him. His arms and alabaster wings looked glorious, a Greek god on display. His face stretched, breathed, and gritted through the final lift, pushing himself to the limit. 

Shane was reminded of another time he had seen this face. A man coming undone. Shane’s already pink cheeks turned beet red. 

Ilya loved watching as Shane became embarrassed, admiring his body. When he had asked Shane to spot him, he was trying to prove something to himself, perhaps that last night had not been a stupid fucking mistake. Or that maybe it was. Not even Ilya was sure what he felt and thought in that moment. It was all so confusing, because despite Ilya’s reputation, he fucking wanted more of Shane. Maybe more than Shane was willing to give to him.   

As he finished his set, Ilya sat up, straddling the bench; leaving Shane to grab his bag and start to walk towards the exit. 

Looking back towards Ilya, Shane offered, “Hey, so let me know what you are thinking for tonight. I can put in a special order in the kitchen. Just get Jacob  to reach out to Rachel, they can organise it for us,” 

“Hmm, I’m not sure they will have what I want on the menu,” Ilya said, sitting up on the bench, legs spread wide. An invitation. Shane’s eyes immediately found Ilya’s cock, licking his lips. He looked up at Ilya with hooded eyes. 

Breathing heavily now, Ilya took a long pull of his water and stretched his neck out, waiting for Shane to respond.

Shane swallowed, his breath picking up again.

Picking up on Ilya's game, Shane responded, “I’m sure whatever delicacy you would like could be arranged, Ambassador,” Shane said flirtatiously, walking towards him now with a smile.

Ilya made Shane feel confident in his skin. Like someone that could go after anything he wanted.

Shane knew that there were cameras in the gym, but they were only there should there be an attack or threat, not just to be monitored for Shane’s mundane work-outs with Scott. He was basically the only regular user of it, anyway. 

“Well, that is kind of you Prince Hollander. So accommodating,” Ilya purred, looking up at Shane, as he sat unmoving on the bench, legs still spread wide.

Shane knew this was his opportunity. He was sweaty, breathless, needy, and desperate for Ilya's lips on him. 

Ilya saw Shane’s intention as he arrived in front of him. Instead of standing to meet him, Ilya grabbed Shane's wrist, pulling him towards the bench, leaving Shane helplessly straddling Ilya's lap. Ilya took Shane’s face into both hands, deeply kissing him, one hand tangled through Shane's hair, as the other found purchase on Shane's ass, steadying him. There was nothing gentle about this kiss, it was a claiming. 

Ilya handled Shane with ease, grasping his ass. Shane quickly realised that he might like being manhandled. Especially by Ilya. Shane wrapped his muscular thighs around Ilya’s waist, taking anything this male offered him. 

Ilya could feel Shane’s firm length starting to grind against him and Ilya’s cock began to harden. He knew that they had to stop. This was getting very stupid now and Ilya had gotten himself into seriously dangerous territory, if they were caught, Ilya would likely have to resign from his position. He quickly pulled back, leaving Shane chasing Ilya’s kiss. Shane looked stricken. 

Ilya stood abruptly, needing to put distance between them. 

Ilya could have anyone and he wouldn’t be fucking up anymore by jumping into bed with Prince Shane fucking Hollander. Even if he was super fucking beautiful and so fucking cute in every way. 

Ilya breathed, steadying himself, “Shane, you may not have much to lose here, but this is my life. My livelihood, my people who have suffered,” He pointed to his heart now, gritting his teeth as he spoke, ”At the hands of your family,” he gestured to Shane. 

Ilya continued rapidly moving his arms as he spoke, a passionate plea to Shane.

“And you come in here kissing me, making me want to kiss you, fuck you, everything. When you know I could compromise my professional position as the Ambassador. No, Shane, I like you but this has gone too far. Anyone could have come in and I was too stupid to even fucking care,” Ilya trailed off, rolling his eyes to himself and throwing his head back in frustration. 

Shane looked stricken, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… fuck," he trailed off, running out of the gym. 

Ilya was left standing alone in the gym with a rock-hard cock and no fucking idea what he had done. 

Shane and Ilya were both left wondering how they were going to get through their scheduled dinner that evening. 

Chapter Text

Ilya woke with a start.

He had fallen asleep at his desk again. Lost in a mountain of paperwork— from official royal statements, press releases, scheduled appearances, and High Court submissions. Ilya knew with certainty that he would not be able to focus on any of it during his dinner with Shane that evening. Fuck.

He needed to get these thoughts out of his head.

He had been dreaming of his mother, Irina, and brother Alexei again.

Alexei had been weeping on the floor of their mother’s room, begging her to get up. His mother had been staring blank eyed at the ceiling, tears flowing freely down her face—with no effort to clear them. This was not an unusual sight at the Rozanov household.

He knew it was, partially, at least, his father that made her sick. Sure, genetics probably had played some role in Irina’s depression, but mostly, Ilya blamed his father. He knew that Gregori met Irina when he was 35 and she was 16.

Born a Low-Fae, his mother moved into the category of Mid-Fae due to marriage inheritance and her genetic inheritance of wings. Ilya had inherited his strikingly beautiful features from his mother, with her wild curly blonde hair, hazel eyes, and regal white wings. He saw nothing of his father in himself, which Ilya was thankful for every day.

Ilya broke out of his daydream, checking his phone again and scrolling through a number of stupidly irrelevant videos on Instagram, the ones of dogs were cute though.

He groaned internally, trying to snap himself out of the disaster that had been earlier that day.

Ilya never felt like this. If something didn’t work out, it was usually always due to Ilya losing interest or the other party wanting something more serious. Ilya never begrudged them that and understood their desire for more than what he would offer. Because all he was really good at was sex. He never lied— Ilya took pride in his honesty with his partners.

Ilya had never learned how to communicate about his feelings, which was partially why he felt he made a great politician. He had a single-minded focus that only fuelled his success.

Ilya glanced at his phone, 4:55pm. An unopened text from Hollander glared at him. It was two words.

Hollander: I’m sorry.

Ilya turned his phone upside down, realising his read receipts were on and not having the brainpower to respond. Maybe he could just ignore the problem and it would go away.

Ilya started thinking about how difficult his life had been before this. Before he found his passion for politics and before he had met the fucking Crown Prince.

It was almost six years ago when Ilya decided he deserved a happy life, and he wasn’t going to get one in Russia. He had known things would be easier for his mother after his father had died when he was 17.

Corruption lived insidiously in the homes of all Russians, waiting for someone to do the wrong thing; so they could publicly be punished, arrested, or taken, never to return.

His childhood had been bleak. The only real joy Ilya had allowed himself was flying during the summer and skating during the winter. These two things alone made him feel like there could be something better out there for him, even on his darkest days.

No one had ever really noticed Ilya. That was until he started posting online when he was 16 about the situation in Russia. Ilya spoke about the unrest, the children starving, the displaced citizens, the failing healthcare system, interviewing citizens about their experiences—Ilya did not balk from the truth. The High Fae got richer while the Low Fae were dying. Slowly, Ilya’s following grew, until it was in the millions; millions of people following a child, just hoping that he might have the answers that they so desperately craved.

He knew that sometime soon the Russian Crown Alliance (RCA) would report Ilya’s treason to The Crown, or that the RCA would just arrest him without authority, which would be worse.

This fear never eventuated but Ilya wondered if it would have if he had stayed any longer. The RCA had never really cared about the Hollanders. To the RCA and the Russian people, the Hollanders were just the people who pretended they governed a world that was so far removed from theirs.

The unrest spread throughout the world. Like a crack in a glacier, that was all it took for the idea of freedom to take root. Fae began to realise that they did not just have to accept the structures of this system simply because it was.

Ilya started becoming concerned about his safety in Russia. His political views were radical and unsafe. He knew it wouldn’t be long until the RCA came for him.

Ilya remembered receiving the call from a humanitarian lawyer, Zane Boodram. Zane had been following Ilya's social media and knew that he was in trouble. Or, that he would be if Ilya didn't act soon. With the offer of Canadian asylum on the table, Ilya knew he had no choice if he wanted to survive.

Ilya was granted opportunities he had never dreamt of because someone took a chance on a kid from Russia. And Bood remained one of Ilya's most trusted friends and advisors.

He would never forget his Russian roots, but he was proud to be a Canadian citizen now.

He had offered to support his family to come to live with him in Canada, but they would never leave Russia.

All of his hard work and Ilya was this close to throwing it all away over Shane. Shane had Ilya in a chokehold and Ilya was unwilling to release himself from it. Fuck the consequences.

Ilya decided he couldn't fit all his words into a stupid text. Especially in stupid English language. So he left Shane on ‘read’.

Ilya’s thoughts bounced around in his head like this for the rest of the afternoon.

Ilya needed to look good, but probably not too good. Ugh, he was so gone even thinking about Shane. He knew it was a problem. He never felt nervous. Well, never about a person. He was Ilya fucking Rozanov.

And while his reputation for sex and kink was kept quiet publicly, those in the right circles knew what he liked. What he craved. It’s not like Ilya kept his proclivities a secret from the right people, but to the world, he was a picture of the perfect politician.

Ilya knew he had lashed out at Shane. He did place some blame on Shane for being so fucking entitled and privileged—despite this, Ilya understood the complications of loyalty and family, and knew all too well that they could make or break a person.

Ilya knew it would be difficult to uphold his arrogant façade tonight. He had already let himself slip though at the gym and could not afford to show his vulnerability again.

Shane perched on the white leather sofa awkwardly, trying to look normal.

He was dressed for comfort, wearing loose fitting wide-leg bamboo pants and a long-sleeve beige cashmere sweater.

Shane needed everything to go to plan. They would meet, exchange pleasantries, plan for their upcoming media obligations and photoshoots, eat, then exchange goodbyes. It was simple.

But, Shane knew that with Ilya, nothing was ever simple.

He had requested the dinner to be set-up overlooking the western terrace and the gardens in his casual dining area.

He had watched Ilya from his terrace after their first meeting.

It was an accident really—Shane had been soaking his tired muscles in his obscenely large outdoor jacuzzi and Ilya just happened to be there, strolling through the gardens.

Shane knew it was wrong to have watched him, but Ilya was in his backyard. He was just enjoying the view. Usually, he would have been scared of being caught but he knew even if Ilya had looked up, he would only see a reflection, as the terrace’s retractable double glazed windows shielded Shane from prying eyes.

This left Shane with the idea of setting their dinner up to overlook the garden. He knew that it was dangerous to want Ilya this desperately, he was already laying all his cards out for Ilya to see—Shane would take whatever Ilya was offering, even if it was a morsel of himself.

He watched the clock strike 7:00pm, straightening on the couch. He stood up and readjusted his sweater, checking his hair in the mirror.

He heard Rachel’s voice through the door greeting who he assumed was Ilya.

A knock at the door came. “Yep, all fine here Rachel,” Shane acknowledged, leaving Rachel to open the door and let Ilya inside.

As Ilya walked inside, Rachel followed closely behind.

“Prince Hollander,” Ilya said briskly.

“Ambassador Rozanov,” Shane acknowledged, grasping his hand in a formal greeting. Shane noticed the firm callouses on Ilya’s palm and his forearms tense as he gripped him.

Ilya was dressed in a fitted pair of wide-leg jeans, his firm waist accentuated with a narrow black belt. Tucked elegantly at his waist, Ilya donned a baby-pink t-shirt, which was so fitted that Shane noticed the outline of his pectoral muscles twitching as his hand had moved to grasp Shane’s. Shane gestured to his coat rack, as Ilya hung his black tweed coat and removed his shoes by the front door.

Shane noticed the slight downturn of Ilya’s face and the mischievous sparkle gone from his eyes.

“Dinner will be delivered in approximately 30 minutes, gentleman. Please, buzz me if you need anything in the meantime or throughout the evening. I’ll be in my office and can come anytime.” Rachel said, providing them a brief of what they needed to discuss over the course of the evening. They thanked Rachel and she dismissed herself, leaving them alone again.

Ilya stepped inside and was transported into a room that was larger than his childhood home.

Shane’s living room was spacious and luxuriously decorated, with warm lighting delicately placed throughout the room. In the centre sat a large plush white sofa, fur rugs, and a sleek black hanging fireplace, crackling softly against the silence. In the left hand corner sat a huge marble dining table, a few candles flickering in the centre, which overlooked the large palace gardens with obscenely large windows.

“Well, welcome…,” Shane said uncomfortably with a small smile, watching Ilya’s eyes dart around the room, surveying.

“Thank you,” Ilya’s voice was clipped and cold.

Ilya noticed through a large arch doorway sat an enormous bed with a gold filigree headboard. It looked like it was decorated with fucking forest creatures—native birds, foxes, flowers, and leaves. Of course Hollander’s bed is like a fucking princess bed.

Shane caught Ilya’s eye as it drifted back to him after staring at Shane’s bed. Shane visibly swallowed, looking guiltily at Ilya’s mouth and then to the ground.

Ilya noticed two table settings and two wine glasses, reminding Ilya he could really use a drink. “Well?” Ilya said, eyes darting from Shane towards a carafe of wine.

Shane shuffled over, looking embarrassed again, and picked up the large carafe of red wine. “Of course, I’m an idiot.” Shane handed Ilya a glass of wine, Ilya brushing his fingers against Shane’s as he accepted it.

Shane could have sworn he felt electricity spark through him.

“Mr. Hospitality,” Ilya said.

Shane cleared his throat, “To….new friendships?” he offered.

“Friendship, Hollander?” Ilya responded straight-faced, with raised eyebrows, clinking his glass with Shane’s and taking a few long draws on his wine as his eyes stared into Shane. Shane’s eyes never quite met Ilya’s eyes.

Shane shifted uncomfortably, “I saw you read my message Ilya. Please, let me explain.” Shane’s eyes were pleading, now. Ilya struggled to keep his composure, seeing Shane in his rooms, looking so comfortable, wearing that damn beige sweater, his cheeks tinted pink from the heat of the fire.

Ilya wanted to devour his stupid little annoying face, as it crumpled.

“Then explain. Explain why you think it’s okay to kiss me at the gym. In the middle of the fucking palace. I have a career, a life, Shane,” Ilya spat, a lift on the ‘Sh’ in Shane. “And you don’t seem to care very much about that. You have no fucking idea what it has been like for people like us. I mean, not us, you are not like us. For Fae like me.”

“Of course I don’t.” Shane didn’t argue, despite his unease with eye contact, he made an effort to lock eyes with Ilya, for at least part of his declaration. “But I’m still so sorry, I overstepped. I just looked at you, and I…all sense of rational thought left my mind. I just…” he trailed off. “I just needed…you, I don’t really have a better excuse than that. And I’m sorry. I would never want to compromise your position. I fucking swear, Ilya.”

The use of his first name formed a crack in Ilya’s resolve. “Shane, let’s just do what we need to do. I cannot do this. You do make me curious, yes? But, I need something simple. And this is not simple.” He continued as he gestured with his hands between them, “There is so much you do not understand. You sit in this castle. This palace. And for your whole life you have known nothing but comfort and love and peace. But for us, we have been suffering.”

“Ilya, fuck. I’m so sorry for what has happened. I cannot change what my family has done and I won’t pretend an apology will change anything between us. But, please understand, I am committed to this. I need this to be successful. We can fucking do this. Together,” Shane approached Ilya, putting his glass on the table.

Shane’s voice lowered a decibel, ”I want us to show the world that we can work alongside one another and build a better future. I want a better world and you are the way towards that. You have built a world where people look up to you. You have inspired…me. I never wanted you to find this out, but…I watched all your videos, I told my mom about them and showed her for years before they got much traction. You were just a kid and you were so brave.” Shane was standing in front of Ilya now, tears welling in his eyes but refusing to leave them.

Ilya just stared, dumbfounded and then laughed with his whole belly—trying to pull back and reset the mood to something that Ilya could understand. He circled Shane now, lowering his voice which accentuated his Russian accent, “Well, that was a lot, Hollander. If you wanted to suck my dick so badly, you could have just said sorry to my face.”

“Are you fucking serious right now, Rozanov?” Shane glared, his teeth grinding, pacing away from Ilya with a huff.

“Of course, just wanted to see what you would do. Such a mad little kitten,” Ilya replied lazily with a half-grin, pouting his lips provocatively at Shane and knowing it was complete bullshit. If he told himself that enough, maybe it would become true.

“You’re such a fucking asshole, Rozanov. And here I was defending you to fucking Scott,” Shane responded, hurt in his eyes turning to anger, as he leaned against the closest wall, glaring at Rozanov.

Ilya donned his mask of cool indifference, a breath from Shane, “I never said I wasn’t an asshole Hollander. And I don’t give a fuck about your Scott,” he spat, “just another fucking High Fae asshole looking down his nose at me. Let’s just work these media appointments and then we can finish this.”

Ilya took this moment to glare at Shane for a moment, he exhaled deeply and sat at the dining table, gesturing for Shane to join him.

Shane joined him, ‘Fine,” he huffed brattily.

They quickly scheduled several media appointments for the coming weeks, which included charity events, meet and greets, and to Shane’s chagrin, an interview and photoshoot with GQ, They had agreed that they would both interview one another, talking fashion and political success at such a young age. Yuna thought it would be good for Shane’s relatability. They had chosen GQ carefully, as it spoke to the age range who hated Shane and the Hollanders the most.

They needed this narrative shift, for Shane, and for the Hollanders.

A knock at the door indicated dinner had arrived, Shane gestured several staff inside and they quickly laid out several dishes. Ilya noticed they all looked pointedly down, not really acknowledging them as they worked. Ilya took a mental note to ask Shane about this later.

On one platter sat a steamed fish wrapped in banana leaves, a large pile of shucked oysters with lemon and salt scattered around the platter, and what looked to be caviar and a crusty loaf of bread. Next to this was what appeared to be a steaming soup, Borscht, followed by a large pot of a thick stew which smelt of beef, garlic, and rosemary. Ilya’s mouth watered.

Shane’s staff finally finished arranging the assortment of dishes, asked if they needed anything else, and politely dismissed themselves. Shane and Ilya thanked them as they began digging into the ridiculous array of food.

“Well, at least you understand what a man wants for dinner. If nothing else,” Ilya said, as he looked Shane square in the eyes, he licked his lips in anticipation, gobbling down an oyster greedily. He swallowed, biting his bottom lip as he looked heatedly at Shane and winked. “But of course, you do know some clever things, Hollander.”

“Oh, uhm, yeah?” Shane said, smiling up as he took a bite of buttered bread.

Ilya’s hand found Shane’s hard thigh under the table and squeezed it. Leaning in and almost grazing Shane’s ear, Ilya lowered his voice an octane and a decibel, letting the Russian accent slip in, enveloping him. “Yeah…? Did you forget manners at the gym? I think I remember we had some rules about how you were speaking to me the other night. I like those rules very much. I think we keep them, maybe?” Ilya challenged.

Forget yourself, Hollander. Come undone for me.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Rozanov?” Shane replied, sweating now and guiltily looking at Ilya’s calloused hand on his thigh, as it gripped him hungrily.

“The proper way to address me.”

Shane cleared his throat and took a large sip of wine to wash down the bread, realising his mistake and trying not to choke on the word.

“Oh, sir,” Shane said with a small laugh, “Fuck, I thought you were joking with that but you are really kinky if you want this to carry over into a regular thing.” Pink bloomed across Shane’s cheeks and neck, as he took another gulp of wine and returned it to the table.

Ilya was whispering now, his mouth touching and licking at Shane's ear as he spoke, "I like the sound of ‘sir’ on your lips, Hollander. So, if you want me to forgive and forget, you will call me sir and you will remember who is in charge.”

Shane stilled, he could feel his pacing thoughts slowing down. Somewhere in the depths of Ilya’s commanding, domineering bullshit, Shane was somehow finding his inner dialogue had shut the fuck up. Interesting, Shane thought. He took a deep breath in, stilling his shaking body.

He was glaring at Ilya now, wings tucked politely to the side. Shane felt intrigued by the idea of submitting to this man again— relinquishing the sense of control that he held onto so tightly. He felt powerful in his decision to trust Ilya with his body and with his deepest secret. Even if it was stupid as fuck.

Shane put the thought on hold for a second, knowing the staff would return soon to collect the trays from dinner.

They finished the rest of the meal in a comfortable silence. A few small exchanges as they enjoyed the offerings. Ilya thanked Shane for organising the traditional Russian meal, the richness and smell transporting him home.

As the staff returned, they cleared the platters, leaving one behind that Shane and Ilya had agreed they would continue working on. They thanked them for the lovely meal.

As they filed out dutifully—door closing behind them with a thud. Shane stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back and neatly tucking it back where it belonged.

Ilya watched Shane, his head tilted and surveying. Shane removed his cashmere sweater, folded it and placed it neatly onto the coat rack by the door, leaving him shirtless and wanting—Ilya now gazing at a half-naked and bratty Shane Hollander, the deep v of his abs an invitation.

Shane moved towards Ilya purposefully, his firm stomach on display as he arched his back, he stopped in front of Ilya—pausing a moment as Ilya gazed up, watching Shane lick his lips in anticipation, Ilya crossed his muscled forearms, waiting. Shane sunk to his knees, wings fanned out behind him, iridescent and glinting in the firelight.

Shane stared up at Ilya now, his eyes filled with lust. His lips were glistening now.

“Sir, is this where you want me?” Shane whispered, head snapping down to the ground, his hand grazing Ilya’s wing, awaiting his response.

Ilya caressed Shane’s face, tilting his chin so that their eyes met.

“Hollander. Fuck. You are full of surprises,” Ilya breathed as he leaned down to meet Shane’s mouth in a claiming kiss, which set them alight, it stilled, and it consumed. Ilya and Shane were ablaze, chasing the kiss into the sunlight and into darkness. Wherever the fuck it lead, they were going.

Ilya let go of Shane’s face, pulling back to search his face. His hand grazed over Shane’s freckles, Shane tilting his head to the side, relishing the feel of Ilya’s hands being where they shouldn't.

“Hollander, if we do this again. I need us to make a promise, because I know how compatible” Ilya said, sounding like he was practicing the word, ”we are but, this can be nothing more than what it is. Fucking and pleasure,” Ilya said, “I will not risk my career for you, but if is casual, I am okay with that. But nothing more.”

Shane took no time to respond, replying with a small smile as the pink of his cheeks became visible in the firelight and the lies rolled off his tongue, “Rozanov, I don’t give a fuck about you, okay. I just know I need you to fuck me. To suck me. I want you to pull me apart and put me back together. I don’t know much and I know things are complicated, but I do know that I need to feel like I did the other night, with you.”

Ilya knew that he was in deep shit but gathered his thoughts, moving his face into the picture of dominance, “Hollander, okay okay. Please, you do not have to beg, not yet anyway. Maybe you will get my cock if you behave."

“Yes,” Shane said breathlessly, forcing himself to look at Ilya.

Fuck, Ilya thought. He had always found it complicated when someone was inexperienced and he should have guessed this about Shane. He had been so sweet with his mouth, So perfect. But he wasn’t practiced. Not yet, anyway.

It wasn’t that Ilya was not willing to invest time and energy to explore sex with someone, more that he worried that the other party would form emotional attachments, which Ilya was not willing to entertain.

“Hollander,” Ilya growled.

Ilya pounced, claiming Shane's mouth. The kiss was a prayer, a consummation, a declaration. Ilya's tongue licked Shane's upper lip, begging for entry, as Shane opened for him. He pulled Shane into his lap.

Shane was already rock hard, grinding against Ilya's ample cock hungrily. Ilya laughed, as he swallowed Shane's desperate moan and placed his hands on Shane's hips, cementing him into place.

“Then remember, Hollander. More important than ever, you use your voice. You tell me if you like and don’t like things. You need to learn what you like. What makes you come and tick and break. So, you need to be very good, Hollander. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Shane stared up at Ilya, pouting his lips, he took a languid bite and sucked in his bottom lip—awaiting the command that stilled his mind.

“So needy, Hollander. I’m going to make you come until you forget who you are and all you can remember is the name Ilya fucking Rozanov.”

Ilya purred into Shane’s ear, as he stood with Shane in his arms, legs still wrapped around Ilya, clinging. Ilya easily carried Shane to the sofa, lowering Shane to it reverently.

He couldn’t hold back anymore and Shane squeaked a small, “Ohmygod,” as his ass met met the sofa, relishing the feeling of Ilya manhandling him like a fucking Babushka doll.

He crawled over Shane, throwing handfuls of pillows to the ground and pinned Shane’s hands behind his head.

“This okay?” Ilya asked.

"Hands, yes. Pillows on the ground are a no,” Shane sighed against Ilya’s mouth in mock annoyance.

Ilya helped Shane out of his pants and socks, as Ilya stood and slowly removed his clothes—purposefully throwing them on the couch to annoy Shane. Shane’s cock desperately bobbed, needing attention now, which Ilya decidedly ignored. Shane frantically started stroking himself, staring up at Ilya wide-eyed, his swollen lips parted for him.

“Patience, Hollander. We are not in a race,” Ilya said with a laugh, forcefully pulling Shane’s hand off his cock, as Shane groaned in protest. Ilya pinned Shane's pelvis into place. Looking around, Ilya considered the mosaic of pre-come already smattered around the sofa.

Ilya moved towards one of the spots, licking leisurely and staring up at Shane with cruel intention.

Shane felt embarrassed at his enthusiasm, but he couldn’t help the way his cock already dripped with need.

“Hollander,” Ilya purred, shaking his head and tsking as he took Shane’s upper lip into his teeth, “maybe you need some help in cleaning up?”

Ilya hovered over Shane, his muscular forearms and biceps straining. From this angle, Shane saw the taught muscles beneath wings flaring out behind him. Covering most of the sofa now, Ilya’s wings accidentally grazed Shane’s, as they fanned out underneath them—both rocked by the unintentional force of the touch, their heads fell back in unison, praying for release.

“Please. Please, sir. Rozanov, need. You.” Shane struggled to grit out each word, pushing his pelvis up to meet Ilya’s, as Ilya's tight body engulfed Shane, kissing languidly and grasping at Shane's firm pectorals, toying with his nipple.

They were a fucking force of nature. Two sets of intentions colliding together, begging for a release that was impossible.

“I want to touch you. Somewhere different. I see your needy cock, Hollander. Trust me, this better. Better for you, I suspect,” Ilya looked at Shane with a question in his eyes, dropping his voice a decibel, he squeezed Shane's ample ass.

“I want to touch your ass, to fill you with my fingers,” Ilya kissed him chastely on the lips, a promise to be delicate with him. “I want to watch you come undone as you ride the wave. I need to see Your Highness lose that steely composure that he is so famous for. I want you to weep in pleasure, to come so hard you forget who we are and all that tension you hold onto so tightly,” Ilya growled, emphasizing the sarcasm on Your Highness.

Shane's lust-filled eyes fixed on Ilya, grinding his hips vehemently, seeking friction that scalded, burned, that left a mark on the soul. Ilya finally repaid him, pushing the firm of his cock against Shane, a wild beast trapped in a cage.

Shane stilled, a question forming on his lips, as Ilya pulled back. “I….I’ve never been touched there before. Will it hurt?”

Ilya looked down at Shane with reassurance, framing his face with his muscular hands, Ilya planted luxurious kisses down Shane’s neck, “I promise, if you think it hurts. You tell me, we stop. But this is not my experience. Once you relax, you adjust to feeling. It can be powerful. It takes over you, even more powerful than if I touch your cock, Hollander.”

Shane was panting now, his cock had leaked all over the sofa, as he peered over to the stains guiltily. “There will be more,” Ilya laughed, brushing a stray hair out of Shane’s eyes. He waited patiently as Shane’s eyes locked on Ilya’s, searching for more. Ilya pulled Shane's head back as he moved to straddle him, granting him the perfect angle to consume Shane as he chased his unspoken desires.

Shane was scared, but he knew that he wanted this. He had never thought of touching himself there. Well, maybe he had thought of it but that was as far as that little adventure went. But Shane decided then that he wanted to try this, with Ilya.

Shane had deeply fucked himself by agreeing to not form an emotional attachment with Ilya, but he was no longer capable of any cohesive thought.

“Yes, Rozanov. Sir, please,” Shane begged, correcting himself.

A dark smile appeared on Ilya’s face as he let out a low chuckle, he claimed Shane’s mouth with a sultry kiss, biting his lip as he pulled away hastily. Ilya began the agonisingly slow descent down Shane’s athletic body, planting soft kisses beginning at Shane’s neck and languishing over Shane’s chest and nipples, as his hand found purchase, squeezing Shane’s taught bicep.

Ilya continued his exploration, massaging his hand into Shane’s pectoral muscle, as he licked down Shane’s navel, awaiting an invitation. Ilya's strong hands continued kneading Shane’s chest, as a gasp left Shane's lips. The sound scalded into Ilya's memory.

He feathered light kisses around Shane’s navel, eventually reaching Shane’s hips. He grasped Shane on both sides, causing Shane to arch. Ilya released one hand and brushed his other over Shane’s right wing,

“Holy shit, Rozanov.”

Shane felt his hands burning now and knew if things got too heated, he might reveal a little too much of himself.

Ilya brushed a single kiss over each hip, avoiding the cock that sat firmly against Shane’s belly.

Shane stroked at his cock, starting to feel desperate, as Ilya made it to Shane’s beautiful thighs, taking a moment to admire them. Thick and corded with muscle, Ilya couldn’t wait to feel them clench around him. Ilya planted kisses on Shane’s inner thigh, spreading his thighs wider now. Shane took a deep breath in, steadying himself.

Ilya looked up at Shane, seeking confirmation. Shane nodded, beginning to stroke his cock again, as Ilya swatted his hand away, pinning it to his wing. “Uh uh uh, Your Highness. I am in charge,” Ilya reminded Shane, firmly, planting a featherlight stroke on Shane’s wing, as he shuddered at the feelings pulsing through him—his title on Ilya’s tongue. Ilya smiled to himself in satisfaction.

Ilya delicately moved his finger, massaging around Shane’s hole, as Shane let out a small gasp, his back arching, “Oh, fuck Rozanov, fuck yes.”

Ilya began running slow circles around Shane’s entrance, measuring his responses. “Fuck, Ilya, feels so good,” Shane groaned, grinding his cock into Ilya’s face. Ilya growled into Shane, kissing the tip of Shane’s cock softly and then ignoring it, pointedly.

Ilya let his first name slide just this once and knew that Shane was ready for more, but needed to hear Shane say the words, “Hollander, greedy for more?”

“Fuck. Don’t stop. Please just, fuck,” Shane responded, inaudibly.

Ilya laughed, looking up at Shane. “You have a filthy mouth, Hollander. You will need to behave,” he slapped his firm stomach, hand reverberating loudly. Shane squirmed, his cock demanding an audience.

“Fuck, Rozanov. Just keep going, please,” Shane begged.

“I forgive you for forgetting, sir, but…” he shook his head in mock seriousness, “this time only, Hollander. Feel sorry for your cock,” Ilya smiled sweetly, a laugh rumbling low in his belly as Ilya tapped Shane’s cock lightly. “He is starting to look sad.”

Ilya returned to his task, tracing circles around Shane’s hole. He delicately pushed the tip of his finger in, as he grabbed Shane’s leaking cock and began pumping him—Shane whimpered, followed by an unsteady “Fuuuuck, Rozanov.”

Ilya felt Shane clench around him, too tight for him. So fucking perfect. Shane adjusted to the intrusion, feeling Ilya all around him and filling him deliciously.

Shane’s mind went blank as he rode the high that was Ilya’s hand.

“Hollander,” Ilya growled in warning, stilling Shane against the mattress. Shane snarled in frustration.

Ilya’s finger moved slowly, curling in and out of Shane’s hole as his hands pumped Shane's cock and ass in unison. An unforgiving pressure that sent Shane into an abyss. Ilya increased the pressure, curling his fingers, causing an unholy moan in response.

Shane knew that he was fast approaching the abyss—no returning to what was before. Feeling his cock leak over Ilya’s calloused hand, it took care of some of the friction, Ilya’s hand gliding quickly over Shane as it became more frenzied.

“Seeing you come undone, Hollander. Fuck, tell me what you need,” Ilya growled into Shane’s ear, biting down on Shane’s neck with enough force to bruise, kissing, licking, sucking—claiming it all greedily.

Ilya moved down Shane’s neck to his clavicle, kissing and sucking at Shane’s freckles to mark them as his and he continued pumping him with both hands. Ilya knew that marking Shane was dangerous, especially after his speech earlier—but he was far too turned on to consider the implications.

“Uhhh, Ilya…fuck, want your mouth, please.”

Ilya loved seeing Shane like this, all for him, wrecked, weak, loose, begging for more. Ilya saw the marks on Shane’s necks growing darker. He'd fucking pay for that, he knew.

“So bratty, Hollander,” Ilya responded, shaking his head in mock distaste.

Ilya sucked in the head of Shane’s desperate cock, pulling him deep into his throat, as his finger pumped into Shane’s hole, massaging, searching, and curving. Ilya continued moving up and down Shane’s shaft, licking up the underside as he flattened his tongue and reached his slit. Pushing his tongue into Shane’s slit, he let out a ragged breath, as Ilya hummed in satisfaction, sending shockwaves through Shane.

Ilya continued pumping his finger, feeling Shane welcoming him, Ilya decided Shane was loose now, ready for a second. He came off Shane’s cock with a pop, “Opening so good for me. More?”

Shane looked at Ilya, face beaded with sweat, his golden hair now unruly and sticking to his forehead—Shane ran his hand through Ilya’s curls, pulling slightly, forcing a growl of approval.

“Oh fuck. So fucking good. Yes. Please don’t stop. My fucking god. Fuck,” Shane said pleadingly. Ilya slowly moved his head back down, gobbling up Shane’s cock, adding a second finger into Shane’s ass, causing a sharp gasp at the overwhelming feeling of Ilya filling him. Ilya continued pumping in and out of Shane, as he moved to place Shane’s hand on his head, inviting Shane to take him.

Shane lost himself, thrusting into Ilya’s throat and grinding his ass into Ilya's strong hands, Ilya did not flinch. Instead, he opened his throat as he breathed out through his nose.

Shane looked down at Ilya's perfect face and bucked his hips. frantically seeking more pressure. Ilya felt Shane coming into a freefall, relishing the taste of Shane on his tongue. Ilya added soft strokes to Shane’s wings and salty sweat beaded off Ilya’s toned forearms, falling onto Shane, their sweat and bodies mingling everywhere.

Shane continued the relentless journey of fucking of Ilya's mouth, as Ilya curved his fingers into Shane's hole until he arched desperately, his voice now a garbled mess of nonsensical commentary. Ilya breathed through it all, taking Shane as far out of his body as he could.

Shane looked down at the glorious fucking male gobbling his cock greedily and fingering his ass. He whimpered, so close now. Shane felt pressure and heat start to build in his hands, knowing he was close to losing his tempered control on his power.

Shane felt an explosion around him, as the overwhelming pressure consumed him. Shane never knew that fucking could feel like this, as Ilya continued working his prostate.

“Don't fucking stop, Rozy,” was all Shane could manage.

Shane’s wings fluttered around him, as Ilya looked down at him, noticing flames dancing around Shane’s fingers and at the tips of his wings. The sofa had scorch marks seared into it from where Shane had grasped a moment ago.

“Fuck,” was all Shane could manage, as moved his hands to his chest, containing himself.

Fuck. “You have tricks, Hollander,” Ilya purred and he relentlessly continued to fuck Shane’s ass with his fingers. “But please, don’t set the fucking room on fire. People may come to check,” Ilya said.

Shane couldn’t speak, only muffled a “Hmnpf”, as Ilya continued working Shane, as his pleasure rocked through him.

It was an indescribable feeling, overwhelming—Shane rode the pleasure in waves, committing this feeling to a memory he hoped he would never lose. Shane felt like he could die, that if Ilya ever stopped, that he just might. He wasn’t even fucking Shane, anymore. He was floating.

Ilya came off Shane’s cock with a pop and sucked one of Shane’s delicate orbs into his mouth, as Shane threw his head back, hands covering his face; Shane’s whole body convulsed.

Ilya had started pumping himself now, the sight of it too much for Shane to endure. He felt himself plummeting over the edge, screaming, and body spasming, “Fuck, Rozanov. Fuck, I’m coming, I’m fucking coming, baby, fuck.”

Ilya never relented, as Shane rode out his orgasm—wanting Shane to feel everything. Ilya swallowed Shane down, relishing the taste of Shane in his throat. Shane’s body eventually stilled, as he brushed soft strokes through Ilya’s hair, finally trusting his hands again.

Ilya laid on Shane's thigh, waiting for Shane to return to himself.

“Fuck, Ilya. Oh my god,” Shane laughed, rubbing his eyes with his hand and wiping sweat off his damp brow. The overwhelming sense of embarrassment flooded back to Shane, as he realised the pet name and fucking flames that had slipped out amidst his overwhelming orgasm. He felt his cheeks heat.

Ilya winked, looking up at Shane pouting, “You are welcome, Hollander. Baby," Ilya said, approaching Shane for a sloppy kiss, laughing behind his teeth.

Shane pointedly looked at Ilya’s rock hard cock, leaking with pre-come. His wings flared out behind him, a display of his beauty and masculinity. “You are really fucking beautiful,” Shane observed, realising he sounded like a fucking love-struck fool.

Shane flipped Ilya onto his back, propping himself up on his hands and knees.

“You aren’t too bad yourself, Hollander,” Ilya responded, and meant it. Shane looked fucking perfect, covered in sweat, and come, all pink cheeks and satiated looks. He could see Shane licking his lips, desperate to suck him.

Shane quickly started working Ilya with his mouth and hand, his firm abs straining as Ilya lost himself in Shane. Ilya propped himself up on his elbows to watch, Shane’s head bobbed, a single-minded focus on Ilya’s cock. Shane grasped at Ilya’s chest, massaging firmly. He wouldn’t take long. Watching Hollander come undone before him was almost too much. Ilya had been so close to coming, just from the spectacle of it all.

“Come for me, please,” Shane begged, coming off Ilya’s cock with a pop and continuing to work him with his hand. “Need to taste you.”

“Fuck, Hollander. Your fucking filthy mouth, beautiful,” Ilya responded with a growl, looking down as Shane took him deeply.

Shane greedily licked up the shaft of his cock and sucked in the tip, adding a hand to cup his balls, massaging firmly—Ilya came with a roar, his body convulsing around Shane, as his book shook, burying deep into the sofa, back arching as his legs shook violently.

“Fuuuck, Hollander.”

Ilya's breath was ragged and for several minutes, they relished the moment; bodies tangled, a mess of limbs, and wings, and unspoken things—a breath to return to themselves. The ones that couldn't have this.

Ilya breathed Shane in, kissing the top of his sweaty head, as Shane rested his head on Ilya’s chest.

After they cleared themselves up, Shane checked the time - 12am, not enough to raise eyebrows but certainly long enough that Rachel would ask what had kept them for so long.

Shane needed to carefully play this and hoped that no one would notice that, despite his promise to Ilya, he was feeling way too fucking much for him.

“Thank you for coming, Rozanov. I think the GQ interview will be fun,” Shane said, with a small smile, the pink sitting prettily on his cheeks. Ilya’s curls were a mess of blonde and brown ringlets, one pesky one sticking to his forehead now, his cheeks equally rosy in the warm light.

“Yes, GQ. I mean, at least we know we are already a fashionable and very sexy pair for the photoshoot. What could go wrong?” Ilya said, with a wink.

Ilya flung his black tweed coat over his shoulder as he stood perched on the door frame, staring back at Shane, with a little more longing than Shane would expect from someone who told him mere hours ago he was unavailable for anything but a fuck.

A small smile on Shane’s lips, he kissed Ilya on the cheek, closing the door behind him as he left.

As Shane took stock of himself in the mirror, he noticed bruising creeping up his neck, marked by Ilya.

What a fucking asshole.

Shane hated himself for being so fucking stupid.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

Shane had kept himself busy since the last time he had seen Ilya, privately, at least. So by his calculations he hadn’t made out with Ilya in—maybe 4 days? Not that he was counting.

Well he wasn’t trying to, anyway.

His stupid brain loved to keep the score.

He was still recovering from his earth shattering orgasm the other night when he had looked in the mirror, noticing angry red and blue marks left by Ilya’s mouth, all over his neck.

Shane's mind involuntarily returned there as he stood in the mirror, the marks finally having left him. He pictured how Ilya sucked, bit, and consumed him; unrelenting and vicious. Shane had fucking loved Ilya moving against his skin, claiming it—but the end result, not so much. The essence of Ilya lingered on Shane for days after their last encounter, forcing him to wear stupid turtlenecks and thinking that everyone around the palace knew what was hiding beneath them.

Ilya had marked him.

But, despite Shane being fucking pissed—he was grateful that Ilya had not revealed his secret to anyone. The fact that Shane could produce fire wasn’t really earth-shattering, but the royal household had always kept a lock on these types of things; even if Shane didn’t quite understand why. The hiding always made it hard for him, further adding to the mask he had created, the perfect and obedient Prince Hollander.

Shane decided he would pointedly ignore him. Ilya had been making rude comments about his family’s declining control over society, about the proverbial stick up Shane’s up, and their discriminatory policies all week.

All while pointedly looking at Shane, as if he had some fucking say in anything that happened when his grandmother was Queen. Ilya laughed at his expense and poked fun at him openly.

He was this close to having it out with Ilya at their next meeting— exhausted by the implication that he was a bad guy and undeserving of his position.

All of the comments he had made praising Shane in private had now faded away, leaving only chirping, annoyance, and disdain.

So much for a peaceful working relationship. Shane rolled his eyes, exhaling and readying himself for the day.

The usual hustle and bustle of palace life had continued as they got closer to finalising the Treaty. Tomorrow. Shane had reminded himself.

The palace had been busier than normal, staff continued about their daily tasks, looking slightly less reserved, official visitors drank tea and mingled with other guests and his parents, and dignitaries filed in and out of meeting rooms, whispering quietly to themselves and gossiping.

Shane knew that the palace staff had been feeling more appreciated by the Hollanders since their change in conditions in the previous months (a show of support for the amalgamation of the classes). The pay increases and significant restructuring of employment benefits meant the staff were enthusiastic and a lot more engaged around the palace.

He was happy to see that everyone appeared a lot happier, generally. He felt bad that he’d never really thought anything of their mood until now and wanted to make more of an effort getting to know the staff working around the palace.

Shane shuddered to think what they must think of his family.

He filed this thought for later, as he wanted to make sure that everyone who worked for them felt appreciated and safe. Ilya clearly had no idea who Shane really was and his assumptions about Shane being an uptight privileged asshole were entirely wrong. Just because he didn’t know everything, it didn’t mean he didn’t care.

He guessed he should probably get up and get ready for their GQ photoshoot.

His flight this morning after working out with Scott was blissful, Shane returned covered in sweat, only wearing his tiny tennis shorts—the workout had knocked him out, leaving him with no desire to keep his t-shirt on, which he had abandoned mid-workout.

Shane hadn’t failed to notice that Scott’s eyes had trailed over his muscular thighs and lingered a little longer than usual. Although he had no interest in Scott like this, he still liked being admired.

Fuck. Despite trying to work out his emotional and sexual frustrations, Shane knew the photoshoot was probably going to be a disaster with the two of them swinging their dicks around and trying to prove a point.

Ilya would surely say something to undermine him or make him look stupid or entitled.

Shane wondered how he would keep his well-fitted mask in place during the interview. The one he donned for everyone he knew, except maybe his parents. They saw most of him, but there were still things he held onto—things he kept only for himself.

He didn’t even really know who he was without the mask.

Shane wondered if Ilya could see underneath his mask or if he knew that he wore a mask at all.

He walked briskly from his room and down the long hallway, where Rachel’s office and quarters were located.

Close enough to be convenient but not so close as to hear if Shane had company. Not that that was a regular occurrence.

There were a couple of girls in college but they were disastrous and despite Shane thinking they were nice, he always let them down—they had probably thought it was about them but the reality was Shane just couldn’t make himself attracted to them. They were pretty, sure, and even though he had liked talking to them, it wasn’t enough for either to stick around.

Shane was creeping closer to understanding that perhaps women, in general, just didn’t do it for him.

Things had automatically felt so right with Ilya, kissing him, touching him, it was all new but didn’t make him feel anxious or worried about doing the wrong thing, or performing.

He had kissed another guy in a dark room at a college party but had filed that in the category of ‘drunken mistake’ in his mind—not realising that straight guys don't really want to make out with other guys.

He said a quick hello to Rachel and the Royal Administration staff and left. Rachel and Jacob were coming after the photoshoot, as they needed to be able to run interference if the interviewers overstepped with off-limits questions, as they so often did—even when it was firmly discussed what was off the table.

As he approached the lift, he texted the family’s driver Bill that he was ready right as he needed to head off in a minute. As the lift stopped at the first floor, Ilya entered the lift with him—his hands tucked a hand inside a pocket of his black loose fitted pants, his other hand running through his dark blonde ringlets.

Ilya wore a patterned print shirt, which was rolled up to show his forearms, making him look effortlessly cool. Shane was wearing black sweat pants, a black hoodie, and his glasses.

Shane only needed his glasses for reading but he planned to go through some of the interview questions that he had prepped with Rachel on the drive to GQ headquarters.

“Hollander,” Ilya nodded, eyes lingering on his glasses for a little too long. Shane noticed the firm pull on his forearm that was sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans as they went down to the carpark.

“Ilya,” Shane replied tightly, trying very hard to ignore Ilya’s arms.

Ilya turned his head to look back at Shane again, raising a single eyebrow, and smirked—tucking his bottom lip behind his teeth as he moved his hands from his pockets to get his keys out. He blew out a breath, swallowing whatever he was going to say.

Shane’s driver would be waiting for him downstairs, so at least he could avoid any more interaction with Ilya right now. He could feel the tension building between them, he knew it was partially repressed sexual energy and partially I fucking hate you energy.

He couldn’t tell which was stronger.

As the lift opened, Ilya held it—gesturing for Shane to go first, “After you, Prince.”

“Thank you,” Shane replied with clenched teeth, he never called him by his title unless he was fucking with him.

Shane walked swiftly past Ilya, making sure no parts of their bodies touched by accident. He looked from side-to-side, wondering where Bill was but not seeing him anywhere. Bill was never late.

Ilya started walking over to what Shane assumed was his car, a beefed up red convertible sportscar, as Shane noticed the firm of Ilya’s waist and his ass were looking ridiculously good today.

“See you there, Hollander.”

“Mhm,” Shane responded, swallowing the growing pulse in his neck, looking around for Bill and realising he was still nowhere to be seen.

Ilya took his chance to light a cigarette, earning a very dirty look from Shane.

Shane had taken 5 minutes longer than usual to get ready that morning which had thrown off his schedule and if he didn’t leave literally right now, he would be late for GQ. Which would be embarrassing and so very unlike him, to say the least.

He considered calling the royal helicopter but knew that the optics would be fucking terrible given the current climate and the way the royals were already perceived in the general public.

By the time Shane’s panic set in, Ilya was crawling into his car, which comically made Ilya look even more huge than he was.

He found it surprisingly endearing, watching Ilya look like a clown getting into his tiny car—legs pushing up closer to his ribs, as his large wings tucked in, looking like they might catch in the door. Ilya checked the rear view mirror and slid his arm along the passenger seat preparing to reverse, as he peered over to Shane questioningly, noticing him waiting.

Ilya inserted his keys into the ignition and a rumble was heard throughout the garage, one that didn’t mince words and indicated that whatever car this was, most certainly was not very fuel efficient.

Ilya had purchased the car recently after securing his Ambassadorship. He was thrilled to be able to have indulged in something was just for him, something stupid, and beautiful, and really fucking fast. Ilya spent too long cooped up in boring meeting rooms to also be trapped in a boring car travelling to them.

Ilya secured his belt and peered in his rear view mirror, noticing Shane looking embarrassed and awkward in the middle of the obscenely large garage. Shane would never admit to Ilya that he was too anxious driving places that he hadn’t been before. He was embarrassingly bad at directions and even worse at parking.

“Stranded, Hollander?” Ilya's eyebrows sky-high, hiding a grin.

“Ugh, fucking Bill isn't here yet and the car I usually drive is in the shop for a service,” Shane responded, his lie sounding as absurd as it was. Shane hated driving places that he wasn’t familiar with, it made him anxious and anxious Shane was exactly what he didn’t need right now.

“Well, lucky I have room for one more but only if tiny-person-sized,” Ilya quipped.

Shane let out a resigned breath and conceded defeat.

“Figures you'd have a car so tiny, you clearly have a type,” Shane smiled to himself before realising how flirty he sounded.

Being this close to Ilya was probably going to be a problem for Shane's steadfastness.

“What can I say? Big man, small car, it makes sense.”

“Only if you're not concerned with the giant fucking hole in the Ozone,” Shane said, his left hand resting on the back of Shane's seat, as he turned his head to reverse out.

“Prince Hollander, you think you are qualified to chastise me on environmental conservation? You with fucking floor heating in every room,” Ilya said playfully, shaking his head and flashing his huge smile, as his chiselled cheeks swallowed his dimple and beauty spot.

He looked unfairly beautiful in the sunlight, as his hair whipped behind him—feathers tucked in but still catching in the wind.

Fae wings were handy for short flights and exercise, but distance travel like this required a car.

Shane looked back at the baroque sandstone palace that hadn't changed externally for over a thousand years, knowing it only housed his family of 5 and staff of 35. He swallowed guilty at the thought of their greed, trying to not let it show on his face, as they sped up.

“Whatever, Rozanov,” Shane responded, sounding like a child. But the sound of his surname on Shane’s lips got a rise out of Ilya.

He took this moment to text Bill asking if he was okay, but got no response. Shane decided to send a voice memo for Rachel to check if Bill was okay, it was extremely unlike him to be late.

The thought gave Shane pause.

After hearing Shane's fumbled voice-memo to Rachel, Ilya looked over at Shane and smiled like a little kid who just knocked over a huge fucking sandcastle.

“GQ won't know what hit them,” Ilya said, placing a hand on Shane's thigh—comforting and unassuming.

Shane made no effort to move his hand—relishing in the feeling of being held in such a normal way. Shane bit down the intense pressure to place his hand on top, as they flew past the arched and gnarled oak trees that lined their private road.

Ilya was truly like a renaissance painting, regal, and beautiful, soft, and sculpted. Shane had never seen Ilya look so free, so, himself.

Ilya in the wind was an unfair opponent.

Shane wondered how it must feel to be so comfortable in your own skin.

Ilya had blasted an eclectic mix of music that Shane did not understand. He’d never heard of any of the artists (not that this was unusual for him) but saw on the digital radio that Ilya must have had installed that several artists frequented the playlist, Britney Spears, Rage Against the Machine, and Imagine Dragons.

Shane had caught Ilya several times singing or humming quietly to a song and looking impassioned. Shane swallowed his smile and didn't comment.

He actually didn’t mind some of the dance songs, they reminded him of college and doing stupid things with Hayden and J.J in college. He hadn’t seen either of them in a long time and didn’t really have a good reason for that. Besides the awkwardness with Hayden, that is.

As they left the countryside and approached Montreal city, Ilya looked over at Shane as they stopped at the lights, glancing over at his neck in question.

“They’re all fucking gone, don’t worry,” Shane said, rolling his eyes.

“Wasn’t going to ask, assumed turtleneck would be available at photoshoot,” Ilya said, deadpan.

“Well you’re fucking lucky they are gone. Can’t believe you fucking marked me. Ridiculous,” Shane said, trying to mean it.

“I think you liked it. And you missed me,” Ilya said with a pout.

“I fucking didn’t,” Shane’s hands growing hot, again.

“Hm, okay, Prince. Maybe try not nearly setting us on fire, now?” was the only response Ilya had to that, as he pointedly looked at Shane’s hands, fire now rippling to the surface—Ilya removed his warm hand from Shane’s thigh, leaving a stark coldness in its wake.

Shane couldn’t let it go. He pushed down the fire growing inside of him, willing his mind to block it out—his words still bubbled to the surface.

“You’ve been such a dick since we hooked up, challenging me around every corner. Undermining me in front of staff and visiting dignitaries and politicians. Do you want to make me feel like a fucking idiot? I don’t understand you, Ilya. Ambassador. First you fucking hook up with me, then you mark me, then you insult me, now you’re putting your fucking hand on my thigh.”

Shane looked to the city around them, holding back tears that he didn’t realise were approaching, avoiding Ilya’s eye.

Ilya sat for a moment, seemingly taking in Shane’s words.

“Prince,” Ilya said, with devastating sincerity and gentleness; which was brashly interrupted by a string of what Shane assumed to be Russian profanities as a car cut him off and stole the park Ilya had been eyeing.

“Blyat, hang on Shane. Need full brain to concentrate on finding park.”

As they pulled up, Ilya turned off the ignition, putting the gear into park. Shane watched his strong hands and forearms a little too closely as he did this. Looking over at Shane, Ilya took his hand in his as Shane’s eyes darted around them to check for prying eyes.

“You are holding my hand, in public,” Shane growled.

Shane knew how visible and recognisable they both were would make for hot gossip for TMZ if anyone saw anything even slightly off.

Ilya quickly dropped his hand, shaking his head slightly at him.

“Shane. You know I am an asshole when it comes to work and professionalism. It is my job to fight for our people. For justice and for equality. So when I am discussing policies, when I am pushing for more—is not you, is not personal. Is business. What is between us behind closed doors has nothing to do with this. Maybe you feel rejection when there is none.”

Shane had to make efforts to be quiet now, as Fae bustled in and out of offices and about their days. He stretched his wings behind him, stagnant from the long drive to the city.

He could see people recognising them, getting out their smartphones and taking photos of them as they exited Ilya’s car.

Just what they fucking needed.

Ilya did the same as he peered at Shane, awaiting an answer that he was still considering.

Lowering his voice now, Shane responded, “Look, don’t make me sound so fucking needy. It’s not fair. When I agreed to hook-up with you with no strings attached, I meant it. But I don’t want to be undermined and belittled all the time. That is not making me feel sexy.”

“Okay. But Shane,” Ilya started, “if you cannot do this and allow me to do my job. Is simple, we cannot go on. I’m sorry but work is always first.”

They both grabbed their respective bags from the boot of the car, as Ilya slammed it down, hard, forearms and biceps flexing.

Shane shifted his face into a forced smile, as he knew the onlookers would be happily snapping them and sending the photos to news outlets for publishing in no time.

“Fine. Then we just leave it. I don’t know that I can just suck it up when you just ignore me or worse make me feel stupid or fucking entitled every day.”

“That’s your choice Shane, some of us don’t have the luxury of just stopping,” Ilya said with finality.

As they stopped talking, a young woman approached them, all heart eyes and shy smiles.

“Oh my god, Prince Hollander and Ambassador Rozanov in the same building. Well, aren’t we lucky?” the woman said, looking them up and down.

“Can I get a selfie with you?”

They took the photo and made polite conversation, showing interest for a few minutes before politely excusing themselves. But not before a small line of people were now standing around them trying to say hello or get a photo.

After the show was over, Shane filed away his smile—jealous of how naturally Ilya seemed to interact with everyone, completely comfortable and never having to rehearse what he was going to say in his head first.

They walked into the building, the security guard recognising them but checking their ID’s before swiping them inside.

“Fuck, I hate that I can’t go out in public without having to talk to a stranger every single time,” Shane said.

“Part of the gig, it will be all over Twitter, Instagram, everything soon. They will think we are best buddies,” Ilya responded with a wink, shrugging as they stepped into the lift. Ilya had been pointedly filming snippets as they approached the lift.

A few others entered, leaving Ilya standing closely behind Shane, close enough that Shane could feel his warm breath on his neck, feel the curve of his body, and smell his Tom Ford cologne. He smelt so fucking good.

They both walked awkwardly in silence as they exited and approached the front desk, greeted by a blonde administration assistant named Jackie, she gestured for them to follow her.

“They are just this way, gentleman,” Jackie said with a smile. She was very pretty and he could have sworn he saw Ilya looking at her with interest.

Standing in the hallway, Shane saw Hayden Pike. His Hayden Pike, standing there—an, ‘I'm sorry’ smile plastered across his face as he waved.

Shane's jaw dropped open, struggling to find the words. He hadn't seen Hayden in years.

“Fuck, Hayden. Um, it's great to see you,” Shane said awkwardly, not knowing whether to hug him but sensing Hayden expecting one.

Jackie stood awkwardly to the side, lingering.

“Prince, Ambassador, hello.”

He continued dropping his initial formalities and turning to Shane, “Shane, buddy, I'm sorry I didn't tell you it would be me directing and photographing the shoot for today. I just thought it would make you more anxious than you needed to be. This is my wife, Jackie, by the way,” Hayden said, pulling Shane into a bear hug and pulling back to look at him.

He wondered if Jackie knew about their random hook-up that one time in college. Not that it meant anything, even if Shane had wanted it to, he knew that it would have never worked and didn’t pursue the situation, leaving his friendship with him to fizzle out and die with no contact.

Ilya was staring awkwardly between them, eyes darting as he tried to understand their dynamic.

“Uhm, it’s okay Hayden. I get it. Just don’t go too easy on this guy and we are even, okay?” Shane said, gesturing to Ilya with fuck you grin.

“Hayden, you know each other, ah now it makes sense why Hollander, uh Prince Hollander was invited,” Ilya responded playfully.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying, but…with faces and bodies like yours, we are going to have no issue getting the shots we need. And you probably wouldn’t guess, Shane, but I’m actually a photographer here. I was the one who suggested we get you guys in, I knew it would be a huge story and support viewership and subscriptions.You are both on opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of viewership and we are expecting huge numbers from this issue.”

Hayden then clapped his hands together, in finality, “Shane, could we catch up for a minute before we get started? Jackie, do you mind please showing the Ambassador to his fitting room?”

Jackie shuffled off with Ilya, walking to the end of the hallway and turning right. Shane felt a vicious twist in his stomach as he noticed Ilya talking intently to Jackie, grinning from ear to ear.

Shane entered his dressing room, where there were racks and racks full of clothing options. There was a mini fridge with ginger ales and sparkling water and some cookies which Hayden must have remembered he had an affinity for.

He knew that soon the room would be buzzing with assistants and make-up artists and hairdressers and stylists. Shane breathed through the nerves, as Hayden followed him in.

“Hey buddy, it really is good to see you,” Hayden said with a small smile. “I’ve missed you, man.”

“Ugh, yeah Hayd, me too. Whatever happened to law, though?"

“Buddy, you know as well as I do that I was never going to make it in law. I ended up transferring to a major in fine arts. No Mid-Fae were breaking out as big shot lawyers then, Shane.”

Shane took a breath as he internally planned what he wanted to say next.

”Shit, I’m sorry. That’s really fucked up. I know this doesn’t really help, but what it’s worth, I am sorry. I should have fought harder against my family, I should have done more to help. I shouldn’t have bailed on our friendship after the kiss. I was scared. And I miss you. I guess I just didn’t want to admit it to myself. College was a weird time for me, and I didn’t know what I wanted. I guess I’m still a little scared and figuring that out,” Shane confessed, with a laugh.

“It’s okay. Honestly, the whole thing really freaked me out too. Like, don’t get me wrong I was into it. But I was scared that I might be gay, too. Turns out, I do still like women but Jackie knows that I also like guys. I’m bi, and being with Jackie doesn’t make me any less bi.”

Shane nodded, understanding but knowing deep down that he wasn’t like Hayden.

“That’s really cool, Hayd. I’m glad you were able to figure it out. I’m still kind of working on that part. And wow, you are married now. That’s really cool man, congratulations.”

“Thanks buddy. I really hope we can reconnect man, I honestly have missed having you around.”

Shane saw Hayden’s face shift into professional mode, as he filed their conversation. “Now, hair and make-up will be in here in about 15 minutes, there will be a social media person, Harris, who will also take some shorts of you getting ready. He looks for snappy content, so try and be cool. One liners, funny things you are into, you know. Get comfortable, get into the zone, do whatever the fuck you need to do to relax. You look great, so that won’t be a problem—we just need you to relax so that we can get some cool and sexy photos of The Crown and the Ambassador.” Hayden said the last part with a mock English accent as his hands acted out the title.

Hayden filed out of the room, shutting the door behind him as Shane placed his bag on a counter next to the huge dressing table surrounded by warm lights. Shane stared at himself, taking deep breaths in and out as he stood, stretching his arms and his wings from side to side; his mother always told him it helped with nerves and he still believed that.

Shane was breathing deeply and practicing some relaxation mantras in the mirror as a door he hadn’t noticed that sat on the opposite side of his room swung open abruptly.

Ilya entered quickly, shutting the door behind him as he braced it. Ilya stared at Shane with intent, head titled to the side, surveying. He was fucking shirtless, large chest flexing as his forearms wrapped around his body and crossed, waiting for Shane to react.

“Found you, turns out fitting rooms are adjoining—could hear you and Hayden having your little chat and thought I might come and cheer you up. I see you are still wearing your glasses” Ilya purred, biting his lip as his forearms folded around his body, waiting.

Shane’s mind emptied at the sight of Ilya fucking shirtless in his dressing room. Anyone could come in.

“Fuck off, Ilya,” Shane responded, before continuing, “what exactly did you hear?”

“I heard about Hayden’s little crush on you, and your little college fling. I thought I was your first time with a man?” Ilya said mockingly, approaching Shane now as he swaggered forward with his hands in his pockets.

“Just go back to your fucking dressing room, that’s none of your business. I’m meditating here.”

“I have special mediation for you to try. Or would you rather wait for your friend Hayden?” Ilya said smoothly, as he stood behind Shane, leaving them staring at themselves in the mirror.

Jealous fucking asshole.

That explained why Ilya felt the need to break into Shane’s dressing room while shirtless, ambushing him.

Ilya’s wings arched behind him, as Shane tucked his wings in tightly, allowing room for Ilya to move into him, he adjusted to the feel of Ilya’s body flush against him— Shane stared in wonder as Ilya’s size swallowed him up, he was so fucking big, his arms, his hands, his biceps, his height. Shane’s body shivered in anticipation.

Ilya’s eye-contact with Shane through the mirror was unrelenting, as his hand started moving, tracing down Shane’s collarbone, grasping at his chest and eventually falling to rest on Shane’s stomach. He breathed into Shane’s neck, biting down softly, as he turned to the mirror, eyes locking with Shane’s.

Shane went to remove his glasses.

“Leave them, Hollander.”

Shane’s hand stilled, falling to his side again; waiting for Ilya’s next move.

His hand trailed over Shane’s stomach, tracing slow teasing circles, his eyes moved towards his hand and then back to Shane.

“I never said that, I said that it was my first time. Which is basically true. Fuck. Hayden was just a drunken kiss during college. Nothing like what happened with us, not that it’s any of your fucking business” Shane said, he couldn’t help but to start learning into Ilya.

Ilya seemed to accept this answer, drawing his mouth closer to Shane’s ear, “You want this, Hollander?” nipping Shane’s ear as he finished.

“Fuck. Fuck you, Ilya. I do, but not fucking here. Are you insane? We are in public at GQ, anyone could come in.”

“Yes,” Ilya purred, “but, I think you like to be bad. And I like trouble.”

Shane’s head tipped back, falling onto Ilya’s shoulder, as he fought the raging in his brain. The part that told him this was stupid and irresponsible and really gay.

But even as the thought terrified him, Shane knew the answer he needed had been creeping closer and closer; as Ilya continued to subtly move Shane’s mask from its place.

Ilya’s hand continued working its way down Shane’s front, finding its way to his firm cock that now tented his pants. Ilya palmed it, “Are you sure you don’t want, Hollander? Think your cock is very sure.”

“Dammit, fucking quick,” Shane said, quickly starting to unbuckle his belt. “Hayden could come back at any time,” Shane glanced at Ilya in the mirror, wings flaring as they hung behind him, mouth parted, and staring intently at Shane like he was the most beautiful thing in the world.

“This is too fucking hot, Ilya. Won’t last long.”

Ilya helped Shane, pulling his pants to his knees in one quick tug, leaving Shane bared to the mirror, his cock sitting gracefully at attention and waiting.

Somehow, Shane being almost fully dressed just made the scene that much hotter.

Ilya spat in his hand and and began working his cock quickly, as they both stared at the scene—Ilya whispering what Shane assumed to be vulgar Russian words, as he watched Shane come undone in front of him. Ilya’s forearms and biceps were tensing as he worked Shane—mouth open, cheeks flushed, Shane couldn't help but fall apart at the mere fucking thought of Ilya.

Ilya’s hand was unrelenting and vicious. Shane arched into him, feeling Ilya’s cock against his ass. But Ilya contained himself, focusing on Shane.

“I will fuck that perfect fucking ass, soon, Hollander,” he growled into Shane, continuing to stroke him, as Shane’s breath continued to hike; watching the scene unfold in the mirror was one of the hottest experiences of his life.

His muscular forearms were tensing and tightening in the mirror as he massaged Shane’s cock, moving up and down as Shane’s eyes never left Ilya’s. Ilya could feel Shane start to tense around him, as he heard footsteps down the hallway, ignoring them.

Shane made no effort to pull away, instead Ilya felt his breath hitch, enjoying the thrill of it.

Shane was close now. Fire crackled to the surface of his hands as he pushed it down, leaving his hands hot but not hot enough to burn. He lifted them behind him, placing them on Ilya’s neck to hold himself up.

Ilya let out an unholy growl of approval.

“Fuck, fuuuuck, you make me so fucking crazy. Fuck you, Ilya, ugh I’m coming, please,” Shane said, panting as he thrust into Ilya’s hand, spilling over it. He struggled to stay upright, as Ilya grasped Shane firmly around his chest with one arm wrapped around him, never letting go as he continued to pump Shane into oblivion.

Shane let out a muffled cry, as Ilya moved his hand over Shane’s mouth, leaving Shane to bite down on it, as he slowly returned to himself, breathing heavily as Ilya kissed him on the neck languidly.

“Think you may be relaxed enough for shoot now, I will let Sir slide, for now,” Ilya said, kissing Shane’s ear with a lot of tongue, and spinning him around by his waist, lifting him easily to sit on the beauty desk.

Shane felt his stomach flutter at the feeling of Ilya carrying him, as he leant down into Shane, planting a sensual yet unrelenting kiss, pulling away quickly—Shane chased the kiss unsuccessfully as Ilya smirked.

“Looks like you are ready, moye solnyshko.”

Shane filed that for later, wondering what he had meant as he began to feel his world tilt ever so slightly. Shane’s cock still out and leaking and he made quick work of a clean up, too embarrassed to put the tissues in the bin, Shane put them in his bag with a promise to throw them in the trash later, as Ilya left as abruptly as he had arrived.

As he stared at himself in the mirror, he noticed that he had made a mess of his glasses, a few specks of come dotted across them. Shane quickly wiped it away with some antiseptic wipes and was still cleaning then when the team filed in, fussing over Shane.

They were all so excited to have The Prince there. This was a big deal for them and Shane didn’t want to let them down. A shoot like this could make or break a career.

They each commented at how his skin was so gorgeous and flushed, as Shane smiled to himself knowing the reason behind it.

The sharp pang still sat with him, though.

The team filed in, styling his hair around his face, taming his curls and accentuating his features with make-up that highlighted rather than clouded. Ilya looked good, unsurprisingly. They all seemed excited and enthusiastic about the shoot and about the exposure this would mean for them.

One of the stylists, a pretty woman named Jess, seemed to have her eye on Ilya; flirting as she showed him some outfit options for the shoot. Ilya politely accepted her number but made no promises of contact.

He found it hard to think about fucking anyone but Shane but quickly reminded himself of the wealth of opportunities out there as beautiful men and women surrounded him to work on his hair, face, and outfits for the shoot.

Ilya was again escorted by Jackie and now a gaggle of artists who were getting social media content, asking him stupid questions, “What’s your signature scent?” and “Is there a Mr or Mrs. Ambassador Rozanov on the cards?”

Ilya used his well-trained media personality to shine, poking fun at himself with the answers, “Probably sleepless nights,” and “not sure anyone is ready to have that privilege yet but there’s still time.”

Being likeable and interesting was important to his brand, it kept him relevant with the masses and despite the seriousness of his job, in a world of overconsumption of social media; being relatable and meme-able and gif-able mattered.

And if Shane was a lesson in this, it was that presenting as cold and withdrawn was a difficult pill to swallow when you are in the public eye.

Shane and Ilya arrived at the studio at the same time.

Their eyes locked as they stood on opposite ends of the room, as “All The Things You Said” by TaTu started playing.

They drank each other in. Savouring it.

Shane was dressed in an ivory silk blouse and a pair of too well fitted black pants, leaving Ilya glaring instead of smiling. Ilya was wearing a pair of Levi’s and a matching denim shirt, leaving the top open and showing off his ample chest-hair.

The moment was charged. electric and palpable; as they each wondered how they would get through the shoot without touching one another in a way that meant something.

Muffled voices shouted around them, moving the set into place and instructing the staff—amongst the chaos, a silence fell around Shane and Ilya as they each thought back to their bodies being pressed against one another as Shane had come into Ilya’s hand.

Jacob, who had arrived just before the shoot was about to begin, caught the look and started talking quickly and quietly, snapping Ilya out of the moment.

“Just remember, today is about the alliance and reminding people of that. So, if you want to show the people that you can be friendly and cordial with one another, now is the chance to do that. You working together is important and if you want the people to accept The Hollanders in their new position, then it’s important this comes through in the media.”

“Of course,” Ilya nodded, reminding himself of why they were here.

A man who had introduced himself to Ilya earlier as Harris, the social media guy, quickly approached with Shane on his arm, waving his camera at them with a smile. “I’m just wanting a quick 10 second grab of you and Prince Hollander, something fun to promote the issue on Instagram? Also Shane, your lipstain needs a little touch up,” Harris said, spinning his hand, as he twirled his fingers a lip-stain appeared, as he quickly touched Shane up.

Harris had summoning magic. Ilya had noticed most of the staff had handy magic that would benefit them in their chosen profession, with many of the make-up artists having the art of glamouring and summoning, too. Ilya thought of his own unused powers and how they would benefit him greatly if he decided to reveal them.

They both nodded awkwardly, trying to think of something funny to say for the official GQ social media channels.

“Hollander, you will murder me!” Ilya did his best to make their relationship seem casual; throwing his arm over his shoulder as he pulled him in jovially, as they both smiled at the camera; Harris putting his thumb up from behind the screen and halo light.

“I will if you don’t fucking hurry up,” Shane said, shaking his head and pulling away from Ilya with a laugh. Ilya laughed, really laughed, as Harris beamed and nodded.

They both continued chirping at each other for a few minutes as Harris happily filmed, making suggestions of things to say and taking another shot.

“Guys, that was perfection. Your chemistry was great and I think showing the casual side of your professional relationship will be a really positive swing. Your PR teams have briefed us on what is important to come through in the interview, so a lot of the focus will be on the two of you as people and showing, especially you Prince Hollander, that you are personable, interesting and fun,” Harris practically squealed in excitement, smiling as he scrolled through some of the content he had gathered so far.

“What can I say, social media is my bread and butter,” Ilya shrugged, smirking up at Shane.

“I guess modesty is also your bread and butter, Ilya?” Shane responded.

Ilya made quick work of sharing a sneak peek on his instagram in a selfie with Shane, which he knew would garner a lot of attention. Especially because they both looked incredibly hot and friendly with each other, Ilya’s arm casually wrapped around Shane with huge grins on both of their faces.

Ilya sat on the sidelines watching Shane be directed by Hayden, “move here, okay two steps to the right, now look up to the left, point your right leg slightly out and look down, glasses on Shane - yes perfect”.

Shane didn’t complain, he just took the advice, looking awkwardly handsome. Ilya had noticed most of the staff seemed anxious and apprehensive at the beginning of the shoot, particularly with the formalities and addressing Shane, but Shane made them feel at ease; continuing to remind them that he is just Shane and to just treat him like a normal person.

It was nice to see him not standing on ceremony, for once.

Ilya could feel another kind of tension rising between them during the shoot, The teasing had continued, gradually becoming more playfully aggressive until they were using profanity and making all of the staff laugh and join in.

There may have been a few unseen hand grazes and one tiny butt graze during their joint photos, but Ilya couldn’t be sure.

Ilya could see some of the photos popping up on the flatscreen TV from, they looked good. He knew his profile would do just fine, but that Shane really needed the boost of public opinion. Even though he was attractive, young, and successful—the public often perceived him as cold and reserved.

Shane needed this far more than Ilya did.

Jacob and Rachel were talking quietly in the corner, seemingly discussing the interview component which would begin soon.

“That’s a wrap, guys. Shane, Ilya—you guys were incredible. We would love to have you both back anytime. Thank you. And well done, everyone,” Hayden said, dismissing Shane and Ilya as the staff started to pack-up the clothes, and props, and chaos.

Shane made sure to leave his number with Hayden, a promise of a friendship that Shane desperately needed right now. 

Shane and Ilya were hustled into a smaller room, where Harris had already set-up his camera and the interviewer, Brandon Weibe sat cross-legged, he was attractive and dark haired; a little older than them but not by much.

Ilya noticed Brandon also had wings, instead of being feathered they were scaled and slightly more pointed, a deep emerald colour, which matched his eyes.

Ilya’s questions were easy, they went without issue and didn’t challenge him at all. The questions were fluffy with no real depth, unsurprising from this type of magazine that was not focused on world-politics but skincare, cologne, and what to wear next season. Ilya didn’t mind, he loved all of these things and had a lot of appreciation for what these artists had done today. Not everything had to be so serious.

Ilya was grateful that Jacob didn’t need to intercept them once, it was always uncomfortable when that type of thing happened.

“You’re up, Shane,” Ilya said, looking over to Shane pointedly as he said his first name, moving toward where Ilya had sat a minute ago.

They got started, Ilya was scrolling on his phone and watching the tally of likes and positive comments on his post with Shane. He laughed as he scrolled through the many thirsty comments about how hot they are and speculating about their relationship.

As he was responding to one of the top comments, Ilya noticed in the corner of his eye that Rachel stood up abruptly to intervene, approaching Brandon with a stern look.

“I told you, Brandon. No personal questions about Prince Hollander’s relationship life or sex life. That is off limits, or the interview stops,” She said, firmly.

Shane shifted uncomfortably on his seat.

“Sorry, Rachel, Shane. Shall we continue?” Shane nodded as Brandon went on,

The interview continued without any further issue, leaving them both feeling exhausted as they filed out.

Shane agreed to ride with Rachel, so they could debrief about his schedule for the coming days.

As he got into the car, Ilya decided to send Shane his first text, he’d never bothered replying to his “I’m sorry” text nights ago.

Ambassador Rozanov: Maybe you have another superpower you have not discovered, finally being relaxed when you come? *devil smiley face*

Prince Hollander: You’re a fucking menance. Fuck you.

Ambassador Rozanov: Later.

Prince Hollander: Maybe.

Ilya smiled widely as he hit send back and forth waiting for Shane’s responses, as he pictured Shane’s face wearing his glasses and trying to hide the texts from Rachel as they drove back to the palace.

As Shane was driving home with Rachel, he saw a text from Bill apologising for being late. He had been stuck on the other side of the palace with Yuna, who had been trying to plan their upcoming charity auction schedule, the whole family had to attend and Bill would need to be available. 

Shane breathed out a sigh of relief that he was okay.

As he finished texting Ilya, he noticed that he had another text from an anonymous number.

Opening the text, Shane felt his stomach drop:

Anonymous: We know about your gym session and special meetings with the Ambassador. 1 million dollars and it goes away. You have three days. We will send more details in 24 hours. Tell anyone or try to make this go away, and we sell this story to the highest bidder.

Shane scrolled down to an attachment, a 5 second video of Shane straddling and grinding into Ilya as they kissed on the bench-press a few days ago.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

The Palace, Banff, Canada 

December 2018

Ilya made his way back to the apartment after the shoot. He felt good but was left wanting more after seeing Shane staring back at him in the mirror. So fucking hot. Not to mention the heated looks and subtle touches that they had shared that afternoon.

Maybe they were a little obvious, but in these types of shoots; chemistry was important—the team and Hayden seemed to believe it was simply them playing it up for good PR. Il

If only they knew Shane had come into Ilya’s hands minutes before. He knew he shouldn't have felt jealous about Hayden touching Shane, but he just couldn't stop it.

He hadn't replied to Shane’s “Maybe” text response, yet. Maybe he'd let him sweat a little, even though Ilya had every intention of seeing him that night.

As he walked in the door and waved Jacob goodbye, Ilya threw off his shoes and coat—wings and body crumpling over the enormous bed, exhaustion washing over him as he smiled softly to himself, reminiscing.

He felt his cock harden in his pants, ignoring it for now and checking his phone again. Ilya laughed at the comments on his selfie with Prince Hollander.

Apparently one post and a couple of reels showing that Shane didn't have a permanent stick up his ass was all it took to shift some of the negative narrative.

Ilya smiled to himself. What a fucking day.

He wished he could hold onto this feeling. It wasn't often that he felt so deliriously happy.

So often plagued with responsibility and worry under his cool mask, Ilya floated about as he pictured the way Shane's stomach had clenched as he had come into his hand—the mirror pulling their stark desire into contrast as they threw their obligations to the wolves.

He checked his phone again and saw that the three little dots that suggested Shane was in the middle of writing kept appearing and disappearing.

Ilya decided to rip that bandaid off.

Shane: Maybe.

Ilya typed, "How many times do you think you can come in 1 hour?" and hit send. 

The three dots appeared again on and off for a few minutes, before stopping.

What the fuck, Hollander?

He decided he would go and see Shane when the evening set in and see what the fuck was up with him and why he was being weird.

He knew they didn't usually text but now they were texting, there was no reason to not respond.

Maybe he was overthinking it.

Ilya probably should have been more careful about what he put in a text, though. There wouldn't be much reading between the lines needed for that one.

“Fuck this shit,” Ilya said, rummaging around his coat pocket to find his cigarettes.

He stepped onto the terrace and shivered, the winter chill was well and truly picking up now, with Christmas approaching in a few weeks.

The cigarette was good. He really needed to quit, it always reminded him of home and of Russia.

Ilya poured a glass of vodka, as his hands turned a deep shade of blue and cooled the glass; leaving it perfectly chilled and ready for him. Ilya hadn’t yet revealed his little trick to Shane but thought it was only fair that he did soon, now that Shane had been leading the way with his fire magic.

Ilya had hoped he would be able to have his family visit him for Christmas. It had been too long and even though Alexei was an asshole, he really missed his mother and would suck it up for the sake of having them all together.

Ilya sighed. Christmas in Russia had been magical for Ilya as a child. It was still his favourite holiday but since moving to Canada, it just felt like any other day. Somewhere in the the grief and nostalgia that now consumed Ilya's thoughts about Russia, he had stopped celebrating Christmas. So far removed from eating kutia and drinking hot chocolate on Christmas eve, as his mother sang Russian Christmas carols, his father thankfully passed out.

Alexei, Ilya and Irina had a tradition of flying over the lake near their family home on Christmas eve every year. Soaring through the skies, they were able to forget for a few minutes that things were never so beautiful and untouched in the light of day.

Ilya knew that he'd never be able to do that again.

He knew going to Russia would be too dangerous for him, even now.

He waited for the night to come.

Thoughts of Shane's carefree smile as he had joked with Hayden never left him.

When 9pm arrived, Ilya’s phone stared back at him, the messages remaining still since Shane’s last text earlier that day, “Maybe.”

Ilya strolled to the door as he checked his phone one more time. The photo he had posted of him and Shane had racked up over a million likes on Instagram that day. It was wild how quickly things took off for Ilya these days, he barely had to put effort into what he posted.

He could literally post a potato and the people would rally around it.

He slipped on his sneakers and coat; not bothering to layer up as he didn’t have to go outside to get to Hollander’s apartment.

As he had walked through the Palace, he had come across a number of staff, nodding politely as he went.

Ilya noticed Rachel and Jacob with their heads together in the formal living area, clearly plotting about their next PR strategy. Scott lurked in the corner of the hall, speaking quietly with Yuna; probably about some yoga schedule or something, and several of Shane’s staff that he didn’t know by name, as they watched him walk through the hall to the lift.

Ilya supposed it was hard to go anywhere here without somebody seeing.

Fortunately for him, meeting with Shane could be seen as a part of their working relationship and despite the late hour, it wasn’t unusual for political issues to arise that needed to be addressed quickly at any hour of the day. If somebody asked, Ilya could easily explain away the late visit as finalising their respective speeches for the Treaty signing tomorrow.

Ilya approached the double doors of Shane’s apartment and knocked quickly, trying to look casual but failing miserably. He plastered and unconvincing lazy smirk on his face, as Shane answered the door. Ilya immediately knew something was wrong—Shane’s eyes were glazed and his skin looked clammy.

He didn’t immediately let Ilya inside.

“What?” Ilya said, a concerned look passed over his face as he noticed how pale Shane looked.

Shane's eyes turned downward as he growled in a hushed tone, “Someone fucking knows.”

“What the fuck do you mean, Hollander?” Ilya’s brows furrowed, accent suddenly feeling heavier.

“Just fucking get inside, quickly,” Shane ground out, opening the door to let Ilya inside.

Shane slammed the door and sat on the couch, head falling into his hands.

“Hollander. You need to tell me what this is fucking about. Right. Now,” Ilya demanded, sitting next to Shane, so close that their knees touched. Shane jerked his knee away, putting a distance between them that Ilya didn't understand.

Shane got out his phone, scrolled for a second and then handed his phone to Ilya; showing the text.

Anonymous:

We know about your gym sessions and special meetings with the Ambassador. 1 million dollars and it goes away. You have three days. We will send more details in 24 hours. Tell anyone or try and make this go away, and we sell this story to the highest bidder.

Fuck.

“And there's a fucking video Ilya,” Shane said now, tears welling in his eyes but refusing to fall.

Ilya watched the video in slow motion, Shane grinding into him. There would be no denying this. They had been so fucking stupid. So irresponsible. Ilya felt like the life he had fought so hard for was slipping away.

He swallowed. Translating what he wanted to say was becoming harder by the minute.

“Shane. When did you get this?” Ilya said, locking eyes with Shane as his hand shook.

“After the fucking shoot. Like… how the fuck would they even get this? The gym isn't even monitored, security only regularly monitors the entrances and exits to the Palace, unless there are active threats. We are in peace-time now. There hasn't been a real threat for a while, so security has been more relaxed. What the fuck are we going to do? I don't just have a million dollars in cash hanging around. I'd have to involve my family. Fuck Ilya, fuck. This is my worst fucking nightmare, Ilya.”

Shane saying his name over and over again in a different sort of desperation fractured something in Ilya. He put the pieces away.

“Okay. Let me think. That is a lot, Hollander and it's been a long fucking day. Need a second for my English to catch up.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

Ilya moved closer to Shane and noticed he was softly crying now, head turned away in embarrassment. His hand went to his forehead, thinking through what they needed to do.

Ilya tried to be measured about something that felt immeasurable.

“Hollander. It's okay. But you will need to talk to your parents. We cannot risk this getting out. My career will be ruined. And your reputation. This is scandal that we do not need. No one would take us seriously again.”

“Okay. But… Pay them off? What if they threaten us again? It's not like us paying makes the video go away,” Shane said, wiping his eyes.

“No. But, is the only way,” Ilya said gently, brushing Shane's hair back from his face as he planted a gentle kiss on his forehead. “This must stop now though. We cannot risk this again, is too dangerous.”

“Fuck,” Shane folded over himself, hugging his knees. “I'm going to call my parents in now. We need to handle this before the Treaty signing tomorrow. It would be a fucking shit show if anything got out before then and overshadow everything we have worked for.””

Shane called his mom.

Ilya heard the concerned voice on the other end of the phone.

Not yet aware of the storm that was headed their way.

They sat in silence as they waited for it to hit.

Yuna and David, Queen Yuna and King Consort, Ilya reminded himself—sat across from Ilya and Shane, patiently waiting as Shane went over the story for the second time. Thankfully leaving out the details but making it plain what had happened between them.

Yuna put her hand to her brow, closing her eyes as if she were thinking of what to say.

“Shane. Ambassador,” Yuna began, looking over to Ilya.

“Ilya,” he corrected.

“Ilya then. Are you crazy? You have really done a number on us,” Yuna straighted, breathing out as she composed herself again. “But, lucky for you our teams are made for this. And I’m not judging, please don’t think that. It’s just, gosh I am trying to process this. In all of the meetings you can’t stop snipping at each other. I can’t say I’m not surprised,” Yuna said. David silent but nodding in agreement.

“What do you want to do, Shane?” David said, stoic in his body as he surveyed Shane.

“I don’t know. I just want the problem to go away.”

Ilya looked over at Shane and swallowed. Even if they couldn’t stay away from one another before, they had no choice now.

There was too much on the line.

Ilya sighed, “We need this to go away. In whatever capacity that needs to happen. I will not risk my position over Shane and of course this makes me look ill-equipped for this job. People will not trust that I am not corrupt.”

Yuna and David nodded, “Okay. Well, we have no choice but to cater to their demand. And just pray that they don't come back for a second round,” she looked at David for confirmation.

“We can absolutely move funds around, but it's a lot of money. We need to be careful and keep this to the immediate family and executive security, only. Anyone else and we risk it getting out even further. It wouldn’t exactly look good for us if we were seen to be using royal funds for something like this, so we will have to use personal income. Shane, Ilya, you weren't exactly careful. That means any number of people could know. So, we have to assume that no one can be trusted until the staff is vetted again,” David said, sighing in exhaustion.

“We get through tomorrow and wait for instructions. You two need to keep your heads down and stay away from each other except for official business,” Yuna said firmly, as she stood up—David followed her to the door.

“Queen Yuna,” Ilya started, approaching her now, “for what it's worth. I'm sorry. Not for what's happened with Shane, but for what we risked for it.”

“Ambassador, just keep your head down over the next few days. We have fixers for this reason and this will all blow over provided you both keep your hands to yourselves.”

They both hugged Shane before leaving. For all the exchanged looks between David and Yuna, they didn’t seem surprised that Shane had been hooking up with a man.

Perhaps they had already suspected.

Shane stared at Ilya, as he sharply exhaled, stretching his fingers as his eyes now fluttered with exhaustion.

“I should go, Hollander” Ilya said, standing up and positioning himself in front of the door.

“I’m sorry, Rozanov. This is all my fault. I wish you could stay.”

“Hollander, is okay. Is not your fault. There are terrible fucking people out there wanting to hurt us, to ruin us, and to out you. Fucking assholes. Is never your fault,” Ilya brushed his hand over Shane’s freckles as his hand reached for the door handle.

“But we know now this has been a mistake. Is fun of course. But, is still a mistake that has almost cost both of us our careers. But this must be the end of us. I would like to be able to still call you my friend, Hollander. Is good for both of us to show that we are friendly, it will encourage the people to support you. I make you look good,” Ilya said with a wink and a smile, trying to cheer Shane.

He quickly flashed Shane his phone which showed the selfie of them that had racked up millions of likes.

Shane smiled softly, trying to hide the heartbreak that sat behind his eyes. He closed them as he relished the last moments that they would be alone like this. “I think I can manage that. I don’t mind the idea of being your friend. But you can’t be such an asshole.”

“I make no promises, Hollander,” Ilya said with a smirk, as he walked out the door, taking a final look at Shane, he swung his coat over his shoulder and made his way to the lift. Shane watched him as he left, wishing that they’d have a final kiss. A final anything.

They didn’t even kiss. Not today. Not tonight. And maybe not ever again—the thought made Shane’s heart hurt, but he tucked it away and swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, knowing it was for the best, but wishing that it wasn’t.

Shane spent the next two days attending formal events, dressed in suits and tuxedos, feeling the weight of the material sit heavily on his skin. He spent the entire time wishing that he could be alone. He fucking hated making polite small-talk, planning his expressions and mannerisms, as he tried not to stare at the fucking wall, or Ilya fucking Rozanov.

He was sure he failed miserably at the last part.

His parents had made efforts to intercept any close contact between him and Ilya. Shane also noticed Rachel had pointedly looked between them, monitoring and surveying.

His grandparents arrived, looking refreshed from time spent by the ocean. Unfortunately for Shane, his grandmother was as perceptive as ever. She immediately asked both Shane and Yuna if there was anything she needed to know and narrowed her eyes when Yuna had assured her, “no, everything has gone smoothly.”

Shane wasn’t sure who his parents had told about the threat, but he just wanted it to be over and needed it to go away. He assumed that his mother was smart enough to not involve his grandparents. Conservative and traditional, he was sure they would judge him.

He had not asked them anything more about their plans, they had no way of contacting the person responsible and needed to wait for them to recontact Shane, as promised.

The effort it took Shane to just seem normal left him feeling completely exhausted and touched out. Shane felt the cloying of being fawned over and complimented just for existing and wished it would go away.

His mother’s announcement speech and the general consensus about the Treaty had been positive. Thousands of people from all walks of life were invited, including Ilya’s political opponent, Roger Crowell, and the new democratic representatives to ensure equity was present for the former mid and low Fae communities.

The broadcast went without a hiccup and the world was abuzz with excitement over celebrities, politicians, and the royal family colliding at social events over the coming weeks.

Roger made efforts to make statements to a number of news outlets expressing concern over Shane’s young age and conflicts of interest in being the Crown’s legal representation and Prince. He made snips against Ilya’s policies and relaxed nature, as if being well-liked and funny was some impossible feat for a successful politician.

When Shane was asked to address Crowell’s comments about his age, he responded, “While I appreciate Mr. Crowell’s concern about my age, I think we know that age doesn’t always bring wisdom, unfortunately. And my professionalism and commitment to this cause comes first and my duties as Prince, second. I know there are cynics out there, but that is the truth. I want peace for our people more than anything,”

The reporter looked up at him with a smile, nodding to their cameraman that they had gotten what they needed.

Shane spent the next 24 hours hiding. 

The next few days passed without issue, the Treaty was signed, now the work could really begin.

Which meant more contact for Shane and Ilya; despite their reservations about being in regular and close proximity with one another, it had to be done.

Either of them stepping down now would be disastrous. And Shane knew that neither would consider it. Despite their differences, they did match one another in their dedication to their careers.

The monetary exchange went off without a hitch, Shane had received another text message like clock-work three days later with details of an offshore account to wire the transfer to. David had made the arrangements quietly, not making a big deal out of it.

David informed Shane that Ilya was aware of the exchange and that their executive security had made the arrangements to investigate the breach, promising the family an update as soon as was practical; but Shane knew these types of professionals wouldn’t make it easy for them.

A sinking feeling still sat in his chest, someone was close by who he couldn’t trust—who had betrayed him and threatened to out him, publicly.

This made Shane feel incredibly uneasy. He threw himself into his work-out regime with Scott, who had matched Shane’s energy and made sure that he left him shaking after every workout.

Shane had seen Ilya at the gym and politely said hello as he finished his work-out.

He tried not to notice the way Ilya’s forearms flexed as he placed his dumbbells back onto the bench, his trapezoid muscles twitching in protest. Shane looked away quickly, as he went back to his stupid bike work-out with Scott, who pushed him even harder that day and asked him again if he would go to the wine thing with Scott and his friends, which Shane politely declined.

Scott didn’t look pleased but let it go.

Ilya would be leaving at the end of the week and Shane knew things would get easier then.

He needed them to. 

Ilya hauled his suitcase onto his bed, packing the last of his belongings. He grabbed his skincare from the bathroom, brushing a hand through his messy curls as he reflected on the crazy fucking week he'd had.

Ilya knew that he’d been fucking stupid. A fucking idiot. And despite it, he couldn’t bring himself to consider feeling regret for wanting Shane—and for propositioning him that very first day after the meeting.

He could still picture Shane’s hesitation, his curiosity, the way his mouth had parted as he had surveyed Ilya's wings, his pink cheeks as the vase had bounced from side to side.

Only a week ago, but somehow it felt like a lifetime had happened since them.

It was a Saturday, Ilya would usually be planning on a fancy dinner, maybe drinks, and maybe a discreet club afterwards. But he just couldn’t bring himself to do that tonight. He would make his way back to his house and stare at the ceiling. Or touch himself. Or do whatever the fuck he needed to do to rid his mind of Prince Hollander.

Ilya lamented on the fact that he never really capitalised on calling him Prince in the bedroom. He never even got a final kiss. Or got to feel Shane’s ass clench around him.

Fuck. Well, it was over now.

Ilya heard a soft knock at his door. He sauntered over, apprehensive of who it may be.

He had said polite goodbyes to everybody and thanked the staff for their hospitality and support during his stay earlier that day.

Surely Shane would not be so careless, now.

Ilya opened the door.

“Queen Yuna, come in, please,” Ilya said, straightening his clothes as he opened his door, inviting her inside. She looked incredibly well put together, as she always did. But her face held a tension that Ilya hadn't seen before.

“Ambassador. Thank you,” Yuna said, sitting on Ilya’s table where he had gestured.

“I think you know why I’m here, Ambassador.”

“Please, Queen Yuna. You must indulge me, I’m not a mind-reader,” Ilya said, raising his eyebrows and trying to keep his face neutral.

“You need to stay away from Shane. I know you mean well. And I’m not saying that you are not a good man. I support you, your values, and I like you as a person. I really do, Ilya,” Yuna said, dropping formalities now, with a small smile.

“But, I know my Shane. And I can see that this threat has not dampened his feelings for you. And before you say, “he doesn’t have feelings,” remember Ilya, he is my son and I know him best. I raised him and I know him better than I think even he knows himself. He will not be able to give you up once he decides that is what he wants. He is nothing if not dedicated to getting what he wants. So, I need you to promise me you will stay away from Shane, romantically at least. You need to give him a chance to find himself, to find happiness elsewhere. He is only just starting to see things out of the little box he created for himself. And he is so happy that he is finally having a chance to prove himself. He needs this, Ilya. And you need to let him have it. If you interfere, I will do what I have to do to protect my son.”

A thinly veiled threat if Ilya had ever heard one. Very thinly veiled.

“Queen. I respect you coming to see me. And, yes, I will stay away from Shane. But, I don’t take kindly to threats. Shane was not coerced into this arrangement and the implication that he is not strong enough to make his own decisions and move through the world on his own is offensive. But, I will leave him alone. We risked too much and for that, you know I am sorry.”

Ilya saw Yuna out, as three security guards tailed her, looking at Ilya in what Ilya would perceive as a threat if it were from anyone else.

Ilya needed to get out of this fucking Palace.

Ilya hauled his bag down the hallway, as he noticed Shane sitting by the fire with David. A glass of ginger ale set beside him, as they talked quietly over some fucking jazz music. Ilya couldn't help but laugh because the scene felt so very Shane. 

“Shane, David. Thank you for your hospitality,” Ilya said, with a nod and a small smile.

Shane's eyes lingered on Ilya and over his bag, as he stood up—shaking Ilya's hand firmly. The electricity was still enough to knock Ilya on his ass.

“Ambassador. Thank you. For everything,” Shane said, his mask now firmly in place as he played the perfect Prince.

Anyone could be watching.

As Ilya stepped out of the room, he looked back to Shane, noticing his cheeks were the same shade of pink that Ilya had loved seeing as he had come apart for him. He knew in his heart that he would never be the reason for that pink ever again.

Ilya stole a final glance back to the beautiful gardens—now glistening with the first snow and frost of the deep Canadian winter.

As he drove away from the Palace, Ilya blasted Metallica at an unholy volume—noticing the oak trees now covered in snow and shining with Christmas lights. The lake showed the first signs of freezing over, and despite all the beauty and the success of the week—Ilya couldn't help but shiver at all the ways he had fucked up.

Ilya hit the button that lifted the automatic roof on his car, as he tucked Shane away into his pocket and promised himself to never look back.

Chapter Text

Montreal, Canada

December 2018

Ilya switched back to his regularly scheduled programming when he arrived home.

Despite the warm nausea he felt as he had driven from the Palace, Ilya knew it would only be a matter of time before he went back to normal.

So, he pretended. Forcing his head off the pillow and the caffeine down his throat as his eyes and limbs protested—Ilya stretched his wings over the city and basked in the freedom that was the morning sky. He flew so high that he surpassed the 1250 René-Lévesque and the Banque National Headquarters. He didn’t care that his muscles screamed in protest every morning, this was the only thing now that really reminded Ilya of home in a way that meant something.

The air was fresh, and although it was fucking freezing now—Ilya refused to acknowledge it. The ice that sat in his bones kept him from feeling the gnaw of frost of snow, something about his power had always kept him from freezing to death. Especially during the cold Russian winters that were inescapable without money to afford to light a fire or turn on the heating every night.

Having a freezing ability wasn’t so helpful, Hollander’s fire would have been but of course power like that was rare and hidden, just as Ilya’s had been.

He remembered that he’d never been able to share that bit of information with Shane and felt the thought tug at something small inside of him. He wondered what else Hollander had been holding back from him, but quickly pushed the thought out of his mind.

While he had an air of normalcy about him with his work colleagues, he felt withdrawn. He knew that Zane could tell something was off with him. He was his best friend after all, but when pressed, Ilya explained it down to stress of the new responsibilities he had. Zane tried to invite him out to drinks, which he obliged; but no matter how many vodka-on-the-rocks he had, it didn’t erase Shane from his thoughts.

Fuck.

Nothing in Ilya’s normal schedule felt good, no matter what he tried. He’d only known Shane for a week but somehow, so much had happened—the sex with Shane had flipped a switch in Ilya, even though they hadn’t even fucked the way he had wanted, Ilya was now fixated on trying to match the experience and failing miserably. It was a strange feeling, Ilya didn’t want to admit it out loud; but Hollander had left a mark on him. One he was desperately trying to scrub out by fucking anyone that was hot and enthusiastic.

Which was pretty much every night.

Since he’d returned, he had the occasional diplomatic meeting with Shane with Zoom but there were only pleasantries exchanged and they had no other communication, except through Rachel and Jacob; who unfortunately for Shane and Ilya were becoming fast friends due to all their communication.

It was all strictly professional between the Crown and the Ambassador now.

Weeks passed and Ilya filled his days with the things he usually enjoyed, experimenting in the kitchen (Ilya liked to cook because he loved to eat), drinking good vodka, none of the cheap American shit, listening to political podcasts, blasting dance music as he worked out, keeping busy with meet and greets, assemblies and drafting important speeches.

He had considered, briefly, calling Svetlana again. They had hooked up a few times in the past but it had never been close to anything more. She was very beautiful and they were friendly in a way that you could only be once you’d seen someone come undone, but it never meant anything. Although they had hooked up long before she was appointed, as a High Fae and Mid Fae; they had never considered a relationship in the open.

Ilya knew that it would look just as bad for him if he was caught hooking up with another political affiliate now. So, he caught up with her for lunch instead and enjoyed her company, as they chatted about the charity gala coming up in January, “what are you going to wear Ilyushka?” and “you don’t seem to be seeing anyone since coming to the Palace, hmm?”

Ilya knew she was wondering if he had hooked up with anyone at the Palace, she knew enough about Ilya to know how insatiable he was and that there weren’t many rules that would get in the way of him and fucking; but she didn’t push.

It fucking infuriated him that despite wining and dining and fucking, no person stayed in his mind, nothing captured his attention. Ilya found his mind wandering during sex and during the mundane—unable to banish the image of Shane’s flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips from his head.

Ilya furiously touched himself to thoughts of Shane more often than he would like to admit since returning to Montreal. But, he knew the feeling would pass. This was unusual for Ilya, he never really lusted after people like this, usually it was a matter of getting it out of his system and then deciding what would satiate him next.

With Christmas approaching, Ilya had organised for his mother and Alexei to visit. Alexei fought him every step of the way but he knew that they wouldn’t see Ilya otherwise, and despite him being an asshole, they still did love each other; despite their myriad of differences.

They arrived in two weeks and would spend a few weeks with Ilya at his apartment. It wasn’t huge but it would work. Even though he could actually afford a hotel for them now, they were traditional and wanted to spend the time as a family.

Ilya knew it would cramp his style a bit, but more late night visits to Wolfbird would be an option. He enjoyed it for the anonymity it gave him. Everyone who went there could have been someone, but it didn’t matter. NDA’s were signed at the door, phones were left in a locked box, and inhibitions were left behind.

It didn’t matter that Ilya was the fucking Ambassador there. He was just Rozanov. A really fucking hot guy who wanted to immerse himself in fucking and debauchery and come.

Ilya drove back home from a long day at the office, planning a night at Wolfbird.

He knew he was too exhausted to fuck anyone, but he was so bored, and so lonely, trying to fill a Hollander-sized-hole that no one else fit.

As he arrived home, he poured a glass of vodka that was a little too generous, as he sat on his balcony and had a cigarette.

Ilya scrolled over a post that Shane had made earlier, teasing the upcoming GQ spread of them, with several photos and videos of them chirping each other on set.

Ilya would bite. He hoped Shane’s social media wasn’t managed by someone else but honestly he had no idea. Whatever.

Ilya left a comment.

OfficialAmbassadorRozanov: I hear the pre-orders with my face sell out already. Good luck with yours, Hollander ;)

A few minutes went by and he received a dm from an unknown account named ‘janeh1410’ with a profile picture of a fire. Jane? It did sound like Shane, but surely it couldn’t be.

What the fuck.

Janeh1410: Get yourself another account and add this one.

Ilya didn’t know what made him do it, but he was curious. If it turned out to be some idiot, he would just block them. He got thousands of dms a day and most he ignored, but he liked to keep them open and respond to his fans sometimes. He felt it made him seem more personable and likeable. And it worked.

Ilya created a new account with an embarrassing email he used from his childhood ([email protected]), ‘LilyR1221’ and quickly added ‘Janeh1410’, noticing no friends or followers on the account.

A message notification came up on Ilya’s phone. His eyebrow rose, opening the message.

Janeh1410: Can we meet?

Ilya looked puzzled as he typed a response.

LilyR1221: Who the fuck is this?

Janeh1410: Someone who almost set you on fire, once.

Fuck Hollander.

LilyR1221: This dangerous. Wtf.

Janeh1410: I can’t stop. Please just meet me.

He sounded so desperate, so needy. Ilya knew with every fibre of his intelligence and sanity and professionalism that he needed to retreat. To run and to close this message and to block Hollander and to never entertain the idea of him again.

Hollander’s blushing cheeks and small wave as Ilya entered the lift flickered into his mind. Ilya returned to the message, staring at the chain now.

LilyR1221: Not here. Wolfbird, tonight. 9pm. They are discreet. I’ll be wearing a leopard print shirt. Will book room to talk.”

There was no response after that.

Ilya knew it was fucking reckless and wrong. He knew that it wasn’t even guaranteed to be Hollander, but he was willing to risk it anyway.

Wolfbird was discreet, of course, but even a Prince couldn’t walk around completely undetected and without consequence. He hoped Shane made an effort to look like anybody other than himself, as Ilya paced around his apartment and tried not to crave something that felt unreachable 20 minutes ago.

Ilya dressed in his leopard print shirt and knew it was exuberant, ostentatious, and stupid but that was what he loved about it.

He was tired of wearing suits and tuxedos and gym-gear. Ilya wished he could wear more things that he actually liked. He missed the feeling of being Ilya Rozanov. Ilya from Russia. The one who loved Adidas and brand names and slides, and throwing his hands in the air as he spoke of the things that he was passionate about. The one who said Blyat when he was mad or when he was coming, or just because he could. The one who didn’t hide the full breadth of his accent or his cultural mannerisms that were slowly being absorbed by Canadian pleasantries and small smiles that he didn’t mean but knew that he should give. The one who swore all the time and made fun of everyone in ways that they couldn’t discern whether he was joking or actually an asshole. Little did they know, both could be true at once.

He missed the feeling of being himself. Being the Ambassador demanded so much of him, and while Ilya loved so much of what he could give others and how he could help; it took so much from him, too.

Wolfbird helped.

As he arrived at the little hole in the wall, he rang the doorbell and a beautiful woman opened the door. He had seen her before and recognised her immediately. Black leathery wings poked out from behind her oversized blazer that covered her barely there corset, her deep burgundy hair flowed over shoulders, just touching the swoop of her clavicles, as she gestured him into the foyer.

The receptionist grabbed at an iPad, swiping to show him the booking confirmation and request his signature. Ilya noted her French accent, common in Montreal, as she said, “Bounjour, hello Mr. Rozanov, welcome back. I see you have booked a private room earlier today, it’s all arranged. Will someone be joining you or are you hoping to find someone to join you in the main club?”

“Bounjour, hello, no. No one joining me. Yet.” He said, laughing politely with a smirk and a playful wink.

Ilya already had dropped his usual professional and polite demeanor, the face of the Ambassador gone, replaced by the one that remembered who he really was. He handed over his items, as the receptionist scanned his identification and took his phone. As he was a regular, his credit card was locked in a secure file, as was his previously signed NDA that only needed updating annually. The receptionist locked everything away for when he was finished for the night, she used summoning magic as a key appeared in her hand, handing it it to Ilya. The key was leather and had ‘Suite 2’ embossed into it.

Ilya sauntered to the bar, taking his time as he drastically scanned the place for signs of Hollander. He flirted with the bartender, ordered his Belunga vodka, and walked to a small booth in the corner next to a brick wall. He left the booth curtain open, keeping an eye out for a nervous Hollander.

The place had an industrial, yet modern look. There were people of all ages, shapes, and ethnicities; some were partnered with what appeared to be long term husbands, wives, girlfriends, boyfriends, partners; while others sat alone or with people Ilya knew worked at the club. Ilya sipped his drink, as he tried to look around as casually as possible without a sex-worker approaching him and having to politely decline.

At Wolfbird, rooms could be booked in advance as an individual, for private use of the room and equipment. As long as you had signed an NDA (which every had at the door) and paid the fee, the rooms were open to anyone.

Ilya preferred it, somehow. Even though it would be easier to have hook-ups at his apartment, he usually came to Wolfbird or went to their place, preferring the structured rooms to someone being able to poke through his things and look at his family photos, asking questions Ilya couldn’t be bothered answering and knew they didn’t care about.

Ilya preferred not paying for sex, but he had done it a few times in the past.

Ilya smiled to himself thinking of Hollander having a fucking melt down as he arrived, fumbling with his ID and keys, getting nervous and asking a lot of unnecessary questions.

Ilya had been there for only a few minutes, when he checked his watch (analog, of course, because Wolfbird) 8:59pm, he looked up from his booth to watch the entrance more closely, as he spotted a very nervous looking Shane, eyes darting around from side to side as he smiled politely at the receptionist, who closed the door now behind her as she returned to reception.

Shane’s eyes darted around, searching; when they locked on Ilya in the corner booth—Ilya gestured over with his hand, as he stood up from the booth.

Shane was dressed in the most ridiculously stupid attempt at incognito that you could imagine. He wore a black hoodie and black pants, with large black reading glasses on. He knew that in public Shane didn’t wear his glasses, so he guessed it was his way of trying to keep a low profile. He was sure that the receptionist would have recognised him even without having to turn over his ID or sign his name.

Shane approached the booth apprehensively, looking pointedly at the ground, avoiding the kissing, touching, and fondling that happened unambiguously around them.

“Hollander,” Ilya purred in a hushed tone, gesturing for Shane to sit in the booth.

“I get you a drink. Hang on.”

Ilya left to order Hollander a Moscow Mule, basically ginger ale with alcohol. Good enough for him, he sat back in the booth; handing the drink over to Shane as he took a small sip and looked disgusted.

“What the fuck is the Rozanov?”

Ilya’s accent was thicker now, more relaxed and indulgent.

“Is Moscow Mule,” Ilya shrugged. “I thought since is public knowledge you love ginger ale you might like it. Boring drink for boring Prince. And is Sir, to you,” his eyebrows rose in challenge. He closed the curtains behind him, as he sat across from Shane.

Shane looked at him quizically,shaking his head, “You are so annoying.” Before adding a too quiet, “Sir,” as more heat bloomed on his cheeks now. Shane smiled softly, looking embarrassed but pleased with himself.

Shane took another sip as he tried to steady himself. He seemed to be vibrating out of his skin, a ball of energy waiting to burst. Ilya waited.

“Thank you for coming. I just… I know how stupid this is,” Shane trailed off, avoiding Ilya’s eyes.

“Is okay. Wolfbird is good for this. I come here for years, no one say anything. Nothing leaked to the press. Just me and whatever the fuck I want with whoever I want,” Rozanov said, sucking at his bottom lip as he stared as Shane’s flushed cheeks.

“You’ve come here for… years?” Shane said, looking intrigued but mildly disgusted again.

“Sure, I like it here. People are fun and I can be myself. No fucking Ambassador having to fake being nice Canadian man. I can be myself,” He shrugged.

Shane nodded, seeming to understand. “And have you…ever…paid for services or like, do you just come with a girlfriend or uhm, a boyfriend?”

Ilya laughed at how cute Shane sounded trying to navigate around the term ‘sex-worker’ and also, funnily enough, ‘boyfriend’. They had a long way to go in making Shane feel comfortable at Wolfbird.

“Sure. A few times I have. But I prefer to find someone who wants me without having to be paid. I booked a room. Private. You want to go there? Or stay here? Is okay if you are happy here, I am too. Just was not sure if your intentions were so pure.”

Ilya’s fingers brushed over the back of Shane’s hand, as he began walking them up his forearm, glancing at him from beneath his long lashes as he pouted.

“Oh. Uhm, yes maybe a room would be better. I really fucking hoping these NDA’s are good,” Shane said nervously.

“Hollander, curtains are closed. No one is looking. I have seen many people here, Prince. People who you would never think. I wouldn’t worry so much. No one is even caring to look.”

And it was true, for the most part. As they stood up from the booth, the bartenders glanced in their direction seeing if they needed to prepare for another round, as a few waiters and people looked at them but didn’t seem to take any notice.

That. That was the reason Ilya loved Wolfbird.

He knew that people would have recognised them, it’s not like they were discreet. They both had huge fucking wings and were literally on CNN two days ago talking about the Treaty and what their next steps were in ensuring it was actioned across the globe, but no one even looked twice.

Ilya knew there was power in knowing a lot of people at Wolfbird had their own proclivities and reasons for going there that they probably wanted kept quiet.

As they arrived at Suite 2, Ilya scanned the electronic card and the door opened. He knew this was a regular suite, nothing special, a bed, a sofa, a sex chair, a small table with chairs and a kitchenette with a bar fridge, a large well-appointed bathroom with a spa-bath. He didn’t want to freak Hollander out, especially if he wanted him to visit again.

Shane walked inside, glancing around the large space towards the sofa and the bed.

He looked guiltily at Ilya. Ilya closed the door behind him and as soon as he had, Shane pounced.

“Fuck,” was all Shane could grind out before his mouth was on Ilya’s, frantic and messy and fucking relentless. Shane pushed Ilya into the wall as he claimed his mouth, fingering at his chest.

Ilya pulled back, interrupting Shane’s next move as he whispered into Shane’s neck so softly it was barely audible.

“Prince,” he purred, “you are so desperate for me you risk coming to a sex club,” Ilya tutted, shaking his head in mock outrage, as he pulled Shane’s chin up to lock eyes with him. Shane cast his eyes down, pouting now.

“Maybe,” was all Shane could muster.

“Maybe, what?” Ilya said, his voice dropping an octave as he moved his hand from Shane’s chin, massaging into his jaw and pulling him closer—their faces now a breath apart, as Shane’s eyes locked on Ilya’s. Shane sucked at his lower lip, as his whole body seemed to shake. Ilya’s other hand moved to massage Shane’s firm ass, brushing his wing softly on the way there.

Shane shuddered as he whispered, “Sir.”

“Better. So, now what?” his Russian accent heavy with desire, Ilya eyed Shane’s chest, panting now. He pushed at Shane playfully, slowly moving them into the direction of the bed, as if he were prey and not a 6 foot tall Prince with the most muscular thighs that Ilya had ever seen. Ilya stifled a laugh as Shane tripped slightly as they moved.

“Shut up!” Shane said, as he pulled himself together.

“Or what?” Ilya said, as he leaned in for the softest kiss that Shane had ever felt, his glasses fogged up as their breath mingled. A featherlight touch of Ilya’s perfect cupid’s bow on Shane’s bottom lip, Shane parted slightly to let Ilya in as he drew back quickly, Shane chased the kiss that had already left him.

Shane made a move to remove his glasses and Ilya stilled his hand.

“Please, leave them on…for me?”

“Fine. But fuck, Ilya.“ Shane grasped at Ilya’s shoulders, seemingly steadying himself as he breathed. “I don’t know. This is so fucking bad. My parents… They already had to pay off someone. I just, fuck. I just can’t stop thinking about you. About your cock. About how you felt in my mouth. I just…need you. Fuck,” Shane said, looking embarrassed but somehow still sure of himself.

A deep laugh rumbled from Ilya’s throat as he pushed Shane onto the bed.

“You are lucky I booked all night. I want to take my time with you this time,” Ilya said, as he moved around him, enveloping his body as he ground his hips into Shane.

“I might even…fuck you, if you are lucky. hm? You still want, Prince?” Ilya said, forearms clenching as he dropped down to kiss and lick Shane’s neck and ear. Shane purred, head falling back as he giggled slightly when Ilya’s tongue tickled his ear.

“You are so annoying, Rozanov. Fuck you,” Shane said, swallowing his smile as he looked up at Ilya. He shifted his face back, serious now. “I still want, Sir” Shane responded, a little Russian inflection at the end. He was making fun of Ilya, but it was so endearing and sweet, Ilya thought he might disintegrate on the spot. Instead he shifted his hips, focusing. They were just fucking, nothing more. Ilya pushed his hips into Shane again, as he let out purr.

“You are such a slut for it, Hollander,” Ilya said, testing the water with Shane.

Shane, as expected, blushed furiously but didn’t deny it.

“Please. Sir. Just fuck me.”

“You think I’m an asshole? We must work up to this.You need to be loose for me, ” Ilya said gently, as he removed Shane’s shirt and pants. Ilya removed his own clothes as Shane watched, panting now as he stared at Ilya’s cock and muscled abdomen, hair neatly trimmed from his stomach to his ample cock. Shane’s mouth dropped open wider, admiring Ilya’s forearms and biceps, also smattered with moles that matched the beauty spots that adorned his face and neck.

“Shut up. Please, touch me then, Rozanov,” Shane begged as he squirmed, waiting for Ilya to return.

Ilya smiled as he kissed Shane softly, Shane opened for him slightly and let his tongue slide in, as Ilya pulled back, gazing at Shane.

“I let Rozanov slide because I like how you say my name. And because you let me call you a slut. I guess because you know is true,” Ilya said, moving back and kneeling at the edge of the bed as he pulled Shane’s muscular thighs toward him. Ilya pushed Shane’s thighs apart with his strong hands, leaving Shane exposed and breathless. He breathed cool air on Shane’s ass, the type of air that froze when it was against a glass.

Shane squeaked, sitting up. “What the fuck was that?”

His glasses fell down his nose, as he relented; throwing them on the side table to avoid breaking them.

Roznov pouted dramatically but didn't say anything about it, accepting that Shane didn't want to break them.

“I don’t know what you mean, Hollander.”

“The cold…,” Shane responded, looking puzzled and a little outraged.

“Oh, that. Is little trick I saved. Just like your little trick,” Rozanov said, trying to sound casual.

“Is no big deal. Doesn’t do much except freeze glass of vodka. Well, it does, but nothing useful really.”

Shane looked…excited, as ideas seemed to be passing over him. “Fuck.”

“Oke oke, show is over. Now, can we fuck now, please?”

Shane relented. Laying back down, as Ilya parted his firm thighs again, pushing them back against the bed. Shane was spread wide for him now. A feast to be ravaged, as he looked down at Ilya, watching as his shoulders and wings flexed and fanned; moving as he handled Shane’s thighs, positioning himself for better access to his…..

“Oh fuuuck. Rozanov,” Shane ground out, as Ilya planted a cool kiss on Shane’s entrance, tongue lapping against it in question.

“This okay, Hollander?” He said, stopping a moment to lock eyes with Shane, he heard Shane whisper a small, “Fuck, Yes.”

Ilya returned to his task, planting soft luxurious kisses around Shane’s entrance, as his hand felt Shane’s bicep twitch in pleasure. Shane sighed against Ilya, begging for more, which Ilya obliged, pushing the tip of his tongue into Shane’s hole.

Shane arched. “Fuck, Rozanov. Fuck you.”

“So rude, Hollander. You will pay for that…later.”

Ilya watched as Shane’s ass bucked up, pushing his tongue further inside him, as his tongue lapped over Shane’s hole for several minutes. Shane was squirming against him, as his thighs started to shake.

Ilya grinned, looking up at Shane who was overcome with the feeling of Ilya’s tongue inside him. He felt Ilya grin around his ass, as he withdrew his tongue to enter a finger abruptly, pushing it all the way in and watching Shane arch even further as he made a high pitch squeak, stomach muscles clenching. Shane breathed through it, purposefully relaxing to allow Ilya to open him up.

“You like that, Hollander?”

“Holy fuck, Rozanov.” Ilya smiled, continuing to pump into Shane.

“Moya khoroshen'kaya shlyushka. You take it so well,” Ilya said, voice rumbling through Shane.

Fuck Ilya was so hot, spreading him open like this. He was so desperate for him that he would risk coming here, for Shane. The thought left Shane feeling dizzy.

He gently withdrew his finger, lapping small circles around Shane with his tongue. The small desperate sounds that Shane was making for Ilya became more frantic now, as he dragged a hand through Ilya’s hair and pulled. Ilya groaned against him, as his mouth found Shane’s cock—he swallowed him whole and entered three fingers into Shane’s desperate entrance, pumping him as he worked Shane into his throat.

He felt Shane start to tense around him, too soon.

Ilya moved his mouth away from Shane’s cock, giving him a break as Shane panted desperately. “I can’t… fuck, I’m gonna come!”

“Uh uh uh, not yet. I will take my time with you, tonight.”

Ilya removed his fingers and watched Shane intently for a minute, returning to his body as he begged for Ilya to touch him more. “Please. Fucking asshole, Rozanov.”

“Soon,” Ilya responded, massaging Shane’s thighs.

After a minute or so of letting Shane sweat and pant and beat, he knew he would have calmed down enough to not come in an instant.

He leant over Shane and kissed him sloppily, before moving down his body to return to his task.

Ilya was so fucking hard and needed to be inside Shane. But he knew it would be so much better and was necessary for Shane to enjoy this, for him to be ready for him.

Shane’s cock was leaking now, as Ilya moved his mouth to Shane’s hole, he fucked him with his tongue, as his hands moved to Shane’s cock and began working him slowly. Ilya could see pre-come beading around the head of Shane’s cock, and needed to taste him. His tongue moved from Shane’s ass, as Ilya sucked in the tip, swallowing a generous amount of pre-come that was waiting for him—he circled his tongue around the head as he took all of Shane in one swift motion; Shane bucked into Ilya as he let out a sharp groan.

“Ah fuck, please, Sir. Need more. I’m ready, could come,” Shane begged, sweat beading around his ample chest and arms.

Ilya pounced, moving off Shane’s cock with a ‘pop’ and locking mouths with him. Ilya hoped Shane wouldn’t mind kissing him now, and he was right. Shane didn’t mind at all and lapped up everything Ilya gave him.

Ilya’s tongue darted frantically across Shane’s, massaging as he pulled back with Shane’s lip still in between his teeth—Shane pushed up into Ilya as Ilya grabbed Shane’s hair, yanking it back to devour his neck, as he gripped his throat lightly, brushing soft caresses across it with his thumb.

“On your stomach, Hollander, moya khoroshen'kaya shlyushka,” Ilya commanded, accent heavier as the deepness of his voice hung in the air.

Shane decided to ignore it because he was too horny to care, anymore.

They needed this.

Shane moved roughly onto his stomach, his cock ground against the mattress, chasing the friction it was now missing. He felt Ilya’s hands massaging his ass as he entered him with his fingers again, “Oh god, fuck.”

Shane arched, as he struggled to find any other words now.

“Hollander. Tell me. Tell me what you need,” ground out Ilya as he licked up Shane’s neck, gripping him at the back of his neck as Shane turned his head to catch Ilya’s lips in a filthy kiss.

“Fuck me, need to feel you. Inside me.”

Shane felt dizzy. He was going to fuck Rozanov. He was going to fit his huge fucking girthy cock inside him. He’d never been so certain about anything. There would be no going back to pretending he could tolerate girls after this, Shane knew.

Ilya put his whole forearm under Shane, flipping him back over to face him; nuzzling his nose with his before he took his mouth again, lining his cock up with Shane’s entrance.

“Changed my mind. I want to watch you.” Shane arched into him, nuzzling at Ilya’s neck as he kneaded his chest and biceps. Shane nodded and stretched back, marvelling at the man above him, his powerful white wings now falling behind him on the bed as he relaxed into Shane.

Ilya bent over to the side table and rustled around in the drawer before pulling out a condom wrapper, making quick work of it before returning to Shane.

Ilya grabbed a triangle pillow and placed a hand under the delicate arch of Shane’s back and lifted, hips now moving up to align with Ilya’s.

Both were panting now, their breath stretched around them, filling the silence of the room. Shane’s eyes darted from side to side, as he waited, and breathed, and vibrated with need—a beat in time that felt like it was stretching and adjusting to the feeling of them.

“Okay?” Rozanov asked, in a voice that was entirely unlike him and far too gentle.

“Fuck me, please. Just fuck…,” but before Shane could finish, he looked down to see Ilya’s cock begin to enter him so slowly that it almost destroyed him.

Shane let out an unholy gasp as Ilya continued to fill and stretch and warm, lighting Shane up from the inside. Shane’s neck arched back, pushing his head further into the mattress, as he felt his hands heating against him. He tried to stifle the thought. Ilya must have noticed his hands beginning to softly glow and heat, like the warmth of a log before it finally erupted—Ilya glanced over to them and placed a hand over each of Shane’s, cooling them, as he took them in his and brought his ability to the surface. Shane’s wings fluttered in recognition, as they grazed one another.

Shane felt the stretching and winced but adjusted quickly to the feel. When Ilya was half way in he said, “Is okay?” again, Shane could no longer speak, so just nodded, looking at Ilya in confirmation.

“Fuck, Hollander.” Ilya felt Shane all around him now, so tight but perfectly opening for him.

Ilya continued pushing into Shane until he was fully seated, Shane ground into him, “Fuck, right there.” Shane panted, as Ilya hit the delicate prostate and felt Shane’s whole body clench around him. Ilya’s neck pulsed, as his veins popped in his forearms, straining against his sizable weight as he held himself over Shane, careful not to overwhelm him.

Shane was a strong and large man himself, but Ilya was treating him like he was something breakable.

Ilya looked completely wrecked as he continued pumping his cock in and out of Shane, the slow pace almost killing both of them. He kissed Shane desperately, pulling back to watch him as he continued moving in and out of Shane, gently, as he slowly increased the pace.

Shane admired Ilya’s face, now wet with saliva and Shane’s come, hair dishevelled, veins popping out of his arms like they did when Shane had watched him working out—Ilya had been holding back a storm that he was about to unleash. He was being too gentle. The gentle was what scared him.

“Please Ilya, harder. I won’t fucking break.”

Ilya grunted, accentuating each word as he pulled out of Shane, grabbed him under his hips and flipped him in one swift movement. Kissing him in the centre of his back, he repositioned himself, leaning over Shane now. “My greedy slutty little Prince.” Ilya gave Shane’s plush ass a a firm slap which earnt a yelp from him, and entered him in one quick thrust.

“Oh my god,” Shane whispered, sighing as his breath hitched.

Shane was on all fours now as Ilya’s hands were on his waist, pumping into Shane’s hole with a force that burned in the best fucking way.

“So fucking good for me, you fucking love it,” Ilya said, slapping Shane’s ass as he groaned, Ilya pushed Shane’s back into the mattress, as his hand stayed in the middle of Shane’s muscular back, holding him into place. He left Shane’s ass poking in the air, Ilya’s cock now hitting Shane’s prostate again. Shane pushed his ass back into Ilya, massaging Ilya’s balls, as they each moved closer to the edge.

Shane would never get enough of this feeling. He had been with girls before, but it had never felt like this. He knew he never wanted to put his cock in a woman again.

Ilya’s punishing pace was causing all sorts of unholy clapping noises to reverberate around the silence. It was so fucking hot, the sound alone almost enough to send Shane over the edge.

Shane’s cock pounded into his belly as Ilya reached around and started stroking him with a force that sent Shane into oblivion. Shane’s hands were glowing again as Ilya blew icey air onto them, stifling the heat. Shane’s cock dripped with precome, spurting now as he felt his body start to tense, looking down at his cock in Ilya’s hand and Ilya’s cock pumping into his ass, the sight too much for Shane to withstand.

Ilya must have noticed the shift in his body, as Shane tensed around Ilya’s cock, “Are you?” Ilya gritted out, neck muscles working as his veins popped.

“Fuck, fuck fuck, I’m coming. Come in me, come please,” Shane demanded.

“Oh my god, Hollander. Fuck, you will kill me,” Ilya roared as he pumped into him a final time, his accent thicker than Shane had ever heard it; the taught rope that connected them snapped, bodies tensing as they vibrated, riding out waves of their mutual orgasms.

Ilya continued pumping into Shane as Shane’s come spilled into Ilya’s hand, leaking over his palm, the bed, and onto Shane’s taught stomach as he arched into Ilya, losing himself in the sensation of his oversensitive cock and ass.

Ilya’s breath was ragged now, as he toppled onto Shane who was now panting frantically, Ilya’s cock was still in Shane, as the last spurts of his come filled the condom. They breathed into one another, basking in the moment.

Shane didn’t shift under Ilya, withstanding his weight with ease, as Ilya kissed him softly on his throat; feeling his pulse slowing down as they lay against one another. Shane arched his neck, placing a chaste his on Ilya’s forehead, that was entirely too sweet for the moment but also fucking perfect.

“I knew you would like when I called you a slut, you fucking love it, Hollander.”

“Shut up!” Shane responded, playfully pushing Ilya as he pulled out of him, soft and relaxed. Shane turned to face him, hand tangling through Ilya’s curls.

“I know it’s stupid. But I really don’t want to stop. I don’t know if I can, Rozanov. And before you stop me. No, I’m not calling you Sir right now,” Shane said, with a small smile.

Ilya smiled back, “Fine, but I will still call you slut because I can see how red it makes you.”

“Whatever,” Shane said, pretending to be embarrassed but secretly loving it.

There was a pause, as their breath continued mingling. Ilya pulled off the condom and placed it in the bin next to the bed, as he laid back down, their wings and arms wrapped around each other now. It was difficult to tell where one of them ended and the other began.

Ilya tilted Shane’s chin up towards him, as their eyes locked together.

“I cannot stop, either,” Ilya said earnestly; all hints of joking removed from his voice.

“Then we don’t. We just have to be more careful.”

“Careful, hmm? I think I can manage that when it comes to you, Jane,” Ilya smiled and placed a luxurious kiss onto Shane’s neck, moving up to his lips as he pushed his tongue into Shane, no longer frantic, but accepting of Shane’s offer.

“Fuck you, Lily.”

Shane kissed Ilya back and never wanted to let go.

He left the club that night floating but knew it was only a matter of time before something fucked it up again.

But he knew that whatever happened, this was theirs, and for now; that would have to be enough.

Chapter Text

The Palace

December 5th 2018

Shane had left Wolfbird floating, making sure that Rozanov didn’t exit right after him in case anyone had followed him there. He smelt of sex and sweat and tobacco and vanilla. The scent lingering of Ilya fucking Rozanov.

He felt dirty doing it, still aching with the residual soreness that Rozanov’s cock had left inside of him. Shane felt ashamed as he wrapped himself up in his peacoat and braved the snow, hailing a cab to make his way back to the hotel.

He didn’t even last a month without falling back into this bullshit with Rozanov and he was embarrassed that he risked everything after what his parents had done to help them.

Rozanov didn’t even walk him out, even though it was Shane’s idea; his stomach still sunk a little when he agreed so easily. He was probably just another guy for Rozanov to fuck and despite the stupidity of the whole thing, Shane knew what he was getting into, and couldn’t fault Rozanov for being who he always said he was. The guy was into sex clubs and sex-workers, for fucks sake. Shane wanted so badly to be surprised by this information but the truth was, he wasn’t.

Shane had heard of the elusive Wolfbird before, but only in passing and never in invitation. Spoken in hushed tones after large soirees, at the end of an evening when everybody was gossiping and curious, and wanted something funny to mention. A punchline. The thought of him being fucked for the first time by Ilya fucking Rozanov at Wolfbird would have been laughable to him a month ago. It was a dream in an abyss of fantasies and now it was true.

The next morning, Shane had woken to Rachel’s wake up call, reminding him of the boarding time, she had swiftly hung up. She asked how the dinner was and Shane said fine, refusing to elaborate. He packed his tiny suitcase, carefully folding his clothes, as he exited the bare hotel room; which looked almost exactly as he had found it, besides a slight ruffle in the sheets.

Shane felt odd about Rachel now, knowing that she would report anything he said back to his mother. He filed her in a place of uncertainty, where so many of his staff now sat. He just didn’t know what to think.

He boarded the royal helicopter back to Banff, arriving back in just over an hour.

His mother had asked him a few questions about why he was visiting Montreal, but he lied casually about a formal dinner with the Ambassador to discuss their schedules over the next few weeks, and she had let it slide; but gave him a very pointed side eye as her lips pursed. The lie felt like ash on Shane’s tongue when his parents had already fixed his fucking mess.

Back at the Palace, Shane had to remember who he was before Ilya Rozanov.

Prince Hollander, Prince Shane, the fucking Heir to the Crown. His grandmother loved reminding him of his duties and now she had returned, she had picked up where she left off. Hassling Shane about his marriage prospects, his plans for the future, always wanting him to be two steps ahead. But, Shane was always five steps ahead; just because he didn’t share them, didn’t mean he was a fucking idiot.

This was one of the reasons he felt the deep-seeded need to prove himself. To show his people and his family that he was more than a pompous and uptight asshole.

He saw how his staff looked at him, how they skittered around, avoiding eye contact; even though he was polite, did he even treat them like actual people? He barely knew anything about them. What was the name of the Fae who brought his breakfast? Natalia? He thought so but couldn’t be sure. He had worked for her for literal years and Shane couldn’t even be certain of her fucking name.

Fuck, the thought made Shane wonder if Rozanov was right in his original assessment of Shane.

So Shane avoided the thought. The week flew by, as he drafted new laws for the democratic council, sat on conference calls, met with Svetlana about the corporations she was joining with to address the housing issues throughout Canada. Svetlana pointedly asked him about the Ambassador, apparently they were friendly, but Shane waved the conversation off; politely redirecting after he said he had found Rozanov very easy to work with, leading to Svetlana raising an eyebrow and returning to their agenda.

He met with Presidents and Prime Ministers and sat in on important meetings with Leaders from all over the world.

The Crown, in most countries, acted as a trampoline, something to cushion the fall if anything really fucked up happened, but otherwise; the countries that were a part of the Crown mostly governed themselves.

Still, Shane knew that it was important that they took these changes seriously. Most of them were amicable, but Russia for example, were extremely hostile, making it difficult for his mother and him to actually understand how this could be a peaceful change. The President, Sergei Volkov, was a dictator who threw his weight around until it made an impact.

Shane knew it would be a problem for them and that they wouldn’t roll over without a power-struggle. But, they were a part of the Crown, whether they liked it or not. He hoped that their long-standing issues with the Ambassador would not pose a problem for the negotiations.

The Ambassador was there for some of the meetings, looking unfairly handsome, but something felt different. It was like it had been before, at their first meeting; where everything felt so heavy and formal. His accent had tightened, as his professionalism returned, creating someone more fearsome and brave, but also more sad. He dressed like a dignitary, proud, and boring, and uncomfortable. No more leopard print shirts and hair that was mussed around his face. His smiles were tight and while his sense of humour was still there, it wasn’t the raw, contemptuous thing it was when Ilya was in private.

It was like the parts of himself he had revealed for Shane at Wolfbird were just a false memory and not a living breathing thing.

There were no more messages between them on their fake Instagram accounts. Fear had taken root and dug itself inside of Shane, now. He guessed it was the same for Rozanov. He knew he would cave soon.

Shane touched himself every night to thoughts of Rozanov and knew he needed to be touched by him again, and soon. It was the fucking logistics that got in the way. The secrecy, the fear—the restraint it took for Shane not to crawl under the table and take Rozanov’s cock into his mouth was almost unbearable.

Their conversations were stilted, waiting for the other to cave or to say something, abandoning themselves. But there was never a change. His mother threw pointed glances at them at every chance, threatening them to step out of line.

The Democratic Alliance had chosen their four elected officials now, those that would create equal grounding for the governing body of Canada. While Rose, Svetlana, Wyatt and Fabian were all High Fae, the Democratic Alliance representatives were all Mid and Low Fae, or would have been considered that way before the Treaty.

The Commissioner, who was the head of the opposition, was present in all of the High Court votes, sneering and accusing, and hoping to gather the court of public opinion.

Shane had scheduled a meeting with Ambassador Rozanov and the new officials next week, hoping that it would go smoothly and they wouldn’t hate him. He had spoken with all of them individually and privately on the phone, they had attended all of the meetings online, most of them continued working in their catchments to understand the needs of the people before the restructuring began in early January.

He memorised their names and respective expertise, hoping it would help him to make a good impression. He practised in the mirror, making him feel awkward and uncomfortable but organised.

Shane watched as Commissioner Crowell continued speaking negatively about the Treaty and the Crown on social media, on television, anywhere anybody would listen to him. It felt like he had no idea what he was even saying half the time, but somehow his hate speech resonated with a lot of Fae.

The smear campaigns unfolded online, about Rozanov’s lack of experience and his reliance on the Crown, about the equality that they had dreamed of never being able to work in action. Shane hated being in the same room as him, watching his old face sneer and mock and taunt, while he threw out his bigoted opinions about race and ethnicity and class, hoping they would stick somewhere.

And they did stick, for some. He heard murmurings around the Palace Court, including from those that were considered friends to the family, of how he had a good point, of how they weren’t really equal, were they? The opinions were hushed but steadily flowed. Yuna, Shane and David raised eyebrows and challenged them, but Crowell’s opinions on class were still popular, despite how fucking ancient he was.

Shane’s family were mixed race. His mother was Japanese, and father was white. His grandmother was the first Japanese Queen in the history of the Crown. Before that, the Royal family historically would never consider marriage to someone of Japanese ethnicity. The birth of his grandmother was the result of her parents rebelling, marrying in the name of love, and threatening to run away.

So despite it all, his bigoted opinions left Shane with a hot and sick feeling that never left him.

Shane worked out with Scott, who stole long glances at him, insisting he just had to come to the gangs next get together. Scott never stopped asking him to join and texting him. He pointedly glanced over at his phone as Shane was scrolling after a gym session and when Shane noticed him watching, Scott quickly looked away. He started to wonder if Scott might actually want to be more than friends with him, but he filed it away; Scott was one of his only real friends and didn’t want to risk losing that.

The weeks passed in a blur, with Shane's secret instagram account messages remaining unchanged; no matter how many times he desperately refreshed the chat.

The Palace,

December 14th 2018

Shane drank his coffee deeply, as he sat in a meeting with Rozanov sitting across from him, he struggled to focus, eyes tracking up Rozanov’s collarbone as he explained a new legal process for refugees. Shane swallowed.

He tried to think about anything other than Ilya fucking Rozanov’s thick cock plunging into him, as his obscenely large hand pushed into the middle of Shane’s back. About the sounds of Ilya's ass clapping into Shane’s and reverberating around them, all consuming. About the soreness that lingered for days in the best fucking way, a reminder of him being blissfully fucked out and satiated.

Shane’s cheeks turned heated, as he bit his lip. Rozanov raised and eyebrow, as he swallowed a smile, answering a question that had been directed at him by Justice Fabian.Shane left the meeting, as his eyes locked with Rozanov as he stepped outside for air. Shane didn’t follow him.

The niggling feeling still sat inside of him, the one that remembered that there was someone inside the Palace who had threatened them, or had helped to. Were they still watching? Either way, the feeling made Shane feel hot, and nausea rose to the surface. He tried to forget it, but with security still being unable to locate the initial threat, the thought never left Shane.

Despite the royal security detail interviewing all palace staff and vetting everyone thoroughly, nothing was discovered. It killed him to think that the person who had betrayed him could be standing right under his nose.

He had been so fucking stupid. And now, if they were watching him; they could have more ammunition than ever.

Fuck.

That night, Shane sprawled out in his spacious outdoor jacuzzi, soaking his muscles from his long flight that morning. His pec twitched and he adjusted to the hot, soaking into his chest as he breathed a sigh of relief. He picked up his glass of soda with lemon, taking a long pull of it; as Rachel and some other staff asked him questions and fussed over his schedule. Shane ended up dismissing them halfway through, because despite knowing his obligations; he was emotionally and physically exhausted. The last few weeks had been a lot.

Shane was left with his own thoughts as the marble tub bubbled around him, sinking into his bones as he stared over the lush gardens, thinking back to Rozanov sauntering through them, hands laced behind his back as he had admired the crisp hedges, wings fanning behind him as the breeze rustled through his feathers and curls.

He picked up his phone, opening Instagram and casually searching @OffiicialAmbassadorRozanov. Two new stories, one of a cookie with a tongue emoji pasted on it and one of a pot of something that looked suspiciously like chicken soup, and several new posts; mostly photo dumps of things Shane didn’t understand. A bowler hat in black and white, a morning sunrise shown over some large buildings in Montreal, a ticket stub, a pen, and a photo of some flowers. And Shane’s glasses on the GQ make-up table.

What an fucking idiot. He had captioned it, “photo dump” the post left absolutely everything to Shane’s imagination.

His thumb swiped upwards, scrolling through Rozanov’s photos; not many of him, mostly photos of art and buildings, and food. But the ones of him? Shane scrolled back several months to the announcement photo of his Ambassadorship, his eyes sparkled in the sunlight as he looked away from the camera, beaming, smiling in the soft light in front of the High Court, hands in his pocket, as his butter yellow suit moulded around him perfectly.

Shane double tapped without thinking. Fuck.

Shane closed the app and opened a Google browser, as he clicked into Incognito mode, screen turning black. He typed in the Instagram URL, logged in with his alternate username, and quickly navigated to his chat with Ilya. Their last messages staring at him.

Janeh1410: I can’t stop. Please just meet me

LilyR1221: Not here. Wolfbird, tonight. 9pm. They are discreet. I’ll be wearing a leopard print shirt. Will book room to talk.

Shane hovered over the message, and started typing.

Janeh1410: Where are you staying tonight?

Three dots appeared almost immediately, Shane’s pulse quickened as he waited.

LilyR1221: Took you long enough ;)

Janeh1410: You’re not the only person in my phonebook.

LilyR1221: Really? Interesting, Jane.

What a fucking asshole. Shane could very well have plenty of people on the regular, Ilya would have no idea because it was private.

Janeh1410: I’m in the jacuzzi.

He took a quick photo of his firm abs and almost see-through tiny white shorts glistening with water, as his cock was half-hard, placing a hand over it, an invitation. After he confirmed that there was nothing identifiable in the image; and hit send and reminded himself to delete the photo later.

The three dots appeared so quickly that Shane visibly smiled at his phone, waiting for Ilya’s response. He shifted, his cock hardening at the mere thought of Rozanov's face opening the message.

LilyR1221: Fuck. You like to be bad, don’t you?

A photo came through, it was just Ilya’s neck, arched and tanned and speckled with beauty spots; his throat locking good enough to eat. You could see the firm rise of his chest peeking up to meet his clavicles. Shane gulped, hand starting to move at his firm cock, the heat doing nothing to stifle his arousal.

Janeh1410: With you. Come?

LilyR1221: Very forward, Jane. Maybe I am busy?

Janeh1410: I think you want to come, Lily.

Shane was almost kicking his feet in excitement, giddy at the flirty text exchange.

LilyR1221: How?

Janeh1410: There is a private entrance that only a select few know about. On the first floor next to the staircase, first piece of art to the right, press the frame.

LilyR1221: I will come once things die down here. Will fuck you so hard that pretty little smile will fall off your face. Want you bouncing on top of me.

Shane’s head fell back and he blew out a breath, the hot water felt thick against his skin— tight muscles growing taught again, as his cock twitched. He stoked it a couple of times and quickly realised how close he was to coming at the mere thought of Ilya fucking Rozanov.

He exited the tub, promised to not touch himself anymore; and had a hot shower, wanting to be clean, ready, and flushed when Ilya arrived.

Ilya told the Palace staff he had left, hid in an unused dining area and waited; scrolling through his phone, perusing emails, and trying to dampen the spirit of his cock.

He shifted, glancing out of the door and around to the double staircase. He had identified the painting in question, an image of The Creation of Adam, the man’s swings splayed majestically behind him, as he reached.

Once Ilya knew the coast was clear, he sauntered out of the room quietly, glancing in each direction, he seized the opportunity.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about Hollander since Wolfbird, and even though he had hooked up with a few people since, nothing satiated him. Ilya was fucking rabid, after a week of seeing and talking and working, and otherwise ignoring Hollander. He needed his cock to be consumed by him in the way that only Hollander would take it.

Ilya had still held back parts of himself, not wanting to hurt Shane, but he was ready to fucking unleash. He needed to lick Hollander’s desperate entrance and feel him open around him, as little noises of desperation escaped him.

Ilya licked his lips and blew out a breath, trying to calm down and return to himself.

Ilya pressed the side of the painting and a crack in the wall shifted, an electronic hidden door slid open taking the painting with it. The entrance was completely invisible to the naked eye.

Impressive, Hollander.

Ilya peered around, noticing a few cameras in the hallway and hoped that the security guards would be too busy chatting or laughing to notice him. He slid through and noticed a large staircase, stone and ancient, flanked by stone walls; Ilya guessed this must have been in the Palace prior to the renovations that had modernised it. The air was thick and warm, heavily scented with musk and earth.

Ilya walked, taking two steps at a time. His wings were cramped but there was enough room for him to not completely tuck them in.

He reached the top and stared through a glass door into Shane’s bedroom. The gold headboard was glanked by lush thick cutrains that framed the bed.

He hadn’t seen it at his previous visit, as they’d never even made it to the bedroom.

Shane’s bed was fucking huge, a California King, with crisp white bedding and far too many pillows. The walls were cream and the room felt regal, with a traditional stone fireplace alight in the corner, silver goblets and strawberries on a tray in the corner, and classic baroque artwork on the walls.

But Ilya wasn’t looking at the furniture, or the decor, or the fucking bed.

He couldn’t take his eyes off what lay right in the centre of the plush room.

A very naked and very slicked up Shane Hollander. Hollander was sprawled out, wings splayed over the entire bed, the rich blue and soft white highlighted by the stark white of the sheets— thighs parted, he presented himself to Ilya. Shane’s cheeks were flushed a deep shade of maroon and his breathing was heavier than normal, chest rising as he licked his lips.

Shane's fingers were pumping in and out of his slick entrance, as he locked eyes with Ilya—unblinking.

He hadn’t been able to wait for him.

Fuck, Hollander.

Shane paused and pressed a button; the glass door slid open with a thwack.

The scent of vanilla and cinammon enveloped Ilya, sweet and inviting and fucking delicious. Just like Hollander, a feast spread open for him to devour.

“You started without me?” Ilya said, a smirk rising to his lips.

“Rozanov….fuck, I wanted to be ready for this, this time. I wanted to…practice. I waited and I didn’t come. I…,” Hollander said breathlessly, mouth parted and sultry. His eyes flicked up to Ilya from under his lashes, as his hands moved up and down his slick cock, the other tracing circles and plunging deep into his entrance, working himself slowly as his eyes looked down at Ilya’s mouth.

“Such a good little Prince. You are learning,” Ilya said seductively, his accent thick in the air, Shane hummed in satisfaction as he let out a small gasp.

Ilya licked his bottom lip, desperate to devour Shane. But he held back.

He swung his coat over his shoulder, as he sauntered over; too slowly—eyes darting from Hollander’s slick entrance to his eyes, consumed by lust as he bit into his bottom lip.

Ilya threw his coat on a reading chair that sat in the corner, quickly pulling off his clothes and shoes, as he marvelled at Hollander sinking his fingers into himself.

Ilya growled at the sight.

Shane’s mouth parted as he drank Ilya in, now wearing a small white t-shirt and grey slacks that hugged at his wait. Shane growled, “You’re so fucking hot, fuck Rozanov. Come here.”

“No, you come here,” Ilya said, playing with his food.

“No, you come here,” Shane responded, as Ilya continued closing the gap.

Shane scrambled forward, as Ilya descended on Shane, pushing him back down; a hand moving to part his muscular thighs. Shane gripped Ilya’s hair, pulling his head up to look at him.

“Just take me,” Shane breathed, “take me like the slut I am. For you.”

“Moya khoroshen'kaya shlyushka,” Rozanov returned to Shane’s mouth, purring into it as he planted a sultry kiss, tongue finding root in Shane’s throat as he consumed him. He pulled back, leaving Shane chasing the kiss, desperately, and he whined.

Ilya moved down, sucking at Shane’s shoulder and leaving tiny marks in his wake, as he gripped Shane’s firm waist, planting soft kisses over him. Ilya began stroking at Shane’s wings.

Ilya looked down at Shane’s slick entrance, coating his fingers with the lube that sat next to Shane on the bed. He looked up at Shane, who gasped out, “please,” as he removed his own fingers, wiping them on a towel next to him. Ilya moved, licking around Shane’s hole softly as he slapped Shane’s stomach, and firmly grasped his thick cock— already desperate and leaking for Ilya. Ilya made quick work of unravelling Shane, teasing his hole and cock with his tongue, and fingers, and massaging every inch of his body into oblivion. Shane writhed and whined and panted, as his cock leaked, his body starting to grow taught with his release.

“Need more, please,” Shane begged, as Ilya entered another finger, three fingers now pounded into him as Shane fucked himself on Ilya’s fingers, moving his hips up and down to gather more friction. Shane was vibrating and shaking, his wings twitching uncontrollably as Ilya marvelled at the sight.

“Fuck Ilya. I’m gonna come, fuck,” Shane gritted out as he tug

Ilya looked up at Shane as he ground something out in Russian before returning to Shane’s cock, gobbling him deeply as he swallowed beads of Shane’s pre-come. He could feel Shane’s release tumbling over him, his body vibrated as Ilya felt his stomach tense, as his hips slammed into Ilya, who was taking Shane's cock deep into the back of Ilya’s throat, as Ilya’s fingers relentlessly stroked and curved against Shane’s inner wall. Ilya could feel Shane’s hole clenching around him, as he tumbled over the edge.

Ilya’s cheeks hollowed out, as he sucked the head of Shane’s cock, tasting him spilling onto his tongue as he exploded. Hot ropes ran down the back of Ilya’s throat as he swallowed it up greedily, licking and sucking Shane through it, until he was boneless, covered in sweat and staring at the ceiling, panting and returning to his body.

Minutes passed, as Shane held Ilya, stroking his hand through his thick curls; as he planted a too-gentle kiss on Ilya's forehead.

“I didn’t want it to end so quickly,” Shane said, disappointment wrapping around him.

“Is okay, Hollander. I am not done with you, yet. But I don’t mind if you are tired, we can meet again soon. Was a good show,” he said with a wink.

They each laid there, naked; Rozanov hard as granite and stroking his cock softly, careful not to work himself up too much. He turned to his side, looking intently at Shane, tracing circles around the freckles that lived on his shoulder. He placed a chaste kiss there, admiring the marks Ilya had carved into him.

“I’m still not ready but, maybe we could have a jacuzzi? It’s hot…?” He looked down at Ilya apologetically.

“You have jacuzzi on and we aren’t already fucking in it?”

Shane laughed, playfully pushing Ilya back onto the bed, as he flipped on top of him and kissed him hungrily, straddling him; his entrance brushing up against Ilya’s thick cock.

Shane’s weary cock seemed to forget he had come mere minutes ago and quickly started to work again, twitching in recognition. Ilya caught the twitch as he looked down, he grabbed Shane’s face as he pulled it down to meet his and bit him on the mouth before his tongue licked Shane’s lips, a question. Shane parted for him, as they both groaned, the heat of the room now stifling.

“So greedy for my cock already, Hollander,” Ilya tutted, licking up Shane’s neck as he finished the lick with a kiss on the hinge of his jaw.

“Jacuzzi, first,” Shane said, giggling as he pushed Ilya off him and ran out of the room. Matching his energy, Ilya quickly darted up, chasing Shane as their cocks wildly bobbed around, Ilya’s firm cock hit his belly button as he ran.

“What are you Hollander, fucking 5 years old?” as Ilya caught up with him, Shane’s ass pushed up into him, massaging into Ilya’s cock. Shane's head fell back onto Ilya's shoulder as he grabbed Shane, stroking him softly.

“Fuck Rozanov.”

“You want my cock, pretty Prince? You want it so badly, you are already leaking, fuck Hollander,” Ilya’s accent was heavy, words thick and long and lustrous, as Ilya spat into his hand, gently cupping Shane’s balls, drawing out a gasp from Shane.

Backed up against Ilya’s firm stomach now, Shane’s head leant into Ilya’s shoulder, as he continued to stroke him softly, earning soft moans and pretty gasps from Shane’s plush lips. “I need it, Sir. I need you to fuck me so hard it burns, so hard I can’t remember who I am.”

Ilya removed his hand from Shane’s cock, rubbed it firmly over his belly as he leaned down and whispered, “Get in,” into Shane’s ear. He gave Shane a soft whack on his firm ass in encouragement.

Shane licked his lips as he lowered himself into the jacuzzi, the sting of his entrance deliciously reminding him of Ilya’s fingers pounding into him. Ilya followed him quickly, arms and wings fanning out. Shane noticed he had taken the time to put a condom on, which Shane appreciated.

Ilya surveyed the lush garden around them, admiring the marble and soft lighting; as his muscles relaxed into the hot water. “Fuck, so good. You are living the life, Hollander,” Ilya smiled sardonically, gesturing to the beautiful apartment and gardens beyond. He admired the balcony, festoon lights settled overhead, lighting the men in a soft glow, as flowers and plants bloomed overhead, smelling of Jasmine, weaving over the walls and ceiling, like a forest floor right in Shane’s stupidly modern apartment. The room was completely made of glass, stars twinkled overhead, as snow fell outside, the garden had large specks of white everywhere, as winter was settling in.

“I am lucky, sure.”

“Hmm, you will be luckier when you are bouncing on my cock?” his voice lowered as he moved closer to Shane, making a show of fanning his wings which were now soaked and dripping. Ilya stroked himself under the water, as Shane’s eyes tracked him. He floated over, and placed his hands on Ilya’s taught shoulders as he straddled him. Shane’s thumb traced a circle over Ilya’s cupid’s bow, as Ilya greedily sucked in Shane’s finger, dragging a whimper from him.

“You want me to fuck you?” Ilya whispered, as he placed his firm hands on Shane’s ass, squeezing. “But will anyone be able to see us, Hollander… the glass?”

“I’m not a fucking idiot, no one can see in. It’s completely private. I like to think people can be staring right up here as I’m touching myself and they wouldn’t even know,” Shane confessed, as he smothered a guilty smile.

“You want people to know how good you are, hmm?” Rozanov purred as he massaged Shane’s ass, fingers parting his entrance as he arched, grinding into Ilya’s cock under the water.

“I like to be good, I like the thought of…people watching me,” Shane gasped, swallowing Ilya’s smile with a kiss. Ilya growled in approval, as he took Shane’s mouth into his.

They each stared at each other then, the hot bubbles floating around them, licking their cheeks and wings; loosening and tightening. Shane’s cock was fully hard now, as he gripped the back of Ilta’s neck, he sunk slowly down onto Ilya’s cock. It stretched him, as Shane let out a gasp and an, “Oh god,” adjusting to the intrusion and the sheer thickness of Ilya.

Ilya’s head fell back, as he painstakingly waited for Shane to take more of him. “Fuck, Hollander. So tight for me.”

Ilya almost forgot it was only Shane’s second time having sex. The way they had been so wild for each other was something Ilya had never experienced.

The kind of desperation that tilts your axis and burns onto your skin.

Shane took more of Ilya until he was fully seated, ass gripping Ilya's thick cock as his head rocked back in ecstasy, Shane swallowed a sigh, as his mouth moved to Ilya’s, planting a filthy kiss on his lips as he started moving forward and back, grinding his perineum into Ilya’s balls as his cock curved around deliciously, hitting Shane’s prostate. “Oh my god, there yes Ilya, fuck.”

Ilya let out a loud moan and some garbled Russian, as he looked up at Shane bobbing up and down on his cock, moaning, water splashing around them, the bubbles softening some of the unholy noises coming out of each of them.

Ilya placed a hand around Shane’s throat, softly, as he stroked it with his thumb—their eyes met; as Shane bit his lip as he whispered a desperate, “Please. Harder this time.”

“When my Prince asks nicely, I give him what he wants,” Ilya said, tongue fucking into Shane’s mouth they lost themselves in the heat and their bodies. Shane kept up his pace, grinding against Ilya, his hands rode up Ilya’s ample chest as they grasped at him, massaging over his nipples. Ilya loved his nipples being played with and it seemed Shane was a fast learner.

He bit back, “Bolsche, Hollander. Give me everything.” Ilya gripped Shane by the hips and started hammering into him, unable to withstand one more second of the desperate need that bloomed inside of him, waiting to be unleashed. Shane’s voice became a garbled string of fucks, Rozy’s, Sirs and pleads; Ilya lapped it up happily. He was so close. His hand around Shane’s throat gripped slightly tighter, as Shane’s wings trembled as his hands wrapped behind his head, as he arched, watching Ilya fuck into his hole from above.

“Fuck, so close. I want you to come in me. Please, Rozanov,” Shane begged.

“So hungry for my come, Hollander,” Ilya gritted out, his cock pounding now at a punishing speed, Shane’s hole was stretched and loose now, Ilya knew his climax was approaching as he felt Shane’s ass and thighs gripping around him, milking him, as he let out an unholy roar, “Fuck, I’m coming Hollander.”

“Fuck fuck fuck, fuck Rozanov.”

Shane looked down at Ilya’s wrecked face as he spilled into Shane, with his final relentless thrusts into his hole, wings and hair drenched as they fucked in the moonlight, stars twinkling above them—Shane gripped his cock tightly, pulled it twice and came, as his eyes locked on Ilya. Shane could see his seed spilling around them, bubbling to the surface.

They each lay there for a long time, Shane’s forehead rested on Ilya’s as they listened to each other breathing, as the stars blinked overhead. Ilya wrapped Shane in his arms as Shane kissed Ilya’s forehead, covered in sweat and bubbles.

“I really wish we didn’t have to worry about everything else so much,” Shane said, staring at the glass ceiling.

Ilya hummed, “Me too, Hollander. But we are who we are.”

Shane stared over at Ilya, admiring the droplets pooling at his chest and tangled through his curls. Ilya looked up at Shane, as his freckles looked unfairly beautiful in the dim lighting, accentuating his soft features and round face.

He had already been there for hours and Ilya knew the longer he was there, the more they risked. So he pulled away from Shane, untangling their arms and wings,he retreated to the other side of the jacuzzi; adjusting his face to a casual smirk.

“I should go,” Ilya said simply, tilting his head in question.

“Sure, yeah. Of course,” Shane acknowledged, nodding—the carefree look of a man well fucked was now gone and replaced with that same Shane Hollander tension that he was famous for.

Ilya got up, leaving Shane soaking in the jacuzzi. Shane’s eyes tracked him as he moved around his apartment, gathering his things. Ilya returned outside before lighting a cigarette.

“Smoking is bad for you, you know?” Shane said.

“Oh, is it? I deserve it after today, that fucking asshole Crowell is coming for my job, and your head, apparently. Don’t even get my started on fucking Volkov. He is a piece of shit,” Ilya said, exhaling dramatically, as he shook his head.

“They’re both fucking assholes.”

“Don’t worry, I have some people doing some digging. I think we will find something, soon. By the way, back to Montreal tomorrow. Family coming for Christmas break,” Ilya said casually, shrugging.

Shane looked up at him curiously, as he smiled softly, “I heard nothing. And enjoy the time off.”

Ilya hummed as he stood, slinging his coat over his shoulder as he took a final glance at Shane and to the stars overhead, a few lazy droplets of water still lingered on his feathers. “Okay, I go now, Prince,” Ilya said as he leaned into the jacuzzi to plant a delicate kiss on Shane.

“Goodnight, Hollander.”

Shane just nodded and smiled tightly, watching the man he couldn’t stop thinking about walk back through the private entrance, not knowing when he would get the chance to do this again.

Chapter Text

December 15th 2018

The Palace, Banff, Canada

Shane glanced at his collarbone in the mirror the next day, noticing Ilya’s mark on him again and smiled; as a blush rose to his cheeks.

Shane straightened as he picked a piece of lint off one of his feathers. He brushed his hair back, curling a piece of dark hair so it rested over his forehead, as he applied his lip balm.

Last night had made Shane realise, a little too much, that he had missed Rozanov these past weeks and knew that he probably wouldn’t be seeing him again in person for some time. And not just the sex, Rozanov’s steady and commanding presence. The way that Shane felt like he could let his mask slip, even for a moment.

But, yeah, also the mind-blowing sex.

Fantasies of seeing Rozanov. Of being with him. Of fucking him. They never left Shane, and despite all of his efforts to try and forget him, nothing was working. Shane knew that the way his thoughts were consumed by Rozanov was dangerous, because nothing could come of it; but that didn’t stop his mind from hyperfixating.

His anxiety continued to rise to the surface, as he considered the threat that still hung over them, somehow.

Shane shrugged off the thought, packed up his skincare and took a final glance in the mirror. He wore a dark grey suit with a white lace blouse underneath, a little extra for palace wear, but it was Shane and he liked to show off his style.

He sipped his black coffee on the balcony as he watched the snow fall—thick white powder slowly consuming the palace gardens.

Black cars drove in and out of the carpark, as staff moved around the palace; a living, breathing, shifting entity. Someone was always awake and dealing with some crisis or another, here. He could see his mom speaking with Scott, as he got in his car after Shane’s work-out. She smiled warmly at Scott, as she kissed him on the cheek through his window, waving goodbye.

Shane grimaced, eyes moving to the lake and his cottage in the distance, hoping he would have time to visit soon but knowing it was probably unlikely.

He noticed a glinting next to the jacuzzi in the corner of his eye and leant down to see what it was, maybe some of his jewellery had fallen off the night before. He recognised it immediately, but it wasn’t his. It was the gold cross that Rozanov wore around his neck, the loop that held it to his chain must have broken off.

Shane would have to find a way to get it back to Rozanov.

He knew that Rozanov would probably worry if he couldn’t find it. That’s what he told himself, anyway, as he opened up a new browser and switched to Ingonito mode before typing:

Janeh1221: I found your cross.

He waited for a minute before the three dots appeared.

Wait, did he actually keep his logged in?

Shane didn’t want to know.

LilyR1410: Will find way to get it. Already on jet. Thank you for telling me. Will you come to Montreal?

Shane left the message on read and shut the browser, mind rearranging itself for his day ahead.

A knock on the door indicated Rachel had arrived to discuss his schedule for the day and any events that had occurred overnight that might need his attention, fuck.

He was still holding the cross. He scrambled around quickly, working up a sweat, he knew she would be suspicious if he took too long to get to the door.

Shane ended up stashing it in his coat next to the door, without thinking.

“Good morning, Prince. You look tired, late night?” She said, with a tight smile, walking quickly into his room, as she opened her laptop on the table, scanning the appointments; without waiting for an answer.

“I, ugh, trouble sleeping. That’s all. What have we got?” Shane said, smiling, as he drank his coffee deeply, as Rachel gave him media briefs, summaries of political commentary, and new commitments, and issues that had arisen with Crowell and Volkov on the prowl. With the media giving them the limelight, there were rising concerns about extremist groups coming out of hiding, those that believed that mixed-race Fae should not be royal, and that Low and Mid Fae were at the bottom for a reason.

Ugh.

“What would you suggest, Rachel?” Shane was tired, and sore, as his mind wandered over to the jacuzzi.

He sighed, refocusing, as his eyes locked onto Rachel’s, again.

“We will need to prepare a statement, Prince. And soon. Their social media channels and interviews are garnering support, and quickly. We need to show a united front. And we may need to start considering whether there is a way that we can bar Crowell from being the opposition leader, perhaps on the grounds of discrimination. He is careful with his words, but we could consider framing it as hate speech. Even with my political expertise, navigating the complex relationship with Volkov will be challenging, particularly if he has a Canadian ally like Crowell mustering support. He is a leader, still, and Russia is a part of the Crown, whether they like it or not. I would suggest consulting with your parents and we can work out a peaceful strategy for this, but it is something that as a team, we are all working on and taking very seriously.”

“I will talk to my parents. Thank you, Rachel.”

Rachel left.

Shane continued his pursuit of getting ready, applying cologne, having a chamomile tea to try and calm his nerves, and having his regular protein shake.

He considered how he might get the cross to Ilya but quickly realised it was almost impossible.

With Christmas approaching, Shane knew that Ilya would also be busy with engagements and with his family, while they would have some Zoom meetings, none were scheduled in person.

Shane wouldn’t chance any more casual meetings that couldn’t be played off as necessary.

He was so desperate for Ilya when he had met him at Wolfbird and it was fucking stupid and irresponsible.

Shane didn’t regret it, because it was without a doubt the hottest thing that Shane had ever experienced, not that he had much to compare it to. But it fe

A couple of kisses exchanged with guys at parties or clubs, in the darkness, and hiding. And a couple of encounters with women, where he felt embarrassed about his performance and struggled to follow through.

Shane had started to wonder if he was actually not really even into sex, because even the guys he had hooked up with had never excited him much. Hayden was the only one that had come close but even then, after seeing him at GQ, he knew it was a mistake. It was certainly not enough to consider risking his reputation and being outed as the first gay Prince.

Shane surmised there probably was one in the past, statistically speaking, but none that had been open about it.

His stomach still churned, hoping and praying that no one had seen Ilya enter his rooms through the hole in the wall the night before.

The person who had threatened them was still lurking somewhere. And Shane knew, the money wouldn’t last forever, or they would become greedy. Or both.

It was only a matter of time before something had to give.

December 17th 2018

The Palace, Banff, Canada

The last few days had been uneventful, nothing had changed in terms of their strategy; the public consensus was still largely in favour of the Crown and the Treaty; but there were still factions of political extremists plotting for the downfall of Shane’s family and the democratic peace that was now established through the dissolution of the class system.

Shane skittered around the Palace and began making a conscious effort to get to know his staff. He had heard a few staff members outside the previous night, as he had wandered back from a late night flight. They had been talking about him, and not in the way anyone liked being talked about. Mostly about how he was so distant and dismissive. That he didn’t really seem to notice the staff at all.

It was actually worse than Shane imagined.

He knew that Ilya had been right in his original assessment of him. He was a fucking pompous asshole that never really took the time to give a fuck about anyone under his station. And he meant to rectify that, not for Ilya; but for himself.

Shane began by saying hello in the mornings. He asked how their weeks had been,and made polite conversation about their families, their lives and interests. He felt like he was finally making some headway in acknowledging their hard work and commitment to the Crown.

He knew a lot of them sacrificed holidays with their loved ones, that time off was difficult, and that some of them had chosen to serve the Crown instead of having their own families. Shane felt terrible for never having taken the time to honour this before.

He learnt that the staff that worked in his wing around the clock were Harriet, Natalia, Jason, Henry, and Nicholas. All of them were either Mid or Low Fae prior to the Treaty, because no High Fae would have accepted a position so beneath them. They had all smiled politely back at him, looking pleased he had made the effort; but each seemed uncertain and nervous when they responded.

Shane had already had to have an uncomfortable conversation with his driver, Bill, about his schedule and the importance of him being on time for appointments earlier that month, and worried that talk had happened amongst the staff, making them less eager to be friendly with him.

He was polite about it but had worried that the staff would talk, hoping that his actions today would dampen some of the negative talk about him.

Ilya had left a mark on him. A mark that made him want to try to be more than what others thought. To be more generous, and more kind, and more authentic. He wasn’t ready to publicly or privately admit he was gay, yet; but the thought lingered close to the surface now.

He had dinner scheduled with his parents that night. Shane’s stomach squirmed at the thought. They had been trying to corner him for weeks and this time Shane hadn’t been able to find an excuse to weasel his way out of it this time.

His wings fluttered around him as he landed from an afternoon flight, Scott waiting on the ground to finish his work-out. It was a desperate attempt to release the nervous energy. Shane let his palms heat, the flames rising to the surface, and focused on releasing some of the tension that sat within him, without completely letting go.

“Will you be free sometime over Christmas, Shane? I have a gift I need to give you, if you’ll have it…,” Scott said, a flirtatious smile partnered with it.

“Uhm, I will have to check with Rachel. Maybe we could grab a drink on Christmas eve?”

Scott’s eyes brightened immediately. “Really? Prince Shane Hollander is finally free? Well, let’s fucking go,” Scott said, shaking his head, as he brushed Shane across the shoulder.

Shane looked up at Scott from where he had been bending over to stretch out his hamstrings.

“Uhh, yeah. I will get Rachel to text you the details, okay?” Shane said, trying to remove some of the heat from the conversation.

“Sure, man. I’m excited,” Scott packed up and left with a spring in his step that left Shane feeling entirely uncomfortable.

Shane rolled his eyes to himself, mostly. His anxiety bubbled to the surface as his powers shifted beneath him.

His mother would probably be thrilled.

Shane arrived at his parents chambers, dressed comfortably in a navy sweater and sweat pants.

The obscenely large wooden doors groaned as he knocked the gold door-knocker.

His mom quickly opened, also dressed comfortably in cream cashmere. “Honey, you’re here. So nice to see you outside of all our meetings, for once.”

Yuna gestured for him to come inside, as she grabbed his shoulders, bringing him into a tight hug. Shane noticed his dad sitting on the large green leather Chesterfield sofa, as the fire crackled behind him. He was doing the New York Times crossword, a staple of the Hollander household.

“Shane, 5 letter word for ‘it’s clearly recyclable’... my brain is not cooperating today. The palace finances have been a challenge to say the very least, so my crossword has been suffering,” David said, with a shrug, gesturing for Shane to sit as he handed him a glass of scotch.

“Thanks Dad, ummm. Recyclable…?” Shane peered at the crossword, the first letter was ‘g’.

“Dad, glass. Come on,” Shane said with a grin.

“Oh, now I really feel old,” He said, laughing as he filled in the word, glasses falling down his noses. Shane shook his head in mock disgust, he took a sip of the scotch, burning as it warmed his throat.

Yuna joined them on the sofa with a glass of wine.

“Shane, honey. How are you? I feel like we have all been so busy, we have barely seen each other. We miss you,” Yuna said, grasping at Shane’s shoulders as she smiled.

“I know, mom. It’s been crazy. I barely have time to do anything at the moment, my time is basically all scheduled. Rachel has been working me around the clock.”

“Rachel might be challenging with how she arranges your schedule, but she knows what is important to the Crown. Her family have been with us for hundreds of years, and Rachel, since before you were even born. So, just trust me when I say that Rachel knows what she is doing,” Yuna said, smiling reassuringly at Shane, as she reached for his hand.

“Honey, there is a reason we wanted to talk to you tonight… I know the recent blackmailing was terrifying for you, and for Ilya… and we haven’t had a chance to really talk about it. I mean, I know you just wanted it over and to go away, but… we feel like we have… failed you as parents,” eyes welled in Yuna’s eyes, as David grabbed her hand now, dropping his pencil.

He looked over at Shane now, too, as tears welled in his eyes.

“We love you, Shane. No matter what, you know that, right?”

“Of course, Dad. You guys are being weird,” Shane said, awkwardly looking away but still holding onto his mother’s hand.

“Honey, we just want you to know that we love and support you. Through everything,” Yuna said, moving Shane’s chin back towards her as their eyes met.

“Mom, stop making this into a big deal okay. So, I kissed a guy. I really don’t think we need to even be talking about it?” He shifted uncomfortably.

“No, no. Of course not. It’s just, if you are gay or bisexual or anything in between, we just wanted you to know that we will always support you. I know it may be a little rough with your grandparents, they are quite traditional. But you can let us worry about that. Your father and I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide parts of yourself because of your title. You are still Shane. And you are Shane before you are Prince Shane, or the Heir Apparent. Okay?” tears now swam in Yuna’s eyes, as she brought Shane in for a hug, as David patted her back from behind.

“Mom, Dad, I love you both. But trust me, if I knew what I was…I would have told you.”

“Son, we are here for you. You don’t need to have all the answers. We just wanted you to know. That we love you no matter what,” David said as he cleared his throat awkwardly and slapped Shane on the shoulder with a warm smile.

His mother wiped back her tears with a tissue and she lounged back comfortably on the sofa, feet tucking in underneath her.

“But honey, you know that Scott Hunter is single. He is always bringing you up in our sessions, asking about you, even though he sees you almost every day. I think he might actually have a crush on you,” Yuna said, hope in her eyes as she took a large sip of wine.

“Mom, I don’t have time for a relationship right now. And definitely not one with Scott. He’s my friend and my trainer, there’s nothing more to it than that.”

David looked up from his crossword, again, eyeing Shane seriously. “And what about Ambassador Rozanov?”

“What about him? We haven’t talked privately since…,” Shane trailed off, the lie leaving a sick feeling in his stomach.

“Well, good. Sometimes best to leave well-enough, alone. You know? We just don’t want you getting hurt. And we still don’t know where the leak came from, so Shane, be careful.”

He nodded, trying not to think about how awful it was lying to his parents' faces like this.

After dinner, Shane knew that his powers wouldn’t last much longer without imploding.

He made his way out of the palace gardens, as snow fell overhead. He wrapped his coat tightly around him, pulling his thick scarf around his face to stop the blistering cold from drying out his well-oiled skin.

He trudged through the snow that had been freshly shovelled to clear a path, to the large white stone building that had lay there for a thousand years. He picked some of the winter blooms as he walked, to leave at the temple.

They weren’t religious anymore, some still worshipped the old Gods, his grandparents included; but not Shane. Despite that, he was still a little superstitious when it came to his abilities and wanted to do what he could to protect his family right now.

The doors creaked as he opened them, dust flitted around as he entered. Moonlight shone through the stained glass windows, illuminating a large stone structure in the centre of the room.

He focused his energy and candles lit up around him, on the chandelier overhead, and on the dais. There was no electricity here, just magic from a time that was so far removed from everything Shane knew.

Shane breathed, as he stretched his wings above him, head tilting in concentration.

Fire erupted from within, engulfing Shane, as his shield focused to protect the building from being blackened by his power, he felt the earth shaking beneath him as he drained what was left of his lesser abilities. Finally, Shane touched his hands on the huge white stone that sat before him. A relic from another time, carved with intricate runes; the meaning of them long lost. Shane siphoned his powers into the stone, as it glowed in the moonlight, accepting his gift.

When Shane was fully drained, he was soaked in sweat, waiting for the fire in his bones to subside, as he lay against the snow; panting against the frosty air.

He sat out there a long time, so long his bones felt cold; his fire too drained to help him.

Shane took the long trudge back to his room, collapsing on his bed. He fell asleep and didn’t dream for the first time in weeks.

December 16th 2019

Montreal, Canada

Ilya finished making up the guest rooms, placing towels and some maple-flavoured chocolate strawberries in a bowl on the side-tables of each room. He wanted them to feel welcome and give them a taste of Canadian culture.

They had only visited a handful of times and while Ilya knew it would be difficult, he wanted to try.

His phone rang, as the word Mama appeared on the screen.

Ilya reorganised his thoughts as he picked up the phone, confused. Their flight was not supposed to be arriving until 10pm that night and it was only 9am.

Ilya answered, speaking in fluent Russian; his mother hated English and he knew she would have something to say if he didn’t.

“Mama, is everything okay? Are you ready for airport?”

He quickly did the calculations, the time difference being 7 hours. It was already 4pm there, meaning that they should already be at the airport for their 5pm flight to Montreal.

“Ilyusha, my beloved,” Ilya swallowed, her voice had that high pitch that she sometimes got when she was having an episode. It transported Ilya back to her childhood. Of their late nights baking until their mother couldn’t stand, of her ranting about things that didn’t make sense to Ilya then and still didn’t now, of her being unable to get up for days after, of the songs she would sing on repeat for hours and hours; until it hurt Ilya’s mind.

She had been better. For a while at least. Sometimes this just happened when Mama went off her medication.

Ilya could hear Alexei yelling in the background.

“Mama, give me the fucking phone,” Alexei demanded. Ilya could hear shuffling and arguing back and forth, before his mother handed Alexei the phone. Ilya could hear his mother singing and ranting, yelling profanities she would never say under normal circumstances.

“Alexei, what the fuck is going on. Is Mama okay? Fucking tell me,” Ilya put his hands at the middle of his brow as he closed his eyes, waiting for the impending storm to hit.

“Ilya. Fuck. Mama is not okay, she has not been taking her medication for weeks. I just found them all hidden in a tissue in the cupboard. She was up last night dancing and singing in the street, all the neighbours came out and I had to bundle her up to stop her from freezing to death. But you aren’t even fucking here to help her. Or me. It’s all up to me Ilyshusha, you selfish prick. I thought, maybe it would be okay, she had her pill this morning. So, we got to the airport and mama was removed by security, she started ranting that if they came after her son she would kill them. She screamed at the fucking Police and she was clawing at them, yelling your name and, fuck, we had to run out of there. I don’t know how we even made it, but we just got back here. I’m scared, Ilyusha. I don’t fucking know what to do. We managed to get out, but they have our passports, fuck.”

Alexei sounded terrified, as he spoke quickly, without pausing. Ilya let him, not interrupting until there was a breath of space for Ilya to think.

Ilya clenched his jaw as he exhaled sharply, quickly calculating the steps in his mind.

“Alexei, even though you are a fucking idiot; you are not stupid. You know what will happen now. Mama. You. You are not safe in Russia. The RCA and Police, they will come for you, they will hurt you. They will hurt mama. And I don’t want to hear about you going missing from the fucking neighbours.”

He paused, giving Alexei’s brain the chance to catch up. “Give me five minutes, you are family. I am Canadian citizen now, and you can seek political asylum here, like me. But I need you to decide, because I cannot protect you in Russia. The Crown has such little control over there now with Volkov in power, I cannot help you unless you are here.”

Another pause. “Well? Alexei?”

“Fuck. Yes, okay.”

His mother’s voice still trailed down the back of the phone, shrill with delight and mania. Ilya felt tears welling in his eyes as he pushed them down.

“We will have a team there soon. Hide in the underground shelter and do not answer the door until I text you, Alexei. Okay?”

His stomach tensed as he grabbed out his phone and dialled Queen Yuna.

“Ambassador. To what do I owe the pleasure? You don’t need to reschedule tomorrow, do you? I don’t have a lot of vacancies in my schedule in the lead up to Christmas. So many community events, you know?” Yuna said conversationally.

“Queen Yuna, I am sorry to do this but…” Ilya trailed off, swallowing as his mind caught up to what was happening.

“I need for you to approve my family to seek political asylum here and have it fast-tracked. I would not ask, but, my family… they are unsafe. My mother…she…is not well. She was coming to visit for Christmas, and she was not taking her medication. She had an incident at the airport and threatened Police, she hurt them. And she used my name.”

Even though it was not a secret that they were related to Ilya, they did not have any public communication with him. Ilya had always spoken about how he had left his family behind and that they did not support his beliefs. It had protected them. Until now.

“I know that I can technically approve migration under political asylum grounds myself, but I need your support. I need them to get out safely and I cannot do this. I will need a team, the best. They will come after them, because of me. Because of who I am. They would be coming for them already. And with Volkov in charge, he wants my blood in the water. They will not stand a chance if they stay there.”

Yuna did not argue, or question. She just breathed through it as she calmly asked for full details of the situation. She placed Ilya on speakerphone, mustering in her security detail for a briefing. It took all of five minutes for the briefing, and 15 minutes for the Canadian Democratic Alliance based in the St Petersburg Embassy to get Ilya’s family out and on a plane to their new home in Canada.

It was the last thing that Ilya had expected to happen that day.

Ilya poured a drink and waited. Hours passed, as he sat in silence; thinking of how fucking difficult it would be to get his family to adjust to their new life in Canada.

Ilya’s phone buzzed, a text.

Prince Shane Hollander:

We should meet to discuss the next steps. We need to control the narrative here, Ambassador.

A smile rose to Ilya’s eyes and even though his heart was still racing, he felt a sense of calm seeing Hollander’s name light up on the screen.

Ilya responded immediately.

Yes, will you come to Montreal?

The three dots appeared, as Ilya's eyes focused in anticipation.

Prince Shane Hollander:

I’m already here. We just landed. My security detail are here with me, they think there will be more active threats. They will pick you up in five minutes and bring you to me.

It was now 8:15pm. Shane must have gotten on the Crown helicopter almost immediately after his mother had organised the security detail to whisk his family out of Russia and to the safety of Canada. His mother and brother wouldn’t be arriving for another 12 or so hours, so he had some time to work out a plan for them.

Ilya smiled as he typed his response.

Because despite all the chaos that was the last few hours, he would get to see Hollander. And his family would be safe. That was all that mattered in that moment, as Ilya braced himself for the storm that was about to hit.

Ilya knew that the act of pulling his family from Russia would have bad optics for the Russian government, Volkov would be furious at the mere implication that they would harm his own citizens and that the Crown would intervene.

Crown intervention in other countries was always risky, so they did it sparingly.

The fact that Queen Yuna had barely even considered it, meant everything to Ilya. But, they took the safety of their people seriously; and despite the rumours of people going missing, it was impossible to prove that Volkov and the RCA were behind killing innocent people in the name of keeping their citizens in line.

Because, despite what others thought, optics did matter to Volkov, he would never admit to harming his citizens.

Those that protested or spoke out against the government just conveniently went missing and were never seen again, it was just a coincidence, that was all.

Chapter Text

December 16th 2019
The Safehouse, Montreal, Canada

Shane realised very quickly after his mother told him about Rozanov's mother and brother, that things were going to become more difficult.

Diplomatic tensions were already high and without handling this properly, it would be a shit show.

That's how he ended up standing in one of the homes owned by the Crown in the outskirts of Montreal, waiting for Rozanov's arrival.

It was 9pm when he heard the door click and the sound of muffled footsteps from outside the study. He heard the head of his security detail, James, explaining the security protocols to the Ambassador and asking for him to surrender his phone for the meeting with Shane.

Concerns were rising that their phones may be tapped.

This house was highly secure, with high fences and cameras around the perimeter, so Shane and Rozanov could be alone. Security would be stationed outside the entrances to monitor for threats, but none were actually inside the house.

Shane had explained to his mother that it would be unsafe for Rozanov or his family to stay at Rozanov’s house until they had understood whether this would pose a threat to the relationship between the Crown and Russia.

Yuna had agreed and offered the Royal safehouse for them in the meantime.

The safehouse was large but warm; with 5 bedrooms, a study, and a kitchen that spoke of comfortable meals with family. The colonial style home had a wrap-around verandah and comfortable seating which offered views of a pine forest and large gardens, which were now painted white with snow.

The house was completely private, with its own small access road, so nothing was visible from the street.

A small knock came on the study door, as the fire crackled in the corner. Shane moved to stand in front of the desk, waiting.

“Yes.”

The door swung open and Rozanov walked in, James trailed behind him in a fitted black suit and matching tie, he was in his 50's, but didn't look it; his dark skin barely showed any signs of aging, but his grey hair that sat close to his head gave some hint of his age. He was over 80 years old, but in Fae years; he was still very young.

James had been Shane's head of security for a few years and he trusted him with his life.

James smiled warmly as Rozanov walked inside. Shane noticed his bags by the door. James nodded at Shane. “I will have these taken to the guest wing.”

“Thank you, James. Everything else okay for you guys to be comfortable? The staff house, should have everything you need but please, if you need anything. Let me know. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. We will press the security button if we see anything around the perimeter. We will be guarding every entrance, Prince, Ambassador. You are in safe hands.”

“I know. Thank you, James,” he smiled warmly at James who closed the door behind him.

Rozanov cleared his throat, his hands still stuck in his deep beige coat pockets, as he removed his thick woolen scarf and toque, placing it on a stand next to the door. Underneath, he wore a simple emerald green sweater that did unholy things for his hazel eyes, as he sucked at his bottom lip—drinking Shane in from under his eyelashes.

“Prince. You rescued me…,” He said, with a smirk, now slowly swaggering towards Shane.

Shane’s heart picked up a beat as he retreated.

“Maybe…we should talk? Do you want to sit?” He said weakly.

Rozanov kept approaching, ignoring Shane, as his mouth moved into a smirk.

“Not really, Hollander.”

Shane was backed up against the mahogany desk now, as Rozanov placed both of his huge hands around Shane's jaw, locking eyes with him; searching.

“Thank you. For what you did. For your mother…I would have never seen them again, probably,” Ilya said, so earnestly that it seemed entirely unlike him.

“It was all her. But I was the one who suggested this place. We can't risk your family being targeted at your home when they arrive.”

Shane stared solemnly into Ilya's eyes.

“Your mother, Irina. I heard she is okay on the plane, we have access to the best mental health facilities here. So, she can get the help she needs. If that's what you want,” he said, as Ilya's thumb stroked Shane's cheek as Shane leaned into the touch like he was starved of it.

“Yes. Thank you. I am her Guardian on these matters, Alexei doesn't like to make difficult decisions,” Ilya swallowed, a tear rising to his eye which he pushed down, looking away from Shane.

“Hey, it will be okay. They are safe now.”

Ilya removed his hands from Shane's face and placed them under his muscular thighs, as Ilya lifted him onto the desk in one swift motion, Shane's thighs curled around Ilya's waist.

Shane arched, feeling the hardness in Ilya's pants as he stared up at him, shocked by his brazenness in this situation. Ilya leant down and buried his face into Shane’s neck, inhaling deeply, as Shane’s head fell back, relishing the feel of his calloused hands in his hair. Shane’s wings twitched, as they knocked over several lamps on the desk.

Shane glanced at them and internally cringed, but they weren’t broken; so he ignored them.

He smiled, trying to lift the mood, “Of course, you are hard in light of the mortal danger and political fucking mindfield that we have found ourselves in.”

“What can I say, I am consistent,” Ilya said in barely a whisper, shrugging, a small smirk rose to his lips. He pouted as he stared down at Shane, lifting his chin again. Ilya took Shane’s mouth into his, as he swallowed the gasp Shane made as his tongue massaged softly against his.

The kiss quickly deepened, as Ilya’s fingers dug into Shane’s waist; hard enough to leave a mark. Shane hissed, pulling back for a moment, as his eyes looked to Ilya’s plush lips.

“It’s private here. No cameras. No phones. This room is completely soundproof and connected to my room. Just us and the whole night, all to ourselves,” Shane looked over to the door in the corner, indicating his bedroom; and Ilya’s eyes glanced there, a conspiratorial smile rising to his face, highlighting his dimples.

Shane was breathless and panting already, as he stared up at Ilya, his beautiful mouth now swollen from the remnants of their kiss.

Ilya growled in response, wings grazing the floor behind him, comfortable and exhausted. His eyes were hungry but dark circles sat underneath them as he looked down at Shane.

“I am so tired, today has been… a lot. Words are hard right now. But you make me a little…crazy, ah. Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya gritted out, as Shane pushed into him, grinding against his hard cock. Ilya laughed and pushed Shane’s back so it was flush against the desk, as he consumed Shane’s plush mouth. “You are greedy.”

Ilya pulled back, removing his shirt and sweater as Shane marvelled at him. His firm abdomen and trail of hair leading to his cock that looked like it was close to springing free from Ilya’s pants.

Shane’s hands roved over Ilya’s body, feeling at Ilya’s unfairly firm chest and biceps, he kneaded into them both as he sank into the moment—their breathing the only sound in the room.

Ilya looked at the wooden door nervously, Shane picking up on the question in his eyes.

“It is soundproof, so the security won’t know. I have told them it will likely take us all night to work out the strategy. But, I think we both know that we will be more clear headed after…”

“Hmm, will we? After what exactly, Hollander?” Ilya said, a smile rising to his lips as he breathed into Shane’s neck.

“You know…” Shane said, suddenly embarrassed.

“I do not know, Hollander. You must be explicit, remember,” Ilya purred into Shane, moving back to lock eyes with him. Shane avoided them, choosing to glance at his lips instead, as he braced himself on his elbows now.

“I….uh,” Shane trailed off, his mind emptying, as Ilya had now removed his pants and underwear, his rock hard cock springing free as he started stroking himself, eyes not moving from Shane’s.

“I want you to suck my dick… and then I want you to bend me over this desk and fuck me. Please. Sir,” Shane finished, licking his lips as his eyes moved from Ilya’s cock, to his face, now desperate with hunger for Shane.

“Mmm, well, I guess I do owe you something for saving the day, Prince,” Ilya drawled as he left stroking himself. He pushed Shane back, as Shane’s fingers ran through Ilya’s tangled curls. Ilya let out an exhausted groan, holding nothing back, as he unzipped Shane’s pants and pulled them off of him in two firm pulls. Shane scrambled to remove his shirt, as he panted, looking down at Ilya, whose wings now flared behind him, shaking.

Fuck. Shane inhaled deeply, as his cock was already leaking and ready.

“You are always so ready for me, Hollander, but we don’t need to rush.”

He leaned over to Shane’s mouth, which was open and panting, as he planted a chaste kiss before moving his hand down his firm abdomen, trailing his tongue until he reached his firm cock, now dripping with need.

Ilya licked up the shaft and took the head of his cock in his mouth. His ice rose to the surface and he breathed cool air onto Shane’s delicate orbs, causing Shane to arch into Ilya and pushing his cock deep into his throat.

The noise of Ilya taking him greedily was almost enough to push Shane over the edge.

“Oh my god, fuck, Rozanov. I need this,” Shane ground out, as his arms shook; behind his head now and grazing over his wings.

“Hollander. You taste…so good. Want to make you come with my name on your tongue,” Ilya said, struggling to find any prettier words, as Shane leant over to the drawer and pulled some lube out of it.

Ilya smirked to himself, Shane exposing his intentions.

“Fuck, Rozanov?” Shane whimpered, a question in the name.

“No, Ilya,” he corrected, looking up at Shane at the same time as Shane looked down, eyes meeting. Ilya squirted the lube over his fingers.

“Fuck, Ilya. You are so beautiful.”

The term surprised Ilya but he ignored it. Shane pulled Ilya’s mouth into a kiss as he massaged Ilya’s shoulders and neck, digging into the back of Ilya’s neck, before tugging at his curls. “Please fuck me with your fingers, Ilya.”

Ilya growled and pulled away from Shane’s mouth, moving down to suck at the head of his leaking cock, pushing a finger softly into Shane’s hole until it reached the knuckle, causing Shane to clench around him.

He made a desperate sound as Ilya started moving inside him.

Desperate for more, Shane ground his hips up, pushing his cock further into Ilya’s throat and feeling the tightness around him, as he fucked himself on Ilya’s finger. Shane moaned in response, a loud and appreciative thing. Ilya growled, as he kneaded at Shane’s chest with his other hand, mouth still on Shane’s cock. Shane could feel Ilya everywhere as he panted, and struggled to stay on the surface.

Shane could feel himself getting closer as his body rolled with the currents, wings and arms beginning to shake as his mind emptied. All he could feel was Ilya’s hands braced on him and inside of him, his mouth around him and his curls under his hands. He was being consumed by the man, this beautiful Fae male, watching him worship at his body, in his study; as his security team waited outside.

His thighs clenched around Ilya’s head, feeling his thick curls on them, as he inserted a second finger into Shane, while relentlessly sucking Shane deep into his throat, as he curled his fingers to brush his inner walls. Shane whimpered, as Ilya looked up at him from his ministrations, noticing the flames tucking around his hands, Ilya moved a hand to stifle them, bringing his ice to the surface, a natural response now that Ilya knew what was coming.

Shane looked at the door, suddenly worried that the sound-proofing might not be good enough.

“Fuck, Ilya,” Shane started to shake.

Ilya noticed Shane’s eyes darting toward the door.

“Come for me, Hollander. Come in my mouth, Prince. I want them to hear us, to know I have marked you,” Ilya purred, continuing to pump Shane’s entrance, which was now stretching for Ilya beautifully. Ilya’s accent was heavy on his tongue, the exhaustion of the day now consuming him.

Ilya returned to Shane’s cock, tongue wrapping around the head in a swift motion as sucked in deep, dragging Shane’s cock down his throat.

The wet unholy sound of Ilya’s mouth sucking Shane in deep reverberated around the room.

“Oh my god, fuck Ilya. I’m coming. Ilya.”

Hot bursts of come streamed from his cock and deep into Ilya’s throat, as Shane gripped onto Ilya’s hair, pulling firmly as he continued his relentless sucking and pumping.

He panted through it, as Ilya continued to suck him slowly, until Shane pulled back slightly, oversensitive.

Ilya pulled away, a few spots of come around his plush lips, as he leant over Shane on the desk, firm forearms bracing himself on either side of Shane’s head.

“Do you want to see how you taste my tongue, Prince?” Ilya whispered, his accent wrapped around his words, thicker than Shane had ever heard it.

Shane’s whole body shook, as his wings and arms still had remnants of fire flowing from them. It didn’t bother Ilya, now that he knew it was coming, his ice always pushed it down. The push and pull made it easier for Shane to really let go.

Shane breathed, the mock accent returning now, as he smiled up at Ilya with sex-drunk eyes, “Yes, Ilya. I want.”

Ilya purred in response, the sound of his name of Shane’s tongue overwhelming his too-hard cock, as he leant over Shane.

Ilya parted his mouth slightly and let a trail of saliva fall as Shane opened for him greedily. Shane’s head arched back as he tasted himself, swallowing around Ilya’s saliva and his come. Ilya smiled in delight, as he leaned into Shane’s ear and whispered, “Good boy.”

Shane shivered in response to the praise, gripping Ilya around the neck as he pulled him in for a filthy kiss, kneading at his arms and cock desperately.

“You helped, with your..ice. Thanks. Sometimes I struggle to control it.”

“Is okay. I have the perfect cure,” Ilya said, as Shane tucked a strand of Ilya’s hair behind his ear. Ilya withdrew, shrugging off the moment of intimacy, as he moved off Shane now and over to the leather sofa that sat to the left of the desk, closer to the bedroom entrance.

Shane sat up, cock now soft against his thigh as his body still came down from his release.

“I want… more from you, Ilya. Please.” Shane said, moving over to meet Ilya on the sofa and straddling him.

“Do you now? Hmm,” Ilya responded, as he flipped Shane over so that he was on all fours now, hands, hands braced on the arm of the sofa. Shane pushed his ass into the air as Ilya grunted, pushing the head of his cock around Shane’s hole, massaging him.

“Is okay if you are tired. Is only been a few minutes,” Ilya said with a smirk but hoping that Shane did not take him up on the offer. His rock hard cock would be incredibly sad if that happened, but he knew Shane might not have another round in him tonight.

Ilya stroked his cock desperately, waiting for Shane. He had put on a condom, in case he was up for it. Ilya could see Shane reaching at his cock, massaging now, as he pushed his ass into Ilya, grinding his perineum against him. He let out a gasp, as Ilya folded his body over him, peering at his cock, which was now hardening in Shane’s hand. Shane pushed up onto his knees, rocking back into him, as Ilya pulled Shane’s back into his chest, reaching around to stroke him.

“Hard already, this is a record. We must start keeping track,” Ilya laughed, as he pushed Shane’s back into the sofa, arms bracing the couch again.

“Do you want my cock, Hollander?”

“Fuck. Yes,” and before he could finish the sentence, Ilya entered him. Slowly as first, as Shane stretched around him. Shane gasped, grabbing at Ilya’s firm thighs with one hand, he felt them tensing against him as Ilya’s cock pumped in and out of Shane’s ass now.

Ilya could feel Shane already clenching around him, so tight, so desperate. Ilya pulled Shane’s arm away from his thigh and brought Shane’s other hand to meet it, now holding Shane’s arms behind his back and pushing his chest into the deepest part of the sofa, angling his cock deep into Shane, as he relentlessly fucked him. The sounds of their sex surrounded them, as Shane gasped, Ilya angled his cock to hit the sensitive spot for Shane.

“Oh my god, Ilya.”

The sound of his name on Shane’s tongue again drove Ilya wild, as Shane’s began bucking up against Ilya, begging for more. “You are a slut for me, Hollander. Aren’t you?”

“Ah, fuck, yes. Ilya. I am a slut. Only for you,” Shane said it in desperation and without thinking, and it was too late to go back. Ilya ignored it and just fucked him harder. Ilya’s mouth parted desperately as he released Shane’s hands, flipping him over to face him.

He stared into Shane’s deep brown eyes, as he lined up with him, he placed a hand softly at Shane’s throat as he entered him, sheathing himself fully. Ilya lost himself in Shane, who was now pulling desperately at his arms and chest, whining. His head was thrown back as Ilya approached his orgasm, his firm abdomen tensing as he felt Shane’s hole clench around him desperately, milking him.

“Moya krasivaya shlyushka,” Ilya ground out as he pumped into Shane.

“Ahh, fuck, I’m coming, Ilya. Fuck,” Shane whimpered, as he ground desperately into Ilya, massaging against Ilya’s balls, the thought of Shane coming untouched sent Ilya over the edge.

“Fuck, Hollander,” Ilya pumped him ruthlessly as Shane’s orgasm rocked through him.

“Oh my god, blyat, I’m coming,” Ilya swore, as garbled Russian rose to the surface.

His body collapsed onto Shane’s in a heap, as their scattered breaths and lips mingled together.

Shane and Ilya didn’t speak after that, both weary with the bone-deep exhaustion of the day, fell asleep in one another's arms—forgetting for a moment everything that prevented them from having this.

Chapter Text

December 17th 2019

The Safehouse, Montreal, Canada

Ilya woke with a start, soft morning light peeked through the thick grey curtains.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel outside, as staff shifted around the building waiting for further instructions from the Crown.

He felt the firm length of a body in front of him before it really registered where he was.

Memories of the previous day overwhelmed him. The call from his mother. The manic singing and screaming. Alexei. The rush to get them out.

And the Hollanders. They had fixed it all, like it was nothing. Ilya had hated them growing up, hated what they had stood for. But that had slowly dripped away over the last few months, as he had gotten to know them behind their masks, and understood that they were just following their own set of orders that never sat right with them, either.

Queen Yuna had made everything right when she could, that was what mattered to Ilya.

Blyat. This was a fucking mess.

Ilya glanced at the clock above Hollander’s mahogany desk, 5:45am.

They will be here soon.

His arms were draped around Hollander protectively, breath soft and relaxed; Hollander was still naked and snoring softly against Ilya’s arm, which was still trapped under his head—bodies stuck together, a reminder of the night before.

Hollander’s wings brushed against Ilya’s face and tickled at his body, an intimacy that Ilya had never experienced with anyone else.

Ilya lay there for a moment, breathing him in; not wanting to interrupt the softness of the morning light with the intrusion of reality.

He looked unfairly beautiful and delicate. There was a softness to Hollander now that Ilya had never noticed before.

Hollander’s security detail would be arriving soon to prepare them for his family’s arrival. Ilya’s newly acquired government security had arrived overnight and confirmed with Jacob, they didn’t usually have to work around the clock, because Ilya had not had any real threats for a long time; but now everything had changed.

They were still being so fucking stupid. And risking it all, for what? Ilya shuddered to himself, not wanting to admit that he wouldn’t be risking it all if he didn’t feel something.

But what chance did they have of ever existing in a place that they would be able to embrace one another openly? With their respective careers, histories, and obligations; it felt impossible.

A burden that Ilya did not need right now.

Last night had been the most fucking irresponsible that they had been.

While he usually loved the idea of danger, of the ‘what if’ in a moment, it was one of the reasons Wolfbird enticed him—this was beyond that, their lives were at stake, now. Being with Shane in his office all night, with the whole Crown security stationed around them, risking being seen, or heard.

He had been so fucking stupid. He needed to end this thing. And soon.

Ilya knew he had to contact Zane, his friend and trusted advisor, because the scandal would already be all over the news and they were in crisis mode.

Jacob would be freaking out. He had sent him a brief before arriving at the safehouse, so hoped that was enough for him to start preparing a formal press release about his family’s abrupt arrival.

Ilya shifted, as he tried not to startle Hollander.

In mere hours they would be looking down at the press, with flashing cameras pointing intrusively at their faces, and making official statements, with false smiles plastered over their faces. He would need to answer questions about Volkov, who would be running his disgusting mouth about him and the Hollanders.

Russia was looking for an excuse and now they had one.

The thought of the last part made Ilya sick. A fucking asshole. A dictator. The man who was destroying his country with his sickness and his greed. He fucking hated everything he stood for.

But, sometimes sacrifices had to be made in the name of peace. The thought sat heavily inside of Ilya, a weight he knew that he would have to release; and soon.

He could no longer sit idly by as Volkov destroyed his people. The people who broke their backs keeping his country afloat. The people who were like him, Fae that had fought for their rights, only for them to be dishonoured by Volkov.

He felt Hollander shift slightly, as he looked over his shoulder; remembering Ilya had stayed with him, he smiled with his whole face, as his eyes fluttered, adjusting to the light.

His cheeks grew pink under his freckles as his eyes glanced at Ilya's, then slowly moved down his body.

A moment later, it was gone. Hollander tensed immediately, his eyes darted to the windows where shuffling could be heard and low voices, the whispers of a day about to break.

“Shh, my prince. Is okay,” Ilya said, as Shane's neck arched to look back at him. “Your staff have not come to see you yet. But by the sounds of it, they will soon. I will go to my room now.”

Before he could get up, Shane turned around to face him, cock pressing against Ilya’s firm stomach.

“i wish you didn't have to go, Ilya.”

The name. Blyat.

Ilya had begged for Hollander to use it last night and now it all felt impossible. He felt like something had shifted between them, but despite the way his heart was beating, he was too far away from admitting that, even to himself.

The intimacy of fear, and grief, and sleeping beside one another.

Ilya pulled back slightly, removing his arm from behind Hollander’s head—wings peeling away from where they had been draped over him.

The length of their bodies and wings almost swallowed the couch.

He looked unfairly beautiful, as Ilya's face lingered in the crook of Shane’s neck, breathing in the smell of Jasmine and vanilla.

Ilya brushed his thumb delicately over Shane’s mouth, still pink and swollen, as he moved down to his collarbone, where Ilya had left small red marks blooming on Shane’s skin. He noticed that Shane’s skin was paler now than what it had been a few weeks ago. Shane’s hands moved up to meet his, as he locked their fingers together, as he let the heat rise to the surface and warm Ilya’s too-cool hands.

The delicate way Hollander was touching him scared Ilya. It was too much, too impossible.

He shifted again, clearing his throat as he sat up, leaving Shane naked and laying with his back on the couch.

Ilya did the only thing he knew how to do. He removed the seriousness from the equation and planted a lazy grin on his face as his fingers brushed slow strokes at Shane’s navel.

“Hollander, if you don’t let me go, they might catch you with my dick in your mouth. Is what you want?” He said with a smooth smile, biting his lip in mock invitation.

“Fuck, no,” Shane said, as he quickly sat up looking embarrassed, He stretched his his neck from side to side—sore from fucking and sleeping on a stupidly and impractically uncomfortable sofa.

Ilya grabbed the remnants of his clothes strewn around the room and shifted to the door. Shane quickly peered into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear, before Ilya stepped into the hall and towards the mahogany staircase, artwork of the Crown properties and surrounding gardens strewn along the walls.

And photos of Shane, as a baby, as a teenager, skating, roasting marshmallows, flying, eating ice-cream. The house was comfortable and cozy in a way that felt so unopposing, the complete juxtaposition to the Crown palace.

Ilya smiled to himself as he made his way up the stairs, admiring the beautiful photos of Shane and his family, but lamenting that nothing like this existed for him. A few stiff family portraits of him and Alexei as children, staged with mama and papa.

Never anything with any joy or remnants of their real life. Ilya stretched his wings behind him, shaking out the soreness from the night.

He moved quickly to his suite upstairs, his bag untouched in the corner. Ilya checked his phone and messaged Jacob and Zane. He had several messages from them overnight about the emerging situation, with Zane being exceptionally well versed in media tactics.

Ilya swiped through his phone, navigating to his messages. Too many to count, but he opened the important ones.

Zane: Call me, man. What the fuck is going on? You are all over the news.

Jacob: I have your media brief ready. Both Volkov and Crowell have been all over the conservative news outlets and social media saying that your family received preferential treatment and were not in any real danger. Rachel and I coordinated efforts overnight to ensure you are both prepared. Ring me when you wake up and we will discuss the plan for today.

He quickly typed out brief responses, promising to call them shortly. Ilya had a cigarette, blowing the smoke out the frozen window; hoping an alarm wouldn't start blaring.

Ilya peeled off his suit and showered to clear his head—as he rinsed the suds of his forearns, he touched his cross, a gift from his mother as a child. He prayed to whatever god would listen that they would make it through the day without more shit hitting the fan.

To make matters even worse, their GQ cover was releasing tomorrow; and Ilya knew that would either make or break the perception of the current events.

Shane stood in his office, brushing at his feathers as his staff prepared for the arrival of the Rozanovs. He bristled in anticipation of what he knew was coming.

His anxiety rose, as he bit back the nausea rising in his throat.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, Mom.

“Hey, mom.”

His mask shifted into place, as he forced himself to breath evenly.

“Hi honey, how is the Ambassador? How are you? We are on our way to Montreal for a briefing with the team in a few hours,” It all came out in a string of words that sounded rehearsed but serious.

“He’s fine. I’m doing fine. Rachel has prepared an official statement, she sent it over to you last night. Then we will probably have to do a press conference tonight to get ahead of the allegations of corruption. The Ambassador is concerned that it will look like unnecessary fast-tracking of his family’s Visas.”

“The statement has been released, I’ve emailed you. Nothing to be concerned about, but Crowell is coming in very aggressively about corruption within the Crown and this only fuels the fire. But we will get through it. Are you…behaving yourself?” Yuna said, a small smile in her voice.

Shane could see her raised eyebrows through the phone.

A small knock came on the office door.

“Of course, mom. I’ll have a look at the press release now. I have to go, ‘kay? I think James and Rachel are at the door,” Shane said.

“Bye honey, let me know if there is anything you need from us. We will get through this as a family. Always.”

He hung up and approached the door; rubbing at his temples to try and rid himself of the fast-growing headache, stifling at his powers that again rose to the surface, begging for release.

Shane opened the door, and a tired but alert James stood tall next to Rachel, who held a tight smile, her shoulders hunched around her. Shane knew the stress these situations put on her, no sleep, managing constant crises. Rachel might be tough at times and direct, but she was great at her job.

He was thankful for everything she did for them.

“Good morning guys, come in,” Shane said, gesturing to the couch. He swallowed guilty at the thought of Rozanov from the night before, a blush rising to his cheeks.

James glanced at him, noticing the look; but didn’t comment.

“Prince. Good morning,” James said, sitting on the couch; he was softly speaking through a headset, giving instructions to other security on sight, preparing for the day.

“Shane,” Rachel said, dropping formalities. “I hope you’re ready for today. None of the team have slept but we have prepared your parents as best as we can. Have you had a chance to read the briefing?”

“No, mom just sent it over. Give me a second,” Shane said, running his hand through his dishevelled hair in a vain attempt to tame it.

OFFICIAL BRIEFING/CROWN STATEMENT TO PRESS

The Crown would like to acknowledge the concerns that have arisen within the last 24 hours regarding Ambassador Rozanov’s family being urgently flown to Canada for the purpose of seeking political asylum.

The Crown is aware that Ambassador Rozanov had not had contact with his family for several years, as the safety of his family was of the utmost importance to him.

Ambassador Rozanov contacted Queen Yuna due to concerns raised that his mother and brother were likely going to be prosecuted to the full extent of governmental power for having recent contact with the Ambassador.

The Crown’s stance on these matters is that all Fae have the right to live freely from corruption and be able to speak about political matters without fear of prosecution.

While Russia has always been a trusted part of the Crown, the Crown has been aware over the last several years of growing concerns regarding the safety of marginalised Fae groups, in particular those that do not host abilities. It has come to our attention that there are several organisations that are allegedly operating within the Russian government that call into question the loyalty of the Russian government and the Russian Crown Alliance carrying out the wishes of the Crown in protection of Russian citizens.

With the Treaty being signed to protect Fae, the Crown will be enforcing the safety of all Fae to the full extent of their power.

The Crown takes these allegations very seriously and will be investigating the accusations prior to granting Canadian citizenship to the Rozanov family.

The Crown firmly rejects the circulating rumours that have been raised that Ambassador Rozanov’s family received preferential treatment to be granted temporary Canadian Visas.

The Crown does not insert itself into these matters unless it is necessary to do so and it was assessed that the family would have been at risk should they have stayed in Russia.

The Crown stands firmly alongside the Rozanov family and the Fae of Russia, in ensuring that all Fae have the right to access equitable food, healthcare, housing, and safety, without fear of prosecution or death.

Once the investigation has been concluded, a full briefing will be provided for public release and will be circulated from the official Crown channels.

If you or a loved one is currently at risk, please contact the Canadian embassy in Russia.

Shane knew that there was no getting around the seriousness of the matter. He prayed that whoever had blackmailed him and Rozanov before was not politically motivated.

Because if they were, he knew that video would come back to bite them now.

Ilya stood in the hallway, watching as several black cars pulled into the sweeping driveway.

His conversation with Jacob had been brief. His statement had been issued and after his family arrived, they would release a private filmed statement from Ilya and the Crown about their stance and not address questions directly from the media.

It was a bold move, but they had been transparent.

Ilya had already filmed his statement with the Crown press an hour ago.

“Yesterday morning, it came to my attention that my family was at direct risk of harm following their attempt to travel to Canada to visit me for Christmas. The Russian government's commitment to the Crown has been a rising concern for myself and for the Crown over several years. Due to this, the Crown embassy Police were able to secure the safety of my family, who have now arrived safely in Canada. Prior to this time, my family had avoided the gaze of the Russian Crown Alliance, a known corruption existing within the Russian government and many of you would be well aware of this as I have been a vocal activist against corruption, which earned me political asylum when I was still a teenager. I was informed that shortly after our team was able to extract my family, a team of unauthorised government agents arrived at my family home in Russia in an attempt to arrest them. As you would be well aware, as the Ambassador to Fae; we must fight corruption at all levels and stand alongside Fae that are unable to remain safe in their home countries. I deny any accusation that their Visa was fast-tracked, any family that is in this position is encouraged to contact the Canadian embassy in Russia and we will ensure you have safe-passage to Canada. Thank you for your time.”

Volkov sat across from a political interviewer. His face plastered in a scowl, cheeks purple, as his too-tight grey suit bulged at the seams of his thighs and waist. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he spoke vehemently, a familiar aggression and lilt in his voice that reminded Ilya of his father.

“As President of Russia, I firmly deny allegations of corruption. It is the purpose of the Ambassador to ensure equality and peace, not muster support and preferential treatment for his family when none is needed. There is no Russian conspiracy, Russian Fae are as safe today as they have ever been,” the man was red in the face as he spat into the microphone, the red turning more purple over the minutes.

“President, there are several underground news outlets from Russia that I have personally viewed footage from which indicate there is significant censorship for all citizens and preferential treatment to those that would be considered “High Fae” prior to the Treaty. There is footage of Fae men, women, and children, starving and being denied medical care. There is footage of Fae being arrested for posting opinion pieces on social media and for being in same-sex relationships. How do you respond to these allegations?”

“These are disgusting and vile accusations. We support all Fae equally and deny any allegation that suggests otherwise. Russia has always been a firm supporter of the Crown but it is now clear that the loyalty we have shown is not reciprocated. We will be considering whether it is in the best interest of Russia to remain a part of this aristocracy when it is no longer benefiting the people of Russia and their safety,” Volkov shifted in his seat, purple now; hands clasped in his lap, thumbs aggressively rocking back and forth, leaving marks on his hands.

The interview continued like this for over an hour. Ilya only kept it on because he knew he had to, but listening to it made him sick to his stomach.

A knock at the office door that adjoined his suite pulled Ilya away from the screen, as his head jerked to the door. He quickly turned off the broadcast, swiping his hand through his hair, before standing.

His family must be here. Ilya was tired. He hoped his mother was okay.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open, and behind it stood a teary and beautiful blonde woman; stray curls flaring around her face. Her white wings fanned out behind her, dragging on the floor. Ilya noticed they were somewhat dishevelled. Alexei stood stoically behind her, a steadying hand on the small of her back, his dark brown wings pointed up; as his head dipped in greeting.

Ilya took two strides to get to her, “Mama,” as he wrapped her into his arms. Her head folded into the crook of his neck, because while Ilya was tall, so was his mother.

Ilya peered up at Alexei from behind his lashes, a question in his eyes. He nodded and mouthed, “She is okay,” in Russian, before taking a step back to give them some space.

“Mama, ya tebya lyublyu. You scared me,” Ilya said, tears now welling in his eyes, as he refused to let go. He grabbed her by her shoulders, pulling her back to look into her eyes. Tear-stricken, but focused.

She spoke in Russian now, having never been fond of English.

“Ilya, I am sorry. I made a mistake,” she wept, refusing to wipe her eyes. Her hair was wild, Ilya stroked his hand through it; taming it but offering the affection he knew would help her to stay with him.

“Shh, mama, is okay. You are safe now, you are safe now, with me. With Alexei,” Ilya responded, he gestured for Alexei to come to them; as they all embraced. It was awkward hugging Alexei like this, but he knew it would ground his mother. Affection was one of the only things that ever did. Not words, but a gentle hand on her shoulder, a firm hug from her son, or a pinch of her cheek.

“She took medication on the flight to calm her, it will be a few weeks, the Crown doctor said; but as long as she continues, she should be stable again soon. We are trialling some new medication that was not available in Russia. Mama agreed,” he nodded solemnly, looking over to his mother and took her hand in his.

She smiled ever so slightly, “Thank you for taking care of us, my beloved.”

“I am glad you are here. I have missed you,” Ilya said simply, gesturing for them to sit down.

Jacob moved into the room, offering them both a cup of tea.

“I will show you both to your rooms when you are ready. Irina, we have the psychiatrist on call for you and a psychologist who will be coming in tomorrow to meet with you; we are hopeful it will be a good fit. She is Russian and an expert in her field,” Jacob said, eyes moving between them reassuringly.

“Thank you, Jacob. I don’t deserve you,” Ilya said, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. Irina just nodded, still shaking slightly; but her hands were grasped in each of her sons' hands as they sat on the sofa.

Jacob smiled warmly as he looked between Ilya, Irina and Alexei.

“Yes, you do,” he said simply, before he walked out and closed the door softly behind him.

Ilya felt so grateful in that moment, with his family sitting safely beside him.

Ilya knew in his heart that something was missing from this perfect picture.

The man he couldn't stop thinking about. Hollander's stupidly beautiful face. His glorious freckles, and perfect ass. The way his eyes lit up when Ilya teased him or made a stupid joke. His pink cheeks in the moonlight as he had straddled Ilya, claiming him.

But, despite the way he couldn’t shake Shane—the mere thought of needing more from him swallowed Ilya whole.

Chapter Text

The following days passed much as Ilya expected them to. This wasn’t his first crisis, his life had been full of them.

Ilya was used to challenging political and personal circumstances, but that didn’t mean that he was immune to the feeling of being completely touched out and fucking drained.

His days were filled with interviews, court visits, dodging the paparazzi, and trying to keep his location under wraps.

Their GQ magazine covers had finally been released and Ilya and Hollander looked very hot. The interviews were fun and interesting and were approved by their mutual teams; so there were no surprises.

Ilya’s media training had long been considered one of his most influential assets and it didn’t surprise him that this was incredibly popular with the masses. He had been sure to be funny, but not smug, interesting, but not overly intellectual, and cocky, but still a little endearing. A personal brand was important, especially in politics. Ilya had learnt this from a young age.

But seeing him and Hollander in the shoot, the way they had looked at each other; even if on the surface it appeared innocent, he was surprised that had seen through the facade. In one of the photos, it really looked as if Shane was staring at Ilya’s lips.

He bit back a smug grin as he flicked through the rest of the article.

Images by GQ resident photographer Hayden Pike - was sprawled under all of the photographs, gently niggling at Ilya about his short term fling.

Mine. Ilya thought to himself, possessively.

Unfortunately for Ilya, it was just another excuse to ruminate on the beauty that was Prince Shane fucking Hollander.

Everyone had messaged him complimenting the article and photoshoot, from all of the Justices, friends from his childhood, family he hadn’t spoken to in years, many very famous celebrities, and he also had a few dms from very sexy people propositioning him.

Despite the insanity of the last few days, social media had gone fucking wild for them. He had seen more than a few comments under photos of him and Hollander, most commenting on how hot they looked.

@yourcallharriet OMG these guys are just too beautiful. Am I the only one shipping them??

@bbifiwereyou jfc the money I would pay to be eiffel towered by these men FUCKKKKK

The last one cracked a huge smile on Ilya’s face as he audibly laughed out loud. There were thousands of likes on these comments, too. He spent too long scrolling through them, his hand hovering over the heart button of several comments complimenting Hollander before quickly drawing back.

Fabian had sent several lovely (if somewhat flirtatious) comments and Wyatt had made a few cheesy but sweet comments. Several other magazines had reached out to him with offers, which he politely ignored and redirected to his management to consider for another time.

Seeing Hollander on his cover of the magazine in the silk shirt had reminded him of the way he had stared at himself in the mirror as Ilya touched him, his glasses fogging up as they fell down his nose—head falling back as he came into Ilya’s hand.

Ilya licked his lips, pushing down his growing erection.

Fuck.

It all felt so surreal and stupid now, as Ilya sat in his Montreal office. He had returned to Montreal yesterday, after security protocols were downgraded, it looked like Volkov and Crowell were not physically threatening them, for now anyway.

Queen Yuna and King Consort David were doing their absolute best to avoid an all-out-war with Russia and were currently in very strained peace talks. It didn’t help that since the Crown statement was released about political asylum, that Canada had received an overwhelming amount of requests that their community legal team were working through.

Ilya flicked through the magazine to Hollander’s spread again; he felt like he’d done this so many times he could memorise the constellations of Hollander’s face as he stared down at the camera, hands in his pocket—his glasses perched on the edge of his nose.

The black and white captured his suave innocence perfectly. For someone who was awkward as fuck in most interactions, Hollander certainly had a way of working the camera.

Ilya spent the last several days wondering how the fuck he was going to try and erase Hollander from his mind, but also flicking back to his favourite photo in the magazine, page 81.

It was a collage of four of the most beautiful photos of Hollander, each of them burned into Ilya’s eyeballs, but not quite enough that he didn’t need another look.

Ilya’s thoughts wandered desperately, as he touched himself far too many times to photos of Shane.

Maybe he would call Svetlana or try and hook up with someone, anyone, else—he didn’t think it would work but a little fucking never hurt anyone. It had always been Ilya’s go-to escape mechanism, since he was 14 years old.

Svetlana was the first and while he had not seen her for many years after he moved to Canada, she had eventually made her way to safer ground as well. She had been a good friend to Ilya since they had reunited and had never expected more than what Ilya was willing to give, which honestly, was not very much.

Ilya got out his phone and sent several lazy texts to potential candidates, knowing that someone would bite. Svetlana texted back first.

Sveta: Oh, so you want me again now, are you? I thought we were firmly in the ‘casual friend who complains about their life’ zone, Ilyusha? ;)

Ilya quickly texted back, Hey, you know me. I’m lazy. Except where it matters most ;)

They arranged to meet at her apartment that night and Ilya knew it was stupid but that with Sveta, things were casual and she wouldn’t expect anything more from him.

Ilya really needed to stop fucking his colleagues.

Ilya had managed to find a town house for his mother and Alexei, it was close to him but not so close that he would feel them looming. His mother was doing well with the Crown specialists and seemed hopeful for the future, despite being thrust into a world that she didn't understand.

The last few days had gone smoothly for his family, Ilya and Alexei were quietly hopeful about the medication and intensive therapy actually making a difference. Because in Russia, most of this was never possible for her.

Ilya had made time that he didn’t have for dinner with his family; they even went on a few morning flights flanked by several security guards.

Ilya had to admit that the feeling of having them so close made him feel more at peace than he had in a long time, despite the fear that bubbled beneath the surface.

Hollander had returned to the Palace the day after his family arrived. His mother had refused to meet them, and Ilya couldn't argue with her reasoning. The Crown had never done anything to support the people of Russia, because despite the rumours about the corruption in Russia; the Crown ignored them. And now it had come to a head.

Ilya recalled how disappointed Hollander was that he didn’t get to meet Ilya’s family, but he didn’t say anything. He just plastered a princely smile on his face and thanked Ilya for everything, shifting away from him awkwardly.

Before leaving, Hollander had turned back and placed his shoulder on the doorframe, as he had leant into it and crossed his arms. He reached into his navy coat-pocket and produced llya’s crucifix. He had discreetly handed it to Ilya, as their fingers brushed ever so slightly—a charge rocking through Ilya as his eyes narrowed in question.

Ilya had just smiled and said, “Thank you for keeping it safe for me.”

Shane’s eyes looked like glass as he was whisked into their royal helicopter, watching as Ilya’s curls fanned around his face, his regal wings pointed up to the sky as his feathers became more dishevelled by the minute.

He squinted up at the man he couldn’t forget, knowing that he would have to find the moment to end it with Hollander.

It hurt him to even admit that to himself, but it was for the best. Hollander seemed to be catching feelings for Ilya and he knew it wouldn’t be good for either of them. It hurt Ilya even more after he had noticed how much effort Hollander had been putting in to get to know the Fae who worked for him, Fae that had broken their backs to defend the honour of the royal family, despite never having their respect.

Ilya wondered if some of the effort was to prove something to him. But he hoped that Hollander was doing it for himself, because his people deserved it.

Ilya started to realise how soft he had become for Shane.

His thoughts often found themselves ruminating on something Hollander had done, usually just a small mannerism, like the way his hands shook when he was nervous, or his eyes darted around; searching for the answer.

The truth was, Ilya found most things that Hollander did very annoying but also extremely earnest and delightful. It had been difficult for Ilya to focus, because the truth was; he knew he had made a mistake in telling Hollander they could only be casual.

Despite the impossibility of it all, Ilya couldn’t picture a life where he couldn’t have Hollander. Even if it was just this. The secret stares, the longing looks, the heated kisses and touches when they were a moment away from being caught.

There was no option of just forgetting they had happened, Ilya was too far gone for that.

There were only two options, break it off and just live with the heartache, or just be honest about his feelings. The second option felt very unappealing for Ilya, so he filed that one away in the not going to happen category.

Ilya had had the day from hell and had to get in the mood to see Sveta, now.

Ilya walked to the kitchen, grabbed a Coke from the fridge, and walked to his deep sofa, sinking into it luxuriously, before turning on the TV.

Fucking Crowell. He was talking about Ilya again and how he was underqualified for the Ambassadorship. He also made several comments alluding to boundary issues between the Crown and the Ambassador.

If only he fucking knew the truth. We would be so fucked.

Ilya felt icy rage bubble to the surface; this wasn’t the first time in recent weeks that Ilya had noticed this. His power seemed to be growing, somehow.

When he had been with Hollander, his powers felt manageable, like they were bubbling beneath the surface comfortably; but he didn’t know why this was and Shane still kept his powers under wraps.

Ilya had read about Fae that could help to contain or amplify the powers of others, but had never met one. It was extremely rare, but the more time he spent with Hollander; the more he thought it could be a real possibility.

His powers were usually minimal but since hooking up with Hollander, he had felt the surge inside himself growing. Ilya spent several minutes sipping his coke and wondering if this was possible, before his phone rang.

He spent the next hour coming up with a new strategy with Jacob for the roll-out of the new healthcare system.

His night with Sveta ended as expected, with comfort, and chocolate, and laughter, and Ilya still being unable to shake the thought of Shane fucking Hollander.

With Christmas approaching, and his ‘date’ with Scott; Shane felt like he was going to explode. Being around so many people was not good for Shane, because it meant that his powers which he kept under tight wraps became more difficult to manage.

He quietly cancelled his regular gym sessions, he felt weird about them now knowing that Scott was probably trying to fuck him.

He was back at the palace and still had found no time to visit his cottage. But he desperately needed some alone time.

Shane was hopeful that the Christmas break would also be a break for him, because his mask was slipping away and he fucking hated that.

Shane had spent several hours at the palace temple when he returned from the safehouse, siphoning his power and trying to give himself some reprieve.

Being around all of these people was really wearing Shane down. But, despite hating having to plaster on a smile, he knew that his duties were more important than anything; even his own happiness.

The Hollanders had decided, much to the chagrin of his grandparents, that all of the staff would have five days off. They were perfectly capable of cooking and cleaning for themselves for a few days. Shane was ecstatic about the thought of privacy, of not having to put on a face, and a smile; and the urge to control his body language could quietly slink away.

He had avoided thinking about Rozanov, about Ilya.

But his brain just kept bringing him up. It was really fucking annoying, but unfortunately also very fucking hot, to say the least. And it really didn’t help that his mom had kept bringing up Scott in every conversation, hopeful that Shane would move away from lusting after someone that was completely unavailable for him.

To make matters worse, Shane was sent several copies of their GQ issue and now Ilya’s piercing hazel eyes were staring at him from his mantlepiece as the fire blazed below.

Shane definitely did not touch himself to the photos of Ilya, accidentally ruining one of the magazines and having to destroy the evidence in the fire.

The deep frost of winter had overtaken the palace now, fires blazing in every room and curtains drawn to rule out the frost.

His powers prickled beneath the surface, needing release that Shane would have to deal with, again.

The gardens were overtaken by thick snow, which meant that board games were a staple of the Hollander household, which was one of Shane’s favourite things about this time of year.

Board games made sense to him. There were rules and strategies and pieces and there was no nuance. Shane understood games and had loved playing them since he was a little kid. His favourite was always Monopoly, which ironic, he knew, given he was a fucking Prince.

Being back at the Palace meant Shane could almost forget that they were the Crown family, because things felt so normal, the staff gone, quiet laughter coming from his parents room, as they kept their doors open, no fear of someone overhearing their casual conversations.

Shane wished that it could always be like this, but they had never really been a normal family, and he knew they never would be.

He pulled out his phone, screening another few messages from Scott before sighing into his sofa and scrolling to incognito mode, he just wanted to feel him through the phone, if nothing else.

It doesn’t have to mean anything, Shane convinced himself before typing out a message.

Janeh1410: When can I see you again?

LilyR1221: I was just thinking about you.

Janeh1410: Some of the comments on the magazine. Lmao

LilyR1221: Well, you know they are not wrong

In that moment, Shane decided to do something that he had never done before and was incredibly fucking stupid.

Janeh1410: Can I call you? I want to see you. Please.

LilyR1221: We should not. But I want that too. Only if you wear your glasses ;)

A beat passed, Shane’s phone vibrating as the name Ambassador Rozanov appeared on the screen. He quickly fumbled to his side table and grabbed his glasses before he slid them up his nose.

“Hey,” Shane answered, his breath shaking with nerves.

“There you are,” Ilya said, the softest smile Shane had ever seen planted on his face; one that seemed to be reserved only for him. He was shirtless, the arches of his trapezius muscles and wings peeking behind him, making Shane’s mouth part slightly.

“Fuck. You are so hot, Ilya. I just…when I’m not with you, I can’t think about anything else. It’s insane.”

Shane no longer felt embarrassed to just admit what was so glaringly obvious to the both of them. He was scared, yes, but there was no more pretending that late night clandestine hook-ups would be enough.

He wanted to test the waters and see where it would take him, even if it was scary.

“You in those glasses Shane, fuck. You take my breath away,” Ilya said, sitting down on his couch and repositioning his phone so that it was propped up on something so that Ilya’s body was now fully visible.

Shane could see his firm cock underneath his Adidas sweatpants.

Fucking hell.

His mind emptied, knowing he would do anything to have his mouth or his ass around Ilya’s cock, stretching him deliciously as he moaned his name. Feeling his firm body, smelling his sweat and come and brushing his fingers through his beautiful fucking hair.

“I want you, fuck. I wish you were here,” Shane replied, also repositioning himself to give Ilya a better view. He removed his white t-shirt, shifting on his bed, propping his phone up on his nightstand and moving it so that there was a clear view of Shane on the bed, his wings taking up an unfair amount of space as Ilya stared at him longingly.

“I wish I could push you down and fuck you so hard that you would feel it for days, Shane.”

Ilya had pulled out his cock and was stroking it now, looking down at Shane through his phone.

“What if…” Shane trailed off breathlessly, also pulling his cock out and stroking himself, his thumb stroking the head and twisting,“we could.”

“Shut up, Hollander. It is too far. But this…is enough for now.”

Shane made a split second decision that he knew he shouldn’t, but his powers needed draining and he needed to be with this man, whatever it took.

Shane accepted that he was a fucking goner for Ilya and that he was desperate enough to reveal himself to him, fuck the consequences.

Shane’s head tilted back as he stroked himself, before giving up and returning to pick up the phone.

“What the fuck, Hollander? I was just getting started. Want to see you,” Ilya rumbled, looking pissed and flailing his hands about the way that he did.

Shane quickly grabbed his phone, pocketing it, before donning his t-shirt; while Ilya waited in confusion.

“Hang on,” Shane said simply, before his wings fanned out behind him; glowing iridescently in the soft light of Shane’s room.

Ilya looked puzzled, before Shane disappeared from the screen.

Here goes nothing.

Ilya heard a soft rustling behind him, as he turned around in his kitchen to find a very pink and beautiful Shane Hollander, looking sheepish.

“There are a few things I might need to tell you, Ilya.”

And despite the raging confusion in Ilya's mind, he pounced; wrapping Shane in his arms and encircling him, hands on his hair and neck and face, and body, taking his mouth in his—before pulling back and staring at Shane in wide-eyed confusion, both of them panting softly as they stood in Ilya's home in Montreal. 

Ilya didn't know where this was going, but sure are hell was fucking delighted to have this man there with him.

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