Oliver definitely didn't know what he was doing.

Ian carried the room key card, and Oliver followed reluctantly, his heart pounding in his chest. Ian seemed more sober now, but his steps still occasionally wavered.

The beep of the door echoed in the silent hallway. Ian held the door open for Oliver, who hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. The luxury of the room enveloped them immediately — golden and cream tones on the walls, a majestic four-poster bed in the center. He had never set foot in there before.

Ian closed the door softly, his steps echoing on the marble floor. Oliver remained with his back turned, unsure of how to act or what to say. It was Ian who broke the silence, his voice carrying a familiarity that made Oliver shiver.

"I wish I could offer you a drink."

His naturally seductive voice made Oliver close his eyes for a moment as he walked to the large windows, partially hidden by silk curtains.

"I think you've had enough to drink," Oliver replied, trying to keep his tone casual.

Ian's soft laugh filled the air, a light, effervescent sound bubbling from his throat.

"You haven't," Ian noted, keeping a generous distance.

Oliver finally turned to face him.

Ian had discarded his jacket, and the top buttons of his black shirt were undone, revealing a glimpse of the tanned skin that Oliver had missed so much.

"I didn't plan this part very well," Ian admitted, his nervousness evident in his slightly hunched posture and the slight sway of his body back and forth.

"This whole day was unplanned," Oliver observed with a restrained voice, swallowing repeatedly.

A seriousness took over Ian's expression as his eyes traveled over Oliver's body, finally meeting his gaze.

"I didn't get a chance to say that you look very attractive with your hair longer. It suits you," he added with an almost innocent sincerity, but Oliver's heart raced as he searched for a suitable response, absorbing the compliment.

"I don't know how to react to that," Oliver replied, feeling a familiar wave of pleasurable embarrassment bubbling within him — the shame of being appreciated, yet delighting in it at the same time.

"Just learn how to accept a compliment," Ian teased, a rare serenity in his amber eyes, his words evoking a vivid memory.

Oliver felt his body warm with the memory.

Even from a distance, Oliver could feel the heat emanating from Ian's body like a magnet, a gravitational pull that irresistibly drew him closer. Every breath brought with it an intoxicating fragrance that rekindled physical memories of bodies united in perfect harmony, ravenous kisses that set their souls on fire, warm glances like the one Ian was offering him at that moment.

When Ian displayed a shy smile, revealing adorable dimples, Oliver felt his entire world melt into surrender.

"Thank you," he managed to say, taking a hesitant step forward. A simple gesture, yet capable of calming his deepest anxieties like a gentle caress. Oliver looked at Ian and, for the first time in a long time, saw him stripped of all the layers he used to protect himself. The image of the powerful and ruthless man of yore gave way to a vulnerable being, with eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and something deeper, something almost inaudible but visceral. "It seems the drink has impaired your flirting skills," Oliver teased, his voice huskier than he intended.

Ian took a step forward, the distance between them shrinking. His eyes were now two open windows, revealing a hesitant tenderness that immediately ensnared Oliver. Ian's soft voice cut through the silence like a sweet melody.

"I'm not flirting with you. We're past that." The words, so clearly untrue, only heightened the tension between them.

Oliver raised an eyebrow, feeling an unexpected surge of courage. "Are you saying you don't need to try with me?"

Both of them knew that fighting this was futile. In the isolation of a hotel room, far from the whims of royalty, repressing desires became unbearable.

Oliver saw Ian's hesitation, but he also noticed the indomitable determination behind his eyes.

With each step Ian took, the space between them seemed to stretch.

"No," Ian said, with a frankness that disarmed Oliver. "I'm saying that at this point we just need to be honest with each other."

Every movement seemed to happen in slow motion, highlighting every detail of Ian under Oliver's gaze — the thick lashes like silk threads, the full beard accentuating his masculine features, the perfect waves framing his face.

"You seem so... confident," Oliver whispered, his voice coming out as a trembling sigh, almost inaudible.

Ian let out a low, melodious laugh, biting his lower lip in a gesture that made Oliver's stomach do a somersault.

"Appearances can be deceiving," Ian confessed, his deep voice reverberating in the space between them. "I'm trembling inside."

Oliver felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips.

"Well, it makes two of us," he admitted, taking a step forward. The tip of his shoe lightly brushed against Ian's, sending invisible sparks through his skin. "It's been... an eternity since I've been this close to someone."

Ian nodded, an almost imperceptible movement. His eyes shone with understanding and something more, something that made Oliver's stomach twist with anticipation.

"Are you sure you're not too drunk?" Oliver's tone mixed concern and desire. His eyes closed for a moment, as if trying to compose himself. "I don't want to be judged for what I'm about to do."

Oliver leaned forward, millimeter by agonizing millimeter. Every nerve in his body seemed to be on high alert, hypersensitive to the slightest movement. Ian's fingers rested on his forearms, light as feathers but hot as embers.

Ian smiled, and his breath caressed Oliver's face, an intoxicating mix of gin, mint, and something uniquely Ian.

"You have my explicit and enthusiastic consent," Ian murmured, his voice deep and intimate, so close that Oliver could feel the warmth of his words.

And then, finally, their lips met.

The initial spark was subtle, but so electrifying that Oliver felt his internal walls disintegrating. Ian's hands, large and soft, pulled him closer, eliminating any remaining space between them.

Oliver buried his fingers in Ian's hair, both of them exhaling deeply, adjusting, reclaiming their places again.

Kissing Ian was exactly as Oliver remembered, but the intensity took on a new flavor, matured by the years and changes. Ian's woody perfume and the citrusy essence of his shampoo now carried deeper, more mature notes that made Oliver's head spin.

Ian guided Oliver towards the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world. However, when Oliver's legs touched the edge of the mattress, Ian stopped, his eyes shining with an intensity that rivaled the stars outside.

"This is surreal," Ian whispered against Oliver's lips, his mischievous smile spreading.

"What?"

"You are the fucking king," Ian replied, his fingers gently tracing Oliver's jawline.

Oliver had never felt majestic.

He didn't see himself as anything beyond the sensitive boy fleeing the spotlight. But the way Ian looked at him, as if he were the most precious thing in the universe, made his chest expand with a sense of belonging.

"I don't see myself as a king," he confessed in a playful whisper that failed to sound like a reprimand. "Otherwise, I would have ordered you to stop torturing me like this."

"I feel like an 18th-century courtesan," Ian joked, moving his face from side to side at an agonizingly slow pace.

"Then act like one," Oliver replied with a long, involuntary sigh, trying to find within himself the self-control needed to resist the shy contact of Ian's lower lip against his.

"You may be the king," Ian murmured, his voice becoming a seductive whisper. His lips traced a path across Oliver's face, stopping millimeters from his temple. Gently, Ian brushed a strand of hair away, ensuring nothing stood between his voice and Oliver's attentive ear. "But I'm still in charge here, Your Majesty."

Ian's words hit Oliver like a wave of heat, igniting every nerve in his body.

Unable to articulate a response, Oliver looked up, diving into the deep brown of Ian's gaze. His hands, trembling with anticipation, slid down Ian's defined abdomen, resting hesitantly on his waist.

In that moment, Oliver allowed himself to savor the feeling of Ian's warm skin under his fingers for the first time in so long.

It was the end of any resistance.

Before Oliver could form any coherent thoughts, Ian guided Oliver to the bed.

Ian held Oliver firmly by the hips, positioning him carefully where he wanted him.

Ian's hands framed him, resting beside his face, as he approached with deliberate slowness that drove Oliver to the brink of madness. Oliver, in turn, grabbed Ian by the nape of his neck with one hand, while the other, still fixed on the side of his sweater, pulled him down urgently.

Oliver held his breath as Ian descended over his body, punctuating each inch of newly exposed skin with a kiss, until the heat of his lips enveloped him. It was familiar and new at the same time, like rediscovering a long-forgotten pleasure.

Ian's skill was remarkable, each precise movement awakening intense sensations in Oliver.

"Have you been practicing?" The question escaped Oliver's lips, half as a joke, half as a provocation.

The smile that formed at the corner of Ian's lips prompted Oliver to touch them with his fingertips, running through the thick strands of his beard over the prominence of his chin.

"Who said I needed practice?" Ian teased, his deep, husky voice sending shivers down Oliver's spine with each word. "Are you surprised?" He challenged Oliver, his demeanor pushing Oliver closer to the edge of his sanity.

With the skill of an expert, Ian worked wonders with his lips, his methodical tortures eliciting sweet sighs from Oliver's lungs.

Oliver clung to the last threads of lucidity, struggling not to succumb completely to the ecstasy erupting within him.

"I'm not surprised," Oliver confessed between gasps, the excitement taking over him. "You've always been good at this, but you've definitely perfected your technique."

"Maybe I have a natural talent," Ian lifted his eyes, his intense gaze holding Oliver captive. "Keep looking at me," he requested softly.

Oliver obeyed, hypnotized by the sight of Ian.

There was something almost sacred in the way Ian devoted himself to him, as if each touch was a silent declaration of devotion. Oliver found himself on the brink, struggling to maintain control.

"If you keep going like this, you're going to make me—" Oliver tried to mutter, but Ian didn't allow it.

"Yeah?" He interrupted, a playful smile fueling Oliver's fire. Almost breathless, Oliver cradled Ian's face, watching his lips plant kisses wherever they could reach. Ian was completely different. There was a vibrant confidence emanating from him, a raw sensuality. Pulling away just enough for his lips to barely brush Oliver's skin, he drawled, "Let it come. I want to remember your taste."

Ian's request was the final catalyst.

Oliver felt himself crumble, every nerve vibrating in anticipation.

With trembling fingers, Oliver felt Ian glide over him, flavors mingling in a languid, sloppy kiss. It wasn't the most pleasant taste, but God, it was still absurdly arousing when Ian did it.

"My turn?"

Determined to impress, Oliver's hands roamed Ian's body, each touch a silent declaration of worship. His lips left a trail of fire, provoking shivers that made Ian tremble under his touch.

"God, I missed this," Oliver murmured to himself. "Missed you."

Ian tried to dictate the pace, and Oliver relented, absorbing the intensity in Ian's eyes as he moved. The taste was familiar, the weight comforting, but the sounds Ian made and the way he gripped his hair were electrifying.

"Trying to prove something, Your Majesty?" Ian teased, and Oliver responded with a challenging look, his tongue skillfully dancing over sensitive skin in a way that drew a deep moan from Ian. "Alright, good point," Ian conceded, his voice ragged.

With a mischievous smile, Oliver was about to continue when Ian stopped him with a firm touch.

"I want to see you," Ian punctuated each word, his long lashes brushing against each other as the tip of his tongue traced his own lips, wetting them again. "I want you to use me. Show me how King Oliver takes what's his."

Oliver swallowed hard. Refusing was unthinkable.

So he rose, majestic and hungry, his eyes devouring every curve of the body beneath him.

He leaned in, his body a fluid arc, descending on Ian like a storm over the sea, their bodies sweetly colliding. A thick silence of anticipation enveloped them as Oliver's weight settled over Ian's hips.

He hesitated, a momentary pause, before adjusting to Ian's body, feeling every contour, every prominence.

Ian's hands were a wild tangle, gripping him with a ferocity bordering on desperation. His fingers dug into Oliver's waist, his thumbs pressing into the hollow of his hips as he rocked their bodies in an instinctive rhythm.

Oliver lost and found himself with each movement. He was king and subject, conqueror and conquered.

He initiated wet kisses that went unfinished, breaking them to call Ian's name in desperate whispers, struggling to keep breathing as Ian delved deeper into him.

"Slow down," he commanded in a moment of clarity, and Ian obeyed, turning urgency into delicious teasing.

Ian's large hands glided over Oliver's body, unsure where to anchor, reminding him who he truly was.

Every nerve ending seemed alive, hypersensitive.

When Ian reversed their positions, Oliver's breath hitched. The new perspective intensified everything — Ian's weight on him, his skin's heat, the taste of sweat on his skin. The intimacy surpassed any memory, transcending the physical and reaching the ethereal.

On the brink of ecstasy, Oliver felt himself disintegrate and recompose.

A few violent thrusts later, and Oliver's body melted into a warm mess on the sheets.

"I can't believe you're here," Ian whispered, his breath ragged and his lips playing over Oliver's collarbones, creating trails of shivers.

"I know," Oliver agreed, distracted by the incendiary desire emanating from Ian's lips. "I haven't felt like this in a long time."

"I'm honored," Ian joked, but Oliver knew he understood.

The question came without much thought: "Have you been doing this often?"

"Not even close," Ian replied, finally pulling back just enough to look at him before asking, "And you?"

"No," Oliver admitted, feeling embarrassed. "A lot of things changed in me after you. Even my... receptiveness, if you can call it that."

Ian paused noticeably, raised his face, and looked at Oliver, surprised. "You can't have gone almost five years without sex."

"Do we need to get into that?" Oliver tried to change the subject, shyly.

"You started it," Ian replied promptly, with unforgiving wit.

"In short, I haven't been with any other man since you," Oliver confessed honestly. "It always felt... wrong."

Ian exclaimed in surprise, with a disarming smile, "I didn't expect that."

"It would be pointless to look for you in other bodies," Oliver confessed, already having crossed the line and not caring about showing more vulnerability, "you ruined everyone else for me."

Ian hesitated, his brown eyes reflecting a new nervousness. "Did you try?" His voice came out almost as a whisper, mixing hope and fear. "To look for me in other bodies or something? Or maybe... to find a way to forget my existence?"

Oliver's heart tightened with the question. He knew Ian deserved the straightforward truth, no matter how painful it was.

"No," he said, his voice firm despite the growing emotion. "I tried not to stay so attached to the memory of you after I heard about your engagement," Ian lowered his gaze at the mention of that painful part, but quickly looked back into Oliver's eyes, "but, deep down, I never wanted to forget the best part of me. Even if it hurt me, you never stopped being a part of my life, even indirectly. I didn't even consider getting involved with anyone else."

An audible sigh escaped Ian's lips. He seemed lost in his thoughts for a moment before continuing, his voice heavy with reflection.

"After that night in Spain, I spiraled into rage. I convinced myself I needed to eliminate all memories of you," the sincerity in his tone made Oliver's stomach churn, but he remained silent, listening intently. "But when I returned to my room after dropping you off at the airfield, your scent was embedded in every corner. That's what I needed to make the connection that led me to the position in Singapore."

Intrigued, Oliver asked, "Why Singapore, of all places?"

Ian looked at him with painful honesty. "It was the farthest place I could go from you."

Ian's words hit Oliver like a punch to the gut, even though that wasn't the intention.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" He asked, unable to hide the almost accusatory tone.

A sad smile formed on Ian's lips. "Honestly? It was the worst days of my life," he admitted, his shoulders slumping under the weight of the memories. "By running away, I distanced myself from everything — family, the career I built with so much effort. I had to start from scratch in a place with a completely different constitution, strange customs, and, God, a language I couldn't even understand."

Oliver's heart ached at the thought of the loneliness Ian must have faced. Almost hesitantly, he suggested, "But you found someone there," more curious about the mysterious fiancée than trying to console Ian.

Ian rolled his eyes, frustrated with himself. "It was an act of desperation. I realized I could never give myself to someone else as long as you existed."

Trying to ease the tension, Oliver joked, "That's a curious way to compliment someone."

But Ian didn't veer off. His eyes sought Oliver's, filled with sincerity. "Every day, I woke up feeling like my heart was being ripped out and pushed back, a constant pain," he confessed, each word deeply resonating with Oliver. "I felt terribly alone, Oliver. Every single day."

The confession left Oliver speechless. His expression contorted in pain, and his voice almost failed as he offered comfort.

"I'm sorry, Ian," he sighed, sadness tightening his chest. "If it's any consolation, my life wasn't easy without you either."

Ian shook his head, his fingers gently touching Oliver's face. "It's not about who suffered more, Ollie," he murmured, his lips brushing the tip of Oliver's nose in a tender kiss. "I could never be happy knowing you were suffering."

Oliver shrugged, trying to disguise the emotion that was overwhelming him. "I just want you to know that I understand," he explained, his voice a whisper. "Even surrounded by people, something was always missing — someone. There wasn't a day I didn't wish to have you back in my life."

"I'm sorry for leaving without telling you," Ian said, his words heavy with regret, seeking in Oliver's gaze a forgiveness that had already been granted.

Oliver smiled, warmed by the sincerity. "In your defense, if you had told me, I would never have let you go," he stated softly, moving closer until their lips almost touched. "I understand, Ian. Truly. Our last encounter showed how complicated our lives would be if we were together at that moment."

Ian nodded, his forehead touching Oliver's in an intimate gesture. "I know. If you let me, I promise to make up for every second we lost," he proposed, a smile lighting up his face and quickening Oliver's heart.

"Please do," Oliver replied, a soft laugh mingling with Ian's breath.

Their bodies moved in sync, drawn to each other, until the space between them disappeared.

When their lips finally met, the world around them faded away, leaving only the fullness of being in each other's arms.

◃───────────▹

The white marble bathtub barely accommodated them, the warm water spilling over with every movement of their naked, wet bodies.

Their slippery skins slid against each other, the friction sending shivers of pleasure through them. Crystal drops slowly dripped from their soaked hair, tracing delicate lines down their necks.

The flickering golden light of the candles danced on the tiled walls like scenes from old movies.

Ian's idea.

"Are you still mad that I sent the guards after you at the airport?" Oliver broke the silence, his voice a hesitant whisper amid the steam enveloping them.

Ian turned his angular face, his honey-colored eyes meeting Oliver's with an intensity that made his heart race.

"That was the most embarrassing moment of my life," he replied, hoarse and calm. His long fingers slid down Oliver's spine, each touch igniting his tingling skin. "No one thought I was summoned for an honor. They probably think I'm in jail."

Oliver couldn't hold back his laughter despite everything, a sound he soon muffled with gentle kisses on Ian's face.

"Sorry for that. At least they didn't beat you up," he joked, though concern was evident in his eyes. "Did they?"

"And miss out on a huge settlement from the royal family? I'd be rich now if they had." Ian retorted, his hands exploring Oliver's back leisurely. "I'm not proud of what I did either. Always mediating conflicts, I never imagined I would be the cause of one."

Oliver nodded, melting under Ian's loving and ardent touch. "It seems we both made our mistakes."

"Young, immature, driven by testosterone," Ian laughed, a transparent laugh that drew a smile from Oliver. His warm breath brushed Oliver's neck. "We were trying to do our best. I thought fleeing was right, you thought I didn't care... The outcome couldn't have been different."

"I shouldn't have tried to control you," Oliver admitted, mesmerized by a drop sliding from Ian's chin to his chiseled chest. He now saw the past with new eyes. "Sorry for being selfish. Don't hate me for it."

"I never hated you, Oliver," Ian responded promptly, a shadow softening his bright eyes. "It hurt, a lot, but to hate the person I loved most? Never."

Oliver leaned in, pressing their bodies together and tracing his fingers along Ian's strong jawline, feeling the stubble gently scratch his skin. He locked his gaze with Ian's, now dark and full of desire.

"Past tense?"

"Present," Ian replied, his voice deep and fervent. "Future. All the fucking time."

On impulse, Oliver wrapped his knees around Ian's hips, drawing even closer. Their erections brushed under the water, and Ian gasped, holding his waist firmly, positioning him where he wanted.

His hand slowly descended Oliver's chest, studying him with fascination before capturing his nipple between his fingers.

"My proposal still stands," Oliver whispered, more certain than ever. "Come with me to Windsor. Let's start over and do it right this time."

Ian hesitated, his tempting lips slightly parted. He murmured Oliver's name nervously but was interrupted.

"I need you, Ian," Oliver declared seriously, leaning in once more. His eyes shone with hope. "I'm going to need an excellent lawyer to start the divorce proceedings."