Unchosen Crown

FEELS LIKE HOME

Week after week, Oliver would choose a specific part of Ian's body to become obsessed with.

At that moment, his focus was on the space that Ian's enormous hands occupied on his skin, traversing the entire length of his back with a touch as light as it was incendiary. Oliver could feel Ian's fingertips crawling along his ribs with reverent delicacy, short nails visiting his skin from time to time when he felt the need to relieve the pressure of having his entire body on top of his.

Oliver had an absurd perception of Ian, and sometimes the intensity of that connection scared him — as if it were not something merely earthly, but transcendent, almost spiritual.

As Oliver's lips slipped along the side of Ian's neck, his thoughts wandered. Ian writhed beneath Oliver on that king-size bed in the Harrison-Jones guest room. They definitely shouldn't have been doing that there, but as Ian had stated before, Oliver had started something — and he had yet to oppose it.

With a heavy sigh, Ian arched his back, lifting his hips against Oliver's in search of contact.

Oliver had a knee between Ian's legs, and his thighs squeezed around him as he rubbed his rock-hard erection against the uncomfortable fabric of Oliver's pants. Oliver traced a trail of kisses along Ian's jawline back to his chin, and then to his lower lip, before sinking his tongue into Ian's mouth without resistance.

Ian was a hot and panting mess under Oliver, struggling to maintain control and not position Oliver exactly where he wanted and attack him the way Oliver desired, with his entire family sleeping in nearby rooms.

"Baby..." Ian ventured, breaking away from Oliver's lips, entwining his fingers in the side loops of Oliver's pants and pulling him down urgently. Oliver shivered at the way the hoarseness present in Ian's contained whisper pronounced the vowels, dying before it began. "You're making things very difficult for me right now."

Oliver chuckled softly against Ian's moist lips, genuinely pleased to be responsible for that desperate reaction.

"I like it when you call me that," Oliver confessed, watching Ian open his eyes to fix them on his.

The sinful gleam in them was like being sucked into a black hole, with no chance of returning to the light.

"I know you do," Ian returned, glancing at Oliver's lips but not moving to reach them.

So, Oliver gave in to the impulse and sank into Ian's lips in a kiss, but this time softer and more relaxed. Ian responded calmly, but his kiss was bold, languid, and wet, hot as embers under the fury of hell. He enveloped Oliver in such a delightful embrace that Oliver felt his body melt against Ian's, while his hands gripped the sheets beside Ian's face.

Oliver slowly pulled away from Ian, sighing anguishedly against his mouth, allowing his thighs to gently press against his.

"Remind me why I can't abdicate," Oliver murmured with a light moan, before beginning to lower his face to Ian's chin.

As his breath glided down Ian's throat, Oliver passed over the texture of his collarbones, his hands moving to unbutton his shirt.

"The royal lineage would be in danger," Ian articulated, struggling to maintain composure. "It would cause great political and social instability in the country," he sighed in resignation as Oliver nibbled gently at his chest. The soft, warm skin under Oliver's hands was a visually disconcerting spectacle, the buttons coming undone one by one under his impatient fingers. "And you would be considered a traitor, weak and irresponsible," he added, with an unmistakable note of sadness. That part bothered Oliver a bit, but he just mumbled a soft sound of understanding. "Moreover, you would be banished from the royal family, losing your position, privileges, and connections. All this could pose a risk to your safety," he said, pausing between phrases, as if reading a resignation letter.