Chapter 1: The Prince’s Collar and the Rockstar’s Knees
The only sound was the soft hiss of the beeswax candle on the mantel. Its light licked the planes of Lucien’s face, catching the icy blue of his eyes as he looked down.
“You’re thinking too loud.”
Leo knelt on the Persian rug, the intricate patterns pressing into his bare knees. The prince’s suite was a tomb of velvet and shadows, smelling of old books, polished wood, and the distinct, clean scent of the leather strap Lucien held loosely in one hand.
“Just wondering if the palace staff has any idea what their golden boy gets up to after dark,” Leo said, his voice a low rasp. He tipped his head back, his long black hair falling over his shoulders. The silver snakebite piercings at the corner of his mouth glinted.
A slow smile touched Lucien’s lips. It wasn’t the polite, public one. This was sharper. Real. “They think I’m reviewing trade agreements. And you? The world thinks you’re in Berlin, recording.”
“The world’s an idiot. I’m exactly where I want to be.”
“Prove it.”
The command was quiet, absolute. Leo felt it in his gut, a warm pull. He leaned forward, bringing his face to the prince’s tailored trousers, nuzzling the fine wool over his calf. He heard Lucien’s breath catch, just a slight hitch. A king’s reward.
Lucien’s fingers slid into his hair, not gently. They fisted, pulling Leo’s head back so he had to look up the length of his body. “You’re still dressed.”
“You’re not.”
With a deft tug, Lucien undid his own fly. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath. His cock, already half-hard, sprang free. Leo’s mouth watered. He knew the weight of it, the taste, the way the prince’s control shattered when he came.
“Suck.”
Leo didn’t need to be told twice. He licked a broad, flat stripe from base to tip, swallowing the precum beading there. He took the head into his mouth, sucking gently, running his tongue over the slit. Lucien’s grip in his hair tightened, guiding the pace. Leo relaxed his jaw, letting himself be used, descending into the pure, mindless focus of the act. He hollowed his cheeks, taking him deeper, until his nose pressed into the coarse hair at the base. He could feel Lucien’s thighs tremble.
“Good,” Lucien murmured, a thread of strain in his voice. “So good for me.”
The praise went straight to Leo’s cock, straining against his jeans. He moaned around the fullness in his mouth, the vibration pulling a ragged gasp from the prince. Lucien began to fuck his face in earnest, short, sharp thrusts that Leo accepted, his eyes watering. He loved this. The surrender. The complete irrelevance of who he was outside this room.
Just as he was drifting on the edge of gagging, Lucien pulled out, slick and shining. He yanked Leo to his feet by his hair. “Strip. Now.”
Leo fumbled with the button of his jeans, shoving them and his boxers down in one rough move. His own erection bounced free, eager and leaking. Lucien pushed him backwards until his legs hit the edge of the massive oak desk. Parchment scrolls and a heavy seal rattled.
“Bend over.”
Leo went, chest flat against the cool, polished wood. He heard the click of a cap, felt the cold drizzle of lube between his cheeks. Lucien’s finger, broad and insistent, pressed against him, then inside in one smooth motion. Leo hissed, pushing back against it.
“Always so ready,” Lucien breathed, working a second finger in, scissoring him open. The stretch burned beautifully. “All that noise on stage, all that rage. And here you are, just a hole begging to be filled.”
“Fuck you,” Leo panted, the words muffled against the wood.
Lucien chuckled, removing his fingers. He replaced them with the blunt, hot head of his cock. “That’s the idea.”
He didn’t go slow. He pushed in, a relentless, burning invasion that stole Leo’s breath. He buried himself to the hilt, his body flush against Leo’s ass, and held there. Leo clenched around him, overwhelmed, every nerve alight.
“Move,” Leo grunted. “Your Highness.”
The title did it. Lucien pulled back and slammed home. The desk scraped across the floor with the force of it. He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust knocking a grunt from Leo’s lungs. Leo reached back, grabbing Lucien’s hip, trying to pull him even deeper. The prince caught his wrist, pinning it to the small of Leo’s back, increasing his leverage. The new angle made Leo see stars.
“You take it so well,” Lucien growled, his princely composure evaporating into sweat and gritted teeth. “My filthy rockstar. All mine.”
It was the possession in his voice that undid Leo. His own cock, trapped between his belly and the hard wood, jerked, spilling hot streaks across the antique oak. His climax tore through him, violent and silencing, his body clamping down on Lucien’s cock in rhythmic pulses.
Lucien fucked him through it, his movements becoming erratic, frantic. With a choked-off groan that sounded almost pained, he came, pumping his release deep inside Leo. He collapsed over him, his forehead between Leo’s shoulder blades, his breath hot and ragged.
For long minutes, the only sounds were their slowing breaths and the pop of the candle. Lucien finally slipped out, and Leo winced at the sudden emptiness, the cool air on his sweat-slick skin.
Lucien turned him around, his eyes searching Leo’s face. He brushed a strand of hair from Leo’s eyes, his touch now surprisingly tender. He leaned in and kissed him, deep and slow, tasting of salt and shared skin.
“Stay tonight,” Lucien said, his voice soft. It wasn’t a command. It was a question.
Leo nodded, his limbs heavy, his mind blissfully quiet. As Lucien led him toward the enormous canopied bed, Leo caught a glimpse of them in the gilded mirror across the room—the heir to a throne, naked and marked, leading the world’s rebellion by the hand. He smiled. The press would have a field day if they knew. But here, in the quiet, they were just Luke and Leo, and the night was still long.
But here, in the quiet, they were just Luke and Leo, and the night was still long.
The bed swallowed them, a landscape of soft linen and down. Leo lay on his back, staring at the velvet canopy, the afterglow humming in his veins. Luke propped himself up on an elbow beside him, his fingers tracing idle patterns on Leo’s chest, over the tattoos and the pale, vulnerable skin between them.
“You’re quiet again,” Luke murmured.
“Just floating.”
“Come back.”
The fingers stopped tracing. They pressed, just a little. A silent question. Leo turned his head and saw the look in Luke’s eyes—the ice-blue had thawed into something warmer, but no less intense. It was the look he got when he was composing a new idea, or deciding the fate of a diplomatic envoy. Focused. Possessive.
“Roll over.”
The command was soft, but it wasn’t a suggestion. It was a thread, pulled taut between them. Leo felt his body react before his mind could, a fresh jolt of anticipation cutting through the pleasant haze. He held Luke’s gaze for a three-count, a petty rebellion, then shifted onto his stomach, turning his face into the pillow. The scent of laundry soap and Luke’s cologne filled his senses.
He heard the rustle as Luke moved, felt the dip of the mattress as he straddled Leo’s thighs. Not his hips—his thighs. Luke’s hands, strong and sure, began to knead the muscles of his shoulders, working down the line of his spine. It was a massage, for a minute. A deceptive calm. Leo groaned, tension he didn’t know he was still holding melting under the pressure.
Then the hands changed. The kneading became a claiming. Luke’s palms slid down to the swell of his ass, gripping, spreading him open. The cool air of the room touched him there, a shocking contrast to the heat everywhere else.
“You’re still messy,” Luke said, his voice a low rumble. “Still full of me.”
Leo’s breath hitched. He pushed his hips back, a wordless plea.
Luke leaned down, his mouth close to Leo’s ear. “I didn’t tell you to move.” He punctuated the words with a sharp, stinging slap. The sound cracked through the quiet room. Leo jerked, a gasp tearing from his throat, his cock already hardening again against the sheets.
“Again,” Leo panted into the pillow.
“You don’t give the orders here.” Luke delivered another slap, on the other cheek, harder this time. The burn was exquisite, a bright pain that sang through his nerves. Luke rubbed the heated skin, soothing and inflaming it all at once. “You take what I give you. You understand?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
Leo swallowed. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Good.”
Luke’s weight left him. Leo heard the cap of the lube, the soft click. He fisted the sheets, waiting. This time, Luke didn’t prep him. The blunt, slick head of his cock pressed right at Leo’s entrance, using the come already leaking from him as lubrication. It was a tighter fit, a sharper burn. Leo cried out as Luke pushed in, one slow, inexorable inch, then two, stopping while Leo’s body clenched and fought to adjust.
“Fuck… Luke…”
“Shhh.” Luke bent over him, covering Leo’s body with his own, his chest to Leo’s back. He wrapped a hand around Leo’s throat, not squeezing, just holding. A collar of flesh. His other hand slid beneath Leo, finding his cock, stroking him in time with the shallow, maddening thrusts. “This is what you needed, wasn’t it? Not the adoration. Not the noise. This. To be put in your place.”
He punctuated the last word with a deeper thrust, finally sheathing himself fully. Leo saw white. The dual sensation was overwhelming—the fullness from behind, the tight, perfect friction of Luke’s hand around his cock. He was completely trapped, completely owned. He’d never felt so free.
“My place,” Leo gasped, arching back against him.
“Your place.” Luke began to move, setting a relentless, rolling rhythm. His teeth grazed Leo’s shoulder. “Right here. Under me. Taking my cock. This is the only truth that matters.”
The crude words, spoken in that cultured, royal accent, unraveled Leo completely. The buildup was shorter this time, a coil spring-tight in his gut. Luke’s hand worked him faster, his thumb swiping over the leaking tip with every upstroke. His thrusts became harder, losing their rhythm, chasing his own end.
“I’m gonna…” Leo choked out.
“Come.” The command was a hot breath in his ear. “Come all over my hand. Show me.”
It was the permission, the order, that tipped him over. Leo shattered, his orgasm tearing through him with silent, convulsive force, painting Luke’s fingers and the rumpled sheets beneath him. The clenching of his body pulled Luke over the edge a moment later. Luke buried his face in Leo’s neck, his groan raw and unfiltered, as he pulsed deep inside him.
They collapsed together, a tangle of spent limbs. Luke withdrew, rolling onto his side but keeping an arm slung heavily across Leo’s waist, as if anchoring him to the bed, to this moment.
The candle on the mantel guttered, the flame dipping low. Leo’s heart hammered against his ribs, a wild drum slowly returning to a steady beat. Luke’s breathing evened out behind him.
Just as Leo felt sleep pulling at the edges of his consciousness, Luke’s voice cut through the dark, quiet and absolute.
“In the morning, you’re coming with me to the autumn estate. Pack for a week. No arguments.”
It wasn’t an invitation. It was a decree. The night may have been long, but Luke was already mapping the dawn.
The night may have been long, but Luke was already mapping the dawn. His words hung in the air, a royal edict wrapped in the smell of sex and sweat. Leo didn’t argue. He just nodded against the pillow, a slow smile touching his bruised lips. A week at the autumn estate meant forests and silence and no one but Luke. It was a different kind of tour.
Morning came as a thin, grey light filtering through the heavy drapes. Leo woke to an empty bed, the space beside him cool. He heard water running in the ensuite. Stretching, every muscle protested pleasantly. He examined the faint bruises on his hips in the sombre light, fingerprints pressed into his skin like a secret signature.
The bathroom door opened, steam billowing out around Luke’s frame. He was already dressed in dark, tailored trousers and a simple white shirt, undone at the collar. He looked every inch the young prince, clean and composed, the chaos of the night before scrubbed from his skin. Only the look in his eyes, when it landed on Leo, was the same.
“You’re still here,” Luke said, a quiet surprise in his voice.
“You said to pack for a week. Didn’t say when to get up.” Leo sat up, letting the sheet fall to his waist. He enjoyed the way Luke’s eyes tracked the movement, the way his princely composure flickered for a half-second. “Got a busy schedule of decree-signing before we go, Your Highness?”
Luke walked over, stopping by the bed. He placed a hand on Leo’s bare shoulder, his thumb stroking the juncture of his neck. “A few things. Be ready to leave at four. The car will be discreet.”
“Always am.” Leo leaned into the touch, then turned his head, catching Luke’s thumb between his teeth. He bit down, just enough. Luke’s breath hitched.
“Insolent,” Luke murmured, but he didn’t pull away. His other hand came up to cradle Leo’s jaw. “You wear my marks well.”
“I wear everything well.”
Luke kissed him then, a deep, possessive claim that tasted of mint and authority. Leo reached for him, pulling him off-balance, and Luke went willingly, tumbling onto the bed atop him. The careful dressing was ruined instantly, the shirt shoved up, the trousers strained. Leo got a hand between them, palming Luke through the fine fabric, feeling him harden instantly.
“Fuck,” Luke gasped against his mouth. “We don’t have time.”
“Make time.” Leo wrestled with his fly, his own urgency a hot pulse. He freed Luke’s cock, stroking him roughly. “Need you again. Right now. Just like this.”
It was raw and rushed and perfect. Luke shoved Leo’s legs apart with his knee, not bothering with prep, just spitting into his hand and slicking himself before pushing in. The burn was brutal, a bright, tearing stretch that made Leo cry out, his back arching off the mattress. Luke clamped a hand over his mouth, muffling the sound as he fucked into him with short, punishing strokes.
“You’re so fucking tight in the morning,” Luke gritted out, his face a mask of frantic need. “Always so greedy for it. Taking me dry like a common whore.”
The filthy words ignited Leo. He raked his nails down Luke’s back, meeting each thrust with a grind of his hips. It was a fight for dominance, a battle for sensation, all pretense of ceremony gone. The headboard knocked a steady, frantic rhythm against the wall.
Luke removed his hand from Leo’s mouth, replacing it with his own, swallowing his groans. He was everywhere, inside him, around him, the entire world reduced to the slam of their bodies and the wet, obscene sound of skin on skin. Leo came first, with a shocked, silent gasp, his release streaking hot between their stomachs. The convulsive clenching of his body dragged Luke over the edge moments later, a deep, shuddering climax he poured into Leo with a broken groan.
They lay entangled, breathing in ragged unison. Luke’s forehead was damp against Leo’s temple.
“Now I need another shower,” Luke whispered, a laugh in his voice.
“Join you?”
Before Luke could answer, a sharp, authoritative knock echoed from the main suite door. Not the soft tap of a servant. This was percussive. Insistent.
Luke froze. His body went rigid atop Leo’s. All the ease of a moment before vanished, replaced by a wire-taut alertness. The prince’s head lifted, his eyes, wide and alarmed, locking with Leo’s.
“Nobody is scheduled,” Luke hissed, a quiet, furious sound. “Nobody gets up here.”
The knock came again, louder. A voice followed, bored and familiar, cutting through the solid oak as if it were paper.
“Luke? You in there? Your security downstairs is a joke, mate. I just walked right past them.”
Leo felt the blood drain from his face. He knew that voice. The whole world knew that voice.
WILL ARRIVES UNEXPECTEDLY.
The voice was like a bucket of ice water. Leo felt Luke’s cock, still half-hard inside him, go completely soft. For a second, they were a frozen tableau: Luke braced above him, Leo’s legs hooked around his waist, the air reeking of sex and panic.
“Will,” Luke breathed, the name a curse.
He moved with a speed that was almost violent, pulling out and off the bed in one fluid motion. Leo winced at the sudden, sore emptiness. Luke snatched his trousers from the floor, stepping into them, his movements jerky. He tossed Leo’s jeans at the bed, his eyes wide and flashing with a fear Leo had never seen there before.
“Get dressed. Now. Don’t make a sound.”
Leo scrambled up, his heart hammering against his ribs. He could hear Will humming tunelessly on the other side of the door, the sound of a lighter flicking, then a long exhale. He was smoking in the royal fucking hallway.
“Luke, come on, I know you’re in there. Your schedule’s clear till eleven. Playing hide the scepter?” Will’s laugh was a dry, crackling thing.
Leo shoved his legs into his jeans, zipping them but not bothering with the button. His hands were shaking. He grabbed his shirt from the floor, pulling it on inside out. Luke was buttoning his own shirt, his fingers fumbling. He looked young, suddenly. Not a prince. Just a guy who’d been caught.
“The balcony,” Luke hissed, pointing to the French doors leading to a small, stone balcony overlooking the private gardens. “Go. I’ll get rid of him.”
“He’ll see me.”
“He won’t if you’re fast. Go around the east wall to the servant’s stair. Go.”
Another knock, sharper. “Alright, you’re being rude. I’m coming in. I’ve got a key, you know. Father gave me one to all the rooms.”
Luke’s face paled. He gave Leo a frantic shove towards the balcony just as the lock on the suite door clicked.
Leo moved, barefoot, pushing through the heavy drapes and out into the chill morning air. He didn’t close the door all the way, leaving a crack. He wasn’t leaving. Not like this.
From his sliver of view, he saw the door swing open.
Will stood in the doorway, a silhouette against the brighter hall light. He was leaner than Luke, all sharp angles in a perfectly cut charcoal suit. His hair, the same gold as Luke’s but shorter, was impeccably styled. He took a long drag from a cigarette, his eyes—a colder, greyer blue than Luke’s—sweeping the room like he was pricing the furniture.
Then they landed on Luke, who stood by the disheveled bed, trying to look authoritative while his shirt was misbuttoned.
“There you are,” Will said, stepping in and closing the door softly behind him. He didn’t lock it. His gaze traveled from Luke’s face, down his rumpled front, to the bed. The sheets were a twisted knot, stained. The smell was undeniable.
Will’s nostrils flared. A slow, reptilian smile spread across his face. “Oh, Lucien. You dog.”
“What do you want, William.” Luke’s voice was flat, a forced baritone.
“Just a brotherly visit. Heard you were hiding out up here.” Will took another step in, picking up a discarded bottle of lube from the nightstand with two fingers, as if it were a dead insect. He dropped it. It clattered on the wood. “Didn’t realize you were… entertaining. Should I come back?”
“Yes.”
Will ignored him. He walked to the bed, running a hand over the rumpled sheets. He picked up a pillow, bringing it to his face and inhaling deeply. He closed his eyes, a mockery of ecstasy on his features. “Mmm. Sweat. Expensive cologne. And… cigarettes? Not yours. You don’t smoke.” He opened his eyes, the grin turning predatory. “You’ve got a little rebel in here, don’t you? Where’s he hiding? Under the bed?”
Leo’s blood ran cold. He held his breath.
“Get out,” Luke said, his voice low and shaking with rage.
“Or what? You’ll call the guards? The ones I just strolled past?” Will tossed the pillow down. “Relax. I think it’s sweet. Our perfect prince, finally getting his dick dirty. Is it that bass player from what’s-their-name? The one with all the tattoos? He looked like a right piece of rough trade.”
Luke said nothing. He was a statue.
Will’s gaze drifted past him, toward the balcony doors. Toward the sliver of shadow where Leo stood. Leo stopped breathing. Will’s eyes narrowed, then the smile returned, wider.
“Ah,” Will said softly. He took a final drag of his cigarette and walked calmly to the fireplace. He ground the butt out in a pristine ashtray. “Well. Don’t let me interrupt the afterglow. I just came to remind you of the ribbon-cutting at the new naval dockyard tomorrow. Father expects you to be shining. Not… depleted.”
He walked back to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. He looked back at Luke, his expression shifting to something unreadable. “Clean yourself up, Lucien. And for god’s sake, air out the room. It smells like a fucking brothel in here.”
Will left, closing the door with a soft, definitive click.
The silence he left behind was thicker than the one before. Leo pushed the drape aside and stepped back in. Luke hadn’t moved. He was staring at the door, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Luke.”
He flinched, as if waking from a dream. He turned to Leo, and the look in his eyes was pure, undiluted terror. It was gone in a flash, replaced by a brittle anger.
“You need to leave. The east stair. Now.”
“Who the fuck was that?” Leo asked, buttoning his jeans, his own fear curdling into something else.
“My brother.”
“I fucking know that. What was that?”
“That,” Luke said, walking to a cabinet and pouring a finger of amber liquor with a steady hand, “is the future king. And you are a problem he just smelled on me.” He downed the drink. “You need to go. The car will collect you at four. Be ready.”
“Are you serious? After that? He knows.”
“He knows nothing. He suspects. There’s a world of difference.” Luke finally looked at him, and the prince was back, walls slamming down. “This changes nothing. Four o’clock.”
Leo wanted to argue, to push, to shake him. But the distance in Luke’s eyes was imperial. The moment of shared skin was over, buried under duty and fear. Leo felt a sudden, hollow ache that had nothing to do with the soreness between his legs.
He nodded, silently pulling on his boots. He walked to the door, avoiding the bed, avoiding Luke. He paused with his hand on the same knob Will had touched.
“He’s wrong, you know,” Leo said, not looking back. “It doesn’t smell like a brothel in here.”
He left, closing the door quietly behind him. The opulent hallway was empty. As he moved toward the servant’s stair, the only sound was the frantic, guilty beat of his own heart, and the lingering, phantom scent of beeswax and Will’s expensive, bitter cigarette smoke.