Liam told himself it was nothing. Just chemistry. A fluke. A moment that passed.
But it didn’t pass.
Carlo kept coming to the gym sessions. Every day at seven, sharp as ever. And Liam kept showing up too, pretending that touch - that almost-kiss - hadn’t shaken him to his core.
Yet something had shifted between them. The tension that once felt argumentative now buzzed with possibility. Every glance lingered a little longer. Every word seemed loaded. They still pushed each other, still traded sarcasm like sparring partners - but underneath the banter, there was heat.
Liam caught himself watching Carlo in ways he hadn’t before. The way his long hair clung to his jawline after a hard circuit. The soft sounds he made when exhausted. The way he focused, utterly committed, to the smallest detail of a movement. And, of course, there was the hidden fact that he still regularly jerked off to the memory of that moment he caught Carlo in the nude..
Carlo was becoming something Liam hadn’t expected: a fantasy made real. And he wanted more.
And, Liam noticed, Carlo was watching too. Always with those dark, serious eyes, like he was measuring more than just weight or form - like he was measuring Liam’s heart.
One morning, two weeks after their almost-kiss moment, Carlo finished a brutal HIIT session and dropped onto the bench, panting.
“That one was sadistic,” he groaned.
Liam smirked. “You said you wanted results.”
“I said I wanted progress, not death.”
“You’re alive, aren’t you?”
Carlo rolled his eyes, but smiled - a real one, not the composed diplomatic version. Liam liked that smile too much. It made Carlo look… real. Human.
Carlo caught him staring. “Something wrong?”
“No,” Liam said quickly. “You just… smile like you mean it.”
Carlo’s smile faded, replaced by something softer. “I don’t get to mean a lot of things.”
“Why not?”
Carlo looked down. “Because everything I say, everything I do, gets catalogued. Interpreted. Used. Abused for entertainment. Back home, I am not a person. I’m a symbol. I smile because it’s expected. Not because I feel it.”
Liam nodded, unsure what to say, unable to fully comprehend Carlo’s life in Bologna.
Carlo continued. “With you, I don’t have to pretend. You’re not impressed by the title. You don’t bow.”
“I’d rather make you squat,” Liam chuckled before he could stop himself.
Carlo burst into laughter. “That’s terrible.”
“You laughed.”
“I did,” Carlo admitted, still smiling. “I like being around you. Even when I hate it.”
Liam leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Feeling’s mutual.”
They were quiet for a moment. Then Carlo added, “I’m going to miss this when I leave.”
Something twinged in Liam’s chest. “You’re leaving soon?”
“At some point I will have to return to Bologna. It was never the intention that I stay here indefinitely.”
“Right. Crown duties.”
Carlo gave a tired nod. “And a lifetime of responsibility I never asked for.”
“You could stay,” Liam said impulsively.
Carlo looked up, startled.
“I mean,” Liam backtracked, “for training. Or just… some time for yourself.”
Carlos studied him. “You want me to stay?”
Liam hesitated. “I don’t know what I want.”
It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the full truth, either.
Later that week, Carlo invited Liam out - not to a palace or a mansion, but a small restaurant tucked away in West Hollywood.
“No bodyguards?” Liam joked, looking around.
“They’re watching from across the street. Discreet. I promised them I wouldn’t disappear.”
Liam shook his head in disbelief. “You really are royalty.”
Carlo leaned in, elbows on the table. “You say that like it’s a flaw.”
“I say it like it’s not real,” Liam replied. “But here we are.”
Over grilled salmon and craft cocktails, they talked. Not about workouts or politics, but about childhood, identity, loneliness. Carlo shared stories of boarding schools and formality, how he’d never had a real friend until university - and even then, everything felt transactional.
“No one’s ever looked at me like I’m just a man,” he said quietly. “Except you.”
Liam felt like he had nothing to add - again.
After dinner, they walked outside. It was a warm night, the LA skyline glowing in the distance. They stood beside Carlo’s waiting car - a sleek, unmarked Italian SUV.
Carlo turned to him. “I should go.”
“Yeah,” Liam said, voice low. “Me too.”
But neither moved.
Carlo looked at him - truly looked at him - and said, “Would it be a mistake?”
Liam swallowed hard. “Probably.”
Carlo stepped closer. “Then I’ll make it anyway.”
And this time, Liam didn’t pull away.
Their kiss was slow, hesitant at first - the kiss of two men used to restraint, not indulgence. But when it deepened, it was like a dam broke. Weeks of longing poured out, fast, raw and desperate. Liam’s hands found Carlo’s brown curls. Carlo gripped Liam’s waist, fingers trembling. They could definitely feel each other’s hardness through the confines of their pants – clothed hard cock rubbing against clothed hard cock.
When they pulled back, breathless, the world felt different.
Liam’s voice was hoarse. “What now?”
Carlo looked lost for a second - like he didn’t know either.
“I don’t know,” he whispered. “But I don’t want it to stop.”
Neither did Liam. But it was better to call it a night – they were out in public after all, and Carlo’s security detail – although discreet - were definitely watching them. Liam gave Carlo another quick kiss, ever so slightly brushing his hard cock against Carlo’s own, before he turned around to walk away. He didn’t feel that any words were needed in that moment. Not anymore. He had some thinking to do. As did Carlo.
Carlo stood frozen for a moment, watching Liam walk away, those sharp, athletic lines of Liam’s back moving with effortless confidence. He swallowed, his jaw clenching instinctively, the flush in his cheeks no longer from the balmy night air. Something knotted in his chest - not just attraction, although it was pretty clear that Liam was as much into him as he was into Liam - but something heavier. Warmer. Unfamiliar.
He exhaled slowly, sliding into the back seat of the SUV. The scent of leather and Liam filled his nostrils, but it was drowned by the echo of Liam’s voice in his ears: bold, unfiltered, and laced with a kind of raw charisma that Carlo wasn’t used to encountering.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
He rubbed his temple, frustrated. For twenty-eight years, he had never questioned who he was - not in this way. The path had always been clear. He was a prince, the heir to a sovereign nation. He dated well-connected women. He shook hands and kissed cheeks and kept his emotions wrapped tight beneath the silk of tailored suits and polished protocol. And, most importantly, he had always been certain about the boundaries of his desire.
Or so he thought.
But now… Liam.
Carlo leaned back and closed his eyes. His hand seemed to find a way to his still covered, still hard, dick. He tried to dismiss it, to reduce it to something simpler: admiration, annoyance, attraction born from the thrill of challenge. He had always been drawn to people who didn’t worship the ground he walked on, people who pushed back. But this felt different. Sharper. Deeper. Like something had shifted inside him when Liam first looked at him - not with deference, not with awe, but with amusement. Challenge. Even defiance.
Instead of feeling insulted by it, Carlo had felt...awake.
And it excited and terrified him in equal measure.
Was it possible to feel something real, something stirring, for a man? For Liam? He hadn’t grown up in a palace that encouraged such exploration. Bologna was a country of tradition, and while progress had been slow and visible in some places, the royal family was another matter entirely. His father, the King, had made it clear what was expected. Dalliances were fine, youthful indiscretions even expected - but the endgame was always the same. Marriage. Heir. Queen.
A woman.
Carlo swallowed against the tightness in his throat.
This wasn’t about labels. He had never put much weight on them, to begin with. But the dissonance clawing at his insides was real - a war between what he had always believed about himself and the sudden, inexplicable pull he felt toward Liam. It wasn’t just that Liam was a man - it was that Liam saw him. Not the prince, not the heir, not the man born into legacy and burden, but Carlo. And Carlo hadn’t known how much he needed that until now.
Was this what it felt like to want someone… truly want them, not for appearances, not for arrangement, but because something deep within you burned at their presence?
He saw his reflection in the rearview mirror - polished, composed, regal. A man who had always known exactly who he was and what he was meant to do. But that man felt distant now, like a role he was still playing, even though the show run was over.
He wasn’t supposed to feel like this about a man. Not here. Not now. Not with so much at stake.
But Liam… the way his mouth quirked in that half-smirk, the unapologetic way he moved, the effortless strength in his every gesture. It was intoxicating. And even more dangerous was the way Liam didn’t care who Carlo was supposed to be. He had looked Carlo dead in the eye and called him out, challenged him, seen him. It had rattled Carlo to his core - not just because he wasn’t used to being challenged, but because a part of him had liked it.
What would his father say if he knew what was going through his son’s mind? What would the press say? What would the world say?
And, worse — what would Liam say if he knew Carlo was so tangled in uncertainty, so unsure of his own heart?
Carlo exhaled slowly, the weight of generations pressing down on his shoulders. He wasn’t ready to name this feeling. Not yet. But he couldn’t deny it anymore, either. He couldn’t pretend that Liam was just another trainer, just another distraction.
Liam was different. He had stirred something in Carlo that no one else had.
Desire, yes. But also hunger. For honesty. For authenticity. For something real, no matter how complicated, no matter how terrifying.
And that… that was a truth Carlo could no longer ignore.
