DANTE'S POV
It was Emilio's third day in the underground ring.
Still sloppy. Still too tense in the shoulders. He overreached with every punch like he was hoping to land a miracle instead of a hit. Like he was fighting ghosts instead of flesh and bone.
But Dante saw something—tiny shifts. The way Emilio's feet weren't as wild as before. How he didn't flinch quite as much when Dante advanced. His breathing, while still uneven, wasn't panicked. There was effort. There was fire. That mattered.
"Keep your elbow in," Dante muttered, circling him like a wolf around a cub. "You leave it hanging, I'll drop you on your ass again."
Emilio grunted, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his glove. "Like this?"
"Better. Loosen your jaw. You're not biting anyone."
"Shame," Emilio shot back, his voice dry.
Dante almost smiled. Almost.
Then Emilio lunged.
Sloppy again—but quicker this time. His form was a mess, but there was intention behind it. Enough to throw Dante just slightly off balance. Their legs tangled mid-move, a twist of limbs and momentum—
Thud.
They hit the mat together.
Emilio landed hard, his lean frame crashing down across Dante's chest.
One of his thighs pressed between Dante's legs, an arm pinned awkwardly beneath Dante's ribs. Their bodies locked together in a sweat-slick heap, breath tangled, limbs still searching for orientation.
Dante didn't move.
He let it happen—let Emilio fall right into him. Chest to chest. Skin to skin. A mistake, maybe. Or maybe not.
The silence that followed felt louder than the fall.
The overhead light above them flickered and hummed like it was too shy to interrupt.
No one else was around—Dante had made sure of that. For two days now, he'd told his men to train outside during Emilio's hours. He didn't want eyes on him. Didn't want Emilio to feel like a joke again. The man had pride, even if it was cracked and limping.
Emilio hadn't said thank you.
He hadn't needed to.
And now, here they were. Tangled in the center of the ring, their sweat pooling beneath them. Breathing in sync.
Dante's breath slowed, then caught for a second.
Emilio moved his waist slightly, trying to find his balance and push himself up, but his thigh's movement grazed his cock that it stirred and grew so hard. Dante stiffened instantly, eyes wide. Shit.
He moaned. Quiet. Guttural. Unintentional.
His eyes widened in disbelief at himself.
Emilio froze.
The two of them didn't speak. Didn't move for another second too long.
Dante's chest burned. He could feel Emilio's breath against his collarbone
For three whole days, Emilio hadn't done anything out of the ordinary. He didn't sink to his knees and swallow his cock nor did he give a sign that he was about to. Just gritted teeth, red cheeks, and genuine effort in the spares.
And yet, that seriousness—that raw, concentrated silence—was getting under Dante's skin in ways he didn't expect.
He'd thought he wanted this.
No distractions. No glances that lingered. No Emilio sinking to his knees with that look on his face.
Shouldn't he feel relief?
Dante inhaled shakily, hands still against the mat. His eyes, finally, locked onto Emilio's.
There was something there. Something sharp and unspoken. A flush crawled up Emilio's neck, but he didn't look away.
Then Emilio shifted again—just an inch this time. Dante's fingers twitched.
"Go down," Dante whispered, voice low and rough. Not quite a plea, but close.
His hand reached up and gripped Emilio's shoulder.
His breath hitched as Emilio hesitated, Emilio's shoulders stiff beneath his palms.
Dante's voice dropped, rough with something unfamiliar. "Please."
That one word cracked the air.
Emilio sank immediately, freeing his cock and swallowing him whole.
"Ah, fuck" Dante threw back his head, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He reached for Emilio's head this time bolder and firmer. He reached for Emilio's hair, tugging him close to take him deeper.
Emilio was so good with his tongue. He licked and slurped his cock and shaft. It was maddening.
He had never been with a woman that took his cock and serviced him the way Emilio's tongue did. There's still this skill that Emilio had that he couldn't grasp.
When Emilio's swallowed his cock in a deepthroat, without a warning Dante's spasm emptied himself into Emilio. With a gulping sound, Emilio swallowed.
Dante lay still, breath ragged, his eyes finally settling on Emilio, his red face and down to his lower body. He was aroused too, His cock poking out from his shorts.
"Help me too," Emilio pleaded, voice quiet but charged. "Not with your palms."
It took a second—but when it clicked, Dante's eyes widened in disbelief, the meaning hitting him like a wave. That was gay shit that he wanted.
"Forget it," Emilio muttered quickly, trying to brush it off, turning his face away.
But Dante moved before he could think. Guilt and something deeper burned through him. He sat up fast, reached for Emilio, and in one swift motion, flipped him down until Emilio was the one lying on the mat beneath him.
He sank quickly, hands already on Emilio's shorts.
"Don't—Dante, I was joking," Emilio's voice pleaded, eyes wide with disbelief as he pushed at Dante's shoulders.
But Dante didn't move. His hands stayed planted, his weight steady above him.
"I'm not," Dante said quietly. "I want to."
Dante pulled down Emilio's shorts and took out the cock, it was red with hardness. Slowly, he jerked it before putting it into his lips and tasting the tips.
Dante felt Emilio's body convulsed and his harsh breath in the room.
It tasted salty, not bad like he had expected. He has always been disgusted by the idea of having a man's cock in his mouth but because Emilio did it severally for him he took the whole into his mouth and sucked on it.
"Fuck Dante,"
Emilio's moans were loud, almost like cries, and Dante couldn't help but worry. He didn't want his men barging in, curious about the noise, only to stumble upon this chaotic scene. It would be a shock to them.