EMILIO'S POV
Emilio stood by the doorframe, arms crossed. Dante was propped lazily on the bed, scrolling through his phone like he didn't have a single wound in his body.
"I'm heading out," Emilio said quietly, not wanting to sound like he was backing out. "Third day's up. You'll be fine on your own now."
Dante didn't even glance up. "Okay."
That was it.
No protest. No hesitation. No sarcasm.
Just...okay.
Emilio's brows furrowed. "That's all you're gonna say?"
"What do you want me to say?" Dante finally looked at him, his expression unreadable. "You're not my babysitter. I'm not gonna fall apart just because you're not here."
Emilio clenched his jaw, nodded once, and left before he said something he'd regret. He told himself he needed air anyway—that he owed someone else time.
When he got to the bar, the place was alive with low music, chatter, and the comforting smell of whiskey and warmth. Emilio pushed the door open and was immediately hit with the sound of laughter.
Behind the counter, Ramon was already at it—sleeves rolled up, tossing a bottle in the air with his usual flair.
"Look who crawled back from the dead," Ramon smirked, stepping out to clasp Emilio's hand in a firm shake and pull him into a brief hug. "About time."
Emilio managed a sheepish grin. "You're supposed to be resting, old man."
"And miss all the fun while you're playing nurse? No chance."
They moved to the bar and poured themselves drinks, and just as Emilio settled into the stool, Rossi slid into the seat beside him with a knowing grin.
"Did he give you trouble?" Rossi asked, already halfway through his beer.
"Yes," Emilio snapped, rolling his eyes. "He's being so damn annoying."
Ramon raised a brow. "He took a bullet for you. That's something to respect, don't you think?"
"I'm not mad—" Emilio started, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, maybe I'm mad."
"You owe him more than a few days," Rossi said, swirling his drink. "He didn't just cover you, Emilio. He kept you out of a damn body bag."
Emilio nodded slowly, guilt blooming in his chest.
Ramon reached behind the bar and brought out another drink, then dropped the bomb. "By the way, Milan came by. Said he was looking for you."
Emilio blinked. "Milan? Why?"
"Said it was urgent," Rossi added. "Looked twitchy. Thought we should mention it."
They shared stories, threw back a few more rounds, and for the first time in days, Emilio let himself laugh.
By the time the night wound down, he was a little tipsy—enough to sway when he stood and squinted at his keys.
"I got him," Ramon said, standing and patting his back. "Let's get you back before you end up in someone else's bed."
"Not a bad idea," Emilio mumbled, slurring just a little.
"Shut up," Ramon chuckled, steering him out the door.
The ride back to Dante's was quiet. Streetlights flashed past the window as Emilio leaned his head back, suddenly tired, his chest heavy again.
Back to that house.
Back to the man who didn't ask him to stay.
Yet somehow...he still wanted to go.
------
The door creaked open past midnight, and Emilio stepped in, reeking faintly of whiskey and bar smoke. He wasn't stumbling, but his steps weren't exactly firm either. He closed the door softly, expecting silence, maybe even sleep.
Instead, he found Dante sitting upright on the bed, his jaw tight, arms crossed over his chest, and eyes burning straight into him.
Emilio blinked. "You're still up?"
"You said you'd be back hours ago," Dante said coldly.
Emilio stilled in the dark, caught somewhere between confusion and something that felt like amusement. "I didn't think you'd notice."
"Of course, I noticed," Dante snapped. "You think just because I didn't ask you to stay, I didn't expect you to show some damn responsibility?"
There it was—the voice. Low and clipped, the one Dante used when he was simmering but trying not to explode.
Emilio's brows lifted. He didn't say anything, just let out a soft exhale and padded toward the bathroom without another word.
The sound of the shower turning on broke the silence moments later, the soft thud of clothing tossed aside.
When Emilio came out ten minutes later, his damp curls clung to his forehead. He'd changed into one of his spare vests and a pair of loose shorts.
Without so much as a glance in Dante's direction, Emilio crossed the room, dropped onto the couch, and picked up the gamepad.
Click.
The screen lit up.
Dante's gaze sharpened.
"Are you really doing this right now?"
Emilio didn't answer. His thumb moved over the joystick, calm as ever. There was something in the air between them—friction, silent, electric. He could feel Dante's eyes drilling holes into the side of his head.
And strangely... it thrilled him.
The fact that Dante was furious—that he'd waited up, that his voice held heat—was oddly satisfying. It meant he cared. Even if he didn't say it.
"I thought you didn't need me around," Emilio muttered finally, not taking his eyes off the screen.
Dante didn't answer.
But Emilio didn't need him to. The tension said enough.
Emilio set the gamepad down, moving closer to Dante, who sat sprawled out on the couch, his body relaxed, as if nothing was wrong.
Dante in those damn shorts, that loose robe flying open—he looked sinful, and it messed with Emilio in all the wrong ways. Especially now that he was drunk."
Without a second thought His palms slid to Dante's lower body, Running his hand over his cock pushing out from his shorts Surprisingly, Dante let him, Dante's breath was already coming fast, ragged.
Emilio had tried not to cross any lines during the days he spent taking care of him, while Dante, in his own way, avoided him like the plague.
But it was different today.
Willingly, Dante's waist arched up as Emilio shoved down his shorts. His cock sprang out huge and alive.
Dante's breath hitch when Emilo's palms glide over his cock.
Carefully—not quickly—his hand stroked Dante's cock movements unsteady, dragging just a little too slow, jerking his dick at slow pace.
His hands moved with tipsy confidence, unsteady but bold.
"Ahh, Dante moaned, head falling back, his fingers clutching the edge of the couch not resisting, letting it happen.