EMILIO'S POV
Emilio's palm slid gently across Dante's face, his fingers curling with a firm grip as he held it in place. Without hesitation, he shoved his lip Dante's lips.
Dante tried to turn his head, to resist, but Emilio's hold on him was unwavering. "Just this once," Emilio pleaded, his voice low, filled with yearning.
For a moment, there was stillness, the tension thick between them, then Dante let him, but he was still, and didn't kiss back.
Emilio's tongue was all over Dante's mouth, hot. Demanding. This... this was everything he'd ever wanted.
Seeing Dante's dangerously sexy face up close was pure torment. When he sinks to his knees to give Dante a blow job, when Dante violently shoots his release, or when he thrusts into him with his moans, it is like a trigger he can't resist. It was a punishment not to kiss it.
Emilio's tongue slid down to Dante's neck, licking it and sliding it down to Dante's collarbone, down to his belly button.
Emilio stooped even lower as his eyes lifted, locking onto Dante's, his hands reached for Dante's cock and held the live stuff again.
Dante's breath hitched at the sight above him—Dante towering, tense, his fists clenched at his sides like he was holding back a storm.
"You're a damn king just standing there," Emilio said, his voice low and wicked, eyes flicking up with heat.
Dante's jaw clenched, his breath ragged as he looked down at Emilio with a storm in his eyes.
Emilio slid up from his stooping position, eyes flashed with mischief and fire as he rose, confidence dripping from every slow movement.
Without a word, he pressed both hands to Dante's chest and gave a firm shove.
Dante stumbled back, falling onto the edge of the bed with a soft grunt.
Then Emilio straddled him, his hands reaching the drawers to get some lubes, he wrapped his luby hand around Dante's cock, slowly jerking so that it shone with lube,
He took his cock into his hole, grinding and fucking himself, how best he knew. "Ah..." he moaned.
Dante took over, thrusting into him fiercer, faster, and deeper. Suddenly his grip tightened as he spun Emilio, flipping him into position.
In a fluid, swift motion, Emilio found himself on his hands, his back arched, hips raised as Dante guided him into the perfect angle.
The change in position sent a surge of heat through Emilio, his breath hitching as he felt the shift of power between them.
Dante's presence loomed behind him, his dick sliding into his ass and with a powerful thrust Dante pounded into him, his dick reaching Emilio's prostrate.
When they were done, they took showers together. Emilio helps Dante scrub his body patiently and later Emilio scrub his.
They slid into their shorts, Dante reached for his trousers and pulled out a cigarette and lighter.
"I want to have a smoke," he said quietly, not meeting Emilio's eyes.
"Over there," Emilio pointed toward the glass balcony door. "Do it outside."
Dante stepped out onto the balcony, the night breeze brushing through his hair.
A few moments later, Emilio joined him, slipping on a loose vest.
They stood side by side in silence, city lights flickering below them, the sound of the wind curling softly between them.
Dante took a slow drag, his expression unreadable.
For a brief moment, their eyes met—something warm, something real passed between them. Emilio's heart thudded once, just once, but it echoed deeply.
Then Emilio looked away. "You think I do this with everyone who walks into my life?"
"I know you don't," Dante replied after a moment, guilt tightening his features. "I was furious. I wasn't thinking straight."
Emilio folded his arms. "For the record... Millan's actually my ex-boyfriend. I brought him here for a fun night, nothing serious."
Dante's face froze. "So you would've done it?"
"No," Emilio answered quickly, the truth only partially. "I wouldn't. I said that so you wouldn't spiral."
Dante's shoulders loosened, the sharp tension bleeding out of him as he took another drag. "Sophia... she's my childhood friend. She's still in love with me, but I don't feel that way about her. So... don't let her mess with your head."
Emilio scoffed softly. "I'm not worried about her. I'm worried about the dozens of girlfriends you said you've had."
That made Dante chuckle, a low, tired sound.
When the cigarette was done, they returned to the bedroom. This time, Emilio was the one to initiate the closeness. He curled up beside Dante, slipping an arm around his waist. To his surprise, Dante let him—leaning into the comfort like he needed it too.
"I'll be traveling tomorrow," Dante said quietly.
Emilio tensed. "Okay... When will you be back?"
Dante hesitated. "In a month."
That made Emilio sit up. "A month?" His heart dropped. "Then don't go."
"I have to. It's business. Big, important—dangerous even. I need to be there." Dante turned to face him, reaching for his hand. "But I'll come back. To you."
"Then I'm going with you."
"No," Dante said gently. "It's not safe. I wouldn't want to put you in that kind of danger."
That messed with Emilio's head. He leaned closer, voice shaking. "Please don't go. I just got used to having you near."
"I need to, Emilio."
"Please..." Emilio's voice cracked. "I don't want to stay here without you."
Dante sat up and cupped Emilio's cheek. "You'll see me in a month. We'll talk every day. You'll be fine."
Emilio pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing. "Are you running from me because you *can*? Because it's easy for you to go days without seeing me?"
"That's your assumption," Dante said, voice firm but low. "If I wanted to run, I would've disappeared a long time ago." His fingers slid between Emilio's, holding them tightly. "But I didn't. I'm still here."
Dante leaned closer. "You're so damn pretty," he whispered, eyes scanning Emilio's face—the sadness, the longing, the softness.
Without thinking, Emilio leaned in and pressed his lips to Dante's. He ran his tongue in Dante's mouth taking it slow and gentle.
This one was different. Not demanding, not teasing. Just... full. Passionate, aching, and real.
His heart skipped when Dante kissed him back.
And for a few seconds, everything stilled.
They lay together again, Emilio's head resting on Dante's chest, his fingers tracing idle patterns along his skin.
The idea of Dante leaving haunted him. Not just the absence—but the quiet, aching emptiness it would leave behind.
The warmth. The scent. The way Dante exhaled when they were tangled together like this.
He didn't want to miss any of it.
He didn't want to go back to loneliness.
Eventually, they fell asleep that way—wrapped around each other, holding on like it was the only thing keeping them from unraveling.
But the next morning, when Emilio opened his eyes...
Dante was gone.
The space beside him was cold.