EMILIO'S POV
In the shelter of the rocky moss, Emilio sat slouched against the damp stone wall, his arm still aching from the fall. Blood had crusted around the shallow gash, and the sting was constant. With a frustrated grunt, he tore a strip from the hem of his white t-shirt and tried wrapping it around his hand. But his fingers fumbled, too shaky to make a knot.
"Tch," he muttered under his breath, the strip slipping free again.
Dante moved without a word. He crouched beside him, his touch brisk but careful as he took the cloth and tied it tight around Emilio's hand. His fingers were rough, stained with dirt and old blood, but steady.
Emilio didn't thank him. He couldn't. The pressure in his chest was too heavy, his mind spinning with everything they'd barely escaped.
"I want to be out of here," Emilio said suddenly, voice low and trembling. He shifted restlessly against the rock, his body itching, skin crawling like the forest was pressing in on him. "I can't sit here like this."
Dante didn't respond.
Silence thickened between them, the kind that made every rustle of leaves sound louder. The sky had darkened slowly, unnoticed until now. Twilight sank over the forest, swallowing color and turning the trees into black silhouettes.
His phone. Emilio blinked hard, realizing with a jolt—he didn't have it anymore. Somewhere in the chaos, it had flown from his pocket. Lost. Probably shattered.
How the hell was he supposed to call Ramon?
Dante shifted beside him, a low hiss of breath escaping through his teeth. Emilio turned his head, watching as Dante dug into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it with quick, practiced flicks, the flame briefly illuminating the sharp angles of his face.
Emilio stared.
He hadn't even known Dante smoked.
The cigarette sat between his fingers like it belonged there. Not for show. Not a habit—more like a need. A ritual. The kind of thing a man does when the ghosts in his head get too loud.
He watched Dante take a drag, jaw clenched, then run a hand through his already messy hair. Frustration carved deep lines around his eyes.
This time, he didn't offer one to Emilio.
He didn't even look at him.
Emilio's gaze dropped to the dirt. His muscles were sore, and his skin felt clammy, but it was the stillness that unsettled him the most. Like they were trapped in a bubble between danger and survival, with nothing but silence for company.
Then, out of nowhere—
"I need to piss," Dante said flatly, the words sharp and annoyed.
He pushed himself up, brushing off his jeans, already stepping toward the trees.
Emilio's heart jumped.
"You're going out there?" he asked quickly, rising unsteadily to his feet.
Dante didn't answer, just kept walking.
"I'm coming with you."
Dante turned his head slightly, just enough to raise a brow. "To piss?"
"I'm not staying here alone," Emilio snapped, tone harsher than he meant.
But he meant it.
The thought of sitting alone in the dark, waiting for footsteps to return—or worse, not return at all—made his stomach twist.
Dante sighed but didn't argue.
"Fine. Stay close. And don't make noise."
He moved ahead, cigarette dangling from his lips, a quiet flame in the dusk.
And Emilio followed—because silence in the forest was louder than footsteps.
---
They stepped out into the night, cool air brushing against Emilio's damp skin. The trees loomed tall, shadows stretching like claws across the uneven ground. Every twig snap under their boots made Emilio flinch, his ears straining for any unfamiliar sound.
Dante didn't speak. He just led them a few steps away from the mossy wall, stopped near a thick tree trunk, and turned his back.
Emilio hesitated awkwardly, eyes darting to the side.
Then Dante unzipped. Pulled down his trousers like a damn savage, his bare ass shot out, and his cock sprang out, alive.
Emilio blushed, it was so huge. Outstanding even. And filled with life.
Dante grabbed his cock with the kind of careless confidence that said he'd done this a hundred times before. The sound of him pissing cut through the forest silence, steady and real.
Emilio should've looked away.
He meant to.
But his eyes stayed instead stared at his mouth, at the way the cigarette balanced there, his broad shoulders, and the scar on his face. There was something undeniably manly about him.
Something stirred in his cock. It was his arousal. His cock jerked up to life too. He was clearly aroused now It swelled so hard that The thought that Dante might notice and start suspecting sent a chill through him.
Dante turned, catching Emilio's gaze on him as he pissed. The cigarette still hanging from his lips.
Dante paused. He stood there, his hand still gripping his between his large palms.
"Fuck"
Dante glanced down at the roughness of his hands holding his cock for a brief moment before fixing his gaze on Emilio.
The intensity in his eyes shifted, and Emilio could feel the weight of it, like a challenge lingering in the air between them.
Then, without warning, a smirk tugged at the corner of Dante's lips, as if he found some amusement in the unspoken tension.
Emilio's breath caught for a split second, unsure whether he was being tested or taunted. That smirk—half cocky, half knowing—made his pulse quicken.
Then Dante tilted his head, that smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You in love with this or what?" he asked, voice low, cocky, like he already knew the answer.
Emilio's blood rushed to his face, hot and fast. His throat tightened, but he didn't look away. "Don't flatter yourself."
Dante's smirk faltered when his gaze dropped to Emilio's visible arousal and froze. A trace of something unreadable flashed in his eyes, sharp and fleeting Like something just clicked.
He tilted his head, voice dropping low and rough.
"You sure about that?"
His gaze dragged over Emilio slowly.
"Because you look like you want it."
Emilio's face burned. "I don't want anything," he snapped, voice tight.
He turned sharply, storming off into the rocky hideout. His footsteps were quick, almost frantic like he needed to put as much distance between them as possible.
His blood heated, heart pounding furiously in his chest.
He didn't look back. He couldn't.