The penthouse lights were low, casting everything in a golden haze, but it wasn't the dimness that made Emilio dizzy it was the way Matteo looked at him.
Like he'd already undressed him with his eyes. Like he was already memorizing every inch of his soul.
"Take this off," Matteo said softly, tugging at the hem of Emilio's shirt.
It wasn't a demand it was a promise. A promise that whatever came next would leave them both changed.
Emilio's fingers trembled as he obeyed, pulling the fabric over his head, baring his chest to the cool air and Matteo's searing gaze.
Matteo stepped closer, his hands sliding slowly up Emilio's bare sides. "God, you're beautiful."
"You've seen hundreds of people like me," Emilio whispered, unsure if it was modesty or fear speaking for him.
"I've never wanted any of them to burn for me."
The words hit Emilio like lightning. His knees nearly gave out, but Matteo caught him, like he always did.
He backed Emilio against the wall, one hand cradling his jaw, the other skating along his hipbone with maddening slowness. His lips brushed Emilio's temple, then his cheek, then finally his mouth.
This kiss was different.
It wasn't a storm.
It was a wildfire.
Slow at first. Smoldering. Growing. Then suddenly, it was everywhere hungry, gasping, consuming. Matteo kissed him like he needed him to breathe, like Emilio's mouth was the only place he could find air.
Clothes hit the floor piece by piece Emilio's jeans, Matteo's shirt, belt, everything stripped with aching deliberation.
And then Matteo's hands were everywhere. Down his back. Across his chest. Curling around the nape of his neck. As if he were trying to map him, commit him to memory.
Matteo's mouth moved down over Emilio's throat, across his collarbone, sinking to the curve of his chest where he nipped and licked and kissed until Emilio's head fell back with a shaky moan.
"You're shaking," Matteo murmured against his skin.
"I" Emilio gasped. "I don't know what this is. I feel like I'm going to fall apart."
Matteo looked up, eyes glowing crimson in the low light. "Then fall apart for me. I'll catch you."
And he did.
Matteo took Emilio to the bedroom, laid him out like a secret offering, and touched him like a man starved. Every inch was worshiped fingers tracing, lips following, teeth grazing when the tension sparked too sharp.
Emilio arched beneath him, his body a live wire. "Matteo…"
Matteo paused, brushing a hand over his flushed cheek. "Tell me if you want me to stop."
"I want…" Emilio's breath hitched. "I want more."
That was all it took.
Matteo surged forward, their mouths crashing again, his hands pinning Emilio's wrists to the bed. He kissed him deep and dirty, all tongue and heat and need, until Emilio was writhing beneath him, lost in the rhythm of touch and sound and aching pleasure.
His name tumbled from Matteo's lips like a prayer.
And Emilio? Emilio answered with every gasp, every whimper, every whispered please.
It wasn't just lust anymore.
It was something more. Something reckless. Something that clung to them, wrapping around their hearts like silk and steel.
And when Matteo finally stilled above him, his forehead pressed to Emilio's, their bodies trembling, their breath syncing into one
He whispered, "You feel like home."
Emilio's eyes welled up.
Not with fear.
But with the terrifying possibility that maybe… just maybe.