Chapter Eighteen

The harsh overhead lights cast stark shadows on the cold, concrete walls of the cell. Outside, the prison shrieked and rumbled, inmates squeezing the last of the agony out of the day before lights out. Angelo leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, as he watched Milo brush his teeth by the small sink in the corner.

His arm ached. Milo had insisted on bandaging it for him, his fingers deft and delicate as they moved over Angelo’s skin. Angelo felt nothing. No, that wasn’t true. Angelo felt so much it blew out his ability to feel anything. So he was numb, all the same.

In the mirror, Milo’s ash blond hair fell over his forehead, framing his delicate face. His long, dark lashes fluttered, giving him an almost innocent appearance. Innocent? Not with that body, not with the look he was giving Angelo in the mirror. No. Not innocent.

Even under the unforgiving glare of the prison lights, Angelo marveled at how pretty Milo was.

It was strange for Angelo to watch Milo like this now, knowing that it would be their last night together. A heavy feeling settled behind his ribs, a mix of sadness and anger that he couldn’t shake. So much had changed between them, and now it was all coming to an end.

Angelo knew he should feel relieved that Milo wouldn’t have to endure any more of the brutality that Vanguard Penitentiary had to offer. The thought of never seeing Milo again weighed heavily on him, but he tried to convince himself that it was for the best.

Better that he leaves before me,Angelo told himself, the words playing on repeat in his mind. That way, he won’t be here on his own, and no one can hurt him. The prison world wasn’t a place for someone like Milo who couldn’t protect himself. He was never made for this life.

The lights flickered and went out, plunging the cell into darkness. Angelo took a deep breath, his chest tightening with anticipation and apprehension. As his eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings, he moved closer to Milo, who stood silently in the center of the cell, waiting.

He reached for the edge of Milo’s undershirt, slowly peeling it off his body. The fabric glided over Milo’s soft skin, revealing his slender body inch by inch. He unbuttoned Milo’s jumpsuit and let it fall. Despite the darkness, Angelo knew every curve, every dip of Milo’s body. His hands had been on him so many times before, exploring and claiming him as their own. This familiarity allowed Angelo to know Milo even in the dark, as he recommitted each touch to memory.

His hands ran over Milo’s naked body, feeling the warmth of his skin, the ridges of his ribs, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest. He could hear Milo’s hitched breaths, feel the trembling of his body beneath his fingers, and smell the faint scent of prison soap that clung to him like a reminder of where they were.

Did he really say he loves me?Angelo wondered. His chest ached at the thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. It hurt too much to think of. Something so precious should not be made in a place like this.

Milo made a soft sound, and then he spoke, quiet and close. “I know you don’t owe me anything,” he said. His voice was thick, as if he were struggling with some great emotion. “But this is the last time. So, please, Torres, be kind tonight.”

Kind? Angelo had never been kind to him. He had taken and taken, and then demanded more. And still, somehow, Milo wanted him. Wanted to pretend tonight that there was something between them more than simply one man using another to get off.

It was too sad. Or maybe it was Angelo that was sad. He ran his fingers over Milo’s collarbone, feeling it fragile and birdlike under the skin.

“Not Torres,” he said.

Milo sucked in a breath. “Sorry. I meant ‘sir’.”

Torres shook his head, though Milo probably couldn’t see him in the dark. “It’s Angelo. That’s…what my friends call me.”

Before Milo could question this, Angelo raised his fingers to Milo’s lips, gently shushing him. He stroked the corner of Milo’s mouth and then traced a path along his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin against his fingertips.

Kissing Milo hovered at the forefront of his mind, but he couldn’t. It felt profane, now, when they were saying goodbye.

Instead, he stepped back, stripping with quick, methodical motions. Then he took Milo’s hand and tugged him toward their bunk.

Theirs. It had used to be Angelo’s, and when Milo was gone it would be Angelo’s again. But for now, it was theirs.

With Milo nestled against him on the narrow bunk, Angelo allowed his hands to explore the delicate curves and contours of Milo’s body. The very act of touching Milo so gently felt foreign. His fingers skimmed along Milo’s chest, feeling the soft rise and fall of his breathing, before drifting lower to trace the lines of his hips and thighs.

Angelo’s mind raced as he focused on the fleeting sensations beneath his fingertips, each one so fragile and precious. A bittersweet pang tightened in his chest at the thought that this would be the last time he would ever touch Milo like this.

Silent as a shadow, Angelo allowed his hand to drift further down, brushing against Milo’s cock with a feather-light touch. As he did so, he pressed his mouth against the curve of Milo’s shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of prison soap mingling with Milo’s natural fragrance. He told himself it wasn’t a kiss, just a mere coincidence of proximity, because kissing Milo would make it all too real, too intimate, and too terrifyingly close to admitting something he couldn’t allow himself to feel.

In the darkness, he could hear Milo’s breath hitch at his touch. He allowed his hand to wrap around Milo’s cock, stroking it with a tenderness he hadn’t known he possessed.

He felt a strange warmth flooding his chest as he felt Milo’s body respond to his gentle affections, the soft moans and sighs that filled the air like whispers of surrender. He kissed Milo’s shoulder again, lingering on his skin. He had never allowed himself such tenderness with another person, let alone someone as fragile and precious as Milo. And yet, here he was.

As he kissed and licked his way down Milo’s chest, Angelo marveled at the taste of him—somehow sweet despite the harshness of the prison soap. He found himself drawn to Milo’s nipples, taking them between his lips and running his tongue over them, teasing them into hard peaks before gently nipping at the sensitive flesh. The way Milo arched up against him, desperate for more contact, sent a shudder of pleasure through Angelo’s own body.

Moving lower, Angelo was captivated by the curve of Milo’s hips, the softness of his thighs beneath his own rough hands. He could feel the tension in Milo’s muscles as they quivered under his touch, the heat of his desire radiating off his skin. It was intoxicating, and Angelo wanted more—to coax even sweeter sounds from Milo’s lips, to make him forget everything else but this moment.

“Please,” Milo begged as he parted his thighs, inviting Angelo in. Angelo couldn’t have resisted the invitation even if he wanted to, and so he moved closer, pressing his face against the soft skin of Milo’s inner thigh, breathing in his scent.

The tube of lube was tucked under the mattress. Angelo took it now, wondering that Milo had stolen it so bravely, practically begging Angelo to fuck him. Such a bold act. He coated his fingers and slipped them behind Milo’s balls. Milo’s body tensed as Angelo’s fingers began to slip inside him, a small, pained sound escaping his lips. A strange mixture of guilt and desire washed over Angelo; he didn’t want to hurt Milo, not tonight. In an effort to ease the discomfort, he bent down and pressed a kiss to Milo’s cock. The sensation seemed to have its intended effect, as Milo squirmed beneath him.

Angelo kissed Milo’s cock again, but a nagging voice in his head prevented him from taking it into his mouth. It hissed that doing so would make him less of a man. So he denied himself, working his fingers slowly, gently inside of Milo, savoring the sounds Milo made, and the way he clenched around Angelo’s fingers.

Silently withdrawing his fingers from Milo’s body, Angelo wrapped them around his own throbbing cock. He moved up between Milo’s legs, the head of his cock pressing against the warm wetness of Milo’s entrance. Their breaths mingled in the air, heavy with anticipation and desire.

“Please,” Milo whispered, pleading for Torres to take him gently.

“Para tu,” Torres murmured, knowing this would be the last time. He pushed inside Milo slowly, allowing the younger man to adjust. But Milo hooked his legs around Angelo’s waist, drawing him in, pleading with his body for more.

Angelo groaned as he sank deeper, his mouth finding solace on Milo’s shoulder. The sensation of being inside Milo now felt different, tender and intimate. Milo’s hands clung to Angelo’s back, urging him on, wanting to feel every inch of him.

As he began to thrust, Angelo wondered if this was what it felt like to make love to Milo, rather than merely fuck him. Every motion was deliberate, slow, and gentle, nothing like the things they had done before. He could feel the heat of Milo’s body beneath him, the tightness of Milo’s grasp on his arms, all of it combining into something he never thought possible within these prison walls.

“Angelo” Milo gasped, his voice strained. “Oh, please.”

Angelo found solace in Milo’s moans, the way they echoed through the dim cell, each one like a promise of something more than just physical pleasure. It wasn’t just sex anymore. It hadn’t been for a while now. Angelo just hadn’t been able to see that.

“Angelo,” Milo whispered again, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please, don’t stop.”

“Nunca,” Angelo vowed, knowing full well that it was a promise he couldn’t keep. The end of their time together loomed over them like a dark cloud, but they clung to each other, desperate to hold onto what little they had left.

He felt Milo’s body move beneath him, writhing in pleasure. He reached down, wrapping his rough hand around Milo’s hard cock, feeling the hot throb of his arousal.

“Shh,” he said softly as he fucked Milo with slow, deep thrusts. He felt strange, plundering Milo’s body while giving in to an intimacy that was foreign to him. Their rhythm was deliberate, almost reverent. This was so different from the rough sex they’d shared before, and it scared Angelo how much he craved this tenderness.

He could feel Milo’s body tensing beneath him, his breath hitching in anticipation. With every gasp and moan, Milo came closer to the edge, desperate for release. It was slow, slow, so agonizing, as Angelo drove him higher and higher. Milo sobbed into the back of his hand, trying to smother the sound. Finally, unable to hold back any longer, Milo spilled over Angelo’s hand, his body shuddering uncontrollably.

The scent of Milo’s come bloomed in the air, alongside the heavy musk of their sweat-drenched bodies. It was intoxicating, driving Angelo over the edge as he buried himself deep inside Milo one last time. His orgasm surged through him like floodwater, destroying everything that he’d built up to protect himself.

Te deseo, he thought, and the words hung in his mind like fireworks, clinging in the dark until they faded. Angelo let them go. It was too late, anyway.

As the aftershocks subsided and their breathing steadied, Angelo couldn’t bring himself to pull away from Milo. Instead, he held him close, their bodies slick with sweat and come, hearts beating wildly in concert.

Tentatively, Angelo reached out to stroke Milo’s soft, damp hair. The gentle touch felt foreign to him, but he couldn’t resist.

Milo let out a shaky moan, pulling himself closer to Angelo. It was then that Angelo realized Milo was crying, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. Angelo felt a pang, a twist of conscience. He thought of kissing Milo, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not on the mouth. Instead, he pressed the kiss to Milo’s hair.

“Siempre estaré contigo,” he murmured. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. But he felt it.

He held Milo close, still inside him, still together in this wretched place. The awful bed, the sound of arguing further down the row, the knowledge that in the morning it would all come to an end. All of it, and yet, this moment clawed at Angelo’s chest, begging him to do something.

He could do nothing. The thought of losing Milo forever left an aching void in him that he couldn’t deny or understand. He stroked Milo’s hair, and wished things could be different. It was all he could do.