The lost mountaineer fucked me

The log cabin stood among birch and pine trees, isolated from the world but equipped with all the luxuries. Alejandro got out of the car, inhaled the humid air, and felt how his city disappeared, replaced by the murmur of the forest and the smell of aged wood. He slept there every summer, escaping the asphalt, power, and prestige. But this year, something would change.

The first day was one of silence, reading, and gentle walks along tree-lined paths. Inside, his mind was ordering itself for the first time in months. He didn't know that true chaos was coming to find him.

On the second day, while preparing dinner — a risotto that usually tasted delicious, but tasted like nothing to him — he heard soft knocks on the main door.

He opened it without looking through the peephole. A tall man, covered in dust, with a gray beard of several days and gray eyes fixed on him. His shirt was torn, his pants were stained, and his fingers were cut by branches. He was breathing with difficulty.

"Lost... for two days... can't find the route," the stranger said with a hoarse voice.

Alejandro, a cold stone when necessary, invited him in without hesitation:

"Come in, please. I'll make you an infusion."

He led him to the huge bathroom with clear tiles. Diego undressed without preamble, allowed the warm shower to clean his body, and while Alejandro applied cream and bandages to his wounds, he felt the first dizziness. It wasn't just compassion. There was something electric between their bodies that he could no longer ignore.

Dressed in clean clothes lent by Alejandro, Diego thanked him without pretenses:

"Thanks... I didn't know if I'd survive another night."

And Alejandro looked at him:

"What if you hadn't arrived?"

Diego scraped his chin: silence. Then he murmured:

"It wouldn't have mattered."

Both of them knew then that this story wouldn't be just about hospitality... and that the tranquility of the forest hid a hunter who was watching him from his gray gaze.

Night fell. The wind swayed the branches. Diego sat at the table with Alejandro, and they ate calmly. The blush of their first meal together in days, and the constant tension. Then, Diego leaned in. His hands on Alejandro's torso, his fingers firm, eyes fixed.

"Are you always so perfect?"

"No," Alejandro replied, on the edge of his skin. "But they pay me to pretend to be."

Diego smiled without revealing too much. Then: "Do you see my keys?" He kept them in his hand. Alejandro felt a tingling sensation. In his heart. In his crotch. Diego kissed his fingers after holding the keys. As if the melody of power was activated in that gesture.

They arrived at the main bedroom. A large bed, fitted sheets, soft candles lit. Diego never hesitated:

"I want you to understand something tonight. You're not the one in charge."

Alejandro b...