Dante Colle, dark-haired and tattooed across his chest, grips a small object while leaning against unseen support, his muscles taut beneath the skin. His hand drifts to his face, then drops to his hip, arm bent in a pose that hints at restless energy. Zeus Michaels stands close, bearded and broad-shouldered, his presence framing the tension between them, one man’s grip shifting from object to body, the other’s stance unreadable. The first move is his: the object slips from his fingers as his palm traces his own skin.
