EPISODE 8 - I’M CAUGHT IN HIS NET
- Enzo
- Jan 18
- 4 min read
SONG
LYRICS
He slept beneath the leaves of trees
The light fell through without a breeze
His breath was steady, deep and low
All else lay quiet; his chest rose slow
I traced the net down his strong arms
A map of heat, of living calm
The pulse beneath his skin did flow
I felt its warmth where I can't go
I saw my hand begin to find
The quiet lines his body signed
A breath away, but nothing more
The thought became what touch was for
I'm caught, I'm caught
In his net I'm caught
I'm caught, I'm caught
In his net, I am lost
He woke, he rose and all things burned
Each step he took, the heat returned
He came to me, I lost my ground
My heartbeat was the only sound
His shadow crossed my trembling ground
The web of veins that kept me bound
He stood so close, the world was small
The prey was caught, but did he know?
I saw my hand begin to find
The quiet lines his body signed
A breath away, but nothing more
The thought became what touch was for
I'm caught, I'm caught
In his net I'm caught
I'm caught, I'm caught
In his net, I am lost
I looked down, not just at his feet
A stronger force moved beneath
It whispered low, it let me know
There's more to love than what was shown
STORY
I’M CAUGHT IN HIS NET
Giorgio lay beneath the olive tree, asleep. On his back, arms resting loosely at his sides, as if even in sleep there was nothing he needed to guard against. His upper body was bare. His skin still warm from the day, a faint trace of sweat gathered in the hollows of his muscles. Light filtered through the leaves and drifted slowly across him, unhurried, as though the sun itself were watching him rest.
His breathing was deep and steady. Heavy enough to draw everything around him into its rhythm.
I was close to him. Too close.
So close that my body reacted faster than my thoughts. My gaze caught on him and stayed there, held fast. On his arms, on the dense network of veins clearly visible beneath his skin. Thick. Taut. Calm. Lines that explained nothing and yet said everything. Beneath them something worked, slow and sure. Blood moving in time with his heartbeat. Life that did not hide.
That net held me like a struggling fish. Silent. Relentless. He was the resting fisherman who had cast his net without knowing what had been caught.
He lay there, still and heavy, wholly with himself.
I was the one who struggled.
The longer I looked at him, the clearer it became that there was no escape. Not from him. From myself. From my nature.
The urge to touch him did not come as a thought.
It came as movement.
My hand was braver than my mind. More honest. It knew he was asleep, knew nothing would happen if it touched him just once. It had already loosened from me, as if it had long since decided.
Just before my fingers reached his skin, I stopped.
That frightened me.
The way my body responded to him frightened me.
Even asleep, he held every string of my body in his grasp. What if he woke. What if he felt the movement, the look, the closeness. I could not take that risk. I was not allowed to.
I had to protect myself from myself.
I stood, went to my shirt, and put it on.
I sat farther away. I forced my breathing to slow, forced my eyes to pull away, though my body resisted. I tried deliberately not to look. Controlled. I knew his closeness would betray me. I did it to avoid doing anything too honest. To keep my desire in check through distance.
Yet my eyes had a will of their own. Again and again they drifted back to him. To his bare feet and calves, to the same network visible there as well. Alive. Taut. As if his body spoke the same language everywhere. Each time it drew me closer, without my moving at all.
His toes twitched slightly.
Then his breathing changed. A deeper breath. Sleep began to loosen its hold.
Ashamed of my own unrestrained longing, I dropped my gaze to the ground.
When I looked again, Giorgio’s eyes were open. He blinked against the light between the leaves, saw the sky for a moment, then me. His gaze was still heavy with sleep, but alert enough to notice the distance I had created.
He said nothing.
He sat up and stretched, yawning. Not to show anything. Because his body required it. With the movement his muscles tightened, and the network of veins stood out clearly beneath the thin skin, raw and present. He ran a hand briefly over his face, as if brushing sleep away.
Then he stood. Slowly. Heavily.
And came toward me.
Step by step.
His feet set firmly into the dust, wide and sure. With every step he took away the space I had made, filled it with presence, with body, with a calm that gave nothing back. I could not look away. My pulse raced. My heart was the only thing I heard.
He stopped close in front of me. So close that I felt his warmth. So close that the scent of man and sweat reached me. His gaze rested on me, calm, open, without question, without intent.
I could not hold it.
I looked down. First at his feet, large and solid in the dust. Then my gaze slid upward. To the center of his body, to where the fabric tightened, where sleep had not yet fully released him.
Something was outlined there. Warm. Heavy. Unordered. Not a signal, not an offer. Simply the quiet, yielding hardness of a man that even cloth could not conceal. Something every fiber of my body heard and understood. A silent urging that made it clear there was more to love than what lay openly revealed.
My breath caught. Not from shame, but from recognition.
He did nothing.
He was simply there.
I did not move, though everything in me wanted to reach.
Giorgio said nothing.
Neither did I.
But I knew that I had recognized something. A hot, pulsing force, raw and unrestrained, burned into me beyond erasure.
