AllFreeNovel
Share Us
On the first anniversary he would break down in wracking tears at the futility of man’s condition and how little any of us could do to change it. And Luca would come to him, cradle him tight on their weather-worn couch, whispering his name until the lamentations stopped.
And the name he’d whisper would be decadent. Dante or Lysander or Theodore. A name conjured from leather-bound tomes and wood as dark as the wool. A name as bleak and tragic as?—
“Fuck, are you alright, buddy?” said the stranger, dropping his hiking pack and industrial-looking guitar case with a thud. He immediately began running thick fingers through Luca’s unbrushed hair. His touch was sun warmed and sheened with sweat. “Damn, that’s a massive lump you got there.”
“Thanks, yours is nice too,” said Luca dreamily to the twisting room.
The man snorted. “On your head, dummy. Come over here. That’s it—just sit down. No, upright. I’ll grab the first-aid kit.”
The beautiful man rummaged through the shelves, eventually pulling out a little brown bottle from a red zippy pouch. As he approached again, Luca couldn’t help but marvel at the glow around his magnificent frame, at the softness of his silhouette and the gentleness of his eyes. Like lush grass in a dawn field.
And then his dreamlike stupor was snatched away by the sharp sting of iodine.
“Christ on a bike!” said Luca, flinching.
His eyes refocused. Instead of the Victorian fantasy his half-concussed brain had conjured, there stood a sweaty stud with the chonky frame of a football tackle.
Quite unexpectedly, Luca found his heart pounding, like someone had mainlined coffee into his arteries. From the pain of the bump and the shock of the sting, surely.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” the stranger said, juggling the lid back onto the bottle. “I thought these things had a stopper and you could just shake a few drops out and...”
Among the ache on Luca’s head came another sensation—a slow trickle down the side of his face. The stranger’s eyes bulged as he grabbed a roll of gauze, dabbing quickly at Luca’s cheeks and forehead. He kept rubbing long after the patch of skin was dry, his eyes bulging further and his cheeks getting redder.
Luca raised a slow eyebrow. “Did you just stain half my face yellow?”
“What? Of course not! On a totally different note, I’m super allergic to mirrors. If you’ve got any, I need to smash them, ASAP.”
Luca snorted. Not just at the lame joke, but also at how the man’s reddening face was blessed with the most curious grin that Luca had ever seen. Embarrassment, yes, but with the faintest hint of I regret nothing, and I’d totally do it again!
It was the half smile of a little boy who’d been caught with both hands in the cookie jar, knowing that he couldn’t talk his way out of the problem but could probably defend himself with overwhelming cuteness.
Annoying, it was working.
Because this boy? Hot damn, Luca would’ve given the whole box of cookies to this boy.
“Artair, by the way,” said Artair, by the way. His voice was deep and melodic, like he might start humming at any moment.
“Jaundice,” Luca responded, as the man stepped a little closer, reaching around to dab a few rogue drips that were creeping down Luca’s neck. “Or Luca. Take your pick.”
“Why not both? Jaundice Luca?”
“Sound like a temptress in a mystery novel,” said Luca, having to look up to meet Artair’s eyes.
“I can see it for you,” said Artair, meeting his eyes with a confident softness, like they’d known each other for months rather than minutes.
This close, Luca couldn’t help but breathe his scent—the alluring combination of soap and sweat. Of cotton and sunlight and the gentle kiss of pine needles. All mixed with that distinctive, familiar smell of horny bear. Of furry legs and furrier balls. Of someone who’d make your ass clap like ship sails in a sharp breeze, then snuggle you for hours afterward.
This close, Luca couldn’t help but admire the sheer stock of the man—at the size of his forearms and the thickness of his hands. At the way his t-shirt dimpled in at his belly button, slightly see-through from his climb. At the way a patch of red chest hair rose above the neckline, almost meeting the incredible density of his amber beard.
This close, Luca couldn’t help but relish the warm graze of denim against his thigh, soft and strong and carefully woven.
Wait a minute . . .
It took a few terrible seconds for Luca to process the weirdness of feeling someone else’s denim against his bare legs.
Only then did he remember that he was wearing nothing but a jockstrap. And that he’d greeted this guy with a full view of his exposed hole.
Luca scrambled from the chair and snatched a pair of shorts, contorting his body as he somehow tried to hide both his ass and bulge.
