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“Oh, trust me, I want to hear you play even more now.”
Before Luca could protest, Artair had threaded the wood expertly into his hands.
His direction was authoritative, leaning over and moving Luca’s grip on the fretboard. “Okay, put these fingers here—no, let your knuckle actually bend. And that’s it!”
Luca stared at his strangely formed claw. “What is?”
“That’s the chord you’ll love the most.”
Luca stared at Artair’s grin, entirely missing the joke.
“It’s the D chord,” said Artair.
Luca groaned. “Oh, God!”
“Exactly. Now, have you got a nice firm grip on your D, Luca?”
“I usually do.”
“A quick learner. We love to see it. Now just take your other hand here and move it up and down on the D. That’s it. You have to stroke the D confidently if you want the payoff. No one wants a wobbly D in their hands.”
Luca bit his lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction of laughing. “Jesus, you’re such a dork.”
“No, no. You’re confused. I’m a musician. We’re all cool and sexy and moody.”
“Proof or it didn’t happen.”
“Oh, you want some proof of the cool? Let’s see how you go at plucking the individual strings instead of just doing chords.”
In one booty bounce, Artair was properly beside him, beefy bicep to beefy bicep.
The man was tall enough that he could wrap one arm all the way around Luca’s broad back, running thick fingers over Luca’s hand as he adjusted his playing fingers. Artair’s own hands were strong and confident, carrying the experience of strumming strings in dive bars and lashing branches in the wilderness.
His sudden closeness was warm, and made even more so when Artair leaned into the half-hug. It was probably just to give himself more reach, but his beard rubbed rough and welcome against Luca’s own.
Luca stifled a gasp at that, the closeness making him think of twisted sheets and deep moans. The collar of Artair’s flannel tickled his neck, soft from wear.
It took all his effort not to lean in farther—embracing the perfect bear body that was just made for snuggles. To not rub their foreheads together or move his hands from the guitar and press fingertips along the huge and alluring thighs beside his own. Thighs he wanted to grab with both hands as he plunged his lips around Artair’s cock.
Luca felt the sudden twitch beneath the guitar. He tried to banish those thoughts, but it was too late. In seconds, Luca’s cock expanded uncomfortably, pointing down in his underwear and unable to escape, like someone was squeezing an unopened juice box. It was joined by the quickening thump of his pulse and a warmth spreading across his cheeks.
Before he could say anything, it was like Artair came to the same realization. Because no sooner was he nuzzled up beside Luca, in the perfect position to guide the strings, than he retreated, all the warmth of his touch gone in a sharp moment of absence.
Artair laughed, shuffling away. “Sorry! Shit. That’s probably the last thing you need right now.”
Just as Luca was about to respond, Artair snatched an empty plate and shoved it onto his own lap, whistling innocently. As hard as Artair tried to press the plate down, it was very much floating over his jeans, the edges nowhere near his actual thighs.
Luca snorted, his brain making some rapid calculations about the distance between crockery and denim—and exactly what implications that meant for things like girth. “The last thing either of us need?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry! It’s been like two months since I got laid. And I haven’t... you know, today.”
Luca cleared his throat. “I’m not going to lie, I’m kinda having the same problem? A bit?”
“A bit?”
“Okay, a lot. You’re just lucky I’ve got this guitar here.”
“Really? That must be one hell of a monster?”
