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To emphasize the point, Luca took Artair’s hand and ran it down the smaller man’s body, past his own stocky chest and bulging stomach. Slowly but commandingly, Luca traced Artair’s fingers against the brick in Luca’s jeans—thick and uncut and veiny, even through the fabric.
“Ohhh,” Artair whimpered, his voice suddenly weak. “You’re fucking huge!”
Artair gladly ran his grip over Luca’s helmet, engorged and aching and bouncing at the sensitive touch. It ached even harder as Luca ran knuckles firmly across Artair’s jeans, knees and thighs and up toward his cock—the most sensitive road on the bear’s body.
Almost imperceptibly, Artair’s thighs spread as Luca got farther along—the true sign of a man who was prepared to give his ass away. Who didn’t know if he wanted to fuck or be fucked, or suck or be sucked. Who suddenly wanted it all and was overwhelmed with the choice.
Artair squeezed Luca’s girth through the fabric, making his precum-soaked foreskin slide over his sensitive glands.
“Fuck,” Luca breathed, his voice hot from a month without a man’s touch.
And then, at long last, he took a handful of Artair’s cock.
As the bulge filled his grip, Luca shuddered again. The beautiful bear had just the kind of dick that Luca had hoped for—hard as hell and thick as a tree trunk. Not quite as long as his own, but so girthy in his straining jeans that Luca could barely get his fist around it.
And after so long fantasing about it, Luca couldn’t stand to wait any longer. Because he had to taste him. He had to run his tongue along Artair’s shaft and suck on his huge, musky balls and jam his tongue into Artair’s tight ass. He had to make the man groan. He had to make him yelp and beg and scream as he blew his load down Luca’s masterful throat.
Just as Luca was about to run his thumb along the man’s button-fly, gripping the edge and allowing his cock to escape its humid cave, a sudden sound made him stop.
It was distant, but unmistakable.
Thunder.
And shortly thereafter, it was joined by the first spit of rain against Luca’s cheek. Then more, suddenly harder.
He opened his eyes. The stars to the west had been stolen by a nasty front of gray, flaring with a light so vivid it was almost purple.
Artair snorted—seeming to know what that meant. Seeming to know that Luca had to get back to the tower.
Luca cursed, knuckles still running over the rock-hard cock he desperately wanted to play with. “I could make it quick?” he whispered.
Artair gave a long sigh before kissing him once again—deep and easy and surprisingly affectionate. “I don’t want to be quick with you, Luca. I want to worship your body all fucking night.”
Luca shook at the comment, so hot with fire but said so effortlessly. It had none of the expected dismissal that came with casual hook-ups—making sure your play partner knew just how temporary they really were.
With every fiber of his being yearning to keep going, Luca finally withdrew his hand. “I’ll see you again soon, right?”
Artair stood, his jeans straining obscenely—a mockery to everything Luca wished he could have. “Promise.”
SIX
Dripping Wet
The tin roof thundered, just as it had for the last eight days.
Luca cupped the mug of packet soup, his elbows propped on the porch railing. The ceramic was warm against his hands, with the cheap-but-comforting smell of creamy chicken noodle rising up to greet him. The aroma was especially comforting now, with the wind cold and surprisingly brisk against his upturned collar. The stray mist collected on the bleeding heart flowers—little crystals among fuchsia and white.
He sipped the salty brew, watching the rain cascade down the shed’s roof, staring for long minutes at the overflowing water tank, forming its own little river down the hill.
And as he did so, Luca thought about Artair. The man he hadn’t seen since he’d broken his vow of celibacy.
The warm cup reminded him of body heat, making his mind wander to what it might be like to curl up next to him through this storm, naked and willing. To press their lips together, feeling his beard rough and heartbeat light as the rain drummed around them. To feel their bare bodies embrace, soft and hard in all the right places.
To find the release they didn’t get to experience.
For the first few days of the storm, the memory of their kiss had hung heavy inside Luca, made worse by the dreary days with nothing but his silent voice and loud mind.
It came with a weight of frustration. Not at Artair, but with himself—for giving in, for failing in his task, for doing all the things he’d explored so academically.
