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Shake after shocked shake.
Whimper after willful whimper.
And then, in a slow slip alongside their panting breaths, the ferociousness was gone.
Artair collapsed against Luca’s shoulders—sweat pouring off them both. Their breaths were barely gathered, gasping for air.
And then they both started laughing.
“You a nasty boy,” whispered Artair, hissing the “S” on nasty and planting a row of soft kisses along Luca’s upper back.
“And you aren’t?” chuckled Luca, wiggling his ass against the still-rigid cock inside him.
Artair whistled at that. “Careful. Are you trying for round two already?”
Luca leaned into Artair’s sweaty embrace. The warm fur of his chest was soft against Luca’s back. “Don’t worry,” he laughed. “You don’t have to pretend like you’re ready to go agai?—”
The sudden twitch in Luca’s ass made him jolt. Not only was Artair still as hard as the first time he’d taken his cock out, but he was also able to command a full throb.
The growl that Artair made was animal. Like he hadn’t just feasted. “If you think I’m a one and done kind of guy, Luca, you’ve got a lot to learn.”
The incredible girth was slippery as hell from the enormous load that Artair just dumped in him. And somehow, that warm stickiness took away all the catharsis of Luca’s own release, replacing it with a guttural desire for more.
Luca clenched his ass, relishing Artair’s gasp at the grip he could still command. “Then maybe you should teach me, Artair?”
The stormy night settled around them.
Artair held him close below the bedsheets, with Luca fitting perfectly into the crook of Artair’s belly and legs.
Where Luca had expected some kind of distance after they were done fucking—typical of the transactional nature of casual hook-ups—Artair seemed to get even more affectionate with Luca that evening. Laying kisses on his forehead. Poking him in the ribs and whispering we had seeex with that goofy fucking smile. Seemingly unable to talk to him throughout the evening without brushing gentle hands across his forearm or back.
And when it finally came time for bed, there was no awkwardness around where they would both sleep—no dance of whether they would come together or make a separate bed on the floor. Artair had jumped into the far side of the double bed and lifted the quilt, patting the mattress with a playful flutter of the eyebrows.
Now, Artair’s big, strong arm was firm across Luca’s chest. Fingers were wrapped softly around his shoulders, holding him close. A thumb brushed rhythmically against his collarbone. A beard made gentle circles on the back of his neck.
“Thanks for making me stay,” said Artair, as Bowie padded around their feet, curling up in the space behind Artair’s knees.
“Thanks for staying,” whispered Luca, as the rain drummed hard against the window—a cold contrast that made the warmth of the embrace glow brighter.
And then, exhausted and content and more safe than he’d ever felt before, Luca drifted into dreams.
EIGHT
Warm Den
On their third day together, Artair let out a high-pitched squeak, barely audible over the rain. Or, more accurately, the little rubber toy he was holding did.
It was a rat, and not a cute one either, with bulging yellow eyes and drips of red running down its mouth.
Still, Bowie was transfixed, following every twitch of the toy.
Every now and then Artair would give it a distressing squeeze, causing the fox’s ears to perk up, his tail to still, and his adorable snout to jut out, like he was a detective looking for more information.
Information like why his dinner smelled like a sex toy.
Luca clutched his hands at the sheer cuteness. “Let me guess: a Halloween prop that no one was using?”
“I mean, they were using it at the time,” said Artair. “But then November rolled around, and no one seemed like they’d miss it. Besides, I knew this snuggle monster would lose his mind over it. Wouldn’t you, Bowie? Yes, you would. Who’s a clever boy?”
