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Luca couldn’t think of any other word to describe the redwood, twice the height of any other tree in the well-forested dell. The fern-lined trunk took almost twenty seconds to walk around, so wide that it could’ve accommodated the middle being cut out to serve as living road arch—a novelty that Luca had seen in some Californian magazines.
“How is that even possible?” said Luca over the sound of roaring water. He was leaning back so far that he looked like a crescent moon.
“The waterfall, I think? It’s crushed the stones enough to make the soil sandier than the rest of the park? And look. It’s growing so close to the cliff face that it’s getting all the sun and a lot of heat from the rock? Probably the only way it could survive the winters.”
Luca nodded. The waterfall at the mouth of the valley was tall and torrential, and certainly had the power to pound the rocks into submission.
“Crazy, isn’t it?” said Artair, taking in the unbelievable scene.
Luca agreed. Every aspect of this place was breathtaking. The huge trees. The picturesque waterfall. The imposing rock of the sheer cliff face.
If this spot were closer to a town, it would be a national tourist attraction—with a parking lot and gift shops and thousands of people treading over the fine leaf litter to snatch their special photograph.
Instead, they were a seventeen-hour hike from the nearest road.
And there was no one here but them.
Artair grinned as he put down Bowie, the fox immediately running off and getting into a one-sided game of tag with a butterfly.
Humming an innocent tune, Artair slowly peeled off his flannel shirt. Then the yellow t-shirt underneath, revealing fur and a heaviness of chest that Luca desperately wanted to shove his face into—licking up all the sweet and salty hike sweat.
The California native knew he was being watched and played up the moment. Stepping on the back of one heel to pull himself out of his boot, ensuring that he curved his back and stretched like a dancer in mid-routine.
Artair’s jocks were tight, revealing every inch of his rock-solid erection. Usually, that would have been Luca’s destination. Licking it like the world’s most tender lollipop. Sliding it against his grateful ass in anticipation of the slow and sensual pounding that would follow.
But that wasn’t the focus today.
And like always, Artair seemed to know exactly what Luca was craving.
The bear turned around before lowering his underwear, the band slowly stretching around each milky cheek, bulging out like a letter “M” against all that peachy thickness.
Luca stared reverentially as Artair removed his last stitch of clothing. Standing like that, against this lush backdrop, with his naked curves shining in the early afternoon glow, Luca was certain there was no man alive more beautiful.
And only then did Luca remember that he was still fully dressed. And that Artair was much closer to the calmer waters at the far drift of the waterfall.
“Wait!” he barked.
But it was too late. Artair was already running away, giggling like a fool.
Luca tore his own clothes off—cursing the tightness of the laces and the number of buttons on his shirt.
Artair crashed into the water as Luca wrestled with plaid, the shoulders grabbing at his biceps. The stream did nothing to stifle Artair’s stiffness—a stiffness that became even more apparent as he floated down-river on his back, spitting out spray like the world’s most explicit water feature.
When Artair was appropriately distant, he cupped his hands. “Hmmm?”
“Get back here!” Luca yelled, his dick springing out of his pants, now twisted in his half-removed boots.
“Oh, sir,” said Artair, with a bad British accent and a bashful hand over his beard. “But what if some stranger should come upon us?”
He said the words in jest, but Luca’s cock throbbed hard, the pressure so great that his foreskin rolled back of its own accord.
It had been a mistake to tell Artair that he found the idea of getting caught in the wilderness hot.
Or, perhaps, it had been a perfect choice.
It was all about perspective.
Now free, Luca sprinted into the stream, swimming as fast as he could. Artair made him freestyle for long minutes before breaking up onto the other shore, water pouring off him as he ran. Luca followed in hot pursuit, catching up with the suddenly slowed man, who fell artfully on his back among a plentiful bed of clover.
