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Artair came first, handsfree and soaking the space between their bellies with gallons of his hot seed. Luca didn’t slow down or break the kiss, relishing every slippery spasm across his furry chest, every shot of warm against his own beard, every throb of ass trying to squeeze the cum from his cock, every breath that Artair tried to take, stolen by Luca’s tongue and kiss.
Artair stared back at him—nose-to-nose, staggered and thankful and so fucking in the moment that the world could have ended around them.
“Cum in me,” Artair whispered, kissing him back hard. “I want you to breed me, Luca.”
The filthy demand sent Luca over the edge, spitting streams of fire up his tight, pink ass. Artair’s grateful moans intensified every hot jet that Luca gave him—making each spurt thump hard and deep in his own chest, stabs of pleasure so intense that he never wanted them to end.
When the pulses finally slowed, Luca ran sticky fingers through Artair’s sweaty hair. The look on his lover’s face was life itself—content and calm and freed, just for a moment, from the call of their cocks.
“I’m really fucking glad you decided to stay,” Luca panted, laying a soft kiss on Artair’s adorable nose—strawberry pink from their shared effort.
Artair kissed him back, smiling like a total dork. “Me too.”
The afternoon was as warm and yielding as the thigh that Luca dozed upon.
They were both on a blanket, still naked. Luca was laying in the crook of Artair’s knee. Bowie was sleeping peacefully in the hollow of Luca’s arm.
In the breeze was the height of the hot season, cooled by the spray that misted the tranquility, loud enough to frame the space, but not so roaring as to overwhelm it. In Luca’s vision was a straight-up view to the treetops, moving like waves over a gentle shoreline, peppermint leaves on a backdrop of cornflower blue.
And by his ear was the gentle strumming of a master at work.
A master who didn’t even know how incredible he was.
Just like that first time he’d heard Artair play, there was something of the now in his notes. Like the spray and the shade and the golden glow of late afternoon were being summoned to his fingertips. Like the notes were drawing in the temperature and the smell and the sensation of slowed summer, just through the cadence of the chorus and the vibrations of the verse.
As the notes rose and fell, Luca marveled at the act of their creation. At how this melody was being spun into reality for him alone, like having a movie soundtrack in real life.
“You know, it’s sad in some ways,” said Luca. “To make these beautiful songs that no one will ever hear?”
“But they are heard. Every night, somewhere across the country, an audience is getting their own private performance.”
“Even when they don’t pay attention?”
“I don’t really mind if they notice me. In some ways, it’s better if they don’t.”
Luca ran a thumb down Artair’s leg. “But you play for me all the time? Even though I notice every single note?”
At that, Artair glowed from the core of his being. “It’s okay if the important people notice me.”
Artair stopped as they reached the fork in the road—the one that separated the paths to their two homes. “Hey, I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh no, you’re breaking up with me?”
Artair grinned as he kissed him—his lips as soft and gentle as the dusk. “Dork.”
“You are!”
“Yeah, but I’m not ashamed to admit it,” said Artair. “No, I was just thinking, you should write the article you were going to write. But make it honest this time. Actually tell this story.”
Luca glanced at him cautiously, confused and remembering Artair’s first instinct when he’d found out that Luca was writing a story he might appear in. “I thought you didn’t want to be famous?”
Artair poked him in the ribs until Luca relented. “I’m not saying you should name me—I’m fine with being Red Bear. But I actually read your old story. Don’t look at me like that, you sleep for like four hours longer than me most mornings, and it was either that or the Freud. And it was really beautifully written, Luca. You have a real way with words. And it would be a shame if no one ever gets to see them.”
The sigh came soft to Luca’s lips. “But no one will see them. I can’t write a story about all the stuff we’ve done, because no newspaper can print it.”
The golden scatter of evening illuminated Artair’s face. “Maybe not now. But one day they might?”
TEN
