9. Red Wood

NINE

Red Wood

L uca snapped awake, eyes half open and sun half risen.

He was alone in the bed, as he had been every night for the last fortnight, with he and Artair coming together for boisterous afternoons and slippery evenings, but ultimately sleeping apart. Luca had initially feared that the change of location would mean spending much less time together. However, the opposite was true, with them spending every sunset so far in each other's arms and asses.

Yeah, the long walks back and forward between their camps were time consuming, but what was the other option? Not spending all his free time riding Artair's cock?

Mmm. Artair's cock . . .

Just as that lovely thought made him drift back to pleasant dreams, another clang dragged him to reality. The sound—clanking metal and the smack of wood—was coming from the sheds.

Some people say that the test of a man is how they respond to an unexpected noise in the middle of the night. A few leap into action, with middle-school karate ready in their fists. Most freeze and say a silent prayer that it was just the house settling.

It was a testament to Luca's two months in the wilderness that he rolled out of bed with a grunt, slipping on unlaced boots and not a single other thread to cover his swinging nakedness.

"Fucking squirrels," he muttered, wobbly on his morning legs.

However, when he stumbled down the dew-heavy grass, blushed tangerine orange from the horizon, it wasn't a squirrel that had gotten into the sheds.

It was Artair.

His visitor grimaced in the low light, fully dressed and fully awake. The awake part was typical—in their time together during the storm, Artair had proved himself a much bigger morning lark than Luca's journalistic night owl.

But what wasn't typical was the half-dozen gardening implements he was juggling under his arms, with handles and dirt-covered metal jutting out at all angles. Somewhere in the pile was the cabinet of vegetable seeds, balancing precariously on the flat shelf of a hoe-blade.

Luca made an incoherent noise, somewhere between a growl and a groan. He reached down instinctually to pat the energetic head of Bowie, who was switching periodically between frantic bolts and obedient sits.

"Why?" Luca muttered, rubbing sleep from his eyes, the cool morning breeze caressing his bare balls.

Artair looked apologetic. At least, those parts that Luca could see through the pile certainly did. "Ohhh, hey there, lover. This isn't what it looks like."

"Let me guess, you got excited last night when I was talking about proper Mexican tacos, and now you want to grow a bunch of vegetables down by the river? Possibly as a surprise for me? In which case, we can both agree that there've been smoother surprises in history."

There was a long pause. "Okay, maybe it's exactly what it looks like."

"What time did you even wake up?"

"Now minus an hour?"

"That isn't normal, buddy."

Artair swiveled a shovel from in front of his face, letting Luca see him better. "For most of human history, this is when people got up."

"For most of human history, people lived to thirty and died from a stubbed toe."

"Did they?"

"I don't know. Probably," Luca said with a long yawn. "You know there are ten empty garden beds here, right?"

"Yeah, I built them," said Artair, factually. There was no brag there.

Of course you did, thought Luca. "And you aren't using them because... ?"

Artair attempted a shrug, sending a rake cascading from his arms. "I don't know. I already distract you enough? Sandy doesn't care about taking the afternoons off—if anything, she encourages it, so the person behind the glass can stay focused when it matters and doesn't go totally nuts. But I don't want to distract you in the morning as well. The job is important, and, you know..."

And you're trying to keep some distance to protect us both.

Luca patted Artair's hand, the skin warm against the cool. It was partly a gesture of affection, partly wanting the conversation to end so he could try to get a few more hours of sleep. "Just use the garden beds here, you big idiot. I'm perfectly capable of leaving you alone in the morning to do your own thing."

Artair looked skeptical—rightly so, given how things usually went when they were together. "Really?"

"Yes, really. "

And Luca meant it. Because Artair carting this stuff down to the river and starting over with a whole new garden? When the beds he actually built were here and ready and unused? That was too stupid to contemplate. It was the same instinct that led Artair to almost starve himself during the storm.

"But with one caveat," said Luca.

"What?"

Still tiptoeing between the worlds of the awake and the sleeping, Luca pulled Artair's hands from the pile, sending the tools clattering to the grass. Holding onto one meaty palm, Luca led Artair back to the tower. "Come spoon me until Sandy calls, then you can start digging."

"Spooning will probably also lead to digging," he said, staring fixedly at the dawn light across Luca's bare and bouncing booty.

"Oh no. How awful."

Gold illuminated Luca's new gardener.

Artair worked shirtless, which any sane person would agree was the correct choice. His beefy chest was sweat-sheened and furry, like an otter fresh out of an alpine river. His button-up was tucked casually into the back of his shorts. His boots and forearms were covered in dirt. And he wore his trucker cap backward, keeping his messy hair out of his eyes .

Unfortunately for Luca's attempts to keep his word and let the man work in peace, he found the whole image pornographically hot. Full tradesman realness—the plumber or the pool boy or the maintenance guy coming round to ensure his pipes were in good working order.

Often when they were together, Artair knew that Luca was stealing glances and played it up. Pulling awful pinup poses and making a ridiculous pout.

But this was something different. And not just because Luca was only allowing himself the occasional glance, rather than a full-focused stare of admiration.

Because this was Artair at his purest. When he didn't know he was being watched. When he was just being his true self.

And the true man was somehow even more incredible.

The way he bent down to plant his seeds, so big in form but so gentle in act—brushing the soil aside with soft fingers and returning it with tender pats.

The way he paused to take it all in, considering his next move and strategizing the layout of the trellises.

The way he stopped periodically to play with Bowie, darting left and right like an overcaffeinated football player.

The way he was just him , unpretentious and unashamed.

After too long staring, Luca had to grip the binoculars hard with both hands, forcing himself to focus on the distant mountaintops, resisting the temptation to run outside and kiss the hell out of him.

Luca was peering through six pounds of glass when Bowie startled him, leaping into his lap out of nowhere. His tongue lolled about at the belly rub he immediately received.

"Naaaw, so heartwarming," said Artair from the balcony, ducking to the nearest window, wide open to let in as much breeze as possible. He was slicked wet, with a red-flushed face and brown-dusted hands. "Not that warming is much of a problem. It's boiling out there!"

"Only cause you're so hot," said Luca, leaning to the window and accepting the kiss, the one he'd been thinking about for the last five hours.

His instinct to slide in his tongue—and to leap out the window and tear the man's shorts off—was halted when Artair unexpectedly pulled away.

The gardener stared at his own tented shorts. "No! You stay out of this. We're going to be good today."

Luca batted his eyelids. "I know a few things that could help him relax?"

"And please, never stop doing those things or I might actually die," said Artair, his cheeks pink against that charming glint of green. "But I thought we might do something else first?"

"Don't tell me you've gotten sick of screwing the afternoon away."

"Yeah, I wouldn't get too worried about that," said Artair, giving his prominent bulge a boing with his thumb. "But how do you feel about a hike beforehand?"

"Oh, that sounds great!" said Luca, a little embarrassed that they hadn't done it sooner. It wasn't that they hadn't talked about exploring. It was just that those conversations tended to morph into details of new and interesting places for them to frolic. Which inevitably led to them getting some practice in on the frolicking before they could follow through on the location. "Where abouts?"

"Well, I've seen a ton of your home state over the years, but you've never seen mine."

"Hiking to California might be a bit of a stretch?"

Artair waggled his eyebrows. "I'll give you a stretch."

"I thought you were being good?"

"Sorry, force of habit! And not the state of California. Just one of its plants."

"Huh?"

"Come on, trust me, I know you'll like it."

"How could you know that?"

"Because you like mine?"

Luca blinked. As was now common, the man's playful smile made him sure that he was missing something.

To help him along, Artair started playing with his bulge, making it jut out so hard that his pockets were stuck flat against his hips.

Eventually, Luca's own way with words caught up to him, and he groaned at the awful pun. "A redwood tree? In Washington State?"

It had to be a trick. Everyone knew that the tallest trees in North America stopped in southern Oregon, where the climate changed from hot and dry to green and wet.

Artair leaned his arms on the windowsill. "You don't have to believe me. But the quicker we get there, the quicker you can take care of this guy?"

Luca almost tripped out of the chair. "I'll get my boots!"

The rock scramble was so steep in places that Luca almost did the splits, his soles clinging to the hot granite as he leveraged himself between the cracks.

"How the hell did you find this place?" he panted.

Despite the raw summer warmth, the hike wasn't actually too bad, with the climb well-shaded by the thick and rustling green of some western hemlocks.

Artair gave his trademark shrug. "Six years is long time to explore?"

Infuriatingly, Artair wasn't panting—even though he had the full weight of his guitar case strapped on his back, and was carrying Bowie in the crook of one arm whenever the trail got too steep.

Not that Luca should have been surprised. Despite being thirty pounds heavier than him, Artair never seemed out of breath, no matter how vigorous the activity. It was like every part of him was made for outdoors life.

Every now and then, Luca found himself staring in wonder at the man. At how good he looked in his worn green flannel. At how perfectly stocky his calves were, framed by the cuffs of his age-softened work boots.

Luca had never looked at a man's calves before and thought damn, that is one sexy son of a bitch. But it was different with Artair. Because it was a small piece of the bigger package. A package that spoke to a wildness and a freedom and a virile, thick-bearded, masculinity—like you might come across him in the woods, building a log cabin and eating a moose-meat sandwich.

And yet all of it was perfectly contrasted with the softness of his presence. The cuddles and the grins and the sheer playfulness that he brought to every conversation.

"Which reminds me, I've been meaning to ask," said Luca, pushing down his own sucks of hot air. "Six years is a long time to explore. Why do you keep coming back to Bleeding Heart?"

Artair paused mid-step, in just the right position for his bear booty to be popping out, begging for Luca to slide his tongue in. "Wow," he said, with false outrage. "If you want me to leave..."

"No, dummy. But if you're so into new places and new experiences, why keep coming back here? Why go to the effort of building gardens and sheds and making it feel like a home?"

Artair pondered this question. "I don't know? I've never really thought about it. It's just what I've felt like doing, I guess? Maybe some stability makes the rest of the adventures more special? Like, even if I don't want to be tied to one place forever, some grounding lets me slow down and think about where I'll go next?" He shot Luca a sly look. "It's like how you can't eat marshmallows for every meal? Junk food tastes better if you've eaten a carrot or two."

" Blegh, " said Luca, shaking his head. "Are you going to keep bringing them up all summer?"

"What, carrots?"

"Marshmallows!"

"Only until you actually toast one."

Luca clicked his tongue. "Hmmm?"

The bigger man grumbled under his breath, the threat dulled by him still standing in prime butt-display position. "Seriously, what is your issue with marshmallows? What've they ever done to you?"

"They're just sweet wallpaper paste! With all the amazing things you can make on a campfire, they're so overrated."

"Luca, I care about you. I respect you. But you're wrong."

"Oh please. I saw your spice cabinet. "

"What's wrong with it? That's all you need to make a good meal."

"You had five types of salt and no kinds of chili! Honestly, you must be the whitest man on the planet."

"I don't know. Some parts of me are pink, too?"

With that, Artair slid his cargo shorts halfway down his ass, creamy white and covered with sunlit ginger fur. The hair across his bountiful cheeks was so fuzzy and soft that it looked like fragrant twines of saffron.

Luca's eyes bulged. But the second he started to scramble, Artair whipped up his waistband and started jogging ahead. "Come on, slowpoke! Not far now!"

Huge.

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.

Luca came down on top of him and wasted no time shoving thumbs behind his man's knees, folding Artair up and spreading him out all at once—bringing the pink and furry hole straight up to his wet lips.

Luca shoved his tongue into the pucker impatiently, his own balls already swelling at the familiar noises that sang from Artair's lips.

Gasps.

Coos.

Startled sighs.

And above all, pleasure .

Artair held his own knees up, freeing Luca to part his huge ass and shove his tongue in deeper. The smooth ring gripped hard against him, promising the heat and the force he'd soon slide his cock into. Artair squirmed at the intrusion—his dick bouncing up and down against his belly, and his big balls tightening at the sensation.

As Luca tended to the sensitive ring, Artair spread his hands above his head, stretching out his arms against the grass.

Luca growled at that. At the sign of willing submission. Of vulnerability. Of a desire to be spread and stretched in other places .

He grabbed Artair's knees again and lowered them—right into the path of his bulging cock.

Artair whimpered, weak and desperate, as Luca's cock head half entered him. There was no need for lube—not with the spit on his ass and how much Luca was already leaking.

A thumb on each of Artair's nipples made him scream. Scream and open up , his own ass pushing down against Luca's rigidity.

The grip around his shaft was phenomenal and made even more fiery by the sheer weight of man that was sliding down his cock.

Luca pulsed at that sight. At how this huge, beefy stud was giving himself over. At how he was begging Luca to take him and do whatever he wanted with his beautiful body.

And Luca didn't delay that satisfaction, giving Artair what he craved. It would've been cruel to make him wait.

Inch after inch, the tight hole throttled him. The bigger man shook involuntarily at the feeling—relief, desire, and that soul seething sensation that only came from a rock-hard cock pressed against your g-spot.

Luca was entranced by the sheer pleasure that swept Artair's face as he entered him fully. At the powerful thighs he held, thick in each grateful arm. At the realization—like the whole thing was some incredible dream—that this indescribably handsome man was all his .

To fuck.

To pleasure.

To worship.

Smirking, Luca grabbed Artair's straining cock—the cut head drooling in a way that only happened when Artair's ass was being played with .

"No! Please!" Artair whimpered, his huge body shaking at the rough touch.

Luca ignored his complaints, just like he'd been told to.

The first time he'd topped the bear, Luca had made the mistake of actually stopping when Artair begged him to, only for his lover to explain a few hours later that he'd given Luca a safe word for a reason .

Now, Luca knew better. Pushing forward harder at each squeal and each beg for mercy.

The torture was deliberate, and provoked the expected, panicked look that Artair gave him. It was a look that made the veins of Luca's cock snake even more up Artair's hot hole, pulsing harder as Artair tried to pry Luca's grip away from his slippery cock head.

The reason for the protest was one of the sexiest, most amazing things that Luca had discovered about Artair. The man was mostly a top, and an expert one at that. And in that role he could last two minutes or two hours—whatever the moment demanded.

But it was a totally different story when Artair bottomed.

Because Artair had the single most sensitive prostate that Luca had ever encountered, struggling not to lose his load within seconds of being entered.

Luca splayed his own knees on their gentle green mattress, enabling him to move his cock into the perfect position for slamming.

Artair screamed as Luca slowly swiveled his hips, driving his dick hard into his hole, so hot and slippery and so fucking perfect . Artair's cheeks were washed in embarrassment at his body's extreme reaction, struggling to process the overwhelming sensations. "Stop, please! I can feel it... Fuck, Luca... Fuck, you're going to make me... "

And then, it happened.

Involuntarily, Artair shot a huge jet of cum onto his big and bouncing belly, seeping into his thick thatch of rusty hair. Luca stopped jerking him at that, holding Artair's cock with the perfect grip to direct the high-pressure spray, but carefully avoiding giving any sensation to the head.

Carefully preventing him from having his full orgasm.

The view was so fucking hot, and the sudden spasms around his bare cock were so hard, that Luca had to bite his lip to stop himself blowing too early.

Luca ground his teeth joyfully at the torment in his lover's eyes, sliding slow and deep into his ass, provoking another big spurt and another big round of whimpers.

The smaller man shook his head at all the protests, displaying a dominance that always came as a surprise to his partners.

" Take it ," he growled, kissing along the huge calves and toward Artair's surprisingly small feet. "You know what to say if you actually want me to stop."

Artair covered his face, trying to hide his adorably pained expression. Luca took advantage to drive himself deeper in one sudden jab, directing his thick cock into the exact spot that would make his lover melt.

This time, the jet of cum hit Artair across the tufts of beard that poked out from between his knuckles. The cock pulses between Luca's slippery hands were incredible, and it took all his restraint not to stroke his perfect shaft properly, making Artair shoot so hard that the valley shook.

Instead, Luca scooped up the puddles of hot cum with two fingers, pulling away Artair's protective hands and feeding the blushing bear his own honey .

"Good boy," Luca whispered as Artair greedily lapped it up.

The praise made Artair grind back against Luca, yearning and desperate. Luca had to clench his ass hard, the cum building fast from Artair working himself on his cock. How he was craving more of Luca. Wanting Luca's prowess. Wanting Luca's load .

Artair groaned as he sucked on Luca's fingers, lapping up his own spunk with a hot and hungry tongue.

The big boy's thighs were shaking like a hummingbird's wings now. Every bounce on Luca's cock made Artair spurt and seize and scream.

The intensity had to be torture for Artair.

But he didn't say their safe word.

Not once.

Luca sneered at that. It was great news. Because he was done playing .

Grabbing the huge thighs—so big and sexy and strong—Luca thrust harder into Artair's hole. Each pound made the beef in his grip bounce. Each slam made the man's beautiful belly thump back and forth—further highlighting the sheer size of his conquest.

Some bigger boys hated this position, saying that it made them jiggle and look ultra hefty. That it showed off their guts and their chunky legs.

But Artair and Luca both knew the truth. That this was exactly what made the position so fucking hot! It was the perfect angle to admire every perfect inch of bear beauty.

The vicious pace made Artair incoherent, and Luca folded him up, knees to chest, laying a steaming kiss on his lips. The bigger man immediately met his tongue, hot and tasting of cum .

In this position, Artair's hole was wide open but still strangling Luca's girth, milking him with each barely controlled seizure.

Artair's breath was staggered from the pounding, but he managed to speak—desperate and dreamy. "You're so fucking hot, Luca."

Luca growled at the praise, thrusting harder still, his nose pressed firm against Artair's. Luca's eyes were locked fast with those staggering, soulful emeralds. Taking in every expression of joy that Artair gave him. Taking in every moment of appreciation from the man he never wanted to part with. "And you're more amazing than you'll ever fucking know, Artair . "

Artair kissed him hard at that, grabbing Luca by the back of his head and forcing their bodies together. Luca responded gratefully, picked up his pounding pace, slamming his own bouncing hips into Artair's gripping asshole. He relished the hot strangle of his shaft, with every inch driving deeper and harder, deeper and harder , making his bear scream and groan involuntarily.

And as they neared their climax, Luca lost track of time and circumstance.

Because in that moment, there was no Luca and Artair .

There was only them .

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?"