10. Ursa Major

TEN

Ursa Major

L uca's arms shook from the exertion. He and Artair had been at it for hours now, with neither showing any signs of slowing. Because neither wanted to be the one to admit that their knees were too sore or their asses too aching.

The wet mound yielded under his constant digging, his steely tool gripped firmly between stout fingers. Every thrust into the tender, squelching hole elicited drips down its sun-warmed sides. It was the perfect environment for Luca to sow his ample seed—deep and fertile.

"I still can't believe that all of this is yours," he said, taking in their progress on the garden beds. There were only three weeks left of summer now, far too late in the season for the harvest to yield before they left. But Artair wanted to experiment with some perennials like beans and potatoes and artichokes, seeing what might survive until next summer. "How did you learn to do this?"

"What, plant vegetables?" said Artair with an exaggerated tut, lifting the brim of an absurd straw hat, held in place by a bright pink ribbon .

As Artair explained it, the hat had been in the tower for decades, which Luca could believe. It looked like something a grandmother might wear to a farmers' market in the forties.

Even though Artair was giving the opposite of the virile tradesman he'd previously shown, there was something strangely adorable about the look. About the ridiculousness. About him not caring how stupid he looked. About him deliberately looking foolish, just to get a laugh out of Luca.

"No, ass , I mean the fact you actually built these garden beds. And cut them into a proper terrace on the hill."

"Oh, that ," said Artair, casually. "I did that last summer. It wasn't that hard."

Luca looked out over the million miles of wilderness that surrounded them. "Yeah, but literally how?"

"I already knew the basics from a few random landscaping jobs. So I got Sandy to loan me some power tools. Helicoptered them in at the start of the season and loaded them back home before I left. The soil out here's fertile as heck, so it was just a bit of sawing and digging. Add a single pine tree for sleepers, and the whole thing came together in a few weeks. I only built the extra shed and the beehives because I had the spare time and extra lumber and it felt wrong to let the rest of the tree go to waste."

And with that, Artair returned to his job of laying seed potatoes deep in the soil. As if what he'd just said was totally unremarkable.

"You know, downplaying talents is a real skill of yours."

"Thank you?"

"I'm serious!" said Luca. "You're acting like this is nothing to brag about. But it is . You cut down a tree on your own and basically made a farm out of it. I couldn't do that. Most people couldn't. "

"Why bother bragging? I know I did it."

"Because it's impressive? And other people would be impressed by it?"

Artair gave him a kind but weighty look. "I guess I've always cared more about impressing myself, rather than caring if others are impressed by me."

Luca swayed back comically as if he'd been shot. "And what is that meant to mean, Madam."

"Nothing," said Artair, innocently. "Just wondering if you've actually started writing the story again?"

"I've sat at the typewriter to eat. Does that count?"

"No? Yes? I don't know. I tend to be a bit more of a pick up the instrument and just start playing kind of guy."

"Yeah, writing has never been like that for me. I need to map things out and see how all the pieces are going to fit together."

"Sounds painful?"

"Yeah, but sometimes you have to wince in pain before you can scream in joy?"

Artair's eyes glowed with that familiar sparkle. "Believe me, I've heard you scream."

"Listen, Gertrude . You aren't exactly quiet when I'm hitting your spot just right."

"Ohhh. I've always wanted to name this hat. Gertrude fits really well!"

"The name fits better than the actual hat does. You know it's like five sizes too small?"

"I thought you liked how big my head was?"

"I was talking about the one in your pants."

"You mean this one?"

"Oh my God. Are you ever soft? "

"Sorry, but you started talking about hitting my spot . What did you think would happen?"

"Yeah, fair."

Artair grinned. "Should I put it away?"

"Now, now," said Luca, licking his lips. "Let's not be hasty."

"Ugh, " huffed Luca, collapsing belly-first onto the log by the popping fire.

The big trunks had become like comfortable couches in a cozy den. This particular one—the same one that he and Artair had first kissed on—had been so well sat on in recent times that the fall didn't even hurt, the soft bark cushioning his flumph like pounds of foam padding.

And then . . . nothing happened.

In place of the deep-voiced response he'd anticipated came nothing but the heat-slowed song of the cicadas, humming to the low, pink dusk.

That melody was soon joined by the warm, ticklish slurps at his fingertips, as Bowie gratefully licked the hike sweat off him. That lap-lap-lap mixed with the ever-babbling stream and the cooling remnants of Luca's own breaths.

But what they weren't joined by was any response from the campsite's owner.

"Ugh!" he said, louder this time, still staring at the blades of grass a few inches from his nose.

And there was still no response.

Luca dragged his head up.

There was no one around. The campsite was empty .

Only then did he hear the rumble of Artair snoring in his tent.

Luca rolled off and threw open the thick canvas flaps. "Ugh!" he said, a third and definitive time.

"I'm awake!" said Artair, snapping upright.

Artair's hair was a great tangled mess after two months without a haircut. One of his eyes was still fully closed, the other flickering half open. He was wearing a tight-fitting singlet and nothing on the bottom. And for the first time in a long time, his dick was soft.

That only lasted about ten seconds, until the big, blinking bear rebooted his brain and properly noticed him. First came his dopey, sleepy smile. Then came an instinctual sproing between his legs.

"Hi there," said Artair. "You were late, so I had a nap."

Luca crossed his arms—angry at the world, not him. "Yeah, I know. Sorry ."

"Nawww. Why so grumpy?"

Luca blew out his lips and collapsed belly-first onto the mattress. "The article is being a complete prick. I wrote for like nine hours today and got nowhere . That's a whole week of wasted time."

Artair moved around, rubbing his beard against Luca's shoulders. Slowly, he moved it down Luca's spine and hips, finally coming to a rest on Luca's ass. "Wanna talk about it?" he said, kissing Luca softly on each cheek.

"No," said Luca, extending his hips, inviting more of the warm attention. His hand was instinctively filled by the fat, cut bear cock, swollen and already pulsing behind him.

"Want me to fuck the cum out of you so hard you forget your own name? "

"Fuck yes," Luca groaned as Artair slid his tongue between the cheeks.

It was several hours later, and Luca was still sulking. Not from the expert screwing, with Artair knowing just how stressed and annoyed he was, and taking even longer than usual with his attention—stretching his strokes and staying his slides long into the evening, until his lover was certain that every ache and pressure point on Luca's body had been massaged.

Nor was there anything in the perfect night that warranted his mood. The fire between them crackled warm and orange, sending a dance of sparks into the sky with each crunch of the coals. Above, that same sky was blooming with each passing moment—filling with the pale-blue brilliance of the stars. Out here, so far from the city, each star glowed like a crystal flare, as layer upon layer of the cosmos fought for their attention.

But what was worthy of Luca's scowls, were the white lumps of foam that Artair was sliding onto spindly sticks.

Luca scrunched his nose. "Must we?"

"Listen, you're feeling grumpy. And if a toasted marshmallow can't cure that feeling, then gosh darn it, I don't know what will!"

Although Luca's instinct was to say something back, there was a spark in Artair's expression that stopped him. He was so genuinely keen to share this dumb ritual that Luca couldn't bring himself to protest.

Besides, he'd put it off as long as he possibly could. The man had raised it about a hundred times over the last month and a half .

Luca took the twig, scrawnier than necessary given the piles of sturdier sticks, and started rotating it in the echoes of the fire—a few inches away from the flames, where the heat smoked hottest.

If he'd been a poet, there might have been something in that. In the way the most dangerous part of the flame was the spot you couldn't see.

"Well, isn't this nice ," said Artair, as he toasted his own candy from freshly driven snow to California fake tan.

"It'd be nicer if I could just finish this damn article."

"And why can't you?"

Luca huffed. "Because I know that I'm writing something no one will ever read? That it won't do anything? Won't spark any conversation? Won't change anyone's mind about anything? That it's just one big waste of time?"

"Like I said, maybe one day it will get published?"

"But I don't think it will. I'm not going to wake up in a year or two and have everyone demanding my stories. Maybe this is what I should accept— defeat . I had one shot and it's gone. No one will ever be able to publish what I want to write. Any reputable company would be fined into bankruptcy if they tried. They'd have people picketing outside their headquarters and be turned into pariahs by the conservative media."

"So sell it to a disreputable company?"

Luca snorted. "What? Gay porn mags and badly photocopied zines? That's not what I want, though. These articles need to be read by the mainstream . They need to show a world to people who wouldn't usually see it. It needs to be shocking. To force conversations. To force change . And I can't do that if I'm publishing to a tiny audience who already agrees with everything I'm saying. "

Luca sighed and took the marshmallow in his mouth. The warmed, caramel crust gave way to waves of sweet, lightly flavored foam.

After so many years of complaining about them being overrated, even Luca had to admit that it had a certain charm there. Something that made his chest warm beneath the wool. Something which took his mind off the deeper thoughts for just a moment.

Artair rubbed a bare toe against Luca's. "You've never really told me why it's so important for you to write about sex? Or to have it read by a mainstream audience?"

Luca tossed his stick into the fire and shook his head, trying to rattle out the darker thoughts, knowing that he was being a total fucking buzzkill. "Does it matter? It isn't going to happen. Look, sorry for bringing the mood down. I'll be fine. I just need to accept that it will never happen for me and?—"

"It matters to me," interrupted Artair, looking at him with an earnestness that Luca hadn't seen before. "Because it matters to you. I know that you love writing, and I can see that this is really important to you. But I don't understand why. And I hate the idea of you burning up with something you don't think you can talk about."

Luca stared at his open face.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Artair—he did. And it wasn't that Artair wouldn't understand—he would, or at the very least he'd give Luca a fair hearing. The man was smart, and soulful, and deep, and he didn't think anything like most people.

And yet... Luca and Artair's relationship was fun . That was the basis of everything. Their sex was fun. Their hikes were fun. Their interaction and their teasing and their playfulness was fun .

And this issue—the driving force for why Luca did what he did, why he wrote what he wrote, why he wanted to be read by a big audience—wasn't fun . It was rough and difficult and flowed from some harsh place a million miles from this beautiful forest. It was dark and it was real, and it had already cost him far too fucking much in his life.

The men he'd cared for, who couldn't handle his drive and his determination.

The man he'd loved who didn't think him fitting .

And the thought that it might cost him Artair, too?

When they only had a few weeks left together?

No, that was just too much to bear.

Their relationship was temporary. Luca knew that. He had no choice but to know that. The man might be sweet and affectionate and comfortable, but in just a few short weeks, Artair would wander off on his next adventure.

Without a phone.

Without a contact.

And without Luca.

And the only thing keeping him going was knowing that they still had what was left of the summer.

So please, just let me have that. Just give me that time before I lose you too.

And yet, for as long as Luca stayed silent, Artair just kept looking at him.

Ceding him the space.

Asking for his answer.

And so, eventually, he gave one.

"Because it's real, " said Luca, his voice peaking. "Because most people live their lives thinking that anything they don't understand is scary. That anyone they don't understand is an enemy. And worse, there are so many people out there hiding who they really are—bottling it up tight and never letting it breathe. And all the while they're screaming on the inside. Screaming for a single moment of truth. Screaming for one expression of actual emotion. Screaming for one solitary second of reality."

Luca couldn't stop himself now—damn the consequences.

If Artair wanted to know why he cared, this was it.

This was him .

Unfiltered.

Unedited.

"Out in the suburbs, a dad thinks the new twink intern is hot, and has no idea how to process that. Mom wants the pool boy, and six of his friends, to all take turns knocking a baby into her. Grandma loves the feeling of latex washing up gloves way more than anyone else. Grandad puts on a wig when the wife is out and has never felt more right . And none of them—not a single fucking one—talks about any of this. None of them sees this stuff in their papers or their cable news or anywhere . There are millions of people, living their lives, from cradle to grave, keeping all of these things hidden. They'll deny themselves a lifetime of exploration and joy and discovery of their true desires, all because it isn't normal to talk about these things. And worse, they'll persecute other people— good people —because they're so fucking terrified of the secrets inside themselves."

Luca's face was red now. A tear he couldn't control fell down his cheek.

"And it's wrong ! And it's hateful . And it's repressive . And if I do nothing else in my life, I want to make it easier—just one tiny bit easier—to talk about any of this stuff. To help people not feel ashamed. To show that there are people out there who deserve to be respected. To tear down the fucking mainstream and rebuild it with something better!"

Luca didn't meet Artair's eye. He couldn't. His chest was pumping hard, and it would be too painful to see his expression.

His pity.

His fear .

His confusion at why any of this shit mattered in the slight?—

The lips came hot against his own.

Luca met them. Gratefully. Greedily.

When Artair spoke, it from somewhere deeper than Luca had managed to explore. Artair's cheeks were wet.

"You are so fucking amazing , Luca," Artair whispered, before tackling him to the grass.

It wasn't like any sex they'd had before.

There was no playfulness in their union—not because it wasn't welcome, but because it wasn't fitting. Because laughter and teasing and jokes might somehow minimize this moment.

Nor did they speak, because there wasn't a second where their lips were free of each other's.

Their eyes said all they needed to.

Locked.

Linked.

And with every touch, Artair held him closer than Luca had ever dreamed possible. Like every embrace was proof that Luca was safe. That he was secure. That he was protected .

That he was worshiped for everything he was, and for everything that he believed.

Two hours later, the campfire was low and calm. Luca was resting his head against Artair's bare chest. Pointing up at the twinkling stars. Seeing how many they could name.

Leo.

Orion.

Ursa Major.

The Great Bear.

Luca snuggled deeper into the embrace. The furry arm was wrapped tight around his back. Of all the amazing things about this man—and there were far too many for Luca to name—he gave the best hugs in the whole world. It was like every inch of Luca's body was protected. Like there was no danger in all the world that could reach him here.

And then, out of the sky, came the one thing that still held that power.

Across the distance came a night-waking flash of white, followed by a sharp clap of thunder.

"Ugggh," Luca groaned, trying to hide in the depth of Artair's fur. The Command Center hadn't mentioned any storms this morning. "Not this again."

The bigger man chuckled. "I don't think hiding will help."

"If I can't see it, the storm isn't real?" said Luca, his voice muffled.

Artair messed with Luca's well-fucked hair. "Hey, we got a whole month between storms? That's something, right? "

Luca rolled reluctantly to his knees, placing a loving kiss on Artair's lips. "Did you waterproof your tent with the beeswax?"

"Sure did."

"Then try not to starve this time?"

Bowie immediately stole Luca's warm spot. Artair snuggled him close and grabbed the half-eaten bag of marshmallows, trailing little white pillows across the grass. "Don't worry about me. I'm sorted."

Luca awoke in his own bed. The sky was soft and overcast, but thankfully free of rain.

The storm had been quick and ferocious, passing around eleven that morning, thankfully without causing any significant damage. A quick glance at the radio said that it was almost five in the afternoon now.

The loose t-shirt draped over him was as crinkled as his brain. The feeling was like his early college years, when he'd often woken up bleary from some party, much closer to the sun setting than rising.

Trying to finger-brush the hair out of his eyes, Luca staggered to the front door, yearning for a little cross-breeze among the stuffy enclosure—sealed tight to prevent the sideways rain from drowning him.

Luca paused as the door swung open.

Because the sight before him was so surprising, it woke him up completely.

Out in the meadow, about twenty paces from his balcony, was Artair—dressed in jeans and a blue flannel and gently strumming his guitar. Despite the lack of sun, he was a glowing flame among all those muted colors.

And Luca felt like his heart might burst.

Because Artair's whole campsite had been recreated.

The tent.

The fire.

The fox.

All of it.

"Oh, hello sleepy head," said Artair, as Luca came beside him.

The bark against his ass was much rougher than he was used to. "You moved the campsite?"

"Kind of! I made a new one. Even I'm not so stubborn to drag the old logs uphill."

Luca looked at the edges of the trunks. The pine was freshly cut, the creamy fibers tufting out like his own unkempt hair. "How did I sleep through that being cut down?"

"It was impressive. I thought hammering in the tent pegs might've got you," he said, pointing to his neatly arranged tools. "And it gets better. That's the axe from the tower."

"Wait... You came into the tower, and I didn't wake up?"

"I could've tap danced on your butt. You were so out of it. Maybe next time I'll see what else you'll sleep through?"

Luca yawned. "You're welcome to try, babe."

Artair snorted. " Babe!? "

"Huh?" said Luca, realizing what he'd said.

"You just called me babe !"

"I don't know!" said Luca, rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks were flushed warm from more than just the firelight. After all the acceptance that Artair had shown him last night, the last thing he wanted was to push his luck and make their last few weeks together awkward. "I just woke up! Don't make a big deal out of it."

"Nooo, it's super cute! You can call me babe if you want."

Luca paused, trying to find the trap. " Really? "

"Of course. Why not?"

"Ummm, because you're mister go wherever you like ? Because you don't want to be pinned down? Because you make up things as you go along? Because you don't even have a phone, so I'm guessing we won't be seeing a lot of each other after summer? Because you literally told me you didn't want to get too close?"

Now it was Artair's turn to look awkward. "Well... look... I've been thinking about that. For so many years, I've done all of this on my own. I've gone wherever I liked, and then left as quickly. Made friends and ran away. Had great experiences and moved on."

And in Artair's expression—nerves and vulnerability—Luca suddenly knew where this was going.

Oh my God . . .

How long had Artair been thinking like this?

How long had Luca missed that it was happening?

Artair breathed long and slow, as if steadying himself. "And... it's not like I'm going to settle down in one location with a white picket fence and three kids for the rest of my life. But, after the last few months? I don't know, Luca. It might be nice to have a partner in crime on the adventure for once?"

Luca's chest glowed with a warmth he hadn't felt in a long time. With the sensation of a million doors opening that he hadn't even known were there. A million doors that he hadn't let himself believe could be there .

Luca's heart was beating so hard he felt he might collapse. After everything they'd talked about, he couldn't believe what Artair was saying. "Like... boyfriends ?"

Artair looked embarrassed. "This can't be news? Why do you think I've spent every day with you for months?"

"Because I'm the only man in these woods?"

"Is that what you really think?"

"I mean . . . kinda ?"

Artair leaned over and ran a thumb across Luca's cheek. His eyes glowed in the firelight—amber across emeralds. "If all the forest was full of sexy men, I'd still be spending my days with you , Luca Torres."

Luca blinked, barely able to process the words. " Why? " he whispered.

"Because you're smart and you're sexy and you say things that make me think? Because you've never been an asshole about me not having a real job, or a degree, or asked me when I'm going to settle down ? Because you wouldn't let me walk off into a storm without making sure I was safe and warm and cared for?"

Luca stared, waiting for the dream to break.

It wasn't something he'd thought about.

It wasn't something he'd allowed himself to think about. The possibility seemed too remote to even consider.

And yet, everything about this moment felt right. Every inch of his skin radiated with a desire long hidden.

Artair laughed nervously at Luca's shock. "Sooo... Is that a yes?"

"God, yes ," he said, kissing the beautiful man hard, taking him full and firm in his arms.

Luca's mind was buzzing now—humming with the meaning of the moment. Joining Artair on his adventure? What would that even look like? How would that even work?

Luca didn't know. Perhaps he wouldn't know until that moment came. But in this moment, he knew that the summer suddenly felt far too short. And the thought of parting ways with this incredible man felt too awful to consider.

"But, what about my job?" Luca said, when their lips finally parted.

Artair gulped heavily, clearly knowing that the question was coming. Luca could see how much this moment meant to him. How much all of this hinged on this very conversation, this very second. "I know you think that no one will publish your stories. I know you think that you may as well give up. But I don't think that's true, Luca."

Artair wasn't looking at him now. Luca took his shaking hand, and Artair gripped him back, hard—like a drowning man in an ocean, knowing that the seas beyond were too cold to explore alone.

Because the night was too long and the stars were too few.

Because he couldn't imagine facing any of it without him .

Because he'd been hurt by his life.

Because he'd loved and he'd lost.

Because this was everything Artair had to offer. A part of himself that he hadn't offered in a long fucking time.

Artair blinked back a tear. "I think you're brilliant and incredible and so are your stories. I think someone out there will love them as much as they deserve. And I'd like to help you find them. I don't know what city or what state or what season, but I want to find the answer with you, Luca. If you'll have me for the adventure. I know I'm not much. I know I don't have much to offer, but?—"

Luca's lips came hot against Artair's.

Artair met them. Doubtful. Disbelieving.

When Luca spoke, it from somewhere deeper than he'd ever explored. From somewhere that would make the man believe every fucking word.

"You are everything , Artair," Luca whispered, before tackling him to the grass.