8. Warm Den

EIGHT

Warm Den

O n 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? "

Bowie yipped back that he was the cleverest of the good boys.

"So how did you actually meet him?" said Luca.

"Maybe I'm a hero? Maybe I rescued him from beneath a burning tree and nursed him back to health?"

"Did you?"

"Nah. Last summer I forgot to close my door one night. I woke up to him eating my leftover spaghetti."

Luca laughed. "Yeah, he does love an open door."

"Then he just kept hanging around. And I wasn't going to turn away a furry friend."

"Yeah, that'd be super out of character. Particularly a cute and affectionate one."

"You don't know the half of it! He was still a baby last summer. Like, half his current size?"

Luca swooned at the thought of the already adorable fox in miniature. "Oh, God. My heart! "

After several more minutes of teasing with the toy, Bowie finally lost patience, leaping in full carnivore mode toward the rat. His little fangs chomped heavily on the stretchy flesh as Artair playfully fought him off. At one point during their tug-of-war, Artair lifted the toy to his chest, with Bowie levitating in midair, back legs kicking frantically and refusing to let go of his latex prey.

When Artair finally got it free, he tossed it across the room. It thumped against the rain-streaming window and landed on the bed, enjoying about three seconds of freedom before a full-sprinting Bowie chased it down, doing his best to tear out the elastic jugular.

They both chanted encouragement as the squeaks got higher and Bowie became even more ravenous. At one point, he rolled completely off the bed, before leaping back up as if nothing had happened.

Luca sat back against the door. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts, alongside socks and no shoes. Artair slumped beside him, shirtless and barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of jocks—crimson briefs that should have clashed with his rosy complexion, but somehow only enhanced it.

Luca leaned into the bulky fuzz of Artair's shoulder. He smelled of high-tempo activity in colder weather—spicy and warm and with a layer of musk.

It was self-fulfilling prophecy of a scent, inviting and invigorating, drawing Luca in and making him want to engage in the activity that caused the scent in the first place.

"Is the toy from a haunted house?" Luca asked.

"Not this year. I got close to a woman who owned a few bars in Aspen. Really good sort. She had me working most nights, and always made sure I had somewhere to stay."

" Close , close?" asked Luca, without jealousy. He'd had plenty of bisexual bedmates and had never been prone to sexual envy.

"Just friends," said Artair, wrapping an effortless arm around Luca's shoulders, providing a fresh kiss of the increasingly familiar musk.

Luca sighed contentedly. Artair was so unlike any other man he'd been with. So unashamed of his affection. So unworried about things being taken too seriously .

It was the same as how he kissed—freely, openly, not holding anything back out of fear that Luca might misinterpret things.

It was unfamiliar, but... nice . Being able to have that intimacy, even though it was obviously just a temporary entanglement .

And Luca did know that all of this was temporary. Because how could it be anything else? You didn't live without a mobile or an email or an address if you planned on staying in contact with your lovers. You only did that if you lived where your feet were. If you embraced the moment and didn't dwell too much on the past. If the men you met were momentary .

Sure, they hadn't talked about it explicitly.

But Luca knew exactly what this was.

It was a summer fling—with a guy who'd wander off into the sunset as soon as the season ended.

And he was fine with that.

Of course he was.

"It's amazing that you can just turn up in a new place like that," said Luca, thinking about Artair arriving in Aspen without any plan or safety net. "Not knowing anyone? Not having any idea what the city's like? And just making those kinds of connections without a mobile phone."

"Ahhh, but that's the secret! It's not in spite of a mobile. It's because I don't have one. I'm not interested in any job that wants a CV and waiting three weeks to hear back and going to a job interview to see if I'm suitable . And I don't want to work for anyone who thinks that crap's necessary. That means I end up finding people who actually meet in person. Who want to know the human that's working for them."

"You just wander up to strangers and say: hey, let's be boss-friend-employees for the next few months. By the way, do you have a spare bed?"

"There's more out there than you think. Owners who actually connect with people in real life, rather than through a screen."

"I see," said Luca, teasingly. "So you'll stay in their beds. But when it comes to me, you tried to wander off into a storm? Interesting."

Artair laughed. "It's different when you're working for someone. It doesn't feel as much of an imposition."

"Have you stayed in touch with any of them?"

"Some. It's how I met Sandy. Well, her girlfriend, Hua, at least."

Luca sat up sharply, thinking back to all the conversations he'd had with Sandy over the last month. All those times where she'd deliberately teased him with details of her love life, only to kill the line at the last moment. "Wait, you've met Sandy in person? When? Where? How?"

Artair raised an eyebrow. "You know she's just a normal woman, right? Skin and hair and stuff. She's not the Loch Ness monster."

"Yeah, but she's also the only other person I've spoken to in a month! So stop being coy and tell me everything."

"There's not that much to tell. I was busking on the streets of Seattle one winter and Hua saw me. She asked if I wanted to play a gig at her bar, I said yes, and the rest is history."

"Oh my god! And what does Sandy look like. I'm thinking trucker lesbian realness. With a full mullet and a cigarette behind the ear?"

Artair laughed. "That's more Hua than Sandy. H is a nineties grunge girl. A true Seattle music lover. But Sandy is... not what you'd expect, based on her voice."

"Oh, come on. That's not much of a picture to work with!"

Artair shrugged, giving that same infuriating grin.

Luca snorted and nuzzled into his warmth. As the scent of virile man enveloped him, Luca dwelled on the story—at how Artair's whole life had shifted based on one chance encounter on a Seattle street.

Even with Luca's own ability to strike up conversations with strangers—to conduct interviews on the most personal topics—he couldn't imagine just turning up in a new city like that. With no phone, no contacts, no plan, nowhere to stay, and just adapting . To base your entire well-being on making friends and trusting that people will do right by you.

It was so impressive. And so unlike what most people would consider normal.

Artair rested his forehead against Luca's own. "You don't think it's weird? The whole wandering thing?"

"God no," said Luca, curious why Artair cared what he thought. "It's incredible that you can do that. That you're actually doing it, rather than just talking about it." Luca poked at Artair's ribs, already returning to their usual padding with the amount Luca was feeding him. "But maybe don't starve yourself in future?"

"I don't know. It's worked out pretty well for me?"

On their fifth day together, the rain rushed over Luca's face, cascading down his ample bronze curves. The soap bubbles moved over mountains and valleys, washing all the way down to the field at his feet.

Naked, Luca had his own tantalizing combination of rough and gentle. Smooth golden skin covered in thick black hair. Biceps and glutes hardened by the gym but made luscious by his body's tendency toward winter hibernation .

Thick was the best word to describe him.

Thick and juicy.

The endless storm bore witness to his stocky beauty, framed by the gray afternoon and the hundreds of miles of undulating wilderness.

But as beautiful as the view was, Luca's eyes were closed. Because his mind was elsewhere. Knowing that it wasn't just birds watching him bathe, but someone of flesh and blood and coursing with longing. Someone fascinated and captivated and unable to take their eyes off him.

Luca moved sensually under the open-air shower. Ensuring that the rain trickled over the most alluring parts of his body. Ensuring that his captivated audience was witnessing a na?ve and innocent nymph, with just enough sparkle in their smile to show how much they wished to learn.

And soon, he was joined by his teacher.

Luca laughed at how the rain made Artair's hair flat, covering his eyes like an auburn mask. Artair played up the moment, walking like a naked zombie from the tower, arms extended and growling under his breath.

Artair's hands were immediately on him—caressing the rise and fall of Luca's heft. Giving unrestrained praise to his body. To the figure he simply couldn't get enough of.

Taking hold of the lather-smooth bar, Artair explored all the soft and sensitive parts of Luca's physique. Lingering. Lasting. Not wanting to miss a single spot.

His hand still covered in suds, Luca took Artair's straining cock. The man shuddered like they'd been apart for months, not minutes.

Artair surged under his slippery touch. Needing him. Wanting him. Unable to withhold the contact .

Luca moved behind Artair, kissing the taller man's neck and sliding his own stiffness across the enormous ass. He swirled his thumb tip around Artair's glands, each rotation making him whimper. His other thumb massaged Artair's nipples, making him jolt in Luca's arms with an almost savage ecstasy.

The combination was intoxicating, bringing the bigger man completely under his control. Making him beg for more. Making him beg for the sensation to never stop.

And as he did so, Artair's hands never strayed from Luca's own skin, reaching back gratefully to the familiar curves of his hips and ass.

Normally, Artair liked to draw things out, but Luca's touch was so expert, so focused on his task, that soon Artair was gasping and moaning and spraying a screaming torrent of virility ten feet across the mountaintop.

No sooner was Luca done, then Artair was on his knees, rolling back Luca's foreskin.

As Artair took his first hungry laps, Luca parted the hair from his lover's face, revealing those beautiful eyes—the color of rarest jade.

The bear's smile melted Luca to his very core.

So thrilled.

So content.

"You are so fucking beautiful, Luca," whispered Artair, before swallowing him greedily, not letting up until every last drop was freed.

On their eighth day together, Luca was sitting naked on the floor, pulling yellowed paperbacks from the old bookshelf.

" Bridget Jones's Diary? " he asked, over the sound of thunder.

"Yeah, that's also mine," said Artair, leaning back in the chair—wearing a singlet but otherwise naked. "What? Don't get judgy. It's a funny book!"

"You're funny."

"And that's why you like me, right?"

"That and a few other reasons," said Luca, gesturing vaguely toward Artair's lower half. "Okay, what about this one. The Art of War? "

"That was here when I first arrived. I tried to read it a few times, but I couldn't get the hang of the main characters."

"There aren't any characters, Artair. It's a book of strategy."

"Strategy, smategy. Can someone just slip on a banana peel? Is that too much to ask?"

"Oh... my... God," said Luca, spotting another title and doing the maths in his head. "This copy of The Da Vinci Code is yours, isn't it? It has to be."

"So? What's wrong with it?"

"It knows what it did," said Luca, haughtily.

"Hey, not all of us read Freud in our spare time."

"That was just for the article. Promise."

At that, Artair slunk from the chair, getting on fours with a knowing look. He crawled toward Luca—the singlet showcasing his furry shoulders, bulging up and down like a carnivore with each movement.

It was probably meant to be funny, but Luca couldn't help thinking how incredibly hot he looked. The way his belly was framed, round and stocky. The way his naked ass and thighs were swaying. The way his dense ginger fur glinted yellow in the warm light.

When Artair reached the bookshelf, Luca gratefully leaned back onto the rug, running hands down the cotton of the singlet, meeting the hot skin of Artair's incredible ass cheeks. Artair kissed him softly, teasingly, as Luca's cock bounced to life, throbbing hard at his taste and his smell.

But rather than Luca lifting his legs and offering his ass, Artair stopped him—pressing his hands firmly against Luca's chest and kneeling over his belly.

Artair grinned as his big ass filled Luca's hands—so peachy and thick. "The article? The one you were writing about celibacy?"

With that, Artair pressed his ass back against Luca's straining cock, using his cheeks to roll back the foreskin, already slicked wet.

Luca breathed through pursed lips, heart beating hard at this unexpected turn. Swiveling his hips seductively, Artair found the alignment—getting Luca's pulsing cock head to plant a slick kiss against his hole.

Luca grinned encouragingly. As much as he'd wanted to fuck Artair for weeks, the allure of that thick cock smashing against his prostate had been too much to resist.

And now, it seemed, Artair wanted his own turn.

Luca gasped as Artair made slow swivels of his hips, grinding Luca's dick against his tightness. "Yeah, that's— fucking hell— the article."

Staring down with hungry eyes, Artair bucked back, making Luca's sensitive glands squeeze just past his ring. "And how's that celibacy going for you?"

Luca looked Artair up and down—the most impossibly handsome, impossibly horny man that he'd ever had the good fortune of meeting. "You have no fucking idea," he muttered, breathlessly.

On their eleventh day together, Luca stared at the well-thumbed notebook, covered in a scrawl of pen and pencil and any other writing implement which had come to hand over the last month. "Ready, Sandy?"

"Ahhh, there's nothing quite like the enthusiasm of a rookie on their first food order. One month prior, they'd be sulking if their double venti macchiato wasn't at the perfect temperature. Now, they're just grateful to get something with two colors and a texture."

Luca scowled impatiently. "Was that a yes?"

"Kid, I started doing this when you were still pissing into diapers. I don't need to get ready to take an order."

Artair leaned over the top of the chair, resting his chin on Luca's head. He had to speak up over the sound of the storm. "Trust me, Dunebug, you might want a pen for this one."

The eye rolling was almost audible through the line. "Fine, hot shots. Impress me."

The list in Luca's hands actually started with some fairly boring ingredients. But he ran his eye farther down the page until he found something that would justify the hype. "I'll need a shaker of tajín."

He'd hoped for an awkward pause, but Sandy shot back immediately. "The chili-lime salt essential for a good michelada? Can do."

Luca was slightly annoyed at that. "Masa Harina," he said, carefully excluding words like pack or bag that might give it away.

"Corn flour, check. But did you want blue, white or yellow? Ah, don't worry. I'll throw in one of each."

Luca flipped desperately to find something else that might throw her off. "Ummm . . . Well . . ."

"Come on, rookie, I was expecting more! Grey Cliffs Tower just sent through an order that had saag aloo and chaat masala. You must have something on your list to beat that?"

Luca sighed and read through the rest of the list normally.

He'd initially feared that Sandy might stop him ordering enough for two people, but she was also a step ahead of him on that, muttering phrases like: Well, that's got a super long shelf life, so we may as well get double.

By the time they were done, the order was so large that Luca was worried the helicopter might crash into a mountain.

"Marshmallows!" barked Artair when Luca was done.

Luca groaned. " Really? "

"What? We're halfway through summer and we haven't toasted a single marshmallow!"

"There's a whole bag on the shelf if you want them."

"I mean... there used to be," said Artair, guiltily. "Bowie must have eaten them while you were sleeping. Naughty boy!"

Bowie looked up at Artair judgmentally, almost like he was saying don't blame me for your sugar lust, buddy!

Luca shook his head. "What I'm hearing is that we finally freed the tower of the marshmallows, and now you want to infect the place with more?"

"Oh, come on! You didn't do that as a kid? Sliding one onto a pole and watching as it got all hot and gooey?"

"Is this a sex thing? "

"No, no. This is the other sticky white goo that'll be dripping down your chin."

"Hey!" barked Sandy. "Can we please end these calls before I have to hear about dude parts! Don't make me start talking about pussy."

"Go ahead," said Luca with a shrug. "I've been asking for over a month now."

"No! Wait!" said Artair, desperately. "I'm sorry, Dunebug!"

"Nope! Too late, bucko!" said Sandy, clearing her throat. "So, the outer labia..."

On their fourteenth day together, Luca stared into the darkness.

Around the midnight tower, the patter of rain was joined by two set of snores. One was the higher-pitched purr of Bowie, faithfully asleep at the end of the bed. The other was Artair, draped across the double mattress, his free arm forming a cave that Luca had only recently left.

That restlessness was unusual for Luca. Usually, Artair drawing him in as little spoon sent him straight to sleep—warm and wanted.

But tonight, it played on his mind.

Because tonight, for the first time, he could actually hear their snores.

Because tonight, the rain was finally letting up.

According to Sandy, the storm was due to pass tomorrow. Then, it was a month of bright skies and hotter weather.

A month of proper summer .

Luca sipped his hot chocolate, holding the warm cup to his lips. Given how cold it was right now, it was crazy to think that it was all about to change.

That it was all about to end .

The two of them hadn't spoken about where Artair would stay when the rain stopped. It was all just obvious—little clues pieced together from a hundred smaller conversations.

Artair wasn't going to leave the woods until summer ended—not with Luca and Bowie here—but he wasn't going to stay in the tower either. After all, it was barely big enough for one, let alone for two and a fox.

Instead, Artair would return to his former camp, with enough supplies to actually survive this time. And Luca would stay here, doing his job. Protecting the wilds. Thinking about what he'd do when the summer was over.

As the sweet warmth coated Luca's tongue, he convinced himself that he wasn't bothered about their upcoming separation. After all, this whole thing with Artair was just a temporary fling. A bit of fun.

Had it all been enjoyable? Sure. Artair was fun to have around. Fun to fuck. Fun to cuddle. Fun to talk to.

But Artair was a wanderer. Someone who shifted with the breeze. Someone who was comfortable forging their own path.

Besides, Luca had his own work to do when summer ended. He'd head back to Seattle and see what contacts he could scrounge up. He'd see where his old classmates had gotten to. See if they knew of any openings. See if there were any other opportunities out there that he'd missed.

Because, ultimately, it wouldn't be Artair leaving him . It would be both of them leaving each other.

Because Luca just couldn't run off to whatever place Artair might want to go next. Or to the place after that. Or to the place after that .

Because he wanted a stable job at a big newspaper.

A prestigious newspaper.

An influential newspaper.

In one place—one city.

That was where his future lay.

Of course it was.

On their fifteenth day together, Luca dumped the boxes of food onto the damp grass, almost collapsing onto the ground after them.

His panting contrasted with the surrounds. Afternoon light filtered through the familiar river-front—green and babbling and made suddenly bigger by the absence of Artair's campsite.

"You just had to get cans, didn't you?" said Luca, stretching his back. "And such gourmet cans at that."

"Hey, we can't all be as refined as you. I still can't believe you didn't get any cheese with your rations."

"Sorry to burst your Taco Bell bubble, but real Mexican food doesn't have a pound of grated cheddar on it. Or a gallon of sour cream."

"But that's the best part!"

"Please, like you can judge my food," said Luca, with a smirk. "Just look at this stuff. Tinned spaghetti. A long-life cheeseburger. Cans of really crap stew."

"Whoa! Don't you be coming for stew. The last thing the world needs right now is a war between Ireland and Mexico. "

"Yeah, who'd even win that fight?"

"Depends. How much whiskey does Mexico drink?"

"Not much?"

"Then you'd probably have an advantage."

Luca snorted and helped with the setup. Bowie, who'd been following them closely through the undergrowth, leaped into action at the sight of his old home, tugging at the bag's buckles.

The sunlit glow, blazing after so many days of rain, caught Artair's handsome face as he worked, distracted by unrolling the thick canvas tent that he'd stashed in the derelict cabin. It was still soaked and would need to be pegged out before being used.

Not that it would need long. The weather had transitioned effortlessly from wet and chilled into the full heat of summer, like nature was trying to catch up on lost time.

As Luca helped revive the camp, a strange mood overtook him. A mood of reminiscence and boldness. Of foolishness and daydreams.

"You can still stay in the tower, you know?" he said, surprised at how the words caught in his throat. Surprised that he'd said them at all. "If you wanted to, that is? If all the camping is too much?"

Artair chuckled. "You don't think it was a bit cramped up there?"

Luca immediately felt stupid.

Of course that would be Artair's answer.

He'd known that.

So why the hell did I bring it up in the first place?

Luca tried to push the awkwardness away. "Only when Bowie tried to get under the covers."

"Yeah, I have no idea where he learned that. I definitely didn't leave bits of food in the bed last year to convince him to snuggle."

"I knew it! I knew there was no way a fox would start randomly acting like a dog."

Just as Luca was feeling thankful that Artair had changed subject, the man tackled him onto the grass, letting out a terrible impression of an attacking bear. Luca laughed and tried to fight him off, wrestling badly against Artair's much better leverage.

Eventually, when both were out of breath, Artair thumped his big, handsome head onto Luca's chest. "Sorry about not staying in the tower."

"Oh, no. It's totally fine," said Luca. "It was a dumb thing to bring up."

"No, it wasn't," said Artair, with a slight turn in his voice. "It's just... ?"

"What?"

"Can I . . . Can I tell you something?"

"Yeah, of course," said Luca, patting Artair's hair. He was shocked to find that Artair was shaking. "What? Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"Promise you won't... take it the wrong way or anything?"

"I promise that I'll do my best to be calm and level-headed and not make snap judgments. What? It could happen."

Artair half sighed, half laughed. "I... I did really like spending time with you in the tower. And I like the fact that we have the rest of the summer together. But... I've been here before. I've met people I cared about and got really fucking close to them and... and..."

Artair breathed deeply, struggling with the words.

Luca brushed a thumb affectionately across Artair' s cheek, wiping away the sudden tear. The man leaned gratefully into his touch. Into his safety .

And Luca didn't need Artair to finish the sentence.

Because he felt the exact same thing.

Growing closer to this incredible man, only to lose him?

Falling for each other, despite knowing that they'd soon part ways?

That would be too much.

That would break his fucking heart.

Artair looked away. "Sorry. It's so fucking stupid. I know I should just stay with people. I know I should just fucking settle down ."

Luca brought the man's gaze back around to face him.

He smiled up affectionately.

Because he'd heard that tone before.

The way that Artair said settle down was exactly how Luca said the word mainstream .

Luca could only imagine how many times Artair had been told that he was weird for wanting an adventurous life. That he was strange for finding guys he liked and leaving them anyway. That he needed to just fucking settle down . That he needed to deny his instincts. That he needed to deny his passion.

And Luca wouldn't do that to him.

He could never, ever do that to him.

Luca's own eyes clouded with a tear he tried to resist. "Yeah. I know exactly how you feel."

"Really?" said Artair with a brittle laugh, made all the more brittle by the disbelief in his voice. The surprise that Luca might actually like him back. "That doesn't make it better, you know? "

"Maybe," said Luca, with as much warmth as he could muster. "But at least we've got the summer?"

Artair nodded, leaning down and kissing him gratefully.

"To the summer then, Luca?" he said, rubbing their noses together.

Luca smiled. "To the summer, Artair."

That night, free of guests for the first time in ages, Luca dreamed a strange dream.

He dreamed himself a little guitar tune of summer sun and rain showers and grass seeds catching the breeze. He dreamed of slow, blissful days in the forest. Of unhurried hikes to distant campsites. Of unhurried hands over his body. Of swimming together. Of wandering off into new and interesting parts of the woods. Of laying under the stars, the gentle pop of cooling coals serving as their serenade.

Of talking for hours.

About music and lyrics.

About rush and quiet.

About city and stream.

About everything and nothing.

And in the deepest parts of the dream, he imagined himself sitting at the typewriter, weaving supple stories from the cloth of reality, passionate and raw and real. Unbothered by words like acceptable and mainstream .

He dreamed long of those tapping keys, percussion to match the man on the bed behind him—focused and lost and wandering the land in that same musical moment.

The man was nursing his guitar. A fox was curled in the gap between his folded legs. A bronze-skinned companion was breaking his concentration momentarily, as he brought him food and kissed him gently.

And both of them would smile.

In lust.

In love.

In lazy, languid longing.

In the knowledge that they had nothing to do all summer but bask in the halcyon glow of a perfect life.