Their fiery eyes locked again, electric sparks passing between them. Anton thrust his hips hard, Matt crying out from the force of his loving impact. The sensation in his cock was building. He wanted to come, he wanted to know if this new commitment could make orgasms be felt within his soul. Then Anton lifted his body, his arms straining as he continued to fuck Matt. His chest was sweaty, the hair matted, somehow more dense.
“I’m close, baby, so close…” Matt said.
Just then Anton grabbed at Matt’s ankles, and he spread him wide open. His hand then snaked down and grabbed at Matt’s hard cock, and he pumped its hard shaft. Yet he didn’t stop with his own eager thrusts. Soon, Matt felt his cock rip with heat, and he watched as his come suddenly shot forth, landing on his own exposed chest. Anton thrust again, again, and then one last time, and he cried out as Matt felt the spurt inside him. Not one, not two, but several, and he squeezed his ass cheeks in an effort to drain his lover’s cock of its juice, but not its pulsing love.
When Anton pulled out and caught his breath, Matt slid in next to him.
“That was powerful,” he said, “the way you felt when you came inside me…wow.”
“Our night, it is just getting started. We have the garret until dawn.”
“Then let’s not waste a moment.”
“Your news, you don’t wish to share with your friends? To scream from the rooftop?”
“Not yet,” Matt said, “Not tonight. This night belongs to us. Besides, knowing Jake and Freddie, no matter the time zone, they too are probably screwing someone’s brains out right now, so why should I disturb their momentary happiness. There’s more than enough love in the world, if you know where to find it. I hope they’ve found what we have.”
“Few find what we have found,” Anton said.
“Keep talking that way, I might insist on an elaborate wedding.”
“Oh, Matt, I expected nothing else. It will be beautiful. With the most romantic setting.”
“This one’s pretty nice,” Matt said, “but it’s more a honeymoon suite.”
“Then let’s give it what’s expected.”
They drank the rest of the champagne, and they lay in each other’s arms. They kissed and they talked and the candles continued to burn down toward darkness, and then, when the mood struck them, their body’s silent urges took hold of them and they surrendered to their passion. A stroke of cock, a brush of chest hair, a scruffy nuzzle at the neck, the flame between them grew. Matt mounted the man who would be his future husband, and he felt the man’s cock impale him as though Cupid’s arrow had found its target.
As much as Matt loved this moment, tomorrow couldn’t arrive soon enough.
He was the hopeless romantic, wasn’t he, and here he was, making passionate love in a garret in Paris, to the man he was soon going to marry. Tomorrow’s promise lay just beyond the door, and time would return them to it eventually. After all, there was a wedding to plan. “I do’s” to exchange. For now, though, it was a delicious wonderment of love, of wild passion, of sweaty bodies coiled together as one.
One could be a number that led to trouble. Because Matt was wondering which of his two best friends would be his one best man.
CHAPTER TWO
Freddie
Oh, how he missed the beautiful anonymity of Rome where nobody knew his name and he knew nobody—well, almost nobody. When life had just been the two of them, lost in their own lives, he had known they were creating something special. Returning to New York, their new life had begun to change. Santo had begun to change, but fame would do that to anyone. And now that they were temporarily based in Los Angeles, the pressure was heightened, the tension between them had only grown worse. For Freddie Markson, he never thought he’d find himself living on the West Coast, but like a stick to a watering hole, he’d allowed his cock to follow the object of its desire, the hot piece of hunk that was Santa Mancusi.
Trouble was, he didn’t get to see much of him anymore, much less get to sleep with him.
He had to wonder: was this really love?
It sure hadn’t felt like it for a while.
Freddie Markson and Santo Mancusi were an unlikely couple in the doubting eyes of the people who met them, but when they were alone—when outside forces could be minimized—it seemed nothing nor no one could get between them. The sex had always been hot, and for a while it had been frequent as nightfall. Then the demands on Santo began, and the pressure stole a bit of his libido, which Freddie would not have thought possible. Santo was sex on a stick, as hot a man as he’d ever had, but even beyond the physical, it was an inner attraction which kept them together. Santo often said how safe he felt in Freddie’s arms, protected.
It was a Friday night in February, and from their rented house up in the Hollywood Hills, Freddie gazed down at the streaks of light that formed the Los Angeles landscape. In the distance he could see blinking lights in the sky—not stars, even though L.A. had plenty of them, but planes landing with ridiculous frequency into LAX. All these people, coming to LaLa Land to pursue their dreams, so many of them to end up broken, depressed, and unfulfilled. Freddie couldn’t blame their optimism. He’d been excited at first when he learned that Santo had been cast in a supporting role in a major studio movie. Now, though, three months later, that film had wrapped and Santo had scored another role. He read scripts all the time, so no doubt there would be more; many more.
Which left Freddie with a lot of time on his hands, a virtual prisoner up in the hills. Only the howling of the coyotes were his company, as well as a home gym would allowed him to work out his frustrations. At the moment, he was standing out on the patio, a glass of chilled white wine in his hand. Actually, he was doing more than standing, he was pacing, and he’d been doing it for the better part of the last half hour. He would occasionally glance over at his iPhone, waiting for a text or better yet, a call from Santo. He was late. Again.
Taking a drink, Freddie walked over to the hot tub, its waters silent and cold.
Metaphor, he wondered?
He remembered most nights when they’d first arrived in L.A. when they had made hot love until the dawn arrived. Steam rose off the water of the hot tub, an empty bottle of champagne on the wooden table beside it. Their bodies locked together, their throats emitting grunts that gave those nuisance coyotes a run for their money, mutual, explosive orgasms defining their existence. Then how they would lay in bed, waiting for sleep to claim them, talking, caressing, lost in their world, Freddie dreaming of nothing but that moment. How nice it would be if they could get back to that? Maybe tonight, maybe Freddie would insist. Perhaps he’d launch a seduction which Santo would be unable to refuse.
His idea would have to wait. His phone began to ring, and hope crossed his heart.
The caller ID quickly brought an end to hope.
“Matt, is that you?”
“Hey, Freddie,” came a voice that sounded like it was next door. The connection was clear.
“Where are you?” Freddie asked, hopeful. What a surprise it would be to have a visit from his long-lost friend.”
“I’m in Paris, of course.”
Again, hope deflated him. Wouldn’t it have been a shocker if his friend Matt Donovan had said he’d just landed at LAX on one of those planes he’d watched descend on the night and was in need of a place to stay? Jake could be arriving too, and the three friends would enjoy a reunion a long-time in the making. So much had happened to them all since their European flings adventure, all of it keeping apart three friends who had been inseparable until then.
“How’s the city of lights?”
“Beautiful as ever. And the city of angels?”
Freddie let out a sharp laugh. “Try and find one.”
“You’ve always got a good line at the ready, Freddie. Look, I don’t want to keep you, I’m sure you and Santo are busy—and if I know you, I know what that busy is…”
Freddie looked around the patio, he and his near-empty glass alone with th
e bougainvillea. “He’s at work. Hey, isn’t it like three in the morning where you are?”
“Yeah, it’s late…or early, depending upon your point of view. Anton’s asleep, and I, well, I couldn’t sleep, I’m just too excited…”
“Let me guess. You’re getting married.”
There was silence on the other end until Matt said, “Insightful as ever.”
“I know you, Matt. It’s what you wanted. Who popped the question, you or Anton?”
“Anton, and he did so with such romance. Candles, champagne, the Eiffel Tower rising up in the background.”
“The ultimate phallic symbol. If it was a porn movie, it would be called I Fall on Tower.”
“That’s awful. But classic Freddie. I miss that.”
Freddie smiled, then said. “Hey, I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks. Look, I just wanted to share the news with you. I don’t know any details beyond that, but once we’ve secured a date…well, you have to be there. Jake, too.”
“Does Jake know yet?”
“He’s next on my list. Actually, you were my first call. I mean, you have a relationship, so you know what it means, and I knew you’d be genuinely happy for me. Jake, though, call me a bad friend but I think he’ll feel more jealously than happiness. He always wanted to out-marry us both. You know he broke up with Aaron, which is too bad, because from all Jake said it was going well. I thought he was the one.”
“You know, Jake, he holds things close to the vest.”
“Yeah, and under that vest is usually some hunk with a furry chest.”
Freddie laughed, the sound echoing in the canyon behind him. Jake’s fetish for hairy cubs and athletic otters was well documented. Not that Freddie could judge him; Santo had one of the greatest chests of dark fur he’d ever seen, and he relished falling asleep with his hand stroking that fur every night. Since then he and Santo had found each other, Freddie had realized maybe Jake had been onto something all these years. Comfort could be found in those dark whorls.
“I’m sure Jake will be thrilled for you. So, keep me appraised of the plan. I assume a Paris wedding?”
“Yeah. Probably small, intimate. But I want you both there.”
Freddie was non-committal; he had to be. “Send me all the details when you have them. Santo’s schedule is crazy.”
The two friends exchanged a few more jokes before signing off, and once again Freddie was left to his own devices. He padded back into the box-like house, opening the sliding door that led into the kitchen. He refilled his glass of wine, pouring more than he probably should have. Who cares, he thought, he wasn’t going anywhere but to bed, and then raised the glass in the air in toast to Matt and Anton. How lucky they were to have found each other, and now look at them, getting married. Securing their future with a heartfelt declaration of love.
Freddie wished he could solve the issue of the present. He went back into the dark night.
“Santo, where the hell are you?”
This was Hollywood, and maybe he’d said his name aloud enough to conjure him, just like in Beetlejuice. Because Freddie saw a pair of headlights turn into the driveway, doused moments later. He heard the slam of a car door and had to wonder: was Santo in a bad mood? He was Italian, and thus he had a fiery temper, and it flared up when the pressure was on. Freddie made his way back into the kitchen, where he poured a glass of red wine for his lover, having it at the ready. He heard the front door open.
“Freddie?”
“In the kitchen,” he called out.
Santo walked into the kitchen, and what Freddie saw was a man beyond exhaustion. It was past ten o’clock at night, and he’d been gone since six this morning. A long day of filming? Or more likely, a long day of sitting around waiting to film a few short scenes. Such was the movie making process, or so Santo had explained to him. But as tired as he looked, he was still the hot, gorgeous man who had stirred his loins from the moment they had met along the Via Veneto in Rome, and that attraction continued now. Freddie took his weary lover in his arms, felt the warmth of his embrace. All of his earlier worries about their relationship faded away with his simple touch. They kissed, parted, and Santo sat down on a chair in the kitchen.
“For you,” Freddie said, presenting the glass of wine.
“You’re an angel,” he said, and took it and drank a healthy gulp.
“How was work?”
“Fuck work,” he said.
Santo wasn’t one to swear. So something must have angered him. In truth, as macho a guy as he was, Santo held close to a sensitive side. He was fiery because unlike many men, he allowed himself to feel—and reveal—emotions. Freddie decided now wasn’t the time to push it.
Santo drank from his wine, then said, “I don’t want to talk about anything related to movies, not right now. You know what I need?”
“Not until you tell me?”
“You,” Santo said, his dark eyes filled with fire.
It was like hearing the perfect answer to a question that had gone unanswered for too long.
***
“Oh, yeah, baby, baby…that’s it…”
It was like Freddie’s dream had come true. The water in the hot tub bubbled, and the steam rose up in the cool night of a Hollywood February. Together, the two men churned the water even more, some of it spilling over the rim and splashing to the patio. Freddie’s cock was buried inside the man’s hot, hairy ass, pumping him from behind while his hands clutched his shoulders. Santo’s arms bulged as they clung to the edge of the hot tub, biceps straining from the intensity of Freddie’s thrusts. They’d been at it for nearly a half hour, kissing, tasting each other, drinking down wine until the heady intoxication had erupted with sexual combustion.
“Yes, Santo, take me…all of me…oh, oh, oh, yes…” he said, keeping at bay words of how much he’d missed him. Why spoil such a hot, erotic moment? Just enjoy the here and now, fucking his sexy lover.
Freddie pulled him up, his cock still inside, wrapping his arms around Santo. Fingers dug into his chest, reveling in the whorls of black hair that covered his chest. He loved the roughness of the dense, furry mat and thrilled at how much hairier he looked when it was matted with water. He was so damn hot, so fucking sexy, and Freddie thrust at him, hard, harder, Santo’s cries rivaling those of the howling coyotes in the canyon. Yes, this was good, so good, his ass so tight. It wasn’t every night that Santo bottomed, but when the pressure got to him, he gave in and allowed Freddie to pound him with sharp, almost angry, fierceness.
“Harder, harder…oh, Freddie, yeah, yeah, fuck me so hard.”
Freddie’s hips thrust at him like a rampaging bull, his cock so heated, so ready to blow, but he willed himself to keep going. He wasn’t ready to come. He just wanted to savor this moment, to make violent love to his lover. Slapping his ass, one cheek, then another, Santo reacted with a cry of surprise, but still he urged Freddie on. Water continued to splash around them, and above them the starlight brightened, as though wanting to shine a harsh light on their urgent coupling. To let the world know that this was how it was done. Freddie’s hard cock, Santo’s hairy ass, it was a combination of heat and desire and, yes, even vulnerability, all of which added to the intimacy of their unleashed passions. Freddie knew something was wrong, something was bothering Santo down to his core, but now wasn’t the time to ask, now wasn’t the time for anything but a release of stress, of pressure. So he just continued to thrust at his lover, grabbing, rubbing, sliding his nails against the man’s strong back.
“Ooh, ooh… I’m so close… yes, Freddie, I’m going to come…”
Freddie pounded him again, again, while Santo grabbed at his hard, uncut cock. He slid his hand over the long shaft, but then Freddie joined him, his body locked next to him. He fucked him, and he jerked him; all Santo had to do was enjoy, and he did, crying out for more, more. Just then Santo bellowed, his voice carrying to the open sky as though he were a beast speaking to the moon. His cock pulsed, Freddie could feel
it in his grip, and he pumped him from both sides, his ass, and his cock, and soon Santo’s cock was erupting with pleasure.
“Oh fuck…fuck, fuck….”
His come shot out of him, spilling into the water of the hot tub, being gurgled down as though being swallowed. Freddie continued to thrust at him, his cock near the boiling point too, and just then he felt the heady rush of heat consume him. He pulled Santo close to him, and again he dug his fingers into the man’s magnificent chest. Grabbing his dark hair, he thrust once, twice, before feeling the overwhelming release of his pent-up orgasm. He pumped his come deep into Santo’s ass, his cries loud as well. They echoed in the canyon, almost prolonging his release.
At last he pulled out and he turned Santo around and they kissed, sweetly.
“That was hot,” Freddie said.
“Yeah, I needed that.”
“I could tell,” Freddie said, “Everything okay?”
“I will tell you when in bed, and afterwards, I will fuck you. We will sleep like angels.”
“You know, few men can get away with being crude and romantic in the same sentence.”
He shrugged, allowing a smile Freddie hadn’t seen in some time. “I’m Santo.”
They eased back in the water, resting on submerged benches while letting the warmth relax strained muscles while they finished their wine. Freddie told him about Matt’s phone call, and while Santo was happy for the friend he’d never met, he expressed reservations about being able to fly to Paris for the wedding. Which brought them full circle to Santo’s schedule, and he sighed heavily, the strain of being an up-and-coming flavor of the month taking its toll. It was almost like a signal, a shift in the wind that their night was over. They hopped out of the hot tub, turned off its churning current, and hand-in-hand, they walked into the house. They dried their bodies, and then, still naked, got into the king size bed that dominated the expansive bedroom; a skylight above was the only hint of the night they’d already shared, like the stars were following them.
American Hunks Page 2