American Hunks

by Adam Carpenter

  “It happens to everyone. You have to sacrifice yourself to achieve success here.”

  “Except you forget one important detail. He doesn’t want this. He never did.”

  “He signed contracts for the studios, with agents. With me as his manager.”

  “And does he take your calls?”

  Silence feel between them, and that’s when it dawned on Freddie. This lunch wasn’t a catch up kind of session, she was here to convince Freddie to convince Santo to just do as he was told, and in return, the people around him would make him rich and famous. Freddie knew differently, it’s not what Santo really wanted. He’d just been caught up in his own press, fed to him by people like Patsy and others she had hired. The fact he’d now confronted Patsy on the truth behind their get together, it all made sense.

  “I’m taking that as a no.”

  “Freddie, you need to talk to him. This film…this script I have, it’s perfect. He needs to sign on. Filming starts in a month. They studio knows they have gold on their hands, and they want to strike fast, get the film out before the end of the year in limited release, which increases its Oscar chances. It’s like the story was written for Santo.”

  “Let me guess, you wrote it.”

  She took a sip of her wine, delaying her answer. “I got him a Tony nomination. Now I’ll get him an Oscar.”

  “See, you raise a difficult point, Patsy. You say filming starts in a month. But Santo won’t be available.”

  “Of course he will. I know his schedule. He’s done with principal shooting on his current project in a week. He gets three weeks rest, then it’s back to work.”

  Freddie decided to see how far he could go with this. To see if Patsy really was a friend, or if she was using Santo to further her own career. She’d done it once, back in New York, but now she had upped the stakes. With this new film, she was going to put undue pressure on a man who didn’t thrive on such a high wire. As hot and sexy as Santo was, he was incredibly real, grounded. It’s what Freddie loved about him.

  “We won’t be in town. I’m taking him back to Italy for the spring and summer. He wants to see his mother.”

  “Oh, Freddie, you can’t possibly think that’s a good idea.”

  “I think it’s ideal, just what Santo and I need.”

  “Freddie, I think this is about you. How useless you feel out here.”

  “Partly, sure. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I forget what I used to do for a living.”

  “You want to be a consultant on the film? I can make that happen?”

  She took hold of her handbag, where she withdrew the script. She tossed it onto the table, the title page facing Freddie. He stared down at it. THE STRANGER INSIDE ME. He almost laughed at how appropriate the title was. What he didn’t do was pick it up.

  “Actually, I think I’d prefer to plant those sunflowers,” he said, drinking down the last of his beer. Then he stood up, smoothing down his shirt. He’d never taken off his sunglasses, and nor had Patsy. Neither knew what was really to be found deep in their eyes. “I suppose we’ll see you for the wedding. Until then, I’m assuming this lunch in one you? Because we all know it’s really on Santo. After all, haven’t you decided he’s your meal ticket?”

  Patsy remained seated, but she wasn’t done talking.

  “You forgot something, Freddie.” Her fingernail tapped the script. “Read it.”

  Reluctantly, he grabbed the script and slipped it under his arm. And with that, Freddie walked out of the Tiki Noodle Shop and onto the busy sidewalk of Melrose Avenue, awash with pedestrians popping in and out of an assortment of trendy shops. He hated what had just happened. That was the other thing about life in L.A. The pursuit of playing out dreams upon the silver screen also meant sacrificing the friendships you had formed in real life.

  ***

  Damn, it was good.

  Fuck, it was really good.

  Freddie tossed the script across the room, watching the papers come loose from their clips.

  His mind still swirled from the plot twists he’d just absorbed. The scathing dialogue. The tour de force performance he could imagine in the hands of a talented actor. Of course it had been tailor made for Santo Mancusi in his first major film role, and it was not just one role but two: twin brothers, one of whom had been disfigured as a child and had been presumed dead. His handsome other half had gone on to live the perfect life: money, a beautiful wife, a country home. All was ideal until the disfigured brother returned and began to seek out his revenge. The script was both suspenseful, emotional, and highly erotic if Patsy’s scenes were actually filmed as written. The first scene was an elongated sex scene between Santo’s character and a woman who wasn’t his wife. Freddie sarcastically wondered if they’d have Santo shave his hairy chest for this film, too. The Stranger Inside Me, indeed. In bed the last couple of weeks, a smooth-chested Santo had felt like someone other than the man he’d fallen in love with.

  Freddie got up from the sofa, padded his way into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine; something he did far too much living up in the hills, but hidden away from the world he had few options. It was nine o’clock that same night, and he was waiting for Santo to return home. Like always. He grabbed the entire bottle and went out onto the patio, sitting upon the rocky wall, staring out at the flatlands of Los Angeles spread out before him. He thought he could see Melrose in the distance, and he was filled with regret about how his lunch meeting with Patsy had gone. She had done so much for them both—heck, encouraging Freddie to pursue a relationship with Santo when he’d assumed the hot Italian guy was way out of his league. But physical attraction only took you so far; you had to find a deeper connection, and Santo and Freddie had found that. They’d been through a lot, and who was always working behind the scenes to make sure they escaped unscathed? Patsy Abbott.

  Freddie pulled out his phone and thought about texting an apology.

  He decided to give it a day. Maybe she’d send one first, for ambushing him.

  Refreshing his glass of wine, he set the bottle on the ground. He took a grateful sip, felt built up tension leave his body. He hadn’t been joking with Patsy earlier. He didn’t know who he was any more. Two years ago he’d been caring for his dying mother, and once she’d passed he’d found that life had drifted away from him too. He quit his unimportant office job, thanks to the money his mother had left him. It was what had enabled him to take that summer in Italy, and since then, well, he’d ridden along with Santo’s career, enjoying the highpoints while secretly regretting the low. Just what was he contributing to this relationship? But he knew that was just the wine talking. He did a lot, more than he realized most days. He reminded Santo of where he came from, and who he was beneath the false veneer of celebrity.

  It was another half hour of sitting and thinking and wishing upon the stars in the sky, ones that felt as artificial as the rest of Los Angeles, before he heard the car in the driveway. He didn’t move. He’d let Santo find him. He wondered how much he knew of what had transpired today. Had Patsy gotten in touch with him? Had she gone to the studio to hand off another copy of her script? Had they been dining out at the trend-setting Standard Hotel over on Sunset while Freddie stewed alone in these hills? He knew it was all paranoia speaking, but still, didn’t insecurity grow out of reality?

  “Freddie, are you here?”

  “On the patio,” he said, wanting to say “just like every night,” but refrained.

  Santo came around the edge of the driveway instead of going into the house. Freddie liked the way the moonlight caught his shadow, almost like there were two Santos, and really, wasn’t that the truth? The one he loved, and the one Hollywood loved. He rounded the patio and came up to Freddie, kissing him deep on the lips. His face felt scruffy, and the scrape of his rough beard sent waves of heat throughout his body, a feeling he’d not had for a while. Santo’s kiss lingered, and Freddie drew him closer, embracing him from his position on the stone wall. When at last they
parted, Freddie let out of a sigh of relief.

  “Wow, now that’s a greeting.”

  “Where is the champagne?”

  “Um, what?”

  “Actually, come to think of it, I prefer Prosecco,” he said, that devilish smile of his back from where it had been hiding all winter. “We must have a bottle in the fridge, I will find out and return. Just you wait, my love.”

  Freddie sat there, confused but happy, decided to go with whatever flow Santo had coursing through him. It only took a couple of minutes for Santo to return, glasses and bottle in hand, that enticing smile still upon his soft lips. Freddie wanted to forego the bubbly and instead coax out of him a different fluid, but he had a feeling that would come in due time. He felt a tightening in his shorts, anticipating the fueling of his desires. He watched as Santo uncorked the bottle, letting the cork fly high into the night. It landed somewhere in the brush behind the house. A few droplets of the golden liquid spilled out over Santo’s hand, and Freddie found himself impulsively licking the drops from his fingers.

  “My love, you are turning me on,” Santo said.

  “Good. Now we’re even.”

  Santo poured the glasses full. They clinked and took a sip but then Santo pulled Freddie close to him and kissed him. The bubbly passed from man to man, mouth to mouth, and the effervescence caused Freddie’s cock to fully harden. He pushed his hips against his lover, felt no resistance. He had a feeling this night was going to be spectacular and he was going to do nothing to ruin it. Like doing a dumb thing such as asking what had put Santo in such a good mood.

  Freddie leaped down from the wall, drawing Santo over to one of the lounge chairs. He kissed him, his hand rubbing against his pants, feeling Santo grow hard. He wanted that cock, in his hungry mouth and in his wanting ass, pumping him, feeding him, stretching his body while strengthening his soul. He pushed his lover down onto the chair, sidling up, his hands taking hold of the zipper and doing what came naturally. Pants pulled down around his ankles, exposing his muscled, furry legs, Freddie unleashed Santo’s cock, licking his lips as it stretched upward in the night sky. He took the tip into his mouth, his tongue encircling it. He went down on it further, the shaft of that long cock sliding inside his mouth. Santo let out a heavy sigh, one of heat, but also of contentment. As though this was what he’d dreamed of while driving along the freeways of L.A. Freddie pushed all thoughts away, concentrating on the blow job he was hungry to give. He went down, again, again, sucking and sucking, feeling the tip push against the back of his mouth. The scent of his lover was strong, right down to his pubes, and that only incensed Freddie further. For a second he pulled out, taking a breath before sucking down a sip of prosecco. Then, with the bubbles dancing in his mouth, he sucked on Santos’s long cock again.

  “Oh, oh….oooh….” Santo cried out, bucking his hips to meet Freddie’s mouth.

  It didn’t take long, since it had been days since they had made love, so soon Santo’s cock was erupting, his cries loud in the canyon that surrounded them. Freddie had drunk down a Tropical Breeze, a beer, some wine and then champagne, but none of it compared to the delicious heat that hit the back of his throat and slid down with oozing eroticism. Santo continued to buck his hips, and Freddie drank down the last drops of his come, finally pulling up with a wipe of his mouth.

  “Someone was ready,” he said with a ready smile.

  “That just means I can take you for as long as you desire,” Santo said.

  They moved into the bedroom and stripped down to their skin and souls. Freddie kissed Santo’s chest, which was stubbly now but still sexy. The promise of the hair that would once again grace his chest encouraged Freddie to move forward, as though he could move the future to this moment. He licked at nipples usually so hidden, rubbed his cheeks against the rough stubble. But then he just lay down on the bed and opened himself up, and Santo wasted no time. There was an urgency between them tonight, and again Freddie wondered what had happened and then he had to shut that part of himself down. Just enjoy now, and he did, as Santo slid his still hard cock deep inside him, thrusting at him with an eagerness he’d not felt in too long.

  Santo rocked his world. He rammed his hips against Freddie’s ass, and he kissed him too. As aggressive as he was right now, he never skipped the intimacy between them, the tender kiss a counter-balance to his fierce thrusting. Freddie wrapped his legs around Santo’s ass, pushing him in further, deeper, harder. He begged for it, his voice loud in the otherwise quiet of the bedroom. It was the one thing he liked about L.A., their neighbors were not that close, so he could be as vocal as he wanted while Santo fucked him. And that’s what he wanted right now, to be fucked as hard as possible. That’s what he asked for, demanded.

  “Yeah, baby, my sweet Freddie, you want your Santo’s cock…all of it , take it….”

  “Always, now, Always, tomorrow. Always, always…fuck me, fuck me so hard.”

  Santo pushed at him again, his body rising above him. Freddie watched as he heaved with harsh aggression. Their eyes caught, irises on fire. Freddie reached up and pressed his palms flat against his chest, imagining the furry blanket that he was used to, and feeling those erotic memories float down to his pulsing cock. It was so hard, and so ready to blow. He grabbed it, stroking it, all while Santo continued his wanton assault on his ass.

  “More, more…Santo…oh fuck, oh fuck…make me shoot….”

  Santo grunted loudly, pushing his cock with one hard motion as deep as he could.

  “Oww….oooh….oh, fuck…yeah, my sexy Santo, don’t stop…even when I come…I want to feel you shoot inside me…yes, yes…”

  Santo thrust his hips at him again, and Freddie felt the heat rush through his loins. His come was unstoppable now. It rushed through his cock and spurted out of the tip, splashing against his flat stomach. Another spurt, another…shit, wow, holy shit…another, another, and Freddie felt himself drained of anything that might have remained inside his balls. He was awash in his own come, and just when he thought his body couldn’t be doused with more, Santo pulled out, stroked his hard cock once, twice, again, again, and then he too spilled his load, white streaks mixing with those already spreading across Freddie’s torso.

  Freddie looked up and saw the sweat gleam off Santo’s chest, highlighting the dark stubble that a fortnight from now would return him to his usual hirsute self. He leaned up and kissed that chest, tasting Santo’s salty sheen. At last, Santo fell back onto the bed, grasping for air and letting Freddie slide in next to him. They lay in silence, in the dark, the moment lost in time. But time had a way of advancing, and before Freddie knew it, the clock had moved from ten o’clock at night to three in the morning. He realized he’d fallen asleep in Santo’s arms. The bed, however, only held one of them right now. Freddie stirred, rising up on his elbows.

  He saw a light streaming in from the living room.

  Pulling away at the tangled covers, he made his way toward the door frame, and it was there that he saw Santo, dressed only in a pair of briefs, sitting cross-legged on the floor. The script Freddie had tossed around earlier was in his hands, pages back in order. An empty glass was at his side.

  “Santo, are you okay?”

  He looked up, his eyes wide, open, excited. “I’m better than okay.”

  “You read the script, I see.”

  “Twice,” he said. “Patsy told me she gave it to you. It’s fucking fantastic.”

  “Is that why you were so excited tonight? Why you fucked me like the old Santo?”

  “No, my love. We made fierce love because we finished that awful film today. I’m free. I wanted to celebrate,” he said. “But now…this…this changes everything.”

  Freddie, naked, flaccid, felt deflated, as though he’d never escape the confines of Southern California. Finally he mustered up the courage to ask, “How do you mean?”

  “This,” said Santo Mancusi, holding up the script, “Is the answer to our future. This puts us in control.”

  �
�I don’t understand,” Freddie said.

  “All in good time. For now, take me back to bed. There is no work tomorrow, no studio call, and no meetings. Sleep will find us eventually. Right now, Freddie Markson, make passionate love to me until my chest is as furry as you like it. Take me as though we are back among the hills of Italy, back home for forever.”

  Freddie’s cock was hard even before Santo had returned to the bedroom.

  They did make love, wildly, and they did invite sleep into their bed, eventually, and soon Freddie’s dreams were filled with the wondrous images of Tuscany, where he and Santo lived as recluses, alone except for their undying passion.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jake

  Shit, it couldn’t be him…could it?

  Yeah, of course it could be, he knew him so well…with clothes, and without. So, yeah, in fact, approaching him was the hot man who’d once filled his nights with passion and allowed him to dream of a forever partnership.

  His ex. Aaron.

  He was coming up the aisle, chatting with the people around him, oblivious to the fact the man whose heart he’d broken was waiting at the exit door, wanting his money. He looked great, too, in a black leather jacket, his wavy brown hair perfect, complimenting the perfect scruff on his face. Damn, he’d have to stop using the word perfect. Because what wasn’t perfect was the fact Aaron was about to run right into him.

  Jake Westbury realized he had no place to go. He was doing a job.

  As part of his financial windfall in London, Jake Westbury had made a promise to give back to others. Not return the money he sort of earned, which was tucked away in its own account, as untouchable as it was untraceable, but with his time. Since he didn’t need to work full-time, and his freelance writing life had picked up in the last year, he figured he could do some volunteering, and so that’s what had found him waiting on the steps of Broadway’s Belasco Theatre for the other two people who would assist in collecting money for the Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS organization, unaware of what his volunteering was about to bring about. Twice a year the non-profit went around to all the Broadway and many off-Broadway shows and raised money from the audience in support of people living with HIV. Jake always felt he’d been lucky, always testing negative for the virus, especially given how sexually active he was. He practiced safe sex at every turn.