American Hunks

by Adam Carpenter

  “It couldn’t think of anything more perfect,” Freddie said.

  “Oh, I can. Let us feed our hunger before breakfast.”

  Without warning, Santo snaked a curious hand down, then around his naked torso, gripping Freddie’s flaccid cock. It didn’t stay that way for long, as blood flooded him, just as much as love filled the ventricles of his heart. He reached back, ran a hand across Santo’s cheek, feeling the dark scruff he’d let grow the moment they’d left L.A. As though his growing beard was a symbol of being released from obligation. But like their eventual responsibilities, the rough whiskers could be gone with the ease of a shave, and he wasn’t ready for either. He spun around, kissed his lover, wrapping his arms around the man’s strong back. He tasted of last night’s wine, the last of which stained the bottom of the glasses on the night table. Freddie saw them as Santo led him back inside, taking him onto the bed. Freddie felt the man’s powerful body smother him, indulged in his kiss. The man’s hungry cock pressed against his leg.

  Freddie opened his eyes. He blinked. Then he said, “Now.”

  His legs pried open, Santo raised his body, giving his cock a clear entry point. He reached over, where beside those wine glasses was a bottle of lube, which he slid down over his shaft and against Freddie’s pulsing crack. Then he slid inside him, Freddie’s gasp of pleasure easing him in further.

  “Oh my love, you haven’t been this hungry for me…for so long. Since before L.A.”

  “I am home, I am the real Santo.”

  Indeed, he was. Like a transatlantic flight was all it took to restore Santo to the man he’d first met, the devastatingly handsome man with the dimpled smile, with the big heart, one buried beneath a chest of dense black hair. Freddie ran a hand across his chest, reveling in the lush fur that had finally grown back to its rich fullness. It felt so good, rough but tantalizingly silky at the same time. He watched as Santo took a deep breath, his chest heaving, and then he braced himself for the man’s hard impact.

  The man’s cock thrust deep inside him, then pulled out, then pushed back in.

  Freddie cried out with each new re-entry.

  “Fuck me, Santo. Give me what I want.”

  Santo said nothing. He complied with Freddie’s request. He thrust his hips with all of his energy, his grunt matching the force, filled the room with his urgency. Freddie could feel his cock grow thicker, fill his ass. He took every inch, every hearty thrust. He dug his nails into Santo’s back, pulled him so tight against his body that he could feel that magnificent chest brush against his smooth pecs. It was like being fucked in a car wash, the brushes attacking him with a cleaning fury. What Santo was cleansing them of was the past few months. Their lives being dictated by others—Patsy, directors, temperamental actresses, the paparazzi. All of those shadows were gone, all those complications were on hold, the only entanglements those of their limbs.

  “Harder, babe, harder…”

  Santo pushed himself in deep, his hips slapping against Freddie’s ass. He let out a sharp, sudden cry.

  Freddie leaned up and kissed him, felt the scruff of his face against his neck.

  “Yes, yes, yes…”

  Freddie’s cock was rubbing between their two bodies, afire from the friction of the man’s furry stomach and redness of his shaft. It was pulsing with desire, with heat, and he knew he was seconds from blowing. He pushed Santo upward, watched as the man flattened his palms against the mattress, his biceps bulging with resistance. Then Freddie’s fingers wandered up, running them over thick hair in search of the man’s nipples. He tweaked them, leaned up and nibbled at one with his teeth. He felt his cock jerk. His orgasm was close…so close…

  He rubbed the tip against Santo’s furriness, and he felt a thickening, then a tightness in his balls.

  “Oh fuck…yeah, yeah…”

  Splatters of white hot come burst from Freddie’s cock, streaks against Santo’s body, drops hitting Freddie’s chest.

  And then Santo cried out loudly, and Freddie felt the man shoot inside him. He closed his legs around him, keeping him locked inside, urging every drop out of him. Santo didn’t stop, his hips still reacting with power as though the rest of his body hadn’t realized it had achieved climax. He cried out once more as another spurt found its way into Freddie, and then he collapsed atop his lover, his lungs in search in air.

  They lay in each other’s arm for a time, whispering sweet words to each other.

  Love.

  Hot.

  More.

  Much more.

  Later.

  At last Santo pulled out and fell back across the bed. Freddie watched with delight as the man stretched his body, his muscled arms nearly hitting the bedpost, exposing under arms of damp hair. He leaned over, inhaled his smell. It was manly, slightly sour, but he kissed him anyway. Any part of this fabulously furry man he could devour. Every day, anytime. He had never felt this way about another man. Who knew that Freddie Markson, the joker amidst his friends, could find the corner of serious and settled, much less turn that corner. But when the reward was this man, how could you not venture forth?

  “Breakfast, my stallion?” he asked.

  Santo smiled. “Yes. And then a swim. And then you will make love to me up in the hills behind the house, where you and I were first together here.”

  “You remember,” Freddie said.

  “My mind is clear. It remembers only you, us.”

  Those were dreamy words to begin with, but when spoken with that Italian accent, he felt a stirring in his loins.

  “You’re the sweetest, hottest lover ever,” Freddie said. “And incredibly insatiable.”

  “I am home. Besides, Mama will be here in two days to feed us all weekend,” he said. “So until then, we will take advantage of our time alone and make love in every corner of the villa. We will hide from the world until the time comes for your friend’s wedding.”

  ***

  Mark’s wedding. Hadn’t it been the impetus for them returning to European soil? True, Freddie knew it was crucial to return Santo to the wanting folds of his family, if only for a brief respite, but knowing they had another reason to travel gave their trip that much more purpose. The text he’d received from Matt, finally announcing the date and location of the wedding had come two weeks ago, and that had set in motion a flurry of activity—booking airline tickets, calling Mama Mancusi and hearing the glee in her voice at the coming home of her son, it had made everything so real. Honestly, though, Freddie thought how can you call living in an Italian villa and taking part in sexual pleasure whenever the mood struck you real? It was the stuff of fantasy, especially when you had such a hot specimen like Santo Mancusi.

  After a hearty breakfast, Freddie had given Santo some space, retreating to take a shower, and now, as he dried off his body, he noticed out of the corner of the window Santo sitting beside the pool, stretched out on a chaise lounge, sunglasses hiding his dark, liquid eyes, dressed only in a tight pair of Speedos. He was paging through what he could only assume was the script of The Stranger Inside Me. Freddie mused on how that was no longer the case; the man in his bed, the man the sun gleamed upon down by the shimmering pool, he was no longer a stranger. He was the love of his life.

  Again, he thought of Matt’s wedding, and a flood of envy fell over him.

  Envy, he wondered, or jealousy?

  What would it be like to exchange vows with Santo, to profess their love in front of all their family and friends? Freddie supposed he was going to get an up close and personal preview of such an occasion. And not in Paris, as originally thought, but at a villa in the South of France. Whatever gods had been at work when Matt, Freddie and Jake took flight to their sexy European excursions, they had allowed good work. Matt had Anton, and Freddie had Santo. Only Jake had struck out in London. He reminded himself to call Jake; see when he would be arriving in Nice.

  For now, Santo was his priority, wanting to rejoin him by the pool.

  He slipped on a pair of swim trun
ks, stopped in the kitchen for a couple glasses of chilled white wine—it was noon, and in Italy that meant you could indulge your first taste of the grape. He set the glasses on a tray, added a hunk of cheese, some fresh fruit, and then made his way to the pool area.

  “Well, don’t you look like the sexiest waiter ever,” Santo said, looking up.

  “I thought we could do with a snack,” he said, setting the tray down on a table beside two chairs. Santo leaned up and accepted first a kiss from Freddie before taking possession of a glass of wine. Freddie took his, they cheered and drank, after which Freddie settled contentedly onto the neighboring chair. He felt the sun begin to bake his body; he’d put on sunscreen as part of his bathroom ablutions; he was already decently tanned after months in Los Angeles. This high sun, though, it was bright, gilded with the golden touch of the gods. It beamed down on both of them, and he thought he detected a glow around Santo.

  “You’ve been studying your lines?” Freddie asked, sipping at his wine.

  “I promised Patsy I would learn what I could. She wants a quick production time. So no delays, not from her actors.”

  “It really is a good script,” Freddie said. “Hard to pass on.”

  “I will take Hollywood by storm, reap its benefits…”

  “And then we slip out under cover of darkness, never to return,” Freddie said.

  “To a reclusive life in Italy. To be with my Mama, to be with you.”

  That was the plan. Santo was promised a big pay day for signing up for Patsy Abbott’s. He had signed the contract the day before they left for Italy. Filming began upon their return. This film was their security blanket.

  Freddie gazed around his surroundings, at the spacious villa up the hill, at the glistening water in the pool, at the nearby cabana, the array of flowers situated all over the property, and then beyond their borders, to the city of Arezzo spread out before them. It was a far cry from the life Freddie had known in New York, where the only slice of sky you could see was between two hulking buildings of steel and glass. While Manhattan was amazing, it was man-made, fabricated and unnatural. The fields of Italy were quite the contrast, and Freddie sometimes had to pinch his skin to realize that the rolling hills and fragrant air were his to enjoy. He stole a quick glance at Santo, who was back to reading his script, his mouth silently saying the words he would commit to celluloid. For just this movie, he would have to share this sexy man with the world; he was be larger than life upon that silver screen, the object of countless fantasies by men and women alike. Freddie knew he could sit in the darkened theatre and watch him, knowing that after two hours he could reclaim Santo as his alone.

  Freddie felt his cock stiffen. He wanted this man, and he realized he wanted him now.

  But he was working, and he had to give him some space.

  Still, maybe Santo was looking for an easy distraction, a reason to put down the script. Freddie’s mind conjured several scenarios and finally, rather than attack his hot body and have his way with him, he chose a more personal route.

  “Did I ever tell you, Santo? My parent’s honeymooned in Italy?”

  He looked over at Freddie, sunglasses pulled down over the bridge of his nose. “No, you never told me that. Where did they go?”

  “They flew to Rome, as most Americans tend to do. But it was Venice where I think the vows they had recently exchanged really took effect. I remember my mother speaking of the city, of its unique beauty. The canals, the gondola rides they splurged for. My friend, Jake, he thinks I chose to go to Rome because of the posters on his wall. I told you about them—he has these cool vintage posters of London, Paris, and Rome on the walls of his apartment. When he announced that he was going to London for the summer because the poster had fallen from his wall during a night of hot sex, he set all of this in motion. Matt choose Paris, and why wouldn’t he? He was the hopeless romantic among us, always thinking a quick fuck was the prelude to a wedding. So I was left with Rome, but there was no rule I had to accept the last city offered by Jake’s posters. I could have picked any city…”

  “And so why did you not choose Venice? Where you say your parents truly fell in love?”

  “Because I only ever want to see Venice when I too have that special love,” he said.

  “You are being very mysterious, my Freddie.”

  He loved when he called him “My Freddie.” This man he didn’t mind being possessed by.

  “Just being in Italy, it’s conjured all sorts of emotions. My mother would be happy.”

  “I am sorry she cannot know of your happiness.”

  Freddie smiled. “That’s sweet, Santo. Thanks. I have my memories of her. She was so cool about having a gay son—she actually embraced it, almost to the point of embarrassment. I never tried to hold her back. My father died way too early and I was all she had. She all I had.” He paused. “And now I have you, and your wonderful Mama…”

  “And she thinks of you as her son, too. One who makes her boy so happy.”

  “Do I, Santo? Make you happy?”

  “Look at us now. Is the world not perfect right now?”

  Freddie knew not to say anything more. Santo was the kind of man who preferred not to think of tomorrow; he loved the moment. He indulged the moment. He stared down at himself, saw that a last sip remained in his glass. So he let the last of the wine slid down his throat, and he got up afterwards.

  “You could just bring the bottle, save you further trips,” Santo said.

  “Actually, I was thinking of switching beverages,” he said.

  He grabbed a towel from the back of his chair, set it down on the hard patio. Then, with a smile on his lips, he dropped down onto his knees, kneeling before his sun-baked Italian god. He saw Santo begin to respond, his cock thickening inside those tight Speedos; a welcoming bulge that let Freddie know his instincts were dead on. Santo even tossed the script aside, leaving his full body exposed to the sun, and to Freddie. From his perspective, he looked up and saw this hot, furry stud, his for the taking. He ran his hands along Santo’s hairy legs, all the way to his crotch, where he rubbed the encased cock.

  Santo nodded, a smile highlighting his dimples.

  Sliding a hand under the rim of the swim trunks, Freddie pulled them down. Santo’s cock leaped up from a matted bed of dark pubes, its shaft growing hard as it relished its release from the material. Freddie pulled the Speedo off from around his ankles, tossing them to the ground. Then he slid upwards, his eyes locked on Santo’s. There was fire inside them, a desperate call to pleasure him. Freddie took hold of the shaft, rubbing it, feeling resistance. The skin was taut, so he bent down and took it into his mouth, lubricating it. He loved how thick it felt, pushing to the back of his throat. He bobbed up and down on it, sucking the long shaft with enthusiasm, erotic sounds emanating from Santo only encouraging him.

  As he sucked, his hands wandered up, feeling the thick brush of hair upon his chest. He slid fingers beneath the surface, pulled and twirled at coils of black fur, the sexy touch of his hot body deepening his assault on his cock. He took every inch inside, his motions increasing. Then he pulled out, and his face was even with that pulsing cock, and he licked the under belly of that hard cock, from the tip down to hairy balls, sucking them, feeling them tighten. Santo cried out like a man near climax, and so Freddie redoubled his efforts. He took that hot cock back into his mouth, and this time he didn’t let go. He sucked it like a man possessed, Santo’s hips bucking up to give Freddie as much of his cock as he could handle. He took it all, again, again, up, down, up, down, feeling the heat of the sun on his back, feeling the heat spread throughout his own body. His own cock was raging hard inside his shorts. He imaged he was going to blow too. But first Santo.

  He licked, and he sucked some more. Harder, deeper. Full penetration to where he might gag. But he didn’t, his touch expert, his limits stretched. He felt the tip grow, and he knew that a rush of hot come was soon to blast. As Santo’s climax neared, Freddie again grabbed hold of th
e man’s chest hair and he pulled it hard, and then he heard the shortness of breath coming from Santo and then he felt the first shot of come, then another, another, so much, and he drank it all down with the need of a man who’d not seen water for days. He pulled out, and his tongue licked at the remnants of his come that seeped out of his tip.

  “Oh, Freddie, that was so good…so good…”

  “Just you wait,” he said, panting, wiping at his mouth.

  Freddie stood up, slipped out of his shorts, and he mounted Santo, his legs on either side of the chair, the man’s still hard cock rubbing against Freddie’s ass. He grabbed his cock, stroked its rock-hard shaft, all while staring at the sexy, hairy lover spread out before him. It wouldn’t be long, not after what he’d done, what’s he’d felt, what he’d drunk down. This time he didn’t need to touch Santo, seeing his hot body right before him, it was enough….he was so ready… ready.

  “Ahhhh,” Freddie cried out, and that’s when his cock let loose a massive blast of come. Ropes splattered against Santo’s chest, the white streaks seeping into his dark blanket of fur, as though it was seeking out the man beneath that the furry exterior. Freddie continued to jerk his cock, allowing every drop to escape his body. At last he felt drained, empty of his seed but filled with an overwhelming sense that he’d planted a new future with this man. He leaned forward, a kiss waiting for him.

  “I think I need a swim,” Santo said, “to clean myself of such an explosion.”

  “I came a lot, I know.”

  Another kiss. “That you love your Santo so much, that’s what that means.”

  Freddie got up, and Santo rose as well. He wasted no time and dove into deep end of the pool, his body resurfacing moments later.