by Con Riley
“You are like one of Pavlov’s dogs. You have become conditioned, so that as soon as the sun crosses the courtyard you get an erection.”
“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.” If post-lunch sex was his only regular chore, Aiden thought it was worth putting some effort into. He pulled Marco close and kissed him.
They made out for ages, the shadows cast by the window shutters striping both their bodies.
“You are getting better at this,” Marco praised as Aiden fingered him slowly open.
“What do you mean ‘getting better’?” Aiden added another finger, waiting for Marco’s panting breaths to slow before he pressed them steadily against the place that made him whimper.
“See?” Marco’s words came out as gasps. “You didn’t know how to do that in Seattle.”
That much, Aiden guessed, was correct. There was a difference between understanding anatomy in the abstract and learning your lover’s body. He’d dedicated himself to making Marco come over and over, lavishing him with love and physical affection. It was a way of taking Marco out of himself, and boy, had Marco needed the mental distraction good sex had offered.
Marco had seemed overwhelmed the first few days Aiden was in Milan. His brothers had taken complete advantage of him being home, blaming him when their mother had the slightest setback, ignoring the fact that she was a law unto herself. Aiden heard them loudly chastising Marco several times, and, as the days had passed, his temper had stretched way past its usual limits.
Enough had been enough. He recalled Drew’s words about people taking exactly what you let them, then had stood up at the dinner table and told off Marco’s brothers. Marco’s mother had translated for Aiden, possibly adding her own embellishments, if their dramatic, wide-eyed reactions were anything to go by. Aiden had explained that Marco was only one man, not an army of nurses or his mother’s keeper. Then he’d stood in front of Marco and crossed his arms, warning them to knock it off already.
For thirty seconds, the room had felt heavy with eye-of-the-storm silence. Then the brothers had started laughing, shoving Aiden until he sat down, fetching him an ice-cold beer while Marco blinked in surprised gratitude.
Putting a similar expression on Marco’s face as often as he could gave Aiden simple pleasure. He might not have had much to offer otherwise, but if making Marco happy was his new role, it was one he took on with purpose.
In his shady bedroom, Marco moaned. “Tell me you’re going to do me soon.” He squirmed, clutching Aiden’s shoulders.
“I might.” He got between Marco’s legs, pushing them up and pressing on the underside of his thighs until his ass tilted. He braced him there with one forearm, watching as he pushed his fingers in and out of Marco.
“Please, please don’t keep me waiting.”
“Be quiet. I’m concentrating.” The cling of Marco around Aiden’s fingers as he pulled them out, before easing on the stroke back in, was fascinating viewing.
Marco stuttered over words that made no sense after Aiden dripped out more lube.
“What did you say? You want me to stop now?” Aiden ceased his movements, feeling the squeeze as Marco’s whole body tried to lock up, desperate to maintain contact. He pushed in again slowly, leaning over Marco’s heaving chest to sink into his now-desperate kisses. “Marco, do you need something to hold on to?” Aiden smiled as he asked, echoing the way Marco had first helped him to let go.
Marco barked out a sudden burst of laughter, shivering with pleasure, smiling at the man who so obviously loved him. “No,” he answered. “I am so sorry that you have comprehension issues. I did not realize that you had trouble understanding simple English as well as Italian.” He groaned as Aiden withdrew his fingers. “Let me try again, tesoro. Lean close so you can hear me.”
Aiden did, lining up his cock first, pressing lightly against Marco’s rim.
He watched Marco’s eyelids flutter closed. When they reopened, Aiden was distracted by the reflection of his own complete devotion.
Marco’s gaze was intent as he said, “Stop staring at me. I know that you only love me because of your crush on my brother.”
“That’s right,” Aiden agreed. “It’s the only possible reason.” He pretended to consider as he pushed farther in, making Marco’s breath catch. “That, and the fact that it turns out your family has lots of money.”
Marco’s laugh was warm. His dark hair was a mess, his cheeks flushed more deeply now as Aiden’s pace picked up. Aiden’s hands gripped Marco’s, pushing them into the pillows at either side of his head, their fingers laced together as he struggled to find extra leverage.
“Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.”
Aiden did as Marco demanded until he needed to switch positions. “On your knees.”
Marco rolled over, his ass a perfect peach complete with its own dusting of fine fuzz. Aiden bent to kiss it as Marco pulled up into position. He made Marco gasp when he pushed two fingers in again. Soon enough, he was complaining.
“It’s like you need a reminder on how to do this properly. Your cock, Aiden. Not your fingers. You have already done that.” He shook when Aiden pulled out.
“Maybe I need an incentive.”
Marco stilled.
He looked over his shoulder, eyes crinkled at the corners.
“You want me to make you a deal? Something to encourage your full participation?”
This time Aiden laughed, adding a few more drops of lube before easing in, mindful that, while Marco liked it deep, in this position he needed time until he could take it deep and quickly. He huffed out a huge breath—Jesus, Marco felt so good, so slick and tight around him—before he groaned out a yes.
Marco’s head hung for a moment while Aiden stayed still, allowing him time to relax. The next time he looked over his shoulder, he reached back with his arm too, encouraging Aiden to haul him up while still deep inside him.
“I’ll do that thing you like so much,” he said. “I’ll do it tonight. But only if you do me right now like you mean it. No more teasing, Aiden.”
Aiden pressed his mouth to Marco’s shoulder. Surely there was something wrong with laughing during sex. But picturing Marco the way he’d found him on his first morning in Milan, after he’d unpacked Aiden’s suitcase, left him no other option. Evan had helpfully packed the pink panties he’d found in their shared bedroom, and Marco had gone ahead and modeled them.
Marco had looked amused, his cock barely contained, the silk slick and translucent where his precome had wet it. What had tickled them both more than Aiden pulling the panties to one side as they’d tried to have sex in this same position had been imagining Evan’s expression when he’d found the scrap of silk on top of their dresser.
Aiden hadn’t been able to finish until Marco had removed them, explaining that thinking about brothers during sex was a stone-cold boner killer.
Now Marco squirmed against him.
“So? Do we have a deal?”
“No way. I’ll do you if you promise to never wear panties again.”
This time Marco chuckled, falling forward with a hiss when Aiden started moving faster. Soon he grasped the sheets, his knuckles whitening as Aiden moved beyond a steady fuck to pounding. He collapsed onto his belly after suddenly coming, yelling out his pleasure.
Aiden slowed his pace to an easy hip roll. “Can I?” he checked before continuing. Pressure on his prostate right after an orgasm was too much for Aiden. Marco, on the other hand, often begged for more attention, demanding fingers for a while even after they’d both climaxed.
“Can I?” Aiden repeated. His words shook just like he did, so close to falling off the edge. He groaned with relief when Marco nodded.
He wrapped an arm around Marco’s middle, lifting him so he could fuck him fast again for a final few minutes. Marco’s second yell and a small splash across Aiden’s wrist made him do it even faster, shoving Marco face-first into the pillows.
His own orgasm started somewhere very deep and kept on rising, surging through
him as if he’d only get to come this one time in his whole life. It left him wiped out, collapsed over his partner. His breaths came out in rough sobs.
Marco voice was muffled, his words confused and indignant. “How the hell did you make me come twice? What have you been hiding from me? I demand you do that every time now.”
Aiden moved slowly, random nerve endings still sparking, blind to everything but Marco’s face, turned his way and ruddy with exertion. “I’m not sure I can do that again. I think you just got lucky.”
Marco’s expression softened, and he rolled over, gazing at Aiden as he caught his breath, smiling as he next spoke.
“This much I know already.”
Having so much time on his hands left Aiden with no excuse not to practice what he’d learned in family therapy. He spoke more with his mother during his second week in Milan, biting back habitual statements like “You don’t need to worry” and replacing them with questions. He asked, “Is there a way I can help you?” and tried to listen to his mom’s ideas instead of shooting them down immediately. The distance made that difficult sometimes, and Signora de Luca often found him brooding.
“Take me upstairs, Aiden Phillip.”
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, offering her his arm now instead of carrying her up the first stone flight.
“What shall we discuss today?”
This was how his time with Marco’s mother always started. He’d taken to scouring the internet before breakfast to find out what was happening in the world. Europeans’ attitudes, as well as their politics, made for interesting debate. She was an intelligent woman and always called him on his bullshit, making him realize that he paid scant attention to the world around him, often coming out with opinions that unthinkingly mirrored his adoptive father’s.
“How about Marco?” he offered. That was her favorite subject.
“How about we talk about your birth father?”
Something about Signora de Luca’s tone made him agree. He sat in the armchair while she rested on a chaise longue next to her bedroom window. They watched people passing for a while until Aiden was ready. Listening to her as she made up stories about the shoppers crossing the street below reminded Aiden of her youngest son. He’d often done the same thing in Seattle, making up whole lives for their next-door neighbors. Only now, Aiden saw how they did the same thing for different reasons. Marco had been lonely, making up other lives for company, while his mother was simply giving Aiden time to think.
“My birth father . . . .” Aiden started.
“Yes? What can you tell me about him?”
It was a simple question.
“It might be easier if I show you.” He’d gone then to fetch his laptop, only hesitating briefly before booting it and searching in his bookmarks. He turned the screen to face her, watching as she frowned.
“Read this to me, Aiden Phillip. Tell me what this means.”
“This is his horseback-riding business. He lives up in the hills outside a place called North Bend.”
“And is that far away from Seattle?”
“No, not at all.” Aiden had gone to that area many times to hike with his new friends during his first year at college. It was less than an hour from home.
“What kind of man is he?”
That was the question Aiden still wrestled with. Verbalizing what he’d found out helped clarify his thinking.
“He’s good, I think. He’s had an interesting life.” That was an understatement. Aiden had made contact with him a few days after arriving in Milan. He’d emailed the address his birth dad had left on so many adoption websites, and he’d mentioned the name of their adoption counselor. His dad’s return email had been friendly, and it gave Aiden a link to a private online journal. That journal, written especially for Aiden, filled in the gaps left by Jack’s initial internet search and gave him a whole lot to think over.
“He met my birth mom the summer they turned sixteen.” Telling someone whose English was good but far from perfect made Aiden work hard to simplify his birth dad’s story.
“He was a bad kid, from a terrible family background, headed down a one-way street to jail.”
“Really?” Marco’s mother sounded delighted. She enjoyed stories with more villains than heroes.
“Yup. He was given a choice that summer: go to a Christian summer camp to learn a God-fearing lesson, or go spend some time in juvie.” Explaining the difference between camp and a juvenile detention center had taken some time. She found both concepts fascinating and awful.
“All that time away from family.” She had shaken her head, caught in the gap between their cultures. “And this was where he got your mother pregnant?” Her directness was disarming.
“Yeah.” Aiden could almost smile, now that he’d had time to absorb the story. Somehow, picturing a kid so determined to get to his girl that he’d swim across the lake between their camps was almost okay. It was so much easier on his heart than imagining a callous man who’d used his mom, then dumped her.
“So, she was at another camp for a similar reason?”
Aiden nodded. It sounded as if they’d both had difficult beginnings. They’d been no more than kids themselves. “They only got together one time.”
“I’ve heard that is all it takes.” Marco’s mother smiled.
“Then they went back to their respective cities.” It took a while to explain his dad’s choices. “He said that spending that summer on the lake saved his life.” His birth dad’s private journal detailed how a cabin full of bad boys had turned into a company of friends—men you could put your trust in. They’d enlisted as soon as they could, and most of them had served their country until retirement. He’d written at length too about the men who hadn’t made it home, obviously still affected by their loss. He’d been married twice, and had three more children.
“That’s how he describes them: Three more. As soon as he guessed about me, he called me his own. His first son.” Aiden swallowed, finding it hard to continue. “He tells people that he has four children.”
“How did he finally find out about you? Why didn’t he know of your existence?”
This part was easier to explain. “He never knew my mom’s full name. Finding out about me was a coincidence. Maybe if Mom had lived longer, she would have searched for him herself.”
“So, did your mother not enjoy a better life after her time at summer camp?”
“She didn’t get a chance to. It sounds as if she had a bad start, and then, before she got a chance to turn her life around, I was on the way.” He shook his head. “It might have been easier on her—”
“Do not even think it.” Signora de Luca was stern. “You are your mother’s greatest blessing, no matter her life choices. You, Aiden Phillip, are a gift.”
They sat in silence for a minute.
“It was a chance thing. That’s what my birth dad says. There’s a Facebook group for kids who went to those summer camps. It was only when he posted a question, asking if anyone remembered my mom, that he discovered she’d died and left a kid. After that, he did the math. I guess he could have thought I wasn’t his, but once he knew she’d had a baby, he started looking for me.”
“Those do not sound like the actions of a bad man.”
“No.” They really didn’t.
“And do you think he is your father?”
Aiden opened another link on his laptop. He knew he’d captured Marco’s mother’s interest when she made him fetch her reading glasses. He imagined they looked a matching pair, both pushing frames higher up on their noses as they peered at an online photo album.
“You are very much like him.”
“Yeah.”
“And look at these children! So striking! Such a strong family resemblance!”
It was hard to put their shared looks down to coincidence.
Later that day, Aiden sent his first long message to his birth dad, tapping out words, then backspacing quickly through them, as Marco and h
is mother pretended not to watch his progress. He labored over a description of his life and attached a photo taken by Signora de Luca that was only slightly blurry. He studied the image of him with his arm around Marco, wondering what his birth dad might see beyond their suntanned, smiling faces.
“Are you sure you want to send that?”
“If I’m doing this,” Aiden replied when Marco frowned with worry, “I’m not starting with any secrets.” He’d clicked Send on that email and then lowered his expectations.
The next day, his dad replied, attaching some more recent photos. It was impossible to judge via email, but he seemed to want to take Aiden at face value. His “We’re here when you’re ready” left a brand-new door standing open.
During Aiden’s third and final week in Milan, he divided his days between hashing things out with his mom and brother, writing to his birth dad, and learning how to make decent ravioli. As breaks from normal life went, he thought it was almost perfect. He snoozed in the courtyard while Marco worked, slowly turning tan and younger looking, and relaxed into nearly every moment.
The only tension during their final week was Marco’s. Aiden woke in the night to find him staring at the ceiling, mentally preparing once again to leave his home and, more importantly, his mother. Aiden lay beside him, making offers that Marco shrugged off.
“We can stay. I’ll sell the store. Maybe I can help you with your business?”
“No. Your Italian is pathetic. I have had over fifteen years to practice my English. It’s better that we return to Seattle, where we can both work.”
“Maybe we could split the year?” Aiden wasn’t sure how, but perhaps that could be an option now that his mom and Evan refused to let him pay their way.
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” Marco sounded conflicted.
“Why don’t we at least agree to come back in a few months? We don’t have to stay away forever.”
Marco snuggled closer, nodding against his shoulder.
By the time they were ready to leave Milan, Aiden had come to see the de Luca house as a second home. It was more than ancient, solid walls and a sense of history. It held laughter—so much laughter—as well as the sound of yelling, and it was often full of wonderful, imperfect, very loving people.