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Glimpses of dark hair,
Mahogany skin amidst
the billows of steam
-#173, In Blue Solitudes, S. Wilson-Osaki
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A glutton’s moon hung over Capri when they finally escaped Fabiana’s. The scent of palm and wisteria lured them along the posh Via Federico Serena, lined with luxury shops whose displays spotlighted a level of glamour beyond their reach. The sky and sea beyond, the lustrous blue of a sapphire, enchanted Seb far more than any Armani or Zegna suit, though he wouldn’t have minded seeing Andrea in something bespoke, and said so.
Vina snorted so hard Seb thought she might trip. A soft chuckle from under his shoulder signaled the man himself was amused but noncommittal. Or possibly just exhausted. Once Kawamata-san’s party had left to hit the clubs, an implacable Andrea forced Seb to hang up his apron, then bundled him into one of the bar’s plush armchairs with a pot of tea and a sliver of torta caprese. Seb’s sidelining meant Andrea had to pick up his slack until Fabiana dismissed them around 1:30 a.m., once Bruno had been carted off to the drunk tank.
Though his gut still ached, having a warm, sleepy-eyed Andrea glued to his side worked a treat, mostly on Seb’s libido. He hadn’t been briefed on their destination, but he hoped it involved a working coffee machine so he could caffeinate some desire into Andrea, who dozed on Seb’s shoulder as they strolled. Given Andrea had been awake for nearly twenty-four hours, Seb should have been more considerate. But they had worked hard, and now he wanted to play hard. They needed to vent some of the high emotion of the day, preferably all over each other.
Vina glanced back at them for the third time, her sphinxlike smile too tightly encrypted for the caveman state of Seb’s brain to decipher. She and Enzo swung their clasped hands in time with the noxious electronic beat blaring out of a passing bar, her pregnancy too advanced for them to couple up.
Just when Seb expected them to veer down one of the side streets, they continued toward the main entrance to the Grand Hotel Quisisana, a five-star palace of Doric columns and crystal chandeliers. Ladies draped in jewels that cost more than his house and their portly, Rolexed companions lounged around wicker and white outdoor tables. A gilt but welcoming light glowed out of the reception area, which, to Seb’s shock, Vina and Enzo sauntered into, waving at the night manager.
Seb hoped he hadn’t just walked into a John le Carré novel.
“Uh... what are we doing here?” he whispered as they passed a statue clutching a toga to her chest despite a peak-a-boo breast.
“Enzo is the head concierge,” Vina supplied. “We live on the grounds.”
They crossed straight through to the rear patio, then into the gardens. A serpentine path through the palm trees and manicured shrubs led to a gated staircase on the far side of the infinity pool. A series of cute but less-fancy bungalows bordered the lower ledge, their linked back terraces looking out to sea. When they reached the third one, Enzo proffered a set of keys.
“Lucky for you, my colleague is on holiday. You have the place all to yourselves.”
“People go on holiday when they live here?” Seb asked, incredulous.
A shrug was all the answer he got.
“We’re over here. The balconies in the back all connect. Come over when you want breakfast.”
“Or lunch,” Vina added, a twinkle in her eye.
“Thank you.” Seb struggled to form words that expressed his appreciation. “For everything.”
“Just make sure he gets some sleep.” Vina’s black eyes shone with affection for her brother. “He works too hard.”
“I’ll take good care of him.”
Finally Seb earned a genuine smile. “I know you will.”
Seb watched them slip into the shadow of the far door, then all but carried his snoozing charge into their private bungalow. He flicked on the lights to reveal a simple but cozy open-concept room with a view most people would donate a kidney for. He waddled them over to the bed, wondering if he should wrap Andrea in the fluffy duvet and jerk off in the shower, when a pair of callused hands began to explore. Specifically his lower posterior region. Seb plunked his backpack by the nightstand and shifted Andrea into a full-body embrace.
“I thought you were down for the count.”
“Mmm-mmm. What’s the word? Power napping.” Andrea meticulously mapped the curve of his buttocks before moving front to, alas, play doctor. And not the good kind. “How are you feeling?”
“Go back to what you were doing, and I’ll be just fine.”
A throaty chuckle made Seb’s groin throb. “Give me an honest answer, and I’m yours.”
“It’s still a bit raw, but I’ll survive.”
“Bene.” Andrea snaked his arms around Seb’s back, closing the distance between them. His lean, wiry body coiled with tension, the press of his hips sparking Seb’s thrumming need to life. Andrea took his mouth with surprising fervor, his kiss decadent and devouring. “All night I thought only of this. Only of being here with you.” His low, frantic moans and the insistent prod of his erection begged Seb to command him.
He didn’t have to ask twice. Breaking their kiss, Seb pushed him back a step. Took a moment to admire the panting, red-lipped mess of him, hair wild, eyes burning, shirt rumpled, pants tented. A lion in heat.
“Shower.”
A smirk of approval twisted his lips. Andrea led him to a spacious bathroom of dark-hued ceramic tiles and golden fixtures. A glass wall partitioned off the generous shower stall, with a back bench that gave Seb ideas. Throwing a bath mat over the bidet, he ordered Andrea to sit. The balance of the position forced his full-mast prick against the seam of his tight trousers. Andrea half swallowed a grunt, clamped his hands on his knees. Seb watched as he worked through the sensation, as he harnessed his breathing and returned his full attention to Seb.
For which he would be richly rewarded. Seb stood before him, letting Andrea’s avid gaze reach for him everywhere he longed to touch, then slowly plucked open a shirt cuff. He ran his fingers over his sensitive wrist, tracing patterns as he imagined Andrea would do if he caressed him there. When he heard the click of Andrea’s throat, he moved to his collar, lazily popping one button, another, and another, exposing his chest. A sharp intake of breath added final punctuation to the run-on stripping of Seb’s shirt. He got a little raunchy when he unlatched his belt buckle—what gay man wouldn’t channel Magic Mike?—whipping it at Andrea, who tried and failed to catch it with his teeth.
Laughing, Seb slowly unzipped to reveal the bulge in his boxers. Andrea smacked his lips, a flick of tongue luring him forward. Seb swaggered over, rubbed his silk-clad shaft into Andrea’s cheek. A purring groan reverberated through his balls. Andrea’s heavy breaths steamed through the dense fabric, stoking his already turgid shaft. Time to chug along before this train left the station too early.
Seb tapped Andrea’s chin up. He pulled out the tie in his hair, letting it fan out over his bare shoulders. Andrea gulped, hands white-knuckling his knees. Hovering a moment, Seb stared into his gray-green eyes until they went deep-sea dark, until Andrea chafed against his self-imposed reins. Only then did Seb kick out of his pants, snap the elastic waist of his boxers before easing them down over his proud, ready cock. He cranked on the shower to warm the water, then motioned for Andrea to stand.
He made quick business of stripping him, relishing how Andrea shivered, shook, even whined a bit when Seb left unzipping his trousers to the very last. As fun as their little game was, Seb kept him covered because the scent of him was maddening. Musky and familiar, the smell of a favorite leather jacket, sweat stained but so comfortable. Seb cupped his face to keep from groping lower, dragged a thumb over his opulent bottom lip. Andrea suckled it greedily, demonstrating in miniature just how skilled his tongue was.
Seb almost, almost—so close—ordered him to his knees.
“Do you want me now?” he asked, unable to pry his eyes or his thumb from that talented mouth. “Or do you want to wash me?”
A small gasp. Andrea shut his eyes, let him slip out. The violence of his full-body quake had Seb worried he’d pushed him over the edge. Andrea drank in a deep breath, calmed, but just.
“How do you know?” He shook his head, but didn’t seem to clear it. “What I like, how to... How do you know what to do to me?”
“A magician never reveals his—”
“Bastardo.”
“Excuse me?”
Andrea let out a grunt that seemed to crawl up from his bowels, sucking in another deep breath. “I would, yes. To wash you, yes, please.”
“And then? What would you like? For me to fuck you?” A hiss. “To bend you over that bench and fuck you?”
A rip of pleasure threatened to peel off a layer of Andrea’s skin, but he held on.
“Magari. But...”
“Hmm?”
His hesitation almost undid Seb, it was so delicious. “Against the wall. Under the water.”
“Mmm. We’ll see.”
Seb offered him his hand. Andrea took it and more, smashing them together and scorching his mouth with a kiss. Seb matched his fire and his ferocity until their hips fell into an all-too-tempting rhythm. Greedy himself, he didn’t want this to end. They had only so many tomorrows, none guaranteed. But before he could decide on a move, Andrea broke off, bowing his head even as he gasped for breath.
Seb lifted his chin, ghosted a kiss over his lips. He held the door for Andrea as they entered the shower stall. Andrea melted into the water as if he needed it to breathe. Seb tore away from that sensual visual long enough to fetch them some supplies—condoms, lube, and a washcloth. But as soon as he shut the shower door behind him, the steam billowed around them, and they crossed into another, private dimension.
Andrea grabbed him, swapped places. Guided Seb’s head under the jets to soak his hair and followed the stream down his torso with tender fingers, then spun him around. Seb shut his eyes, concentrated on the tub-thump of his pulse in his ears. Opened his other senses to this singular experience.
A fresh herby scent infused the humid air. Andrea started at the base of his neck, massaging the washcloth over his skin with the same gentleness with which he’d tended to Federica. But Seb wasn’t a distressed horse. He reared into Andrea’s touch, encouraging him to scrub. Andrea chuckled but increased the pressure, getting especially frisky on Seb’s buttocks and inner thighs. A vigorous swipe to his perineum had Seb panting; a thorough fondle of his balls had him cursing in both of Canada’s official languages.
By the time Andrea eased him around to work on his front—conveniently from his knees—the showerhead wasn’t the only thing dripping profusely. Squinting to keep his eyes shut, Seb couldn’t help but reach for Andrea’s shoulders. Between the muscles undulating beneath that supple skin, the washcloth lighting up every nerve end it brushed, and the whispers of proximity that prickled up the length of Seb’s sin-hard cock, the current of sensual excitement threatened to sweep him away. Then Andrea moved to his chest, and Seb bit his tongue to keep from coming.
After foaming up a generous lather, both on the cloth and between them, Andrea dabbed his collar, paying extra attention to his suprasternal notch. Seb cursed when Andrea flicked the corner over a tight-puckered nipple, crooned when he worried his aureole in a circular motion. Andrea pushed in so close that barely an inch separated them. He dragged the cloth down Seb’s navel but stopped just above the slick head of his cock. The merest gyration could escalate their interlude to the highest level. But Seb waited, kneading Andrea’s shoulders and neck, twining his fingers in the black whorls of his hair.
Andrea tossed the cloth aside. Pressing their foreheads together, Seb eased him under the spray. Locked in on Andrea’s dark eyes as the water poured over them. Stole a wet, ravenous kiss before they crashed together. Laughing, fumbling, moaning till they found the perfect spot, Andrea spread-eagled against the back wall, half-kneeling on the bench. Seb suited up away from the clouds of steam, eye fucking Andrea’s pert, perfect backside, ripe for plunder. He canted the showerhead to cascade over them, his breaths short and frantic. His cock pulsed in anticipation of the pound, of plunging into the body that submitted so completely to him.
Andrea summoned him back with a growl, not so meek after all. He bucked his hips into Seb’s groin when he finally saddled up, his thick-swollen cock leaking fat drops of precome onto the bench. Seb had planned to tease out preparing him, but his caveman brain howled with want. He started with two double-lubed fingers and finished with the head of his cock. Andrea opened so effortlessly for him, snorting with bullish intensity as Seb sheathed himself.
Seb abandoned himself to the rhythm, to the heat, to the grunt and the sweat and the deep, deep, deep bliss of reigning over another man. He lasted longer than he thought he would, his body craving the fevered communion more than the quake of completion. He climbed onto the bench, cradling Andrea so he could thrust deeper, craning his head back to suck his tongue. Palmed him and pumped until he keened into Seb’s mouth. Slammed his pleasure-wrecked body against the wall as Seb’s flooded with ecstasy, bursting out of him with a fizzy champagne afterglow.
They cocooned there, panting, snickering until Andrea’s head lolled onto Seb’s chest and he felt him go slack. Seb let him sleep, carrying him first out of the shower to towel him off—more or less—then into bed. The sheets would dry. Seb shut off the water and sank in beside Andrea, already curled into a little spoon. Tucking in behind him, Seb drank in the smell of his damp hair as he drifted off to sleep: the scent of Italy, the scent of rejuvenation, the scent of life.
A warm, cinnamony aroma lured Seb back into the land of the living. He flopped onto his back, waiting for sunlight to pink his eyelids, but they remained dark. Keeping his eyes shut, he listened for the sandpaper rasp of Henry’s breathing. Fully awake thanks to the unfamiliar room around him, Seb sent out a five-fingered search party, found the bed beside him empty. Clammy but empty.
It came back to him as it always did—the sharp slap of realization—but it didn’t bite as normal, the permafrost spreading farther over his heart. Instead a fault line had cracked that chill surface. Several, in fact. A second name skated through his still-groggy brain, performing triple loops and double axels to get his attention. Andrea, who brought the sunshine.
Seb lazed there awhile longer, reliving the night before. The restaurant, their shower interlude, but also being woken in the night by Andrea’s deft tongue on his cock. Too recently for Seb’s slack member to take much notice now. He blinked his eyes open but saw no sign of Andrea in the cottage bedroom. The balcony door shut tight and the blind drawn so only a thin crease of light shimmered through, Seb wondered if Andrea had decamped for Vina and Enzo’s, or whether he had returned to the mainland. Worry eluded him, part of his new, embrace-what-life-throws-at-you attitude. If Andrea didn’t leave a message, then that was a message in and of itself.
He hoisted himself into a sitting position, his abdomen screaming. Pulling the covers back revealed Bruno’s fist had painted a garish tattoo across his midsection in prizefighter purples, meat-locker blues, and puke yellows. After a pit stop in the bathroom to slowly—very slowly—freshen up, Seb dug a pair of shorts and his best T-shirt out of his backpack, then set off in search of an espresso. Not to mention his love-’em-and-leave-’em bed partner.
He heard the argument as soon as he cracked open the balcony door. The rat-tat-tat of Italian voices—first Andrea’s, then Vina’s—sprayed the placid morning with verbal gunfire. Seb eased the door open just enough to peer out without being seen. Vina stood her ground, arms crossed over her growing belly, as Andrea enacted a tempestuous pantomime of angry poses. As if a director fed him lines, every comment she made sent him flailing into ever more vehement paroxysms.
Then all at once, Andrea froze, sagged. Waved his hands in an impotent gesture and retreated to the balcony rail. Vina moved to join him. Andrea bowed his head as if suddenly defeated; she rubbed his back. Seb ignored the tight feeling in his chest, reminding himself whatever was going on was none of his business. The siblings whispered together for a while, Vina seeming to encourage her brother. In what, Seb could only guess, but he wagered Bruno was involved somehow.
He waited a few more minutes until Andrea had straightened a bit. Seb rattled the door and let out a loud yawn before venturing onto the balcony, to be greeted by a pair of bemused faces.
“Buongiorno a tutti,” he declared, trying not to lurch too much and alert Andrea to the ache in his abs. He made a poor show of it because Dr. Sorrentino was instantly on the case, rushing over to poke at his side.
“Ah, Sebastiano.” A crease already marred his brow. “How are you feeling?”
“In dire need of some liquid therapy.”
Vina laughed. “I’ll get your espresso.”
“You are a goddess.”
She scoffed. “Zia Fabi was right about you.”
Seb waited until she’d waddled into the house before greeting Andrea properly. Plush lips welcomed him with an eagerness they could not indulge for too long, but Seb wasn’t complaining.
“What was that about?” Seb asked, pulling away before the urge to drag Andrea back to their cottage and fuck him legless took over.
Andrea exhaled a blustery breath. “Later.”
“Your cousin up to more tricks?”
“Pfft! Forget about him.” He laced their hands to lead him over to a wrought-iron table set for four. “We have bigger problems.”
Seb raised his eyebrows. “Such as?”
“Mamma has invited us for dinner tonight.”
Unable to keep from snickering at Andrea’s look of annoyance, he waited a few beats before answering. “I would love to go to your mom’s.”
A sigh. “That is what I thought you would say.”
“You don’t want to go? It is Sunday night. It’s tradition.”
He perked up a bit at this. “In Japanese families too?”
“I’m half-French, remember?”
“Si, si.” He appeared to struggle to order his thoughts, so Seb gave him some space, walking over to the rail. Capri in the morning—playground of the gods. After a minute Andrea fell in beside him. “Normally I would go. But it would be the second night in a row you spend with my family, and...”
“You want me all to yourself?” He didn’t get his laugh. Instead Andrea’s downcast eyes were back, along with a faint blush. “What is it?”
“When do you leave?”
Seb stared at Andrea—the loyal, giving, indefatigable lover he hadn’t asked for but was infinitely grateful he’d found—and wondered when things had veered into the serious. Both this conversation and the formless something between them, far from solid yet but growing denser every day. They both knew the limits of their time together, but a night like the one they just shared could blur the sharpest of lines. Maybe Andrea was setting up boundaries. Seb considered delineating some of his own, as he was in no position, emotionally or otherwise, to offer more than a few weeks’ dalliance.
“Wednesday.”
Seb hoped Andrea’s nod was one of acceptance. “Bene. Then there is time.”
“Not to Canada just yet. To Sorrento for a few days.” The words were out before Seb really thought them through. But they felt right, which freaked him out. “Halfway to the airport. You’re welcome any night you want to stop in.”
To Seb’s relief, Andrea brightened. “How long are you there?”
“Until next Sunday.”
Andrea nodded, thinking. “Tell me honestly, Sebastiano. What do you want to do tonight?”
Seb leaned in to whisper, “Take you back to my place and lick you from head to toe.” At Andrea’s shiver, he added, “After having what will probably be the best dinner of my trip at your mamma’s.”
Andrea rolled his eyes. “Fabiana is right about you.”
“We should invite the ladies. If your mom doesn’t mind. I have a feeling they’ll get along.”
At that the clouds parted from Andrea’s solemn visage to make way for a dazzling smile. “And if we happen to disappear while they’re entertaining her...”
“So be it.” Which earned his ass a pinch.
“I like the way your mind works.”
Seb hip-checked him. “Just my mind?”
“While we are on my sister’s balcony, yes.”
As if waiting for their cue, Enzo and Vina exited their cottage, the former with a massive tray laden with every breakfast delight one could ask for: eggs two ways, a heaping plate of bacon and sausage, toast, crêpes, yogurt, a bowl of fresh fruit, and a basket of pastries. Seb suspected he’d snatched it from the hotel. Vina served espressos and blood orange juice mimosas—an impossible choice if ever there was one.
Once everyone sat down, Seb raised his glass.
“A toast.” Seb took a moment to drink everything in—peerless view, enchanting company—then said, “To my new lovely friends and to... second chapters in life.”
They cheered, clinked glasses. Seb couldn’t help but meet Andrea’s thoughtful gaze across the table, inwardly vowing to do everything in his power to brighten him up over the next few days.
“So what do you have planned for today, Sebastiano?” Vina asked. Andrea’s nickname for him was spreading.
“Don’t answer that,” Andrea warned.
Seb laughed. “Why? Is Fabiana expecting another party of Japanese tourists?”
“Don’t joke about that either.”
Around his mouthful of toast, Enzo said to Andrea, “She already asked for you.”
“She asks too much.” Vina sighed. “We said no. We didn’t want to wake you for that. I hope that’s okay.”
“You mean you didn’t dare.” Seb put on his wickedest smirk.
Vina shrugged. “Nothing I haven’t walked in on before, believe me.”
“Oh-ho!” Seb admired Andrea’s blush. “Have a bit of an exhibitionist streak, do we, Dre?”
“Just a sister who doesn’t knock.”
“We all have one of those,” Seb commiserated.
But Enzo trumped them. “Some of us have three.”
“And you’d all be lost without us,” Vina huffed, stealing one of his sausages. “And enough of changing the subject. Sebastiano?”
“No particular plans.” Seb sliced into a peach so juicy he let it drip into his mimosa. “I’m here in Capri. Might as well take a look around.”
She nodded. “Andrea will show you the best places.”
A soft curse from the other side of the table heralded a sharp exchange in Italian between the siblings. Seb managed to pick out a few words, none of which he liked.
“I know he has to work.” Seb attempted to silence the bickering. “We’re seeing each other tonight.”
Vina dismissed this with a wave despite her brother’s continued protests. “Enzo will drive Andrea’s clients today. And because you, Sebastiano, were so generous last night, he has no reason to complain that he finally has a day off.”
Something in what she said caught Andrea up short. “What do you mean, ‘generous’?”
Seb opened his mouth to object but knew it was pointless. He’d have better luck convincing the moon not to rise than swaying Vina from whatever path she blazed down.
“Your amante insisted that his salary and tips be divided between the regular staff. Even the enormous tip the Japanese padrino left him.” She continued on in Italian, but Andrea had tuned her out. He shook his head in dismay, but his eyes had regained their luster, shining in a way that made Seb’s stomach do a little flip. “I know you would not cancel on your clients at the last minute, so Enzo will take care of them, and you and Sebastiano can spend the day together.” She grabbed Seb by the hand, squeezing so hard he thought he heard a snap. “Promise me, per favore, that you will not let him talk or think about work. Or answer his phone when one of those—”
“Basta.” Enzo shushed his wife with a bearish rumble. “It’s all arranged. Let’s enjoy our breakfast.”
Seb winked at Vina. He had his standing orders for the day and would do his darndest to accomplish his mission: fun.