Tristram La Roche Lorenzo il Magnifico

Evernight Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com

ISBN:

978-1-926950-72-3

Cover Artist: Jinger Heaston

Editor: Emma Shortt

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of

this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or
reproduced electronically or in print without written permission,
except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are

fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Acknowledgments

My thanks to Julia Kavan for her endless patience and
advice, and to David Bridger for his input during the early
stages of this novella. Last but not least, a big thank you to
my editor, Emma Shortt.

Dedication

This story is for Lorenzo.

LORE)ZO IL MAG)IFICO

Tristram La Roche

Chapter One

Luke ended the customer’s call and glanced at the time in the

bottom corner of his monitor. Two minutes before six. He took a deep
breath, looked around the call center and logged off. His supervisor,
Lina, the bitch, would pull him up for it, but there was no way he
intended being caught on another call just two minutes before
clocking off time. He knew that the last call was always trouble, some
customer with a backlog of unresolved problems that would keep him
until twenty minutes past at the very best. It was not going to happen
tonight. Lina could go fuck herself. Well, he couldn’t imagine anyone
would do it for her.

He unplugged his headset, switched off the computer and

sidled off to the bank of lockers. So far, so good. He grabbed his
jacket and rucksack, broke into a trot—another disciplinary matter—
and headed to the elevator. He jabbed at the call button and glanced
back down the corridor.

This place fucked with his head. The job promised him at the

interview was nothing remotely like the actual job. People here were
treated like mindless cattle, and what made it worse was the fact that
the managers just toed the company line without an original thought.
Outside of work, all they seemed to care about was soccer and getting
drunk. Luke had nothing in common with any of them. As far as he
was concerned, his vacation had started. Tonight he would have an
extra good workout at the gym, make sure his six pack was as tight as
a virgin’s ass, and tomorrow he’d be on his way to Florence.

“Hey, Luke.” Gary grinned stupidly at him from the back of

the elevator, crumbs stuck to his yellow teeth.

“Hi, Gary,” he said, stepping in and turning his back on the

company moron. The air stank of sweat, baked beans and cheese. As
usual.

“You off on vacation tomorrow?”
“Yep.” Luke really didn’t want a conversation. He just wanted

to get out of that God-awful place as fast as he could. The job paid the
bills, but how he hated it.

“Sue says you’re going to Italy. Why’re you going there?”
“Erm... because it’s a nice place?”
“I went to Spain. Benidorm. It’s good there. English breakfast

served all day. English beer. Lots of English girls... oh, yeah... sorry.
Well, there are lots of English boys, too.”

“I’m sure.” Boys like you, he thought, I can do without.
Luke squeezed through the elevator doors as soon as the gap

was wide enough and swiped his card in the turnstile. Gene Kelly
couldn’t have twirled through the revolving door with more style.

The early summer evening greeted him like an old friend. The

leaves on the trees shone like phosphorescent limes in the weak
sunlight, a strange contrast to the hum of traffic on the main road and
the pungent exhaust fumes. He didn’t even look back at the steel and
glass building to see if he was being watched by the fit security guard.
All being well, this time tomorrow, he’d be getting a good pounding
from some dark-haired Fiorentino.

It was shameful that the only job he could get was in the call

center. He had a good a degree in art history and spoke three
languages, yet his aversion to the world of finance and accountancy
erected a wall between him and the career to which he was suited.
Right now, it was the call center or live on the bread line.

His apartment in Leeds city center, in a fashionable

development overlooking the canal, drained his income despite being
so small that he couldn’t sneeze with the windows closed for fear of
breaking them. But it was stylish. The white walls, polished wood
floors and steel kitchen made up the perfect environment for a twenty-
five year old, single gay man. He’d populated it with the finest
minimalist furnishings he could afford. It kind of made Lina’s
constant nagging bearable.

After stuffing his damp gym kit in the washing machine Luke

ate a light supper and finished his packing. He included several pairs
of Speedos as he planned on spending more than one day at the

Versilian coast. Gay Versilia, as it was known, had become a Mecca
for international gay tourists. It would therefore have more than its
fair share of local boys looking for a taste of the stranieri.

His flight left Leeds Bradford airport at one in the afternoon,

so his taxi was booked for half-past ten. An early night beckoned,
nevertheless. No Friday night clubbing for him. He wanted to look
and feel his best when that plane hit the tarmac at Pisa airport.

Chapter Two

Luke pressed his forehead against the window and looked

down onto the sparkling Mediterranean. Boats dotted the surface like
polystyrene beads on a pond, the shadow of the plane a grey shark
among them. The coast came into view, a strip of sand separated from
the sprawling conurbations by the pineta, a ribbon of pine trees that
held some fond memories of past visits.

The plane banked, the engines whined, and the view changed

rapidly. Clusters of houses, the occasional ink blot of a swimming
pool, factories and roads filled with toy cars. Then it all moved too
fast to take in and the runway opened up, white and shimmering after
a day of baking in the sun.

When the plane banged down onto the runway and the reverse

thrust kicked in, a feeble round of applause spluttered among the
passengers. Luke hated that. One of the downsides of charter flights.
Still, he’d soon be off and wouldn’t see his fellow passengers again
for another week. He stretched and smiled. Seven days of culture,
beauty and lovely men lay ahead. Just what the doctor ordered. Food
for his starving brain and candy for his tired eyes. His nerve endings
tingled.

* * * *
The train arrived in Santa Maria ovella station at six o’clock

on the dot. The station heaved with people talking in different
languages, slurping pizza from cardboard triangles and bumping into
each other. It was still much too hot and Luke headed for the taxi
rank. He groaned at the queue and decided to walk to the hotel. It was
only ten minutes and the exercise would do him good after all the
day’s sitting. He’d stayed at the Hotel Duomo before and more or less
remembered the way, but checked his pocket map before heading off
across the Piazza della Stazione towards the Via Panzani.

The Hotel Duomo was fine, very clean and comfortable, not to

mention affordable, but he felt a pang of melancholy as he passed in
front of the Grand Hotel Baglioni. That was where he should be
staying. He should be able to afford it by now. Still, he had a plan and
this trip was the beginning of a new chapter. He chided himself and
marched on, choosing the side of the street shaded by the four and
five storey buildings. The rattle of tires on the cobbled road and the

whine of the Vespas soon made him feel at home and, as he passed a
narrow-fronted bar, the smell of coffee and liquor made his spirit soar.

As he made the final turn into Piazza San Giovanni, he caught

his first glimpse of the Basilica di Santa Maria dei Fiore, Florence’s
cathedral, the Duomo. He paused for a moment, taking in the intricate
façade topped by the famous dome. Memories of student days
gamboled across his mind. They were good times and, yes, he’d
happily embrace them again. He sighed. With any luck, his hotel
room would have a view of the Duomo.

“Stronzo! Che cazzo!”
The toot of a Vespa’s horn made him jump. Luke shook his

head and caught sight of a young man on a scooter, swerving back
into line and gesturing at him with one finger. He’d stepped out into
the road in his daydream. But although his heart was beating a tattoo
in his chest, he couldn’t help noticing what a stunner the Vespa rider
was. As was the custom, the crash hat was perched on top of his head,
revealing a face that Michelangelo might have created. Luke smiled,
but the Vespa had already melted into the traffic in a cloud of oily
fumes.

* * * *
Luke leaned on the window ledge and studied the flaking

green shutters in the wall across the narrow side street. Not quite a
view of the Duomo. Well, he wasn’t planning on spending too much
time in the room, not looking at the view, anyhow. He turned and
smiled at the double bed. That was the main thing he’d requested.

Once he’d unpacked and arranged his clothes neatly, he took a

quick shower and splashed himself liberally with the new Kouros
he’d picked up at the airport. He peeled on his best jeans and a white
t-shirt, then admired himself in the mirror. He looked good for
twenty-five. His tall body was as toned as ever, his biceps bulged by
just the right amount and, even if he said so himself, he had the face
of a sex god. Maybe he should have been a model? Too late now. He
sighed and turned from the mirror, slipped a couple of condoms and
two sachets of lube into his back pocket and headed for the street.

The evening light blinded him and he felt for his Ray Bans.

How nice it was to need sunglasses at this hour. The slate skies and
drizzle of Leeds seemed an age away. He stood on the sidewalk for a
while deciding in which direction to go. The traffic fumes now
mingled with the smell of cooking, early suppers for the tourists

already being served at many of the restaurants and pizzerias. His
stomach gurgled and his mind was made up.

He took a seat at a small table outside a typical trattoria. The

owners had cordoned off a section of the sidewalk behind tubs planted
with laurel bushes. Ivory colored parasols provided shade and
trembled when the evening breeze whipped round the corner. A
couple of patio heaters stood like sentries in case the weather turned
unseasonal. That, Luke thought, was unlikely tonight. The laurels
looked parched and there wasn’t a cloud in the patch of sky that
peeked between the parasols.

“Buona sera.” The words had that disingenuous lilt that Italian

waiters reserved for tourists.

Luke responded in fluent Italian and saw the waiter relax

immediately.

“I’m sorry, signore, I thought you were a straniero.”
Luke saw no reason to disabuse the man who now could not

bring the grissini and olives fast enough. “If you could bring me a
half-bottle of Chianti and the menu, you can forget me for ten
minutes.”

The waiter, a man of about sixty with a respectable paunch

and a full head of black, oily curls bowed and backed away. In
seconds he was back, producing a leather-bound menu with a flourish.
“My son will bring your wine in just one moment. Enjoy your meal.”

Luke nodded. With his sunglasses pushed up onto his head in

true Italian style, he began to peruse the menu. His stomach rumbled
with hunger, but he didn’t want to ruin his figure. Too much hard
work went into it. The tagliatelle with white truffles was tempting,
but all those carbs. Maybe a salad would be a better idea.

A small bottle of red wine landed on the table, its label

covered by a hand that could have made its owner a good living in the
advertising business. Broad as a spade, long fingers, tanned, with just
a few black hairs at the side, Luke was eager to see the rest. He
looked up and did a double take.

The waiter was busy screwing his opener into the cork.

“Would you like to try the wine?”

“Please.” Luke watched the expert and made a wish.
As the waiter poured a soupçon of wine into the glass, he

stepped back.

“You weren’t very polite to me, were you?” said Luke, before

sipping the wine.

“Signore?” The frown only heightened his good looks.
“Earlier on? You were in a hurry, on your Vespa.”
The frown melted slowly and the eyebrows arched. “Oh, I’m

sorry, signore.” He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
His tanned cheeks turned ruddy. “You almost got yourself run over. I
was—”

“Forget it. I’d probably have done the same myself.” Luke put

his glass on the table. “It’s fine, very good.” He watched in awe as the
waiter filled his glass, wrapped a serviette around the neck of the
bottle and set it down on the table, all in one graceful movement. He

was stunning, perhaps the most handsome guy Luke had ever

seen. And Luke was dying for him.

“Have you decided?”
Luke imagined the salad on his tongue. “I’ll have the

tagliatelle with truffles.”

“Excellent choice. Anything to follow?”
“Not at the moment. I’ll decide afterwards.”
The waiter nodded and backed away. As his footsteps receded,

Luke glanced back over his shoulder. The tight black trousers,
standard waiter’s uniform in Florence, clung to perfect buttocks. Luke
closed his eyes and tried to picture the waiter naked. His cock
twitched and his stomach did a somersault. Yeah, and what’s the
chance he has a wife and kids waiting at home? Luke opened his
eyes.

The waiter pulled the door open, turned and winked before

disappearing into the trattoria.

Chapter Three

Luke ate so slowly the pasta was cold before he’d half-

finished. As the tables filled up, so the opportunities for getting a
good look at the waiter increased. With more people taking their
places, the chairs began to fill the restricted space, and Luke found
himself sitting in contorted positions in the hope that the waiter might
brush against his arm. At one point, as Luke was sucking tagliatelle
off his fork, his gaze met the waiter’s crotch as it squeezed between
neighboring diners. It took a Herculean effort not to reach out and
touch it. A stirring between Luke’s legs made him check that the
napkin was suitably arranged.

“It was good?”
“Erm, yes, thanks.” This time Luke was taken by surprise. The

waiter had obviously crept up on him from behind. “Very good.”

“Something else, maybe? Or is the signore in a hurry?”
Luke had no appetite for food after the pasta, but he couldn’t

drag himself away just yet. “Maybe something light, a dessert
perhaps?”

“We have a very good sorbetto al limone, homemade. Light

and refreshing. I squeezed the lemons myself.”

Was that a wink or a twitch? Luke couldn’t tell, but was this

guy playing with him? Squeezing lemons? He wiped a burgeoning
smile away with his napkin. “That will be perfect, thank you.”

The waiter hesitated, then pointed to the empty bottle. “The

other half, perhaps?” This time he smiled.

Luke had to get his rocks off before bed. Too much wine was

a bad idea. But what the hell? “Why not? First night of the vacation.”

The waiter slipped away, leaving Luke wondering why he’d

said that. So far, he’d been taken as an Italian. He’d probably blown
his cover. Oh, well, so what? With any luck, it wasn’t all he’d blow
before the night was out.

* * * *
The bottle was still half full when Luke realized he was the

only person left, at least sitting outside. He’d made it last, leaning
back in his chair, watching the passing men when he wasn’t eyeing up
the waiter. But now it seemed the time had come. He looked over his
shoulder. The trattoria door was wedged open and the staff were

sweeping the floor, inside he could see upturned chairs on table tops,
the lights had already been dimmed. He caught the waiter’s eye,
raised his arm and squiggled a signature in the air, then turned back to
look at the street. There were plenty of fit guys promenading now.
And if he couldn’t pick one up on the way to the hotel, there was
always Bar Uccello a short walk away. He took a piece of paper from
his pocket, unfolded it and laid it on the table under the light. As he
checked the address, those familiar hands took hold of the empty
chair next to him and yanked it from under the table.

“Your check,” said the waiter, pushing a strip of paper in front

of Luke, “but you haven’t finished your wine.” He sat on the reversed
chair and leaned his arms on the back.

A tremor buzzed through Luke’s body. He reached to cover

the address of Bar Uccello with his hand but caught the waiter’s eyes
settling on it a second too soon.

“Shall I help you with this?” asked the waiter, wrapping his

hand round the bottle.

“Sure, I can’t finish it all.” Luke scrunched the paper into a

ball and kept it in his palm while the waiter poured them both wine.

“You’re not Italian, are you?”
It was a slap across the face. Luke’s Italian was fluent, with a

trace of an Umbrian accent. “Erm, no. I’m English.”

The waiter chuckled. “Don’t be so sensitive. Your Italian is

fine.” He took a sip of wine and peered at Luke over the rim of the
glass. “It’s your coloring, your eyes, your hair. They’re not quite dark
enough to get away with it.”

“Oh, right.” Luke relaxed again.
“You here on your own?”
“I am. Just for a week.”
“What will you do with yourself in the city for a week, all

alone?” The waiter’s voice took on a tone of curiosity.

“I have some visits scheduled. At the Uffizi, for one thing.

And I plan on getting out to the coast more than once.”

The waiter offered his hand. “I’m Lorenzo.”
Luke reached out. As his fingertips neared Lorenzo’s, he

imagined they were in The Creation of Adam by Michelangelo. A
breath, then they touched. Luke felt like he’d been given a static
shock. “Luke.”

Lorenzo gripped tightly. “Luke and Lorenzo. Sounds good.”

I’m sure we’d look good, too, thought Luke, and he held an

image of Lorenzo’s buttocks rising and falling as he put his expert
corkscrewing technique to good use. It must have shown on his face
because Lorenzo’s eyes sparkled and he broke into a grin.

“Sorry, did I say something funny?” asked Luke, shifting in

his chair.

“You didn’t need to.” And there it was again, that wink. It was

a wink. “You planning on going to Uccello, then?”

Luke’s cheeks burned. “Oh, not necessarily. Depends, really.”

He scanned the check and set three ten Euro notes on the table.

Lorenzo drained his glass and collected the remnants of the

meal from the table, crumpling the Euro notes into his pocket. “I’ll
get rid of these and walk with you... if you’ll allow me.” He didn’t
wait for an answer.

As soon as Lorenzo was out of earshot, Luke punched the air

and let out a ‘Yessss’.

* * * *
Bar Uccello identified itself among the cheap snack bars,

computer stores and Chinese herbalists by a simple rainbow flag that
hung over the dusty, iron grille as limp and useless as a used condom.
Even without the flag it would have been hard to miss; the music paid
no attention to locked doors and the overflowing dumpsters in the
street vibrated to the rhythm.

Lorenzo pressed the button on the entry phone, looked into the

camera, and the grille sprang open with a raw clack. Luke followed
him through the security doors and into a dimly lit passage decorated
with adverts for hardcore videos. He recognized most of the cocks on
them. The noise was deafening and Luke could only watch as
Lorenzo leaned over the counter and shouted into the ear of the
receptionist. They gesticulated at each other, then at Luke, then at the
ceiling. Finally, the receptionist shrugged his shoulders and Lorenzo

pulled Luke along the passageway and into the bar. It heaved

with bodies. Many of the guys had discarded their shirts and Luke
narrowed his eyes against the flashing lights trying to get a good look.

Lorenzo pulled him close and shouted in his ear, “It’s full

because of the strip show later on.” He jerked his head towards the
bar. “Shall we?”

Luke nodded and followed closely as Lorenzo ploughed

through the throng, stopping regularly to receive a hug or a kiss from

fellow revelers. His popularity was obvious and Luke knew that if
anything passed between them it could only be a one night stand or, at
most, a seven night, vacation fling.

As the bar came into sight, Luke surged forward and grabbed

Lorenzo by the arm. “I’ll get these.”

Lorenzo shook his head. He already had the attention of one of

the barmen. Luke knew Italians well enough to realize any protest
was futile, so he accepted his Diet Coke with grace.

Lorenzo began to dance to the music, grinding his hips. He

grinned at Luke. That wink again.

Luke was drawn to him like a mosquito to a lamp. He finished

his coke, rid himself of the glass and raised his arms over his head. He
rotated his hips, thrusting forward the growing mound at his crotch.
Lorenzo’s eyes glowed; his shirt, already damp from the heat and the
exertion, taut across hard nipples. When their eyes met, Luke opened
his mouth and ran his tongue over his lips. Lorenzo took the bait. His
tongue darted between Luke’s lips and filled his mouth. Luke lowered
his arms, put one around Lorenzo’s neck to pull him tighter, and let
the other work its way down to his ass. At last, he felt those firm
buttocks that he’d watched so many times during the evening. In his
mind he parted them to reveal Lorenzo’s rosebud. He pushed his hard
cock against Lorenzo, wishing it were free. Lorenzo responded, and
Luke felt the other’s solid length press into his own.

A sudden flash of light, a ripple of applause and the music

died. Luke glanced around, nonplussed, but Lorenzo shouted in his
ear, “It’s the show. The strippers. Come with me.”

Luke clung to Lorenzo’s hand and followed him closer to the

stage on the far side of the room. Everyone else had the same idea but
Lorenzo had been quick off the mark; they weren’t in the front row,
but not far behind.

A skeletal guy with bad skin, dressed in leather trousers and

waistcoat, hopped onto the stage with a microphone. He announced
the performers as each came on behind him.

“A bit naff,” said Luke, seeing an American Indian chief and a

cowboy shaking themselves down.

“Who cares? We’re not here to see their clothes.” Lorenzo

leaned closer. “Watch the Indian, he has a huge cock.”

From what I just felt pressed against me, he’s not the only one,

thought Luke.

The compere hopped down and music throbbed from the

speakers on either side of the stage. Luke wasn’t a fan of striptease, he
found the dancing banal and just wanted to get down to the meat and
two veg as fast as possible. Not that either of the dancers had much to

remove. The cowboy’s chaps revealed a shiny mound where

his man tackle was covered by a black patent pouch. Within a couple
of minutes, both performers were down to their boots and jockstraps,
gyrating to the music and thrusting their hips to the frenzied audience.
They ripped off their final restraints to howls and cat calls; standing
side by side, it looked like two escape chutes lolling from a plane. If
the cowboy was hung a like a horse, the Indian was an elephant.

“Fuck me,” said Luke with a gasp.
“He’d rip you apart.”
“I’d let him try.”
Lorenzo put his arm around Luke’s shoulders. “Do you fancy

going somewhere quieter?”

Luke’s stomach plunged a hundred feet and his head soared. “I

thought you’d never ask.” His eyes looked back at the stage to see the
Indian feeding his cock down the cowboy’s throat.

“Jesus, are they going to—”
“Come?”
“Yeah.”
“Want to watch?”
Luke was mesmerized. “Yeah.”
When the cowboy finally got to his feet, his cock jutted out

like a cantilevered girder over the front row of the audience. He
wrapped his hand around it and began to jerk off as the audience
chanted encouragement. Hoots of delight went up as a thick white
stream drizzled onto the stage. Luke was disappointed, if not entirely
surprised. Often the best hung men failed to explode like his own
Roman candle.

The finale, however, did not disappoint. When the second

stripper shot his load it went like a comet.

“Fucking hell,” said Luke. “He should have come as a

firefighter.”

Chapter Four

Luke welcomed the calm of the street. Although the night was

balmy, the breeze washed over him like a cool wave compared to the
sweat-laden club.

“I can hear myself think, now,” he said, shaking his head. The

sight of the Indian spraying his seed was still with him. His cock
strained at his jeans. “So, where shall we go? My hotel?”

“If you want. Or my apartment, it’s not far.”
“You mean you don’t live with your parents?” All Italian men

under thirty lived with their parents.

“Some of the time. Well, my mother is dead, I live with my

father. But I’m moving to my own place. It’s about the same distance
as your hotel.” He shrugged. “It’s not finished, I mean not really
ready, but I have a bed.” He grinned.

There was something tantalizing about a bed in an empty flat

down some Florentine back street. Something seedy and horny. “Then
lead the way,” said Luke, slipping his arm through Lorenzo’s.

They crossed the road and turned into the Via San Zanobi,

choosing to walk in the road rather than the sidewalk to avoid
squeezing between the shuttered buildings and the dumpsters.

“So, it’s about ten minutes?” asked Luke.
“Maybe fifteen, but not more. Why?”
Luke pressed Lorenzo’s hand to his crotch. “Because my jeans

are damp, that’s why.”

“You are horny?”
“As a fucking rhino.”
They laughed, their voices echoing off the walls in the sleepy

street, then quietening as their route took them into the wide open
space of Viale Spartaco Lavagnini, a four-lane thoroughfare flanked
by offices and residential buildings. For the first time since arriving,

Luke heard the chirping cicadas in the trees along the

curbside. “Now I really feel I’m in Italy,” he said.

“You know it well?”
“Yes, well, at least around here. I’ve been loads of times. I

spent one summer at the university in Perugia.”

“Ah, that explains your Italian.”

The conversation halted as they crossed the broad street. The

traffic had died down and Lorenzo cut diagonally across to head down
another side street. When they emerged at a crossroads, Luke spotted
a sign on the opposite corner.

“We’re in your street. Lorenzo il Magnifico.” He chuckled and

smiled.

“It’s true. My apartment is just here.” Lorenzo gestured

toward a characterless slab of a building anchored to the street by
broad marble steps. The travertine-clad façade shone pale under the
streetlights.

“Really?” Luke laughed. “You’re joking, right?”
Lorenzo produced a bunch of keys from his pocket. “No. This

is it.”

Luke followed him up the steps to the main door. “How cool

is that, living in a street named after you. Is there anything you should
tell me?”

“For example?”
“You from some important family?”
Lorenzo held the door open with an outstretched arm and

pushed Luke into the hallway. The feeble lights flickered into life.
“Would it matter if I were?”

“No, of course not.” Luke sensed he’d stepped over more than

one threshold. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay. I’m only kidding. The whole thing is a coincidence,

nothing more.”

The pre-war elevator had a concertina steel door that Lorenzo

slid back with obvious experience. “It’s on the top floor. Hold tight.”

The sudden lurch threw Luke off balance. He grabbed

Lorenzo and the action flowed into a natural embrace. They were still
locked together when the elevator jerked to a halt and Lorenzo pushed
him gently away to open the door.

* * * *
Luke stood at the center of the room with his mouth gaping.

“It’s huge.”

“Yeah, think how much it’s going to cost me to get it as I want

it,” said Lorenzo, raising the shutters half way. The glow from the
street lights fanned out across the parquet floor.

“I love it. But why did you buy something so big?”
“I didn’t buy it. I inherited it from my grandmother.”

Luke knew about the strange Italian inheritance laws. With

Lorenzo’s mother already dead, the flat would pass to the
grandchildren. “You don’t have brothers or sisters?”

Lorenzo shook his head, walked up to Luke and wrapped his

arms around his waist.

“An only son. You must have been spoiled,” said Luke,

returning the gesture and tucking his thumbs into Lorenzo’s
waistband. His shirt was damp in the small of his back and he smelled
of the restaurant.

“Are you going to spoil me?”
“Ruin you.” Luke slipped his tongue between Lorenzo’s lips

and went for his tonsils, tearing at his clothes. Lorenzo pushed him
back. “What’s wrong?”

“Let’s go to bed.”
Luke didn’t argue. His cock had been like an airship in a

stocking since supper and he ran behind Lorenzo, snatching at his
clothes.

“Un attimo. Wait a second,” said Lorenzo, making his way

across the darkened room. “Let me get some light in here.” The
shutter raised a couple of feet, a segment of orange light slanting
under the opening.

Luke saw a huge, carved-wood bed in an otherwise empty

room. “Why don’t you put the lights on?”

“Can’t. The place hasn’t been used for months. The electric’s

off until Monday.”

Luke felt a twang of disappointment. He wanted to see

Lorenzo in all his glory. Still, the light from the street was better than
nothing. It added a certain mystery. He lunged at Lorenzo and started
to tug at his belt. Lorenzo pushed him onto the bed and fell on top of
him, clamping his mouth onto Luke’s. The bed springs twittered
beneath them.

Lorenzo’s shirt slipped off easily and Luke threw it aside,

moving his hands swiftly to the half-undone belt. Lorenzo lifted his
hips, tongue still lashing Luke’s gums, and eased his trousers down.
Luke moved to sit up and Lorenzo pulled back in response.

“Let’s get naked,” said Luke, and Lorenzo hopped from one

leg to the other peeling his trousers off. As Luke perched on the edge
of the bed discarding his own clothes, his eye was on the swelling that
threatened to wreck Lorenzo’s CKs. Even in this light, he could tell

he was in for a treat. When Lorenzo slipped them off, the silhouette of
his cock made Luke catch his breath.

“Jesus. It’s like the jib of a crane.” He reached out, took a firm

hold and swung it round to his lips. He didn’t need to open his mouth
too wide, it was thinner than his own, but his tonsils would have to
make way for the head. It was a lengthy affair.

Luke’s throat opened up and Lorenzo gasped. Lorenzo’s hands

pushed at the back of Luke’s head, encouraging the motion. The cock
fit perfectly, and the gagging reflex subsided with each thrust as
Lorenzo’s balls slapped against Luke’s chin. Luke’s own cock stood
vertically, snapping against his stomach with each forward motion,
and when he put his hand around it, Lorenzo withdrew from Luke’s
mouth and fell to his knees. He grabbed Luke’s cock and stared at it.

“Bello. Che cazzone.”
“You like it?” asked Luke, glad that his vocal chords still

worked.

“I’ll show you how much.” With that, Lorenzo’s lips parted

and he went down on Luke’s cock.

“Actually,” said Luke, taking Lorenzo’s head in his hands.

“Can we lie on the bed? I want to sixty-nine. I want to lie under you
and look up at your body, see your cock coming at me as I thrust into
your mouth.”

With Luke’s cock still between his lips, Lorenzo pushed him

back onto the bed, then raised himself up on top and turned around,
raising a leg over Luke’s head into a sixty niner. Luke quivered with
the pleasure it sent down his cock into his groin. That perfect
corkscrew action!

Luke reached up and guided Lorenzo’s cock down towards his

face. His eyes had become accustomed to the light and he scrutinized
it as he gently rolled the foreskin back and forth. The unblemished
shaft was as smooth as silk, the head perfectly symmetrical and shiny,
its hole pointing at him like the end of a gun. He pressed his thumb
into the urethra and a drop of precum gathered on the tip, catching the
light like liquid crystal as it succumbed to gravity. He stuck out his
tongue and watched it descend in slow motion on its silvery thread.
As it neared his face, it broke free and fell onto his tongue. He
savored it and smacked his lips, then sucked in the engorged head,
desperate to sate his hunger. Lorenzo’s scrotum had hardened and the

base of his cock rammed his balls against Luke’s nostrils. Luke’s
snorkeling technique came in handy in such situations.

Lorenzo tasted of the Mediterranean; salt and rosemary and

sweat. His hard body surfed over Luke’s. Luke wanted him inside, to
feel his power at his core, and he pushed gently against Lorenzo’s
pubic mound to disengage his cock. As it emerged, a rope of cum
dangled over his face and he realized it was too late. As the slit
opened and spewed its charge, he opened wide and took Lorenzo’s
cock back in to the hilt. With the pumping and throbbing in his own
throat he soon followed, erupting in Lorenzo’s mouth with a muffled
howl.

* * * *
A lone mosquito buzzed around the room before dive-

bombing Luke’s head. He splatted it on the side of his face.

“Maybe we should go,” said Lorenzo, picking the tiny corpse

from Luke’s skin and flicking it across the room.

“Not yet.” Luke ran a finger around Lorenzo’s lips,

remembering the pleasure they had given him, the end-of-day stubble
that framed them rough like sandpaper. “I want to lie here for a bit.”
He pulled Lorenzo to him and wrapped his arms around his neck. “So,
the

restaurant is your family’s?”
“It’s mine. My father helps me out, keeps him busy.”
“You get on well, then?”
“We do now. When Mom was alive we didn’t.”
“I guess losing someone like that would bring you closer

together.

Lorenzo didn’t answer. His eyes closed, so Luke hurried on.

“Does he know you’re gay?”

Lorenzo nodded. “Yes. He knows. He doesn’t approve, he

never mentions it, but he knows.”

“Well, that’s good. I bet most Italian fathers of his age

wouldn’t be on good terms with their son if they knew he was gay.”
He looked for a reaction, some sign that he hadn’t said the wrong
thing. “Would they? Or am I mistaken?”

Lorenzo opened his eyes and looked into Luke’s. “No, you’re

right. Most of my friends have a bad time. Florence is a small city.
Family pride is as potent as it was in the days of the Medici. We just

don’t murder the more disappointing family members now. Not
usually.”

“Not usually? You don’t mean—”
“No, not at all. Don’t worry. You’re safe in Florence, so long

as you stick around me.” He smiled and cupped Luke’s chin in his
palm. “Baciami. Kiss me, Luke.”

Luke raised himself up and pressed his lips to Lorenzo’s. A

shudder ran through him and his cock twitched. His balls lifted. His
head spun. He hadn’t felt this way for a long time. He’d had plenty of
men, of course, but that was just sex. Ball emptying, animal instinct
sex.

He knew this was different. And dangerous. In a week he

would be back in Leeds—gray, cold Leeds—and Lorenzo would be
lying here in this bed, sticky with the cum and sweat of his latest pick-
up from the restaurant. He was as sure of that as he was of losing a
game of craps. But the taste of Lorenzo’s mouth, the smell of his hot
body, the promise of his cock and... something about him, urged him
to roll the dice.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Luke asked, taking a

breather. “Working?”

“No, we are closed Sunday. My day off. What about you?”
“I’ll probably spend the day walking around the city. Take in

the sights, relive some memories. Monday I have to be serious.”

Lorenzo frowned. “Serious? On vacation?”
“I’m starting a master’s degree. I want to do some research

while I’m here.”

“Ah, hence the Uffizi.” Lorenzo nodded. “But tomorrow. It’s

Sunday.”

“And?”
“I was going to the beach. You said you wanted to go to the

beach while you were here.”

“Yes, get a bit of a tan, feel the waters of the Med on my poor

northern body.”

“So come with me. I’ll pick you up at the hotel.”
“On your Vespa?” The thought of an hour-and-a-half on the

back of that was not very enticing.

“No, of course not. I have a car.” Lorenzo took hold of Luke’s

hands. “So, is it agreed? Will you come?”

“Of course. I’d love to. What time will you come for me?”

“The road is busy on Sunday. It’s better we leave early. About

eight o’clock is fine for you?”

Luke laughed. “I guess that’s early for an Italian. Yes, it’s

fine.” He peered at his watch, tilting the face towards the street light.
“Jesus, it’s half-past two.”

“We should get going.” Lorenzo lowered his legs over the

edge of the bed.

“Do we have to?”

Chapter Five

The bells of the Duomo rendered Luke’s alarm surplus to

requirements. He lay stunned for a few moments, trying to remember
where he was. The sleep had been so deep he felt as if he were
crawling out of some burrow after a long winter. He tried to assemble
his bedroom in his mind but the door was on the wrong side, the light
shone through the window too brightly. The sun!

“Shit!” He jumped out of bed and found his watch. Seven

o’clock. Plenty of time. How could he forget he was in Florence?
How could he forget the evening with Lorenzo? He felt his cock,
running his thumb inside the foreskin. It was still wet and slippery
like a ripe avocado. He smiled as he walked to the bathroom.

He showered longer than necessary, his tight muscles easing

under the hot spray, admiring his body in the full length mirror. He
ran a soapy hand over his stomach, hard as steel and shining like glass
as the water sheeted over the muscles. He’d look as good as anyone
on the beach today. A little pale, but good.

He dried himself on the abrasive towel and whizzed the

hairdryer over his head a couple of times before fingering gel into his
hair. He looked again in the mirror and reached for his scissors; his
pubes needed just the tiniest of trims. He smiled at the
Poirotesqueness of it all and wondered if the Belgian detective paid as
much attention to his pubic hair as to his mustache.

A day on the beach with Lorenzo. He sighed with

contentment. It was all he had hoped for just... blimey, was it really
only yesterday? Less than twenty-four hours had passed. Lucky that
he had chosen Lorenzo’s trattoria. Now he would have him all to
himself today. Maybe they would fuck in the pineta? The last time
he’d done it with, what was his name, Roberto? No, that was Rome,
on the banks of the Tiber. Cute Roberto with the pencil dick. Luke
could have taken him all night and not felt a thing the next day. No,
the pineta had been with Marco. Marco with balls like goose eggs and
a cock as thick as Luke’s wrist. Luke had ripped the bark off the pine
tree bracing himself and ended up wheeling the rented bike back to
the hotel.

He slipped into a pair of black Speedos, then put on some

loose, grey shorts and a very tight matching vest. He chose a red

cotton long-sleeved shirt which he left loose, and took a final look in
the mirror. Content, he grabbed his day bag and went down to the bar
at street level. He needed coffee.

* * * *
Luke finished the cappuccino, slipped his Ray Bans up onto

his head and raised his closed eyes to the sky. The morning sun
nipped at his skin. How he’d missed the sun. He hated being the color
of plaice but didn’t care for the fake tan of sun beds. Lina spent hours
a week at the tanning studio and was the color of a Satsuma even in
January. She wasn’t much older than him but already had skin the
texture of a dried prune.

A car horn blared out and a familiar voice called his name.

“Luke, over here, come on.”

Lorenzo beckoned him, one arm hanging out of the window of

a mature Alfa Romeo. As Luke approached the car, a back door
opened and bare legs inside shuffled out of view. Luke’s stomach
turned to water as he realized he didn’t have Lorenzo all to himself.

“Get in, if you’re coming with us,” said Lorenzo, grinning at

him from the open driver’s window. He didn’t seem to recognize
Luke’s disappointment.

Luke considered a change of mind but, in the end, jumped into

the back seat and slammed the door. He’d intended going to the beach
anyway and might as well accept the free transport. Before he
fastened the safety belt, the car lurched forward, compressing him
into the seat back.

“This is Gio,” said Lorenzo, slapping his hand on the shoulder

of the guy sitting next to him, “and that’s Fabio.” He gestured at the
other occupant of the back seat.

Gio raised a hand without turning.
Fabio offered his hand and Luke shook it. “Ciao, Luke,” he

said with a toothy smile and limp handshake.

“Ciao, ragazzi. Hi, boys.” It was about as friendly as Luke

could manage, still wondering how he could have got it so wrong.
What happened to having Lorenzo all to himself for the day? “Where
are we going, then?”

“Torre del Lago,” said Lorenzo. “Do you know it?”
“Of course.” Torre del Lago was famous for Puccini but had

become central to the Gay Versilia movement. These days it was the

place for gay nightlife on the Tuscan coast. “Viale Europa? The beach
at the end?”

Gio laughed and said, “He’s been before.” Then he turned

round and smiled at Luke. “Maybe I’ve seen you there. Maybe I’ve
had you?” He laughed again, turning back to face the windshield.

It’s possible, thought Luke. Gio was his type, tall and chiseled,

and if he’d been knocking about the woods behind the beach at dusk,
Luke might well have given him what he was looking for. He’d been
in so many groups among the pine trees over the years he could even
have been with all three of them. That was a thought. Luke slumped
down in the leather seat, tugged to loosen his crotch and, through his
sunglasses, watched the autostrada rush by.

* * * *
“Luke. Wake up, Luke.”
Luke’s eyes snapped open. His tongue was like an emery

board and his balls sweaty. Lorenzo looked down on him from the
sidewalk, leaning on the open car door.

“Oh, I must have fallen asleep,” he said, rubbing his eyes.
“You slept all the way from Prato. Maybe I was too much for

you last night?”

Luke climbed out of the car, squinting in the sunlight. He

reached back and found his Ray Bans down the side of the seat. The
door banged shut and Lorenzo grabbed him by the arm. “Let’s get a
coffee.”

As they walked, Luke realized that the other two weren’t with

them. “Where’re Gio and Fabio?”

“Oh, they’ve gone off. We’ll see them later.” Lorenzo stopped

and took hold of Luke’s chin, turning Luke’s face to him. “Why? I
thought we were having the day together.”

Luke had given the wrong signal again, and misread the

situation in the car. “I don’t mean it like that, Lorenzo. I’m glad
they’ve left us alone.”

“You are?”
“Jesus, of course I am. I was hacked off when they were with

you. I thought we were coming here, just you and me.”

“You were jealous? Maybe a little?”
“Maybe a lot.”
“Good. Me too. Come on, coffee. Then to the beach before it

fills up.”

Luke felt the tension seep away as Lorenzo’s words sank in.

“So,” he said, as they continued along the Viale Europa. “They
basically hitched a ride.”

“Yes. We’ll meet up at the end of the day to take them back.”
“Can I sit in the front this time?”
“Oh, did that bother you? I’m sorry, I never thought about

that. Gio always sits in the front.”

“Right.” Luke heard the disappointment in his own voice.
“No, I don’t mean that you can’t. I picked him up first so he

got in the front. You can sit where you like. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Luke didn’t know if it was okay. Maybe he was over

reacting to the whole thing. He was just a visitor. Gio and Fabio were
going to be here when he’d gone. But, didn’t Lorenzo want him to sit
next to him? Luke took a deep breath. It was getting too complicated
for day two of the vacation. He came to relax, not get riddled with
angst.

* * * *
Luke lay on the lounger, the sun’s rays soaking into his back

like a spill of ink on a blotter.

“Lorenzo.”
“Hmm.”
“Would you rub some more suntan lotion on my back?”
“I did already.”
“But I need more. That was an hour ago.” He raised his head

and looked across at the sun bed next to him. Lorenzo reminded him
of those athletes painted on ancient pottery; legs that could bestride an
ocean; toned, slender and dark. Even after a whole summer on the
beach Luke wouldn’t get that brown. “You’re lucky. Your skin isn’t
as sensitive as mine.”

Lorenzo sat up, fished the lotion out of the bag and slathered a

dollop over Luke’s back.

“Rub it in well. I don’t want to tan unevenly,” said Luke,

relaxing again. “Or burn.” Lorenzo’s hands moved expertly over his
back, massaging the muscles as he covered every inch of Luke’s skin.
Luke could take that all day. He could even feel it in the root of his
cock.

“There,” said Lorenzo, giving a final slap with the palm of his

hand. “Ready to spit roast.”

Is that what he’s planned for me? Luke’s cock instantly

stiffened and he ground it into the sun bed. Just as well he was lying
on his stomach. “Have you had sex with Fabio and Gio?” He kept his
eyes on the sand beneath him.

“Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
“I’ve known Gio for years, since elementary school.”
“Did you play around with him at school? I mean, not

elementary school, obviously, but later.”

“He was my first.”
Luke’s stomach was on the downhill track yet again. “Oh, I

see.”

“Hey.” Lorenzo stretched over the gap between the beds and

ruffled Luke’s hair. “What is this?”

Luke held the beach in his gaze. “I don’t know. We only met

yesterday but... I like you. A lot.”

“And you feel threatened? Insecure?” Lorenzo knelt in the

sand and spoke into Luke’s ear. “There’s no need. Me and Gio were
over long ago, as a first love should be. He’s a good friend, that’s all.
Right now, I’m free.”

Luke turned to face him. “You are?”
“Yes. But let’s take this a day at a time, shall we? I don’t want

to hurt you and I don’t exactly feel like getting hurt myself.”

“I won’t hurt you.”
“No, but you must know about Italian waiters and tourists.

How do you know I’m telling you the truth?”

“Well, if you say you—”
“Lucky for you I am. But you only have my word for that,

don’t you? You don’t know that you’re not just another quick shag.”

“I don’t think you’d be talking like this if I were.” Luke

watched Lorenzo’s expression soften, his dark eyes moisten. “I
believe you. And I’m happy to take the chance. Let’s not ruin the time
we have together, eh?”

“Yes. Let’s not. A day at a time and we’ll see what happens.”

Lorenzo squeezed Luke’s shoulder then went back to lie on his sun
bed.

Despite the words, which he meant, Luke knew what would

happen. Six days from now he would go back to Leeds, to Lina and
the fucking call center. Lorenzo would stay in Florence, with his

friends and his dad and his restaurant. It may as well be written in the
sand. Suddenly the day didn’t seem so bright and Luke sensed the
cold fingers of his real life drum across his heart.

Chapter Six

A gang of young guys thundered along the beach shouting and

bawling one against the other. Luke watched as they drew near, their
heels throwing up clouds of sand as they raced between the long rows
of sun beds. Insults filled the air as sunbathers jumped up to shake off
the unwelcome dusting, a Mexican wave of the finest male torsos in
Tuscany.

Luke closed his eyes against the onslaught and when the herd

had passed he jumped to his feet. “Let’s go for a swim.”

“Bastards,” said Lorenzo, shaking his hair.
“Come on. Wash it off in the sea.” He grabbed Lorenzo’s hand

and pulled him along, through the maze of glistening muscles and
bulging Speedos. He hoped people were looking at them, seeing this
Englishman with such a fine specimen of Italian beef. “Jesus, the
sand’s hot.”

“You’re soft. Your delicate English feet need hardening up.”
“Not everything about me is soft. Not always, anyhow.”
They laughed, running into the water hand in hand.
“Brr, it’s still cold,” said Lorenzo, grinding to a halt, the water

lapping at his calves.

“Cold? You should try Brighton.” Luke dragged his legs

through the deepening water then, when he was far enough in, threw
himself into the waves. He turned and floated on his back. “And you
call me soft. Come on, get in.” He kicked his feet and white foam
erupted over Lorenzo.

“Right. I’m coming to get you.” Lorenzo hurled himself at

Luke, grabbed him by the shoulders and ducked him under the water.

Luke had expected it, wanted it, and filled his lungs with air

just in time. He loved swimming. As a child he’d longed to be a
merman, able to breathe underwater, and had once almost drowned
himself in the bath trying to achieve it.

The churning sand made the water murky but Lorenzo’s

electric blue Speedos were as clear as a beacon in the refracted
sunlight. Luke reached out and slipped his hand inside the waistband.
Despite the cool water, Lorenzo’s cock was still more than a handful.
Before Luke could slip it in his mouth, Lorenzo grabbed his wrists
and hauled him to the surface.

“You’re wicked,” Lorenzo said through a crooked smile.
“I know. You make me very wicked. You bring out the worst

in me.” Luke rubbed his face and blinked his eyes clear.

“Come. Let’s swim.”
Luke was a good swimmer, but Lorenzo was better. After only

a few strokes Lorenzo had pulled ahead of him, making his way
further from the shore. Luke passed through alternate patches of
cooler water as he progressed. Eventually, the alternating stopped and
it was just cold. Despite his love of the sea, he was less comfortable
when the water turned dark and cold. This was not the Costa
Smeralda where you could see the bottom no matter how far you
swam. And wasn’t it close to here that a fisherman was eaten by a
shark just a few years ago? He shuddered and felt something touch his
leg. He started to tread water and called out. “Lorenzo.”

Lorenzo didn’t falter, his arms cycling away in a perfect

rhythm.

“Lorenzo. Let’s go back. It’s too cold.”
The distance between them grew. Luke had to make a

decision; keep swimming after Lorenzo or head back to shallower
water. Lorenzo would stop soon, wouldn’t he? If Luke turned back he
could lose face. It wasn’t that he couldn’t swim further; he just didn’t
like to. The water here gave him the creeps. He shuddered again, sure
that something glanced off his leg. He called one more time and,
getting no response, turned back towards land.

The mere sight of the beach with its garish parasols and hordes

of people perked him up, the rash of colors like the hundreds and
thousands his mother used to sprinkle on the Sunday trifle. How silly
to imagine things in the water. Sharks were virtually unknown in the
Med. At most it could be a fish, and what was the chance of it
bumping into his leg? Zero. He swam until the patches of warmer
water returned and soon he felt safe enough to stop and turn to look at
Lorenzo. To his relief, Lorenzo was heading back, his broad shoulders
breaking the surface as he surged forwards. He covered the distance
between them in a few strokes and Luke felt ashamed.

“What happened?”
“Cramp, that’s all.” Luke remembered he’d once got cramp in

cold water and it seemed a better option that admitting he’d been
spooked by a strand of seaweed.

“You okay?” Lorenzo took him in his arms and trod water for

them both. Luke liked the feeling. Being taken care of like this. It was
a long time since anyone cared for him.

He nodded and smiled. “I’m fine. Race you back to shore?”
“No, not yet.” Lorenzo held him tight. “I don’t want to get out

like this.” He winked and looked down.

“Ah, I get it.” Luke reached for Lorenzo’s groin and found his

cock head already above the waistband of his Speedos, nestling into
Lorenzo’s navel. Luke slipped his hand inside the Speedos and
wrapped it around the stiff shaft. Lorenzo shivered against him. “You
cold?”

“No. I love it when you do that,” said Lorenzo.
“And what should I do with it, I wonder? Can’t be seen on the

beach in this state.” It wasn’t true. Erections were as common on the
gay beach as sun beds.

“Do what you want. It’s all yours.”
“Have you ever come in the sea?”
“Yes, a few times.”
“Funny how it goes rubbery isn’t it?”
Lorenzo laughed. “I think the fish like it.”
“Well, the fish can’t have it. Not today.” Luke filled his lungs

with air and submerged himself. With his hands clasped on Lorenzo’s
buttocks for stability, he swallowed the buoyant meat. Never could he
have imagined as a nine year old boy that his breath-holding practice
in the pink, plastic bath at home would have come in so handy. He
managed a dozen or so strokes before surfacing for air, then returned
to the job in hand. Perhaps it was the thrill of being sucked off in the
sea with dozens of other guys close by that made Lorenzo come
quickly. The salty water masked the taste of his cum but Luke was in
no doubt that the deposit had been made successfully. Lorenzo’s legs
juddered and he almost crushed Luke’s skull in his hands.

Luke surfaced and gasped for air.
“Fuck,” said Lorenzo.
“Blow job, actually.” Luke wiped his face to banish the last of

the water and knew from his slippery chin that Lorenzo’s cum
lingered. He felt so happy he could have floated away with it.

Lorenzo put an arm around him. “You’re amazing. Do you

know that? Amazing.”

“You’re not bad, yourself.”

“Not bad?”
“It’s a Yorkshire thing. Means you’re really cool.”
“Is there a dictionary for this Yorkshire?”
“You don’t need one. You’ve got me. I’ll teach you all you

need to know.”

* * * *
After lunch at the Beach Café they spent the afternoon

alternating between sunbathing and dipping in the sea. From behind
his Ray Bans, Luke checked out the column of men that filed past. He
felt a twang of guilt. He here was with Lorenzo, and it seemed rather
like cheating when his groin reacted to the eye candy rather than to
his companion. It was absurd, he knew. Lorenzo watched with the
same degree of interest, and Luke had noticed the front of Lorenzo’s
Speedos rising and falling throughout the afternoon. It was the kind of
thing sure to spark a row in the heterosexual world; he’d seen it
among his straight friends. Emma had actually left Noah for looking
at another woman ‘as if he wanted to kiss her’. Now that was absurd.
The one big advantage of being gay, as far as Luke saw it, was that
sex didn’t carry all that baggage. There was sex, and there was love.
The two could go together, but they didn’t have to. He didn’t love all
the men he’d shagged. Some of them he didn’t even like. And it was
sometimes the casual sex that was really fulfilling, a quickie in the
bushes at the side of the road or in the station lavatories. He’d had
plenty of those.

He turned onto his stomach to hide his hard on and pressed it

against the fabric of the sun bed, hoping to banish the raging flow of
blood to a less obvious part of his anatomy.

“What are you doing?” Lorenzo asked, his voice pitching

higher than normal. “You look like you’re fucking the sun bed.”

“I’m trying to get rid of this hard on.” He raised his body to

show Lorenzo the problem.

“I know a much better way.” Lorenzo swung his legs off the

sunbed, got to his feet and tugged Luke’s arm. “Come on. Come with
me.”

Luke knew what Lorenzo had in mind but hesitated after

slipping into his beach shoes. “It’s daylight, still. There are loads of
people.”

“It’s fine, believe me.” He stared at Luke. “Come on, Luke.

I’ll make it worth your while.”

Luke took a deep breath and followed. “I hope you’re right.

The last thing I need is to get arrested.”

“You won’t. Look around you. Do you see anyone except

gays?”

It was true. Gay Versilia was exactly what it said on the

packet. The beach, the cafes and the sidewalk bore no evidence of
straight people, just bronzed males strutting their stuff in the hope of
emptying their balls.

“But surely, in the pineta… I mean, everyone knows… the

carabinieri must come around, especially at this time of day.”

“Luke, the last time I saw a carabinieri come in the pineta it

was all over my face. Stop worrying. Now, follow me.”

Luke recognized the track that led off the end of the beach into

the pine trees. Not the footpath, that was too obvious, but a dusty
serpent of a track that had been worn into the ground by years of
eager feet. The canopy of the towering umbrella pines gathered as fast
as a Leeds storm and soon the sun was all but obliterated, its rays
reduced to random slanting needles of gold infested by spinning flies
and mosquitoes.

Luke pushed his Ray Bans up onto his head. Men peered

furtively from behind trees set back on either side of the track. How
many he couldn’t yet see, not that it mattered. The signal was clear.
Despite the early hour, despite the fact that, not terribly far away,
families and old couples strolled the streets of Torre del Lago licking
their gelati, this part of town was for cruising. He shuddered with
anticipation and drew up close behind Lorenzo. “Where are you
taking me?”

“To paradise.” Lorenzo turned his head and smiled. “I told

you, trust me.”

Luke was sure he knew where they were going. He’d been spit

roasted there a few years previously, one stiflingly hot August night.
Spit roasted and a fat cock in each hand. The memory made his hard
cock leak and he squeezed his nob through his Speedos. The damp
patch spread.

He was right. They were now deep in the pineta, the canopy

above knitted tightly against the sun. Lorenzo took a sharp right and
up an incline pock-marked with stones and matted with old roots. At
the top was a pile of felled trees, trunks and stumps which seemed to
claw at the air with wayward shoots and twigs, standing about fifteen

feet high at the center. Luke scrambled up the slope after him,
accepting the helping hand which reached back to tug him up over the
ridge.

Discarded condoms and lube pouches punctuated the sere

blanket of pine needles and cones that covered the ground.

“Popular,” said Luke, rubbing at his cock.
“At night, yes. Come.” Lorenzo slipped into a cavity between

two flaking tree trunks that seemed to support one side of the pile of
timber. “Come.” His voice sounded like it came from another
dimension.

Luke followed. He couldn’t see inside. “Lorenzo?”
“Here.”
Luke shuffled forward like a blind man, hands in front of him,

then felt a familiar grip around his wrist. He allowed himself to be
guided across the interior space and into Lorenzo’s arms. A hand
slipped inside his Speedos and squeezed his cock.

Lorenzo moaned. “I love your cazzo, Luke. It’s so…

delicious.” He fell to his knees and Luke gasped as a hot wetness
surrounded his nob.

Luke thrust against Lorenzo’s mouth, deeper each time. Then

he felt Lorenzo’s hands on his buttocks pulling him close, pulling him
tight, until his cock squeezed down Lorenzo’s throat. He pumped in
and out of the tight hole a few times before Lorenzo pulled back,
gagging. “Sorry.”

“For what? For fucking my throat with that lovely cock? I

want more. Just let me get my breath.”

Luke’s eyes had now adjusted to the dim light and he saw two

other guys standing nearby. One was about his own age, dark, short
and carrying a few extra pounds. The other about twenty, tall, blonde,
toned. They both had their cocks in their hands, jerking themselves
gently. The short tubby one was hung.

As Lorenzo’s mouth slurped on his cock once more, Luke held

his open hand out to the tubby guy, the universal sign for ‘come and
join me’. Tubby stepped forward and Lorenzo took him by the cock.
“Shit,” Luke said. He could feel his eyes widen as his fingers tried to
close around the shaft. He looked down towards his own cock.
Lorenzo looked up at him as he gobbled away, the expression in his
eyes confirming that Luke could proceed.

Luke held out his other hand in the same way and the taller

guy stepped forward. While he was deep throated by Lorenzo, Luke
toyed with the two cocks that had come into his possession. He loved
cock. Contrary to the old saying ‘once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen
them all’, there were so many varieties. The great thing was, you
could never be sure what a guy had to offer until you unwrapped it
and got it standing to attention. Like these two. Most people would
assume the taller, toned guy to have the biggest cock, but Tubby
packed at least half as much again. But Taller was more handsome –
and leaking like a punctured hose. Tubby’s bulbous glans was naked
and velvety, whereas Taller’s wore its hood of skin and slid easily
between Luke’s fingers when he exposed it.

Luke shuddered again. How he’d dreamed of this during those

last few days in the call center. He didn’t want it to end. Not ever.

He continued to stroke Tubby, but moved his other hand to

Taller’s shoulder and pressed him downwards, indicating with his
eyes that he wanted him to join Lorenzo on his knees. When Taller
took his place on the ground, Lorenzo relinquished Luke’s cock and
passed it over; they were like two Turks sharing a shisha. Taller knew
the ropes and sucked gently, while Lorenzo teased Luke’s balls with
his teeth. Luke closed his eyes. Deep in his groin the knot of pleasure
was unraveling and singeing its way along his shaft.

Tubby pulled away, fell to his knees with a thud and joined the

line-up. Luke looked down on them, like three monks praying,
worshipping his manhood. Lorenzo took Luke’s cock again and
sucked on the nob while Taller and Tubby flicked their tongues along
each side of the shaft. Luke felt the orgasm well up just as Lorenzo
ducked to chew on his balls again. The white stream exploded across
Lorenzo’s head and hit the ground somewhere behind him, Tubby and
Taller raced to the scene of the climax, their tongues desperate. Taller
was quicker and won the prize, his eyes sparkling up at Luke as he
took the final spurts.

Tubby had bolted by the time Luke finished. Taller licked his

lips, smiled as he pulled up his Speedos and followed suit.

“They didn’t hang around,” said Lorenzo, getting to his feet.
“Maybe they had to get back to their girlfriends.”
“Maybe.” Lorenzo put his arms around Luke’s neck and

peered into his eyes. “You could have sent them away, if you’d
wanted.”

“I know.” Luke felt that pang of guilt again. In the frenzy of

the moment it had seemed so natural to involve them. And Lorenzo
had given him the okay.

“You wanted it, didn’t you? The foursome?”
“Yeah. At the time I did. It was just so fucking horny.” Luke

was sure that Lorenzo’s eyes were moistening. “What is it? I thought
you did, too?”

Lorenzo nodded. “I did. Like you said, at the time it was

horny. And that fat guy, porca miseria!”

“So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never felt like it before. It’s weird.”
“Tell me.” Luke hugged Lorenzo close. “What?”
“When I saw the others sucking your cock I felt…jealous. I

wanted to punch them and chase them away. It’s crazy.”

“Aw. That’s so sweet.”
“Sweet?”
“Yes. Let me tell you something.”
“What?”
“I felt a bit guilty.”
“Why would you feel guilty?”
“Why would you feel jealous?”
Lorenzo smiled again. “Maybe something is happening.”
Luke took Lorenzo by the hand and walked towards the

daylight. “Maybe it is.”

Chapter Seven

The Alfa’s V6 engine purred as they sped along the autostrada

towards Florence. The sun had almost set behind them, the final rays
glancing off un-shuttered windows in the hillside villas creating a rash
of golden spangles. Luke reached forwards and tilted the dash vent
away from him. They travelled too fast to have the windows open and
be able to hear each other speak but the air conditioning was vicious.
He rubbed the gooseflesh on his arms and wished he’d brought a
jacket.

He’d got his wish to be in the front seat. They’d been waiting

for the others to turn up for ages when Lorenzo got a call from Fabio.
Gio hadn’t shown up as agreed and Fabio was going to wait behind
for him.

“What do you think happened to Gio?” Luke was glad to have

any competition out of the way but wished no harm on Lorenzo’s old
friend.

“He probably got picked up by someone, went back to their

place and forgot the time. He’s done it before.”

“Ah.”
“Ah? What do you mean by that?”
“It explains why you left. You didn’t want to stay behind with

Fabio.”

“No. I care about Gio but I’ve been taken for a mug too many

times.”

Luke stared at the industrial units whizzing by, giant boxes of

corrugated steel that occupied the valley alongside the autostrada and
contrasted sharply with the renaissance villas whose outlook they had
ruined. Still staring out of the window he said, “You could have
waited. I wouldn’t have minded.”

“I have work tomorrow. And Monday is a busy day, an early

start. Believe me, Gio is fine. I know him. Fabio’s not working this
week. They’ll find their way back even if it’s tomorrow morning.
They can sleep all day if they have to.”

“That’s fine. But we could turn back if you want to.”
“No. Madonna Santa, what is it with you?” Lorenzo shook his

head. “Anyone would think you fancy Gio.”

Actually, he did fancy him. But not as much as he fancied

Lorenzo. “Don’t worry. He’s a good looking guy, but I’m cool as I
am.” Luke turned towards the center of the car and put his hand on
Lorenzo’s thigh. “No need to be jealous.”

Lorenzo took one hand off the steering wheel and grasped

Luke’s hand. They continued in silence for some time. At length,
Lorenzo let go of Luke’s hand, gripped the steering wheel and said,
“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Uffizi. I have an appointment in the morning.”
“This master’s degree. Is it for your job?”
Luke laughed. “For my job it’s a handicap being human, let

alone educated.”

“Eh?”
“The job I do now is mind-numbing. It’s not a career for me.

I’m doing it just to earn some money.”

“You don’t like your work? Why do it?”
“I told you, for money. It pays the bills. But I have a degree in

fine art and it’s hard to get a decent job right now. If I get this
master’s, I should be able to get at least a foot on the ladder. I’ll
probably have to move though.”

“Move? You mean from Leeds? Where to?”
“London, I guess. Maybe Paris… or New York. Who knows?”
“You would do that?”
“Of course. Why not?”
“I can’t imagine leaving Florence. You English seem able to

get up and go anywhere.”

“I guess that’s how we built an Empire and you didn’t.”
Lorenzo turned to him with a stern look. “The Roman Empire

was the greatest in the whole world.”

“Yes,” said Luke, laughing, “but that was a hell of a long time

ago. In recent history you’ve been too busy squabbling among
yourselves.”

“True, I suppose.” Lorenzo sucked his teeth. “But, it has made

us value our families. There is that saying, an Englishman’s home is
his castle. For us, it’s the family that provides our security.”

“I know. But there’s another saying. You can choose your

friends but not your family.” Luke fell silent. Family was not his
favorite subject. He stared at his knees, dreading the next question.

“What about your family? If you move away, won’t you miss

them?”

“I have no family.” That was Luke’s standard answer these

days.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Lorenzo tapped the steering wheel

a couple of times. “Have they been dead long?”

“Almost seven years.”
“Oh, a long time. Both of them? What happened?”
“I told them I was gay.”
“It gave them a heart attack? Killed them?” Lorenzo’s eyes

were like saucers, his mouth hung open.

“No, no, not that.” Luke shuffled in his seat and drew in a

deep breath. “They are dead as far as I am concerned. As far as I
know they’re still alive, along with my sister. When I told them I was
gay they disowned me. Disinherited me.”

“I’m sorry. And your sister? Surely not her?”
“Her too. Took sides with them completely. We haven’t

spoken for almost seven years.”

Lorenzo stared ahead. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m better off without them. They held me back.

They are idiots. Cretins. I hate them.”

“Alright. So now I understand.”
“My willingness to move about?”
“Not only.”
Luke turned to look directly at him. “What, then?”
“When I first met you, you seemed so confident, almost

arrogant. A snob.”

“Thanks.”
“But I’ve noticed you are also vulnerable.”
“You notice a lot.”
“My job.”
“I don’t feel vulnerable. I feel angry, mostly. And let down,

disappointed. I should be doing better than I am.”

“Don’t we all think that?” Lorenzo raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t know. I only know what I think.”
“I’m sorry I asked.”
Luke stared out of the windshield. “Forget about it.”
They drove in silence all the way to the autostrada exit, Luke

sensing that it wasn’t only the air conditioning blowing cold. As they

passed the new law courts and turned towards the center of the city he
decided to break the ice. “It’s okay. I just don’t like to think about it.
I’ve moved on.”

“Fine. Don’t worry.”
“But I do, you see. Don’t you get it? You said I’m vulnerable.

It’s not so much that. It’s just that I am very protective of my
independence now. They did so many things to try to ruin my life.
I’ve shut them out behind a solid barrier.”

“I understand that, Luke, but are you sure that you haven’t

shut yourself out of the world at the same time?”

Luke glared at him. “What are you getting at?”
“I mean, because you’ve been hurt like that, are you unable to

open up and let someone else in?”

“No, of course not.” Luke felt hot, despite the cool air wafting

over him. It wasn’t the first time this had been suggested to him. Jez
had accused him of emotional frigidity when they split up. Luke
knew, he knew, that Jez was wrong. It was simply that Jez didn’t have
the ambition, the personal conviction or the self-confidence to be with
Luke for any length of time. They’d had good sex for a few months
but, as a couple, they had no future. “I’m confident about who I am. I
want to make something of my life. I deserve it, surely?” He took a
deep breath and wiped his palms on his knees. “And when I find the
right person, I’ll know.”

Lorenzo looked at him, his face blank. “Your hotel.”
Luke hadn’t even realized that the car had come to a stop but

now he recognized the buildings and darkened sidewalk cafes. “You
coming up?”

“Not tonight. I must be up early.” He lifted Luke’s hand and

bent over to kiss it. “Have a good day tomorrow.”

Luke’s stomach plunged towards the floor and his heart felt

leaden. He’d messed it up. “Will I see you again, before I go?”

“I have your number. I’ll call.”
Luke grabbed his bag from the back seat and got out into the

street. The heat wrapped around him like a steamed duvet. He was
going to duck back inside the car and say something, but Lorenzo
revved the engine as if to signal his eagerness to be on his way. As
soon as the door slammed shut the car was off with a screech of tires,
leaving behind a wraith of diesel fumes.

Luke cursed as he crossed the road. There was no doubt that

he’d fucked things up good and proper. Why had the subject of family
come up? Why was it that everyone reacted so strangely to his own
reaction at being an outcast? It was if he was to be pitied for losing his
parents in this unnatural way. Yet as if he was an undesirable, a pariah
almost, for not pitying himself. Well, he didn’t feel any loss. He could
manage quite well without family. In fact, it was he who pitied those
who had to share their lives with people whom they had not chosen.
His life was his own and tomorrow was a new beginning.

Chapter Eight

It was strange, thought Luke as he strolled down the Via della

Calzaoili in the early morning sun, that Lorenzo hadn’t challenged
him about his Monday appointment at the Uffizi Gallery. Surely
everyone knew that the Uffizi was closed on Monday? Had he done
so, Luke would have been glad to tell him that he’d been able to
arrange a private viewing thanks to a rather influential connection.

The Piazza della Signoria opened up in front of him, the

tourists crawling around it like greenfly in a giant summer blossom.
He glanced at his watch. Not yet eight thirty. That gave him time for
an espresso in the café on the corner before his appointment with the
professor.

He ordered at the bar and shoved his Ray Bans onto his head

to have a better look around. The tourists huddled at the tables on the
sidewalk, leaving the cramped bar to the locals. Next to Luke stood a
businessman, perhaps a minor functionary in one of the banks or
government offices, dressed in a caramel-colored wool jacket from
under which peeked a crimson V-neck sweater, blue shirt and tie.
Definitely local. He read the Florence daily paper, La azione,
devouring it with his eyes as his mouth occupied itself with a
croissant. As he flipped over the page, Luke caught sight of a story on
the inside pages. A body had been found in Versilia. The page was
turned before he could read any more. He drank his espresso, keeping
one eye on the paper in case the article flashed into view again. Then
he remembered Gio. He shivered, despite the heat, and drove the
thought from his mind. He glanced at the clock on the wall, slapped a
Euro coin on the counter and headed for the Uffizi.

As he had a private viewing, he didn’t go to the main entrance

but to the administration offices in the Loggiato degli Uffizi. Standing
outside, wreathed in smoke, stood a silver-haired man in a coarse
brown suit. His blue shirt was open at the neck and a thick tuft of gray
hair sprouted out under his chins as if seeking daylight. When Luke
approached, he dropped his cigarette and ground it out with the toe of
his shoe.

“Luke?” His voice had the quality of gravel in a rotating drum.
“Professor Mancini.” Luke recognized him from the photo on

the Uffizi website. “Thank you for seeing me like this.”

“E un piacere. It is my pleasure.” The professor bowed

slightly. “May I offer you a coffee or a fruit juice before we go in?”
He took Luke by the elbow and leaned toward the street.

“I’m actually fine, thank you. I just had an espresso round the

corner. But if you want something…”

“No, I have had my coffee for the morning.” He smiled,

showing off his brown and yellow teeth. “And my nicotine. I’m ready
to go.” He turned, keeping hold of Luke’s elbow, and propelled them
through an inconspicuous door.

Luke was glad he’d worn sleeves and long trousers, the silent

interior cool and fresh on his face. “Are we the only people here?”

“Almost.” The professor, still guiding Luke by the elbow,

strode purposefully down a corridor lined with doors, his heels
tapping on the tiled floor. “You know, I really am rather glad that you
wanted to come today… erm, it was room twenty-five was it not?”

Luke nodded.
“I think the gallery is as close as one can get to heaven when

it’s free of visitors. Of course we need them, don’t misunderstand me,
but I have an idea that most of them haven’t any appreciation at all of
what they are seeing. Some of them haven’t even heard of
Michelangelo. I ask you.” He tutted and pushed Luke into the
elevator. “Now you, Mr. Luke, you are a different plate of pasta.” In
the confined space, the professor’s breath stank of coffee, stale
tobacco and parmesan cheese.

“I’m glad you think so.”
“You, Mr. Luke, have asked not to see Michelangelo, but

Bartolomeo.” The professor stepped out at the second floor and put
his hand over the sensors. “Come, tell me what you know about him.”

Luke followed him, spilling out the information he’d already

found on the painter. “Don’t forget I already studied Roselli when I
did my degree. That’s why I want to learn more about his student.”

“And this master’s you wish to embark upon. It is for pleasure,

or…”

“Yes and no. I hope it will improve my chances.”
“Your career, you mean?”
“Yes. I really want to work for a good gallery or auction

house.”

“And you need the master’s for this, in England?” The

professor came to halt and looked at Luke.

“Even then, it’s no guarantee. I may have to go abroad.”
The professor’s eyebrows arched over his watery eyes.

“Interesting.” He raised a hand to a small picture on the wall beside
him. “This is the one you asked about.”

“The Annunciation and Circumcision.” Luke winced speaking

that word. He had nothing against cut cocks but the idea made his
eyes water. It was an odd picture, tempura on wood and divided in
two halves vertically, with the kneeling angel on the left of the
division and the Virgin on the right. It reminded him of a glory hole,
the angel poised there ready for someone to stick their cock through
the hole in the wall. “Fra Bartolomeo, known as Baccio della Porta, I
believe?”

The professor nodded. “You’re right. Over here,” he indicated

with a wide gesture, “we have also his Nativity and the Virgin with
Saint Bernard.”

Luke peered closely at the three pictures then slipped his hand

into his bag. “It’s fine if I take some notes, make some sketches?”

“Of course. In fact, why don’t I leave you alone for a while?

I’m not supposed to but…”

“Oh, no, you don’t need to, really.”
“Please. Indulge an old man. It is for entirely selfish purposes,

I assure you.” He took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and waved
them at Luke.

“Ah, I see. Mum’s the word.”
Luke watched the professor leave the gallery. As he closed the

door, Luke saw him remove his cell phone from his pocket.

* * * *
The professor left Luke alone for over two hours, plenty of

time for Luke to make all the notes and sketches he needed and to
have a poke around at some of the other paintings in room twenty-
five. He’d declined coffee once more, telling the professor he had
other appointments, and turned down an invitation to lunch. But when
the professor asked for his mobile number he produced a card from
his wallet and handed it over. He just hoped that the professor wasn’t
a closet queen because silver men were not Luke’s cup of tea at all.

Luke didn’t have any other appointments. He crossed the

Piazza della Signoria to have a quick look at the Fountain of Neptune.
Since the face of Neptune was said to resemble that of Cosimo de
Medici—an allusion to Florence’s dominion over the sea—Luke

couldn’t help but wonder if old Cosimo had also suffered from
phimosis. Judging from the statuary around the city, it seemed that
most Florentine men of the day had foreskin trouble. Crap cocks, as
Luke called them. Better a circumcision than that.

The sun bit into his face. The hotel was no more than five

minutes away so he decided to go back and change into shorts and t-
shirt. It would be more comfortable for a day wandering around the
city. As he shunted through the crowds, he switched on his phone. He
could barely contain himself as he waited for the signal to catch. He
needed to know if Lorenzo had tried calling. In the minutes it took to
reach the hotel entrance, only one message appeared on the screen.
Telecom Italia – Welcome in Italy.

* * * *
Luke loved Florence. Unlike London or New York, it was

compact. Almost every treasure-filled inch could be visited on foot in
the space of a couple of days. Of course, this didn’t allow time for
browsing the museums, galleries and churches, but it was a joy to
saunter from monument to monument without the need for transport.
The only downside, and one that surprised foreign visitors, was the
dirt. You had to walk with your eyes glued to the sidewalk,
progressing by means of an excremental game of hop scotch, to avoid
the dog shit in many parts of town. Florentine ladies loved their pups
and only the very lucky, and rich, had gardens. All it required to solve
the problem was for some bright spark to reinvent the pooper scooper
as a fashion accessory, perhaps stick a D & G logo on it. Everyone
would want one.

For a city of less than half a million people, Florence had an

interesting gay scene. One sauna that opened in the early afternoon,
several bars and clubs catering for a variety of tastes, and cruising
spots. Apart from the sauna, everything was closed or not
recommended in daytime. Luke, however, knew where to find
entertainment even in the middle of the day. In fact, almost anywhere
was a pick up point if you kept your eyes open and your wits about
you. It was with only half an intention of looking for sex that he
walked back the way he had come, past the Piazza della Signoria,
across the Ponte Vecchio and along to the Boboli Gardens. Normally,
he’d have gone hunting for cock without a second thought but, though
he was sure he’d wrecked his chances with Lorenzo, a little doubt
nestled in him. After the half hour walk he was hot and thirsty. He

grabbed a spremuta at a kiosk and joined the short queue to hand over
his six Euro entrance fee.

He appreciated the gardens. Aesthetically, they were about as

far as you could get from Leeds city center. He came, however, not
for the landscaping but the sculptures. He knew most of them anyway
but he liked to come back and see them from time to time, rather like
visiting old friends. No matter how long he’d been away, they were
always here waiting for him. If he spotted anyone interesting as he
strolled around he might be tempted. It was unlikely that it would be a
local at this time of day or season, but it had been a while since he’d
fucked an American. And there were lots of Americans in the park
today, their voices shattering the tranquility like fingernails scraping
down a blackboard. He didn’t mind, though. It made him feel very
cosmopolitan.

His first stop was the Bacchus Fountain, a podgy dwarf sitting

on top of a tortoise, his limp dick hanging like a rank salami. Luke
had been hounded by someone similar in the Leeds sauna once. It had
put him off going there for three whole months.

He was about to leave and find something more appetizing to

look at when feet crunched on the path behind him. He chose to wait.
Just in case.

“Christ. He needs a personal trainer.” The accent was South

African.

Luke turned to see a six foot rugby player drawing alongside.

His blonde hair was cropped close. Luke nodded.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“You didn’t.”
“He is gross, isn’t he?”
“Just a bit.”
“Hey, you a Brit?”
“I am.”
“Great place, Great Britain. Love it.”
“You’ve been, then?”
“Yeah, couple of times. I’m heading to London tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Luke liked the look of him. It was hard to guess his age

but he was probably in his late thirties. A morning’s stubble shaded
his chin like a dusting of soot. His Lacoste polo shirt was new,
probably bought from the outlet village nearby, and his shorts… Jesus
Christ! From the outline of his cock it was clear that he’d left his

underwear at his hotel. The shape so clear that it advertised his
circumcision.

Luke gulped. “You on your own?”
“Too right. I saw you walk in here and I thought to myself,

that guy needs company.” He shoved a hand into his pocket and
adjusted his balls.

Luke’s cock hardened. Talk about fast. He’d been here a

matter of minutes. Before he could formulate his next words, the guy
stepped up to him and grabbed his groin.

“Nice one.” He squeezed Luke’s cock and balls through the

cotton shorts then stepped back. “Was I right, then? You want some
company?”

Luke still wasn’t entirely sure but habits were hard to break.

“Why not?”

“I’ve got a little map of this place here,” said the guy, pulling

a brochure from his back pocket. “There has to be somewhere in a
park like this.”

Luke remembered a previous time, a winding path through

dense trees. Dense enough, anyway. He grabbed the map and
refreshed his memory. “This way.”

“I’m Dirk, by the way.”
“Luke.”
“Luke Skywalker, nice to meet you.”
How many times had Luke heard that one? Still, it was Dirk’s

meat he was after, not his scintillating conversation. Luke took a short
cut across neatly trimmed grass, striding out with purpose.

“Are you from London? Maybe we could meet up. I’m staying

for three weeks. I’ve got a cousin in Wembley…”

“No, I’m not. Shame.”
“What are you doing in Florence?”
“Same as you, I guess.”
“You’re in leather goods, too?” Dirk laughed. A dirty, seedy

laugh.

“Huh? Oh, no.” Luke concentrated on finding the right section

of path. Then Dirk’s response sank in, like fresh rain on hard baked
ground. “And what sort of leather goods?”

“I bet you can imagine, Luke. The naughtier the better, I

always say.”

Intellectually, Dirk was anaesthetizing. Luke just hoped that

he made up for it in other ways. Judging from the truncheon he’d seen
in his shorts, the chances were good.

Luke found the spot he was looking for and ducked under

drooping branches. He could hear Dirk right behind him, nattering
away to himself about buckles and straps.

“Here we are,” said Luke, standing up in a space completely

surrounded by vegetation. “Should be safe here.”

“Just so long as you don’t make too much noise, eh?” Dirk

lunged at Luke’s crotch with one hand and at his belt with other.

Luke almost toppled backwards with the force and grabbed

Dirk’s waistband to steady himself. Maybe this isn’t such a good
idea?

“Let’s have a look at your weapon, Luke Skywalker.” Dirk

tugged Luke’s shorts and CKs down in one. “Nice one. It’d look even
better in some of my merchandise. Here, what do you think to this?”
He dropped his shorts and his cock sprang out, thick as a ship’s rope.
Tightened around the base, increasing the pressure, a black strap with
a silver buckle forced his balls to jut forward forming a hairy pillow
that lifted the veinous shaft almost vertical.

Luke was no fan of cock straps. In his experience they were to

stop disobedient cocks from going completely soft. He felt vindicated
when Dirk produced a small bottle from the breast pocket of his shirt.

“Poppers?”
Luke shook his head, even though his own cock was

softening. Maybe he’d give this a miss, get out of it while he could.
Maybe if he dropped by the trattoria he could talk to Lorenzo? Then
he looked at Dirk’s cock again. Well, maybe he’d stick around for a
bit.

“Now I’m going to fuck your English ass,” said Dirk,

swinging Luke round and pushing on his shoulders until he bent over.

Luke heard the tearing of foil and the familiar sound of

condom being unrolled over cock. He spread his legs and braced his
hands on his knees. What am I doing?

Then his phone rang.

Chapter )ine

Luke bent over further to retrieve his phone from his pocket.

An Italian cell number flashed on the screen. Lorenzo!

“Wait till I stick this big cock in you,” said Dirk.
Luke felt a sharp pain in his butt hole. “No. Stop.” He stepped

forwards, answering the phone at the same time. “I’ll call you back in
a minute.” He pulled up his shorts and turned around as he fastened
them. Dirk was close to tears.

“Sorry. Urgent call,” said Luke, glancing at Dirk’s cock

protruding semi-erect from the leather strap, the condom dangling like
a becalmed windsock. Clutching his phone in his hand he ran for the
path.

* * * *
As soon as he was out of the park, Luke stopped running and

brought up the number on his phone. Who had tried calling him? It
wasn’t Lorenzo. His number was already stored. Damn! He called the
unknown number and clamped the phone to his ear.

“Pronto!” The voice was unmistakable.
“Professor. It’s Luke. You called me.” The old queen’s saved

me from being split in two, I suppose.

“Ah, Luke.” The professor sounded like he’d found a long lost

friend.

“I’m sorry, I was in a meeting.” Luke felt himself blush.
“No problem, no problem at all. Listen. I want to invite you

for dinner tonight.”

Luke groaned silently. The old bugger was after him. “It’s

kind of you but, really, I’m not sure I can.”

“But you must, Luke. I want you to meet some people.”
Oh, God. He was being lined up for a group session. “I really

do appreciate you arranging this morning but I’m going to be tied up
this evening.” He wanted to kick himself for saying that.

“Luke, my boy. I won’t take no for an answer. And believe

me, you’ll be glad you came. Trust me. Now, can you take down this
address?”

Luke typed the address into his phone.
“Eight o’clock. You won’t regret it. Ci vediamo.”
“See you,” said Luke, dropping his hand to his side. Bugger.

* * * *
The bottle of Falanghina at lunch had proved to be a double

edged weapon. It had slaked Luke’s thirst and settled his nerves, but
combined with the heat it made him woozy and slightly grumpy. As a
result, he’d spent the rest of the afternoon in his bed sleeping it off.
When he woke he’d taken a long shower, trying to wash away the
cobwebs that dulled his senses.

He dressed in the least provocative clothing he’d brought with

him, and set off in good time for his meeting with the professor and
whoever he’d lined up to join them.

As he jostled his way in the direction of Santa Croce, he

wondered what sort of place he was going to. Perhaps it was some
private club where the well-heeled, closeted Florentine intellectual
gays gathered for discrete mutual relief. It was not beyond the realms
of possibility that he’d been lured to a private home. Perhaps there
would be no dinner, just an orgy. For once his cock didn’t stir.

* * * *
When he reached his destination he allowed himself a chuckle.

Ristorante Fellini. How appropriate. He’d never been, but knew of it.
Designed with Fellini’s La Dolce Vita in mind it was about as opulent
and suggestive as you could get in Florence.

It was still too early, so he found a bar not far away and settled

himself at a sidewalk table. He ordered a Campari. At the next table a
man and woman with a mauve poodle were getting ready to leave and
Luke noticed the crumpled La Nazione on the table. He’d forgotten
all about Gio and reprimanded himself.

“Excuse me,” he said, leaning towards the couple.
The woman looked down her nose at him as if he was

something the dog had left behind.

“If you’ve finished with it, I wondered if I could take a look at

your paper.”

“Prego,” said the man, tossing the paper to Luke. “Buona

sera.”

“Have a nice evening.” Luke nodded his appreciation.
The woman tutted and the dog yapped at him, then they turned

and wove their way down the street.

Luke shuffled the pages in search of the article he’d spotted

earlier, pausing only when the waiter brought the Campari and a small

bowl of peanuts. Luke took a sip and resumed his search. There it
was. A few pages in.

The body of a man was found by a visitor in the pineta close to

the gay beach at Torre del Lago late Sunday night.

A cold hand rested on the back of his neck and he shivered.

He took another gulp of Campari and tossed a handful of peanuts into
his mouth.

The body was identified by local police as Florian Schmidt, a

fifty-three year old German and long-time resident of the town. Mr.
Schmidt was a well-known transvestite and also went under the name
of Lilli La Longa.

Thank God.
Police have released few details but have confirmed that they

are treating the death as suspicious.

Jesus. He felt immediate relief. Yes, it was sad for Mr.

Schmidt and his friends but Luke had actually been entertaining the
thought that something had happened to Gio. But if it had, Lorenzo
would have called. Wouldn’t he? He folded the paper and laid it on
the table. Lorenzo. He would call Lorenzo.

He hit the speed dial on his phone. It went straight to voice

mail. He listened to Lorenzo’s voice, a voice that could charm the
birds out of the trees as his grandmother would have said, intending to
leave a message, but when he heard the beep he chickened out and
hung up. He checked his watch. Five after eight. He was late, and
Lorenzo would be busy. He would call again after dinner. Assuming
he lived.

* * * *
Ristorante Fellini specialized in fish. Only the best and always

fresh. The professor had already arrived with his other guests and they
sat on the red velvet chairs deep in conversation. For once, Luke was
pleased to see that one of the guests was a woman.

The professor leaped to his feet as Luke approached. “Luke,

welcome, please come and let me introduce you.”

The male guest stood and offered his hand. “Piacere.”
“This is Conte Bendotato, and this,” the professor gestured to

the woman, “is his charming wife, the Contessa.”

The Contessa raised her hand and Luke held it gently for a

moment. “Pleased to meet you.”

Luke was more than pleased, he was relieved. All afternoon

he’d feared being lured to an orgy.

“Please.” The professor beamed and gestured to the chair the

waiter had pulled out from under the table. “Sit down and let us order.
Then we can get to the nittee-grittee as the English say.”

When they were settled, the professor spoke again. “If you are

happy with our suggestion, Luke, we will begin with spaghetti allo
scoglio and then a grigliata.”

“Sounds good to me.”
The professor nodded at the waiter who then took his leave

with a bow.

“Now, let’s drop the formalities. You can stop calling me

professor, Luke. I’m Giovanni.”

“A good idea,” said the Count. “Francesco and Marisa, to our

friends.” He smiled, brilliant white teeth flashing beneath a neatly
trimmed mustache.

Giovanni slapped the table making the cutlery jump. “Good.

Let us have a little toast to our friendship.” He poured white wine into
Luke’s glass and topped up the others. “All’amicizia.”

“To friendship.”
Giovanni wiped his mouth on his napkin. “You are probably

wondering why I wanted you to come along here.”

“Well, yes. It’s not every day I get an invite to such elegant

surroundings and with such esteemed guests.”

Marisa waved her hand in front of her face as if to banish a

nasty smell.

“We are honored that you came. Giovanni has told us all about

you,” said Francesco, resting a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

“All good, I hope,” said Luke, remembering his visit to the

Boboli Gardens.

“You English are so understated,” said Marisa. “It is one of

your greatest assets.”

“The reason I wanted you to meet my friends,” Giovanni said,

raising his voice to regain control of the conversation, “is because you
have something in common.”

“We do?” Luke couldn’t imagine what a customer service

advisor from Leeds had in common with Italian aristocracy, republic
or no republic.

“Indeed. You see, Francesco and Marisa own a gallery, here in

Florence.”

Francesco and Marisa smiled at Luke. A kind of hey presto

expression.

“Oh, that’s nice. Do you have a specialty?”
“Yes and no,” said Marisa. “Francesco likes the renaissance, I

like something more contemporary.”

“They handle everything, Luke,” said Giovanni, “but only of

the highest quality. They have an excellent reputation. Their client list
reads like a guest list for a royal wedding.”

“And we are attracting more and more international buyers,”

said Francesco.

“Well, I’d sure like to have a look, if I may,” said Luke.
“Oh, but we insist you do,” said Francesco.
“We had already been discussing the possibility of you…”

Giovanni’s words faded as the waiter brought the first course to the
table. When each guest was served and the waiter had gone, he
resumed. “We had been wondering if you could maybe drop by
tomorrow morning?”

Luke had thought he might take the train and head over the

beach again, but he still had a few days left. And this sounded
interesting. “Sure. I’m free in the morning.”

“Va bene,” said Marisa. “We will both be there. Come, now.

Enough shop talk. Let Luke enjoy his supper.” She touched Luke on
the arm. “The food here is the best in Florence.”

Luke twirled the spaghetti around his fork and lifted it, the

aroma of garlic and the Mediterranean full of promise. This place
must cost a fortune.

And he loved it.

Chapter Ten

Luke stood on the sidewalk outside his hotel and watched the

Mercedes purr away. Francesco had insisted on giving him a lift back
after dinner even though Luke had said he wanted to walk. He could
tell that his body was missing the gym already, and if he continued to
eat and drink like he’d done so far this week it would take him a
month to get back into shape.

The traffic had thinned out at this hour, just a gentle hum

broken from time to time by the whine of a Vespa dashing here and
there. He really fancied a Vespa but the Leeds climate had stopped
him splashing out on one. Too many memories of arriving home from
college drenched when he’d had his moped. Anyway, living in the
city center he really didn’t need it.

The Duomo loomed up in front of him and he raised his eyes

to the dome. It stood out against the night sky, eclipsing the moon.
Pigeons swirled about, dark shadows that reminded him of a virus
under a microscope. He crossed the road and made his way to the
front of the cathedral, sitting down on the broad steps. He’d left his
phone on silent all evening but there had been no call from Lorenzo.

A Moroccan headed towards him; desperation written across

his gaunt face, his hands held out in supplication. Luke tossed him a
Euro coin and waved him away then took his phone from his pocket.
He hit redial and pressed the phone to his ear. This time it rang.

“Pronto!”
Luke tingled when he heard the voice. “Hi.”
“Luke, where are you?”
“Erm, I’m at the hotel.”
“I thought you might come for dinner.”
“I thought you might have called.”
“I tried, but I must have made a mistake when I put your

number in my phone.”

A wave of guilt washed over Luke. He felt rotten for thinking

bad of Lorenzo. If only he’d swallowed his pride and called in the
morning. He examined the top of his shoes. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”
“No, I mean, sorry I didn’t call earlier… well, actually I did

but your phone was off. I should have called you this morning.” Luke

knew that a foreign cell wouldn’t register on Lorenzo’s when it was
turned off.

“I’m the one needs to apologize. I had no right to behave as I

did.”

That was true, but Luke wanted to forget about it. He was just

happy they were talking again and that things were back to normal.
They were, weren’t they? “Forget it. I have.”

“Luke?”
“Yes?”
“Shall I come over?”
“Now?”
“I can be there in fifteen minutes. I’ll just lock up here first.”
Oh, shit. He wanted to see Lorenzo. Really, really wanted to

see him. But he was so tired. Luke shifted on the marble step. If he
said no, he might piss Lorenzo off again.

“Luke? Don’t you want to see me?”
“Yes, I definitely want to see you. It’s just—”
“Oh.” Lorenzo sounded deflated.
“No, please. I have an appointment in the morning and I’m

really shagged out.”

“I don’t want to know what you’ve been doing, Luke. As you

said, it’s your life.”

Shit. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t risk losing Lorenzo, not

again. “Please, come round. I need to see you.”

“I dunno.”
“Please? If I get down on my knees and beg?”
“Hmm…”
“If you don’t come here I’ll come there.”
“You sure? I mean, I don’t want to intrude.”
“Stop it, Lorenzo. Come over. I’m in front of the Duomo, on

the steps. I’ll wait.”

“OK. Ten, fifteen minutes at the most.”
The line went dead. Luke tapped his front teeth with the

corner of his phone and smiled. He had a feeling that Lorenzo would
be in the mood to fuck him tonight and he was going to let him.

A pigeon dropped from the sky in a storm of dust and feathers

and settled on the step about six feet away. It eyed Luke suspiciously.
Pigeon pie, thought Luke. The last time he’d eaten pigeon he’d been

so ill he thought he was going to die. “Hi, Pidge,” he said. The bird
cocked its head, turned its back to him and shit on the pavement.

Luke got to his feet and rubbed his ass cheeks. Thank God

he’d brought the Anusol with him. He expected to need it before the
night was out. His pulse quickened at the thought of what Lorenzo
might do to him and he yelped with excitement. He paced back and
forth along the steps, then began hopping up and down from one to
the other, like Gene Kelly dancing on the curb. Except it wasn’t
raining. So what was the trickle he felt on his skin? Jesus! Sweat ran
down his face from the exertion. He leaned against the wall and
fanned himself with a hand.

“What are you doing?”
Luke looked up to see Lorenzo walking towards him.
“It’s hot.”
“You look like you’ve been round the block a few times. Are

you alright?” Lorenzo put an arm round Luke’s shoulder and a hand
on his forehead. “Wow! You are really hot.”

“It’s fine. I was just running around. I’m fine.” But Luke

didn’t feel well. He was in great physical condition. A bit of stepping,
even in this heat, and he shouldn’t sweat. It took him twenty minutes
of hard slog in the gym to start sweating. Yet here he was, suddenly
as clammy as a scrotum in a polythene bag.

“You’re ill. Come on, let’s get you to your room.”
Luke put a foot forward. His legs felt like rubber. He

staggered but Lorenzo grabbed him.

“Here, lean on me. Like that. That’s it. Steady now.” Lorenzo

walked him across the road and into the hotel entrance. “What have
you been doing to get like this?”

Luke didn’t answer. He opened his mouth and deposited his

supper on the tiled floor.

* * * *
“It has to be food poisoning.” Lorenzo stood at the side of the

bed looking down on Luke. “That’ll teach you. You should have
come to my trattoria.”

“Don’t j… joke. I’m not in the m… mood.” Luke shivered

under the bed sheet, teeth chattering.

“Where did you eat?”
“F… Fellini.”

“Well, there is no way you caught it there. o way. I have

never heard of anyone ever being ill from there. You must have had
something else.”

“Lunchtime… but it was g… good… I don’t remember the

n… name, though.”

“No. Not lunch. It’s too long ago. This strikes within a few

hours and, you’ll be pleased to know, passes as quickly. Did you have
anything at all before dinner? An aperitivo somewhere?”

Luke remembered the café with the snobbish poodle. “Yes,

but only a C… Campari. And a few peanuts.”

“Aha!” Lorenzo did a passable impersonation of Sherlock

Holmes. “That’ll be it. I suppose the peanuts were in a bowl?”

Luke nodded and shifted his hands to his stomach.
“They’ll have been sitting on the bar all day. God knows what

shit got into them. Still, they should go straight through you.”

Luke groaned. His stomach bubbled like a Jacuzzi. “Gotta go

again.” He ran to the bathroom and sat on the toilet just in time. The
sound was like a cow pissing. And how it burned. He really believed
it must be punishment for being a bad person. He must have been
shitting pure acid. His eyes watered and he wanted to cry. Just make it
better and I’ll mend my ways. I mean it this time.

* * * *
When Luke returned to the bedroom, Lorenzo was sitting on

the end of the bed. Traffic sounds came up from the street and the net
curtains swayed.

“I opened the window. I think you should keep it open.”
Luke climbed into bed. “Whatever.”
“Are you going to be okay now?”
Luke nodded.
“I can stay if you want.” Lorenzo got to his feet and looked at

Luke.

“No, don’t. It’s no fun for you.”
“If you need me.”
Luke did need him. Yes, he realized that now. But right at that

moment the kindest thing Luke could do was send Lorenzo away
from the stench and the misery. Lorenzo deserved a good night’s
sleep too. Luke wasn’t going to die. It just felt as if he was.

“I’m sorry. Go home and sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Promise?”

“Yes. I promise. And if your phone is off, I’ll come round.”
“Okay.” Lorenzo bent and kissed Luke on the forehead.

“Stammi bene.”

“You too.”
Lorenzo walked to the door, opened it and then turned. “I’ll

try to get someone to stand in for me tomorrow evening. Yes?”

Luke smiled. “Yes. Definitely yes.”
Luke heard the footsteps out in the passageway and the squeak

of the door hinge. Raising his head he called after Lorenzo. “Hey.”

Lorenzo poked his head round the door. “Hmm?”
“Thanks.”
“Fanculo.”
The door clicked shut and Luke lay down, smiling.

Chapter Eleven

After hours of toing and froing to the bathroom, Luke fell into

a deep sleep. Even the bells of the Duomo and the early morning
clatter of the refuse men didn’t stir him. Fortunately, he’d
remembered at some point in the night to set his alarm. He reached to
switch it off then lay back, mentally carrying out a self-examination.
No headache, no sweating. He pressed his stomach with his fingers.
No pain or gurgling. The bottom sheet felt cold against his back, wet
from the hours of perspiration. But he seemed fine.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and winced at the

cold shock of the floor tiles on his soles. As he stood, his legs
wobbled. He was still weak. He headed to the bathroom, steadying
himself against the walls.

Luke ran the shower very hot, filling the room with steam.

When he stepped out, his legs held firm. As he dried himself, he
realized how lucky he was. He would never again risk losing Lorenzo.
And tonight, he must have him. Bar snacks would be avoided at all
costs.

* * * *
Luke skipped breakfast and arrived at the gallery promptly. A

matching pair of perfectly trimmed laurel trees stood like lollipop
sentries either side of the double doors. A dazzling brass plaque was
the only indication of what lay inside the building. He buzzed the
intercom.

“Si?”
“Francesco? It’s Luke.”
“Come on up.”
The door sprang open. Luke entered a dimly-lit hallway with a

black and white tiled floor leading to a wide staircase. He looked up.
Francesco looked down on him from the top of the stairs.

“Up here. Come and make yourself at home, I’m just on the

phone.”

Francesco had disappeared by the time Luke reached the top

but his muffled voice was audible somewhere in a side room. Luke
found himself in huge space with a heavy, beamed ceiling that once
would have been the main living room. The walls dripped with
paintings. In the middle of the room were Mies chairs and various

objects d’art. He strolled around, whistling to himself at the
collection.

“Luke, how nice to see you again.” Francesco hurried toward

him with an eager hand. “I trust you had good night?”

“Ah, well. Not as good as it might have been but let’s not go

there.”

Francesco raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I won’t ask.”
Luke smiled back.
“Marisa has been delayed but she will join us presently. So,

what do you think to our little gallery? Not quite your West End, but
it’s a start.”

“Oh, I think you do yourself an injustice. It’s amazing.”
“You’re kind.”
“Honest.”
“Ah yes, well that is a characteristic we admire. I’m afraid that

dealers don’t always live up to expectations in that quarter.”
Francesco smoothed his mustache with his forefinger.

“Well, I’m not a dealer.”
“But you would like to be?”
“It’s my dream.”
“Hence the master’s degree.”
“Giovanni told you?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t get even get my foot through the door without it. I’m

stuck in a lousy, mind-numbing job just to earn a living, with no
prospects at all. I have to do something. I’m drifting.”

“May I ask you a personal question?”
Oh, oh. Here we go. “Of course.”
“Do you have family back at home?”
Luke nodded, then shook his head. “No, no one. Just me.”
“A free agent.”
“Free. Yet a prisoner.”
“I love your way with words. Very English.”
The sound of the street wafted up the stairs for a moment then

was shut out by a clunk.

“That will be Marisa,” said Francesco. He walked to the top of

the stairs. “Darling, Luke is here.”

“Oh, Luke, how nice.” Marisa appeared in a kind of theatrical

enter stage right way. She carried a Fendi shopping bag in addition to

her own Prada shoulder bag. She offered her hand. “I’m sorry I’m
late. I do hope Fran has been looking after you. He can be a terrible
host when left to his own devices.” She set the bags down on top of
an eighteenth century credenza.

“We’ve been having a little chat,” said Francesco.
“I haven’t been here long. It’s no problem at all, really.”
“And what have you talked about? Has Francesco told you our

plans?”

“I was just getting round to it, my dear.”
“Fran, you are too slow to catch cold sometimes. Luke is a

young man, he has things to do. Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

Luke wished they would. He was beginning to think they

might be Satanists luring him to his death. Or at least an orgy in their
country villa. He had a vision of the professor standing before an altar
of laden with black candles, naked but for a pair of ram’s horns on his
head. His stomach gurgled.

“You see,” said Marisa, sweeping across the floor. “The poor

boy is hungry.”

“No, really, I’m not.” Luke couldn’t face even the thought of

food.

Marisa held a phone to her ear. “Nonsense. I’ll have

something sent up. They really are very good at the bar downstairs.
Pronto! Si…”

Francesco took Luke by the elbow and walked him towards

the window. “Don’t worry about Marisa. She tries to fatten everyone
up.”

Luke’s stomach rumbled again and he put a hand to it. “I’m

sorry.”

“Now I see, or should I say hear, why you didn’t sleep so well.

I do hope it wasn’t the fish.”

“Peanuts. Allegedly.”
“You are allergic to them?”
Luke nodded. It was the easiest answer.
Marisa’s heels tapped across the floor. “Five minutes.”
“I think we should get to the nittee grittee.” Francesco

chuckled. “I do believe Luke may have to cut short his visit.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying, my dear. This,” Marisa made

an expansive gesture, “is phase one. Phase two is to move to bigger

premises. Much bigger premises. We are currently negotiating with
another family to purchase their palazzo.”

“Wow,” said Luke.
“Phase three is Rome.”
“Rome? You mean you are opening a gallery in Rome?”
“If all goes well,” said Francesco, sitting down on what looked

like a Louis XV chair.

“That would be really cool.”
Marisa smiled. “So refreshing to be with young people. Now,

the point is, we can’t be in two places at once—”

“We need someone to help out—”
“And Giovanni said that he had met you and—”
“He knows the kind of people we are and the kind of person

we need.”

Luke couldn’t take in what he was hearing. They couldn’t be

suggesting that he work for them, could they? He shook his head.
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow you.”

“We are offering you a job, Luke.”
“The chance to be a partner, if it all goes well,” said Francesco

getting to his feet again.

Luke’s stomach did a high revolution spin. “I’m sorry, do you

have a bathroom?”

* * * *
Luke stepped out into the street and the sunlight blinded him.

He fished his Ray Bans out of his pocket and put them on. In the other
hand he carried the Fendi shopping bag; a welcome present from
Marisa and Francesco. He couldn’t wait to see what was in it but it
would be too vulgar to open it in the street.

He checked his watch. Noon. Lorenzo’s trattoria would be

open. Luke decided to surprise him. He stepped out into the flow of
bodies and allowed himself to be carried off in the right general
direction. He felt as if his feet weren’t on the ground. He knew this
visit to Florence was a new beginning but he could never have
dreamed of this. He had to tell Lorenzo.

* * * *
Luke watched from across the street as Lorenzo dashed in and

out of the restaurant carrying plates of steaming food to the customers
at the outside tables. He was so handsome. Luke had never wanted
anyone as much as he wanted Lorenzo. Up until an hour ago he’d

been reminding himself that, come the end of the week, Lorenzo
would be no more than a holiday romance. Now there was a
possibility. It might not work, but at least a door had opened. Luke
took a deep breath and crossed the street. He pretended to study the
menu which was displayed on an easel to attract passers-by, hiding
his face with a hand. His heart pounded when Lorenzo approached.

“Signore? I have nice table for you.”
Luke dropped his hand and looked at Lorenzo’s face. He

smiled.

“Luke.”
“Hi.”
“Come and sit down. Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, I’m fine. But I don’t want to eat. I need to talk to you.”
Lorenzo showed him to a table against the restaurant wall, by

the door. “Okay. I’m really busy, but sit here and we can speak in
between.”

Luke sat down and put the Fendi bag on the floor by his feet.
“Been splashing out?” Lorenzo raised an eyebrow.
“A present. Serve your customers and hurry back. I have to

tell you something.”

Lorenzo winked at him and slipped inside the restaurant,

returning seconds later with a half bottle of Chianti. He uncorked it
and set it down in front of Luke, then went to serve a couple at one of
the tables. Luke watched him and felt his cock stir. Yes, he was
definitely feeling better. He turned a glass the right way up and
poured a little wine, then leaned back against the chair and sipped.
How would Lorenzo take the news? Luke throbbed with nervous
energy.

Chapter Twelve

Luke had almost finished the wine when Lorenzo finally sat

down on the opposite chair.

“Sure you don’t want something to eat?” asked Lorenzo.
“Positive.”
“So what’s up? What’s in the bag?” Lorenzo glanced down at

the Fendi bag on the ground.

“It’s a present.”
“Yes, you said, but for who?”
“For me.”
Lorenzo scowled.
“You know I went to the Uffizi yesterday?”
“Yes, closing day.” Lorenzo glowered across the table.
“I had an appointment with a professor.”
“Who?”
“Mancini. Why, do you know many professors from the

Uffizi?”

“Florence is small, Luke. I don’t know him, no, but I know of

him. He’s pretty important. How did you manage that?” Lorenzo
seemed to relax again.

“Someone I know at Oxford.” Luke took a deep breath.

“Anyway, that doesn’t matter.”

Lorenzo took Luke’s glass and sipped some wine.
“Mancini asked me out to dinner last night.”
“Aha. The dirty old dog. They are always the worst.”
“No, it wasn’t at all like that. At first I wondered, but he

wanted to introduce me to some friends.”

“An orgy! You lucky devil. And you didn’t invite me.”
“Please, stop interrupting.”
Lorenzo sat upright. “Sir.”
“Right, these friends were Count and Countess Bendotato.”
“You’re kidding?” Lorenzo almost knocked the table over.
“You know them?”
“Everyone in Tuscany knows them. They are loaded. Also

nice people, which makes a change.” Lorenzo took another gulp of
wine. “Sorry. Go on.”

“They have a gallery, you probably know, not far from here.

They asked me to go and have a look at it. That’s where I’ve been this
morning.” Luke paused to tidy his thoughts.

“And?”
“Well, it seems I impressed Mancini enough that he

recommended me to them. They are moving the gallery to bigger
premises and opening a branch in Rome.” He looked at Lorenzo
across the table and smiled at him. “They want me to work for them,
here in Italy.”

“You’re kidding?”
“No. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“But your degree. What did you tell them?”
“Well that’s the thing. They said that if we are all getting

along after six months then they’ll fund my master’s degree.”

“Oh, that’s great.” Lorenzo took hold of Luke’s hand across

the table. “But, did you accept?”

“Are you crazy?”
Lorenzo’s mouth drooped. “Oh, you didn’t.”
“Of course I fucking accepted. Look, it gets me out of my

rotten job into something that I want to do. They’ve offered me twice
my current salary with an option to be a partner if all goes to plan.”

“Do you have money to invest with them?”
“No, I haven’t any cash but they don’t want that. Cash is what

they have. They want me. They want me to bring a youthful,
international flair to their business. It’s my big chance.”

“Oh, Luke. I am very happy for you. And you know, Rome is

not so far away, three hours by train. And it’s a lot closer than Leeds.”

“Eh?”
“Rome. Will they provide you with an apartment? I suppose

they will have to. When do you start?”

“Whoa! Not so fast. I’m not going to be based in Rome. They

want to spend more time in Rome themselves. They’re putting me in
charge of the Florence gallery. I’m going to be here.”

Lorenzo beamed at him. “Here?”
Luke nodded and felt tears stinging his eyes.
“When?”
“Soon.”
A customer called from one of the tables on the roadside.

Lorenzo got up and ruffled Luke’s hair. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

Lorenzo seemed happy enough. That was a good enough start.

This time, Luke wasn’t going to fuck things up.

Luke reached down for the Fendi bag and sat it on his knees.

He opened the top and poked his nose inside. It seemed to be filled
with expensive-looking tissue paper. His hand met resistance beneath
the paper and he was just removing the contents as Lorenzo pulled up
at his shoulder.

“What is it?” Lorenzo peered into the bag.
“Dunno. They gave it to me as a gesture of good faith, they

said. To welcome me to the Galleria Bendotato.” He pulled the object
from inside, scattering tissue to the floor.

“Madonna!”
“Wow,” said Luke. “A shoulder bag.”
“Not just any shoulder bag. It’s the Zucca messenger bag. Do

you have any idea how much that costs?”

“Well, Fendi!”
“Not much change out of a thousand Euro. They sure liked

you.”

“I’m still a bit gob smacked.”
“You have some funny expressions. Hey, if you’re going to be

around you can teach me some.” Lorenzo beamed down at Luke. “So,
when are you starting?”

“End of the month.”
“What, this month?”
Luke nodded, returning the bag to its carrier.
“But that’s like, two weeks.”
“I know.”
“Cazzo.”
“Is there a problem?”
“No, of course not. But, you have so much to do and… oh,

damn these customers.” Lorenzo turned around and shouted across
the tables. “One minute, please. Just one minute.”

“You’re busy. Look, did you get the evening off?”
“Yes, of course. Fabio is coming at five o’clock.”
“Great. Shall I see you at the hotel or come here?”
“Can you find my apartment?”
“I guess so, Lorenzo Il Magnifico, the Mussolini block with

the steps.”

Lorenzo laughed. “Right. I should have known. Come round

soon after five.” He started towards the customers then turned. “Call
me if you get lost.”

Luke would not get lost. He put the bag under his arm and

wove his way between the tables, sneaking a look at Lorenzo’s ass as
he passed. His own, it seemed, had recovered from the previous
evening. Just as well, for this night had promise.

* * * *
Luke arrived at the apartment building at ten minutes after

five, quite content to wait on the steps and watch the world go by. He
pressed the button on the entry phone, on the off chance, and the door
opened with a buzz. Inside, the elevator waited for him at ground
level. He could smell Lorenzo in the cramped space.

When he got to the top floor, the door to the apartment stood

ajar. Clattering sounds escaped into the hallway. He knocked on the
door frame and went in. Lorenzo was leaning over a small table in the
middle of what Luke supposed might be the dining room. A white
cloth had been thrown over it and Lorenzo was arranging candles and
cutlery with the skill of a seasoned restaurateur.

“Hi,” said Lorenzo, looking over his shoulder.
“What’s this?”
“My treat. A celebration. I thought it would be nicer than

eating out.”

“That is so sweet. Thank you.”
They walked towards each other and kissed, lips only.
“I’m so happy you’re coming to live in Florence.”
“You are?”
“Of course.”
“I’m glad. I was worried that I’d messed things up.”
“Well, I was worried that I’d messed things up.”
“Sometimes I express myself badly.”
“No. I should understand better.” Lorenzo hugged him tightly

then let go. “But let’s not rake over it again, eh? I’ve got a great
prosecco on ice. Fancy some?”

“Why not?”
Lorenzo laughed. “You English.” He headed for the kitchen.

“Anyway, come on. Tell me more.”

Luke followed him into an old-fashioned kitchen with dark,

wood effect laminate cupboards. On the counter stood a large plastic

bucket, a bottle top poking out of the top. At the side were various foil
containers.

“Chinese?” asked Luke.
“How dare you! Take away from my own kitchen, if you don’t

mind.” Lorenzo punched him playfully on the shoulder. “Now come
on. Stop stalling.”

Luke leaned his buttocks against the lip of the counter. “I told

you most of it. Mancini somehow sold me to them and they want me
to work for them. I’ll be in charge of the Florence gallery when they
move to Rome.”

“That’s great.” Lorenzo struggled with the cork in the bottle.

“But you said something about being a partner?”

“Yes. So they say. If all goes well they’ll make me an equity

partner. I’ll have some travelling to do, too. They think I should
develop ties with galleries in London and New York.”

“But…” Lorenzo paused as the cork shout out with a pop.

“You will be living here? The trips will be short?”

“Are you worried I’m leaving already?”
“Yes. I don’t want to lose you so soon.” Lorenzo handed him

a glass of prosecco.

“That sounds almost like a proposal,” said Luke, smiling.
“Maybe it is.” Lorenzo clinked his glass against Luke’s. “To

Luke.”

“To Lorenzo.” Luke took a sip of his wine then reached out

for Lorenzo’s hand. “Thanks for last night, by the way.”

“Boy, you were in a bad way. Are you sure you’re better

now?”

“Yes. Like you said, it passed in a few hours. Sorry it spoiled

things.”

“Well, it won’t spoil tonight, will it?”
Luke shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”
“Let me just finish the table. Then we can have our starter.”
“It’s a bit early for food, isn’t it?”
Lorenzo winked. “Who said anything about food?”
Luke followed him back into the dining room. The shutters

were fully open and Luke went over to look out of the window. A
lopsided sign saying affitasi hung from a shutter on the building
across the street. “Yeah, I’ll need to find somewhere to live. They said

they would help, but maybe you know of something? I don’t have a
lot of time.”

“They’ll sort it. If they can’t, no one can. But of course, I’ll

ask around. You never know. Don’t worry about that. Something will
turn up.”

Luke opened the window and leaned on the sill. He inhaled

the smell of the city; fumes, garbage, cigarettes, garlic and coffee. The
street below was lined either side by cars parked so carelessly that
they looked abandoned, the gaps between them caulked with Vespas
and mopeds. A family of scrawny cats lurked beneath an overflowing
dumpster, scattering as a huge Mercedes whisked by. He looked up at
the blue sky, already bleached by the early summer sun, and saw just
two clouds like fluff on a silk robe. It was so different to Leeds.

Lorenzo’s arms wrapped around his waist. “Penny for them,”

he said into Luke’s ear.

“Leeds. I’m going back tomorrow.”
Lorenzo let go and pulled back. “What? Why?”
“I have to. If I’m moving out at the end of the month I’ve a

shed load of things to do.” He turned round and took Lorenzo’s hand.
Lorenzo’s face sagged.

“But I was looking forward to these next few days,” said

Lorenzo.

“Me too. But look at it this way. We’re losing three days now,

but then I’ll be back in just over a fortnight. And I won’t be leaving.”

“Yes, you’re right. But what about your flight?”
“I’ve booked another. I can’t change the one for Saturday but

it doesn’t matter. I’m leaving from Florence airport in the morning. It
means going to London and taking the train home but, hey, it’s worth
it.”

“What time’s the flight in the morning?”
“Seven.”
“I’ll take you.”
“There’s no need, I can get a taxi.”
Lorenzo grabbed Luke and pulled him close. “I will take you.

Try and stop me.”

Luke had hoped for the offer. “Okay. I surrender.”
“Really? Are you ready to surrender to me completely?”
Luke’s cock stiffened and his heart fluttered. “Yes. Do

whatever you want with me.”

Lorenzo clamped his mouth to Luke’s. Lorenzo tasted of

prosecco. Luke pressed his groin into Lorenzo’s.

“Hmm,” said Lorenzo, then pulled his lips away from Luke’s.

“Nothing wrong down there tonight, is there?” He took Luke’s glass
and reached backwards to set it on the table. “Now, all hands on
deck.” He led Luke to the bedroom.

“Oh.” New bedding had been laid out, a rug and a couple of

bedside tables. “You did this for me?” asked Luke.

“For us.”
Luke had never been romanced. What a funny expression! All

the men he’d been with, yet not one of them had seduced him with
any panache, nor had he felt any desire to seduce. It was always just
animal lust. Sex. Getting your rocks off. This was all new to him.
When Lorenzo pushed him onto the bed he felt a surge of electricity
dance across his skin.

Lorenzo knelt down beside the bed and removed Luke’s

shoes. He ran his hands up Luke’s legs, aiming close to his groin but
then skipping by and going straight to Luke’s belt. He undid it quicker
than he opened a bottle of wine. He grabbed Luke’s waistband and
pulled down his trousers, taking his CKs with them. He had a hungry
look in his eyes as he stared at Luke’s erection and dragged the
trousers over Luke’s feet.

“I want to look at you, Luke. Just let me drink in your beauty

for a while, will you?”

Luke didn’t answer. He slipped off his shirt and lay flat on the

bed. His cock stood up at an angle. The leaning tower.

“You are lovely,” said Lorenzo.
“You are, too. Please, strip for me. I want to see you, too. I

want to take the memory of your body back with me.”

“I don’t have music.”
“We don’t need music. We’ll make our own. And I don’t

mean strip like those tarts in the club. Just rip your clothes off, for
Christ’s sake. I want to see you.”

Lorenzo did as he was told, never taking his eyes off Luke.

Lorenzo’s cock swung horizontally as he moved about, the head
already fully exposed and the slit gleaming.

“Come on. I want to feel you inside me. Don’t make me wait.”
Lorenzo lifted Luke’s legs in the air and knelt between them.

“Sure?”

“Yes. Never more sure.” Luke reached for his shirt and pulled

a condom and lube from the pocket. “Here.” He tossed them to
Lorenzo.

The condom reached only half way along Lorenzo’s shaft and

Luke squirmed in anticipation. Then Lorenzo opened the lube and
introduced one finger, then another, into Luke’s hole.

“Is it good?”
“It’s wonderful. I want more.”
Lorenzo shifted closer and pressed the head of his cock

against Luke’s opening then leaned his weight against it. The head
pried its way in and Luke gasped. Lorenzo paused.

“It’s fine. Please,” said Luke, his voice no more than whisper.
Luke felt his passage open up as Lorenzo increased the

pressure. He was so gentle, so caring. Luke closed his eyes, his body
trembled from head to foot. Oh, the difference between this and that
silly moment with Dirk yesterday. Lorenzo didn’t hurt at all. It was as
if his cock had been made to measure.

Luke looked at Lorenzo. He was gazing back at Luke, his face

caught in a Mona Lisa smile. Luke opened his arms and Lorenzo
leaned forward. They embraced. They kissed. And Lorenzo moved
inside Luke. Luke wrapped his legs around Lorenzo’s back and thrust
himself against his stiff rod. He could feel Lorenzo’s balls banging
against his ass.

Lorenzo pushed his tongue into Luke’s mouth, in and out,

matching the rhythm of his cock. Pleasure rippled through Luke’s
body, rings of delight starting somewhere at his core and spreading
out, like the circles on a pond where a stone is dropped.

Lorenzo accelerated. His stomach surfed over Luke’s and he

raised himself up, his outstretched arms either side of Luke’s head.
His eyes were wide.

“Come for me, Lorenzo.”
The strokes quickened. With each, Lorenzo probed deeper

inside and Luke could sense the head of Lorenzo’s cock somewhere at
the center of his body. Luke flexed his anal muscles and was
rewarded. Lorenzo’s eyes closed and he gasped. Luke felt Lorenzo
pumping inside him and it was enough. Luke’s cock erupted, a hands
free ejaculation that sent his cum flying through the air like anti-
aircraft fire.

When Lorenzo had finished he opened his eyes and looked

down. He dropped his head to Luke’s torso and lapped up the sticky
fluid from Luke’s navel up to his neck. As he devoured the last drop
off Luke’s chin, Luke took Lorenzo’s head in his hands and clamped
his mouth onto Lorenzo’s. Lorenzo tasted of Luke.

Luke pulled Lorenzo down onto him, taking his full weight.

He ran his fingers across Lorenzo’s muscular back and along the
outline of his shoulder blades. Inside him, Lorenzo was finally
softening.

“Are you okay?” asked Lorenzo between gasps.
“I’m better than that. You?”
“You are the best, Luke.”
“You’re not bad, either.”
Lorenzo laughed and his cock slipped out of Luke’s ass.
“Oops,” said Luke. “I miss it already.”
“I’m going to miss you.”
“Know what? If we eat now, we can always do it again.”
Lorenzo kissed Luke’s lips then got to his feet. “Then what are

we waiting for?”

* * * *
Luke stared up at the ceiling, stretched out on the bed and

reached to take Lorenzo’s hand. “That was incredible.”

“For me, too.”
“But it’s so hot. The sheet’s sticking to me.”
“Sure it’s sweat?”
Luke laughed. “You’re wicked.”
Lorenzo laughed but didn’t reply. For a while they lay quietly,

their breathing slowly returning to normal, settling into the same
rhythm. Outside, the occasional car purred down the street. At the
open window, the curtains swayed gently in the breeze, playing the
orange sodium light across the floor.

Luke turned on his side to look at Lorenzo. “We’ve only

known each other a few days and yet I feel like I’ve known you all
my life.”

“Me too.”
“Really?”
“Uh huh.”

“I wonder why.” Luke raised himself on an elbow and placed

a hand on Lorenzo’s chest. The skin felt hot and slick. “Do you
believe in fate?”

“Not really. But does it matter? Fate, luck, being in the right

place at the right time. All that matters is that you came to eat in my
restaurant when you did.” Lorenzo spoke in little more than a
whisper. “And I’m glad.”

Luke ran his finger around Lorenzo’s nipple then down his

chest to his navel. Lorenzo’s stomach undulated gently as he breathed
and Luke watched as his own hand rose and fell to the rhythm.
“Thanks, Lorenzo.”

“Hmm?” A barely audible response.
“You’re asleep.” Luke smiled.
No reply, just the faintest rasp as Lorenzo breathed in and out.
Luke positioned himself so that he looked directly into

Lorenzo’s face. He seemed familiar, like a figure from one of the
paintings in the Uffizi. He lowered his head and placed a featherlight
kiss on Lorenzo’s lips.

“Hmm?” Lorenzo’s eyes snapped open. “What?”
“Ssh! You sleep. I’d better go the hotel and get my things

together. You did set your alarm, didn’t you?”

“Yes. But don’t leave.”
“I should. You need to sleep and I need to pack. It’ll soon be

time to go.”

“Too soon.”
“But I’ll be back. Soon.”
“Yes.”
Luke got off the bed and dressed. By the time he was ready,

Lorenzo had fallen into a deep sleep. Luke looked down on him, a
perfect bronze figure, then kissed Lorenzo’s limp cock before pulling
a single sheet over him.

Chapter Thirteen

At five in the morning precisely, Luke stood on the sidewalk

between the hotel and the Duomo. Two minutes later, Lorenzo’s
ageing Alfa screeched round the corner and lurched towards him.

He picked up his bags and walked to the back of the car.

Lorenzo was soon next to him, opening the trunk. Lorenzo dropped
the suitcase in with one hand, and squeezed Luke’s ass with the other.

“At this time of day we’ll be there in fifteen minutes”, said

Lorenzo, getting into the driver’s seat.

“In that case, I’ll definitely need my seatbelt on.”
“Do I scare you?”
“You terrify me. Didn’t I tell you?”
Lorenzo hit the accelerator and the car screeched away. He

turned and grinned at Luke.

“Italian drivers,” said Luke. “You’re all the same.”
“It’s in our blood. Do you drive?”
“Yes. I don’t have a car though. I don’t need one. Maybe

when I get here I’ll buy something.”

“Maybe you’ll get a company Ferrari.”
Luke laughed. “That would be something, wouldn’t it?”
Lorenzo ran through red lights and nipped down one way

streets. In no time at all they were out of the center and onto the wider
highway that led to the autostrada network and Peretola airport.

“I was thinking,” said Lorenzo, resting his hand on Luke’s

knee. “You don’t need to find an apartment right away.”

“What do you suggest? Live in a hotel? I suppose I might have

to at first.”

“No, Luke. My apartment is too big for one. Come and stay

with me.”

“But we just met.”
“So what? I thought you said you felt as if you’d known me all

your life?”

“Yes, that’s true. But it just seems a bit quick.”
“Look, there are four bedrooms. You can have your own, you

can have two rooms if you want. And we’ll see how it goes.”

“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Say yes, Luke. Please say yes.”

“Well, I suppose it might work.”
“None of that English stuff, please. Just say yes.”
Luke looked directly at Lorenzo. “Yes. I’d love to. Thank

you.”

“Great! You can help me do it up and get the right furniture.

I’m not so good at that. I know what I like but not how to get there.”

“Sounds great. Thanks.”
“No need to thank. I’m happy. Now I don’t mind so much that

you’re leaving me.”

“Yeah.” Luke looked out at the shuttered apartments and

shops. “I have to break the news to Lina tomorrow. She’ll go
ballistic.”

“Will it be a problem?”
“For her, yes. For me, no. I’m supposed to give a month’s

notice but sod them. Even if I have to lose a month’s salary, it’s worth
it.”

“I think so.” Lorenzo glanced at him and winked. “Luke?”
“Yes?”
“You’re great, you know that?”
“I thought I was vulnerable. And a snob.”
“I like it. I can look after you. And the snob we can work on.”
“I like the idea of you looking after me.” Luke thought for a

moment. “Lorenzo?”

“Yes?”
“There is just one condition.”
“How do you mean?”
“I’ll move in with you, but there is one condition.”
“Okay. And it is?”
“That kitchen has to go.”
Lorenzo laughed and smacked Luke’s knee. “Deal. It’s

horrible, isn’t it?”

“Worse than horrible.”
They passed under a flyover and the car slowed. “This is it,”

said Lorenzo.

Luke felt his eyes fill with tears. “OK. I guess I’ll be talking to

you later.”

“You’d better. I’ll be waiting for your call. As soon as you get

back.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t forget.” Luke’s mind rifled through the

events of the last few days. “And I’m sorry for being such an ass. I’m
not going to risk losing you, Lorenzo. I came too close to it once
already.”

“Luke.” Lorenzo brought the car to a stop in front of the

terminal building. He turned to Luke and put one arm round the back
of the passenger seat. His eyes moistened and reflected the airport
lights. “I know it seems strange, but I think I might be falling in love
with you. You are just incredible.”

Luke smiled and touched Lorenzo’s cheek. “I know. I feel the

same thing, Lorenzo. And you know what? Your address is no
coincidence. You are quite magnificent.”

The End

www.tristramlaroche.com

Evernight Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com

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