The Fortunes of Fausto (Siren Publishing Allure ManLove)

by Roland Graeme

  They talked for a few more minutes, delaying the moment when they’d have to say good night to each other and hang up.

  Fausto returned to the living room in a daze. Paul and Brent took one look at him, and smiled knowingly.

  “It looks as though the phone call was a success,” Paul said. “Was it?”

  “It went fine,” Fausto replied. “I’m so glad you talked me into doing it. I’m so relieved.”

  “Let’s have a drink, to celebrate,” Brent suggested. “Look—Paul and I have picked out the perfect spot for the Buddha. From here, he dominates the whole room. It’s a wonderful present, Fausto. So generous of you.”

  “Now I feel guilty because I haven’t bought you anything for the house yet,” Paul lamented.

  “You don’t have to,” Brent told him. “You helped me carry all those damn boxes on moving day. He’s stronger than he looks, Fausto.”

  “Jocks!” Paul scoffed, as he poured a fresh round of drinks. “You think the rest of us are all weaklings!”

  After some further conversation, the three men began to get ready for bed. Paul said good night to Brent and Fausto, and retired to the second guest bedroom. Brent escorted Fausto to the door of his room, and gave him a good-night kiss—on the lips. By the standards of theatrical folk, it might be considered a fairly chaste kiss, male-male though it undeniably was.

  “Good night, buddy,” Brent said. “Thanks again for the beautiful Buddha. And thanks for coming here this weekend. I’m glad you and Paul are my first overnight guests, here in my new house. Say, do you have everything you need, in your room?”

  “Yes. It’s very comfortable. Good night, Brent. Sleep well.”

  In the bedroom, Fausto undressed, and got into the bed. He didn’t turn out the light right away, but sat up in bed, propped up on the pillows, thinking.

  Gene had sounded calmer, more like his usual good-humored self, on the phone. Maybe the situation wasn’t as bleak as Fausto’s imagination had painted it. Maybe they’d be able to work out something, after all.

  If only that hot little stud Marc and I can keep our hands off each other, Fausto thought, with a flash of his own customary humor. The two of us are going to have to cool it. The kid is off limits. His sexy stepfather is the one I want!

  He was close to dozing off when he heard a light knock on the door, which opened a crack.

  “Fausto. Are you asleep?” Brent whispered. He was standing out there in the hallway—totally nude, Fausto saw, when he pushed the door a little wider open and looked in.

  “No.”

  “I saw your light was still on. I couldn’t seem to fall sleep.”

  “Me, either.”

  “Thinking about Gene?” Brent teased.

  Fausto grinned. “Maybe.”

  “Listen. That master bedroom’s bigger than my whole studio apartment was, when I first moved out here. I feel lost in there. Come on and sleep with me. Help me break in my new bed.”

  “All right.” Fausto got out of bed.

  “Don’t wake up Paul,” Brent cautioned, as they went down the hallway together, both of them naked.

  Brent’s “new bed” was a king-size mattress set on a low platform, floating like a raft in the center of the huge master bedroom. He’d left on only one light in the room, a small lamp on the nightstand beside the bed, turned down low so that it cast a soft, warm amber glow across that side of the mattress, but left the rest of the bed and most of the bedroom in shadow.

  “Get in,” Brent urged, drawing the bedclothes aside. Fausto obeyed, and he and Brent stretched out side by side in the center of the mattress, with their heads resting on the pillows and the covers pulled up over their lower bodies to their waists. “Comfy?” Brent asked.

  “Very.”

  “This is much better. I don’t feel so lonely. Maybe this house is too big for one person.”

  “Oh, you’ll settle in and get used to it. And this bed is big enough that you could sublet it.”

  Brent laughed. “You can share it with me for free. Come here. Get a little closer.”

  Fausto obediently turned onto his side, toward Brent, but asked, “Why?”

  “This is why,” his host said, also turning to embrace him. Brent’s arm slipped around Fausto’s waist and pulled him tightly against him.

  They kissed, Brent’s sensual mouth on Fausto’s, his lips tender, hot, and wet.

  “You sure know how to treat a guest,” Fausto murmured, his lips still brushing restlessly over Brent’s face.

  “You haven’t begun to experience the full effect of my hospitality. I’ve been thinking…I could use some more of that treatment I got on our camping trip. Remember?”

  “Sure I remember.” Fausto kissed Brent again, an open-mouthed kiss this time.

  “I want you to fuck me again,” Brent specified. “I want you to fuck me, good and hard.”

  “All right.”

  “You can pretend I’m your boyfriend, in Seattle.”

  “Shut the fuck up. If you want to get fucked tonight, you’d better not say anything to piss me off.”

  “I’ll risk it. You might fuck me even harder if you’re good and mad at me when you do it. Go ahead, vent some of that frustration you must be feeling, Fausto. Fuck the hell out of me.”

  “Be careful what you wish for, bitch.”

  Their banter couldn’t disguise Fausto’s sudden, very physical, need. Fausto’s body ached for the other man’s. He longed to see him stretched out beneath him, his legs widespread, his powerful buttocks shining with the sweat of sex and tensed as they pushed up to receive Fausto’s hot prick between them.

  He pulled away, and, with a quick movement, turned Brent over onto his belly. He knelt between the other man’s sleek, glistening legs, his hands rubbing up them to feel the smooth skin of the cheeks of his ass. Brent breathed heavily into the pillow, moaning Fausto’s name softly as his hips rolled from side to side and then humped up, his buttocks opening. Fausto was too horny by then to take much time over the usual preliminaries to anal screwing. He contented himself with burying his face into the cleft between those buttocks and licking Brent’s ass, teasing and penetrating it with his tongue. Brent had evidently showered before he’d gone to bed, and his skin smelled faintly of scented soap. His asshole tasted fresh and sweet.

  “I’m going to rim you, and rim you good,” Fausto threatened playfully. He made good his threat, probing Brent’s pucker with his tongue until he had his buddy squirming and moaning under him in helpless arousal.

  Then Fausto sat up again and reached for the box of condoms and the tube of lubricant that were prominently displayed on the nightstand. Fausto unrolled the rubber down over his painfully distended erection, then slicked it up with a generous application of the lube.

  “Hurry,” Brent gasped. “Oh, hurry! Get it in me quick!”

  Excited by this confirmation that Brent wanted it every bit as much as he did, Fausto dropped onto his back like a shot, his dick finding Brent’s asshole without any trouble at all, sinking into the tightness and heat of the other man’s body with a lewd suctioning sound.

  Brent moaned, his hands clutching at the sheets, as he took Fausto’s prick up his ass. His whole hot body slithered like a snake uncoiling to strike under Fausto, the muscles cording up in his broad back. It in fact hurt Fausto, the intense heat and constriction of the other man’s body around his cock, but nevertheless he rammed it into Brent without a pause, burying himself completely in that asshole until his balls were nestled in the crevice between Brent’s thighs.

  Brent relaxed the muscles of his hips and thighs, allowing Fausto’s cock to slip even further inside him, the warmth of his rectum searing the tender skin of Fausto’s turgid prickshaft through its thin coating of latex. Their bodies fit together perfectly, and as Fausto started to fuck Brent, it struck him that their sex was more athletic and muscular than it was with some other men, precisely because Brent was bisexual and didn’t take it up the ass like this very often.
Brent was used to doing the fucking, with women—now, on the receiving end himself, he didn’t lie under Fausto passively, but virtually demanded to be penetrated. Their bodies coiled and snapped at each other, writhing together in a wrestling match of anal intercourse—the strength of two hard, strong, mature male bodies pitted against each other.

  They demanded and got dynamic, lusty sex from each other. They fought there on the vast expanse of the bed, Brent’s body drawing on Fausto’s, twisting up around and against him, his ass pinioning Fausto to him with a viselike grip and then releasing him so that he could draw out and away—only to slam deep into his guts again.

  Fausto’s cock expanded and sought even deeper recesses of that ass—he could feel it plunge into the hot asshole, hitting all sides of the tunnel with smooth excitement—he braced his hands on Brent’s shoulders, rearing up away from him. He looked down at their bodies, marveling at the physique of the man he was fucking, at his taut beauty as his buttocks squirmed around the shaft of Fausto’s rutting prick, Brent’s lithe muscles contracting and then relaxing in a regular rhythm of urgent need as he accepted Fausto’s punishing, penetrating attack on his anus. Fausto looked at his own cock as he drew it out of the other man’s body. Then he slipped it into him again—his cock belonged in there, in that ass, all the way inside Brent, fucking him deep and hard and long.

  “Oh, Christ, Fausto!” Brent gasped. “I can’t believe all guys aren’t gay—because this feels so goddamn good!”

  “You like that cock, huh? You like to get fucked?”

  “I love it! I love it, Fausto! Fuck me! Fuck me! I can’t get enough of your big, hard cock in me! Fuck me hard!”

  They were both into the rhythm of it now, their bodies responding to each other with complete abandon. Fausto’s hips pounded at Brent’s buttocks, the burning agony of Fausto’s tender flesh mingling with a thrilling sensation of really taking and using another man at will for once. His hands couldn’t find enough places to touch the other stud as they raced all over his body, his mouth biting Brent’s shoulders, his neck, his ears, and his mouth as Brent arched himself up to meet Fausto’s kiss. When he did, his body curved back in such a way as to allow Fausto to sink even further into him. Fausto reached around the other man’s hips, his hand grasping his cock. Brent groaned into Fausto’s mouth and Fausto slammed with all his power again and again against his hips, his cock stretching further, expanding with a burning need as he tried to bury himself totally within his partner’s fiery ass.

  They were both screaming, their spittle choking them as they started to hurl themselves madly toward orgasm, Fausto’s cock exploding, his hands tearing into Brent’s sides as he, too, shot, spraying his semen all over the bed, soaking his fucker’s fingers which masturbated him frenziedly.

  Fausto, unloading, continued to fuck him brutally, knowing that he would come several times over and wanting to feel the completeness of their shared climax. They were both sobbing for breath now, Fausto’s heart pounding into Brent’s sweaty back as he momentarily blacked out from the sheer intensity of his ejaculation. His body collapsed against the other man’s body, their flesh seeming to melt and ooze all over each other, totally relaxing—and then they lay silent, content, fucked out for the time being.

  Fausto could feel Brent moving slightly beneath him, his hips pushing up into Fausto’s groin, needing his cock up his ass, wanting it to fuck him again. For the moment, Fausto just wanted to lie still and enjoy this postcoital glow to the fullest possible extent before they started in again.

  He was coming back to earth, and sounds and sights were once again penetrating his consciousness—he started, Brent followed his gaze, and both naked men stared at Paul, who was standing in the doorway, his body silhouetted against the more brightly lit hallway outside. He, too, was nude, his body a sensuous sculpture in the play of light and shadow.

  “Quite a show, that was,” Paul commented lewdly, grinning down at them. “You guys done? Somehow, I doubt it. And if you aren’t, do you mind if I join the party? I couldn’t sleep with all that moaning and yelling going on, and it got me pretty fucking horny myself, first listening to you and then watching you.”

  “Sure, come on,” Fausto invited, without bothering to consult Brent. He knew that wasn’t necessary.

  Fausto had gone soft momentarily and eased his cock out of Brent’s ass. Now, pausing only to rid himself of the used condom, he jumped up and moved over to Paul quickly, taking him in his arms and planting a very firm kiss on his mouth. Paul pulled Fausto back into the middle of the bedroom, and, still embracing and tongue-kissing him, sank down on the bed beside Brent rolling against Brent’s warm, naked body and pulling away from Fausto to embrace him in turn. Brent pulled back, hesitant, but Paul held on tight, and, in a moment, Fausto watched as Brent melted into the other man’s arms.

  They began kissing passionately, their muscular bodies pressed tightly together, totally oblivious to Fausto’s presence for a few seconds. Fausto looked at Paul’s hot ass as he pushed himself brazenly against Brent’s crotch, the hard-muscled buttocks flexing with the pressure. The prospect of both of them pounding their pricks deep into that tight, steamy asshole gave Fausto another hard-on at once. He threw his arms around both of the other men, holding them close, all three of them moaning and writhing and humping as they began to make love to one another quite indiscriminately.

  They gave themselves to one another in various combinations, an uninhibited expression of friendship and lust for all three men. It was sex without qualifications, without reservations, without the stigma sometimes applied to orgiastic activities or group erotic indulgence. It was unselfish and totally physical, yet intensely emotional at the same time.

  Fausto fucked Paul, tenderly and easily, as Brent sucked Paul’s erupting cock. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement among them that Paul wanted to be fucked as often as possible, by both of the other men, as though he was now a conduit through which they could express their lust for each other most efficiently. But, before the night was over and their lust finally admitted defeat and their tired bodies demanded rest, they had satisfied themselves and one another several times over.

  The three men rolled back and forth across the mattress restlessly in the heat of their entanglement, magnetized by each other’s cocks and assholes, and unwilling—or unable!—to break the contacts they had made. Only the insistent pounding of their pricks toward orgasm finally broke up their wild melee, in a triple shower of cum. The sex by then had become too torrid, too abandoned, to last any longer, and the panting participants no longer had any real desire to prolong it further.

  Still, the night need never have ended, as far as Fausto was concerned. He didn’t want to think about waking up in the morning and returning to the real world of responsibilities, decisions, and complicated emotions. Right now, what he wanted and needed was a few hours’ worth of restorative oblivion. Just before slipping off into a well-deserved and badly needed sleep, Fausto wrapped his arms around Paul’s slender body and felt him press back instinctively against him, his arm thrown across Brent’s massive, sweat-soaked chest, hugging the other man tightly to him.

  Chapter Sixteen:

  A Parting

  When Fausto came downstairs, early the next morning, he was surprised to find Marc in the kitchen, busy at the stove.

  “What are you doing up so early?” he asked the boy.

  “Making breakfast. And I wanted to see you off. I’m having bacon and scrambled eggs. What would you like?”

  “The same, thanks.”

  “The coffee’s ready.”

  “Thank God,” Fausto groaned, as he poured himself a cup and drank it, black and hot.

  Marc grinned. “You look like hell. Didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?”

  “No, but not because of what you’re thinking. Listen, Marc. Your Dad’s still getting dressed. It gives us a chance to talk. Your Dad can’t ever know that you and I had sex with each other, and we can’t ever do any
thing like that again.”

  Marc looked at him. “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want to do anything to hurt your father.”

  “Well, that’s a step in the right direction. What about me? Don’t you care about hurting me? What was I to you, just another one-night stand?”

  “I—” Fausto fumbled.

  Marc let him off the hook. “Oh, for God’s sake, man—I was just yanking your chain. I’m a big boy now, I can take it. I admit that fucking you was a hot fantasy, and I’d love to do it again, but—” He shrugged. “Let’s forget about me for the time being. What I want to know is, are you going to walk out of my Dad’s life again, or are you going to stick around and try to make something work between the two of you again?”

  “I didn’t exactly walk out on your Dad, as you put it, all those years ago.”

  “So what did happen between the two of you?”

  “It wasn’t any one thing. No big dramatic breakup scene, or anything like that. We just sort of went our separate ways, and drifted apart. We were kids, for God’s sake. We were only a little older back then than you are now. Come on, Marc, admit it. I don’t know how many guys you’ve had sex with, but can you sit there and tell me you’re ready to settle down, for life, with any one of them?”

  “Okay, I guess you’ve got me there. Mr. Right hasn’t come along yet. I’ve been having a lot of fun in bed, but I can’t see myself marrying any of these dudes.”

  “All right, then, try to cut me some slack, can’t you? But the point I’m making is that I’m not a young guy any longer. I’ve had my fun. Maybe I’m ready for something a little more permanent. I do know I want to find out what your Dad and I might be able to work out together.”

  “Well, that’s encouraging,” Marc said.

  “But it’s complicated. We live in different cities, for starters.”

  “LA isn’t that far from here, Fausto. And it might interest you to know that Dad is already talking about retiring. He’s loaded, to put it bluntly.”