The Lighthouse Keeper

The fucking went on all night, as if the two of them were trying to make up for the years of relating to each other without realizing that the other one was aching to be a lover.

In the early morning light, they were stretched alongside each other, Aiden on his back, and Scott on his side. Scott's left arm was under Aiden, his hand cupping the side of Aiden's head, turning it to Scott's face for good-morning kisses. Aiden's pelvis was still elevated by pillows, and Scott was slowly working his ass with the dildo.

When Scott had showered and come down to the living room, where Aiden had set a fire in the fireplace and had cups of coffee ready, Scott entered and sat in the wing chair across from Aiden's. Aiden was fondling the wooden dildo.

"So, Aiden, have you given thought to coming to Italy with me and getting back into movies?"

"You haven't given me much time to think about that. You'd had me thinking about other things—like whether I was going to survive that master cocking of yours."

"You want the number of the complaint department?" Scott asked.

"Absolutely not."

"So, what do you think? About Italy? About me and Italy? About me fucking you into the next century—on movie sets all across Italy?"

Aiden's eyes went to the wooden dildo. He let his hand slide from root to penis. Then he turned and threw it into the fire.

"What was that? That was a nice piece. We made good use of that."

"You wouldn't understand, and I'm not going to tell you," Aiden answered. "But I don't need that. I've got you now. I guess I need to brush up on my Italian."