This isn't much, but I've had a fever most of the morning, waiting for the medication for my sinus/ear infection to take effect *sigh* Gotta say that the cough syrup is good ;)
Last part HERE
The security guard posted at the door was still there. The man looked bored. Sam couldn’t blame him, it was late. Still, Sam felt as if something was off.
“Has my patient had any visitors?” he asked, hand on the door.
“No, Dr. Wexford. It’s been quiet. Who is the man? I mean, are you expecting trouble?”
Sam gave a sigh. “I hope not. Just keep an eye out.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sam pushed open the door and walked in. All seemed quiet, just as the guard said. Too quiet. He slowly approached Blake’s bedside. He smelt nothing, heard nothing, but there was a tingle in the air. That elder vampire had been here since he last left Blake. Not good.
Reaching out, he touched Blake’s forehead. “What does he want from you? Why were you looking for me?”
Blake’s eyes snapped open causing Sam to gasp.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Round Robin VI
My turn! Check out the last part HERE.
The blood went down like water and Sam could feel it spreading out through his long-dead veins and arteries. It brought strength and courage along with it, just like it always had.
Sam drained the bag and deposited it at the very bottom of one of the hospital’s waste receptacles, making sure there was plenty of other garbage on top. He washed up, taking care to scrub well, and ran his hands through his hair. His shaking had stopped and a mellow calmness stole over him.
Now, he could deal.
Back out in the hallway, he scanned the immediate area and didn’t see anything out of place. He had no idea where the nurse would have taken Ken, so Sam began systematically searching the empty patient rooms before heading back to the busy emergency room.
The last private room on the left was not empty. Ken still lay on the gurney and the young nurse hovered over him, glancing worriedly at the monitor that she’d hooked Ken up to. When Sam entered the room, she looked over.
“Dr. Wexford,” she said, doubt in her voice. “I’m not really understanding what I’m seeing here.”
Sam knew without a doubt what the nurse was seeing, but he knew she wouldn’t understand it. Mortals could never understand it. “It’s all right, Cecilia,” he said gently. “Why don’t you let me take it from here and you can go on back to work. If I need you, I’ll call.”
She seemed at once glad to return to work and unsure about leaving Ken. “All right. Let me know what I can do.” Cecilia turned on her heel and left the dim room, only giving a short glance back over her shoulder.
Sam carefully closed the door and bent over the man in the bed. “Kenny,” he whispered, resting a hand on Ken’s forehead and brushing hair out of his eyes. “Kenny, wake up and listen to me. I need to talk to you.”
For a long moment there wasn’t a sound. Ken didn’t stir and Sam had to place a hand on his chest to even ensure he was breathing. Panic rose in Sam’s throat and he was about to pry open one of Ken’s eyelids to check his pupils when Ken’s eyes flew open of their own accord.
“Want,” Ken growled, his voice deep and low and not at all like normal. “Give. Gimme. Want.” He reached up for Sam and seized the lapels of Sam’s white coat.
Sam found himself dragged nearly all the way onto the small gurney by strength he didn’t know Ken possessed, and then Sam was being kissed and licked and nipped until his own head was reeling.
He was also getting turned on, because this was Ken and Sam always wanted Ken, but somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind, he had a feeling that this was all being planned out for him. It was too perfect, they were too isolated and alone and it was way too quiet.
And Sam knew something - or someone - was keeping him from Blake.
He pushed Ken back down to the bed and managed to slide off. “I’m sorry,” he said to Ken, feeling true regret. “I promise I’ll be back to take care of you. I promise.” The guilt over the fact that it was probably too late to take care of Ken raised its niggling head, but Sam ignored it and backed toward the door anyway. “I’m sorry, Kenny.”
Sam opened the door and moved as quickly as he dared toward Blake’s room.
To be continued...
The blood went down like water and Sam could feel it spreading out through his long-dead veins and arteries. It brought strength and courage along with it, just like it always had.
Sam drained the bag and deposited it at the very bottom of one of the hospital’s waste receptacles, making sure there was plenty of other garbage on top. He washed up, taking care to scrub well, and ran his hands through his hair. His shaking had stopped and a mellow calmness stole over him.
Now, he could deal.
Back out in the hallway, he scanned the immediate area and didn’t see anything out of place. He had no idea where the nurse would have taken Ken, so Sam began systematically searching the empty patient rooms before heading back to the busy emergency room.
The last private room on the left was not empty. Ken still lay on the gurney and the young nurse hovered over him, glancing worriedly at the monitor that she’d hooked Ken up to. When Sam entered the room, she looked over.
“Dr. Wexford,” she said, doubt in her voice. “I’m not really understanding what I’m seeing here.”
Sam knew without a doubt what the nurse was seeing, but he knew she wouldn’t understand it. Mortals could never understand it. “It’s all right, Cecilia,” he said gently. “Why don’t you let me take it from here and you can go on back to work. If I need you, I’ll call.”
She seemed at once glad to return to work and unsure about leaving Ken. “All right. Let me know what I can do.” Cecilia turned on her heel and left the dim room, only giving a short glance back over her shoulder.
Sam carefully closed the door and bent over the man in the bed. “Kenny,” he whispered, resting a hand on Ken’s forehead and brushing hair out of his eyes. “Kenny, wake up and listen to me. I need to talk to you.”
For a long moment there wasn’t a sound. Ken didn’t stir and Sam had to place a hand on his chest to even ensure he was breathing. Panic rose in Sam’s throat and he was about to pry open one of Ken’s eyelids to check his pupils when Ken’s eyes flew open of their own accord.
“Want,” Ken growled, his voice deep and low and not at all like normal. “Give. Gimme. Want.” He reached up for Sam and seized the lapels of Sam’s white coat.
Sam found himself dragged nearly all the way onto the small gurney by strength he didn’t know Ken possessed, and then Sam was being kissed and licked and nipped until his own head was reeling.
He was also getting turned on, because this was Ken and Sam always wanted Ken, but somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind, he had a feeling that this was all being planned out for him. It was too perfect, they were too isolated and alone and it was way too quiet.
And Sam knew something - or someone - was keeping him from Blake.
He pushed Ken back down to the bed and managed to slide off. “I’m sorry,” he said to Ken, feeling true regret. “I promise I’ll be back to take care of you. I promise.” The guilt over the fact that it was probably too late to take care of Ken raised its niggling head, but Sam ignored it and backed toward the door anyway. “I’m sorry, Kenny.”
Sam opened the door and moved as quickly as he dared toward Blake’s room.
To be continued...
Friday, March 28, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Working Man series by J.M. Snyder
For a little break from the round robin, I'd like to tell you about my monthly e-book series, Working Man, published by Aspen Mountain Press.One short story is released every month, and they're stand-alone stories about gay men who find love and lust in the workplace. The stories range from sweet flirting to hot sex, and can be read in any order. There will be a total of 16 stories in the series when all is said and done.
The following seven titles are currently available:
- Opening Day at the County Fair ~ Jesse's dreading the annual county fair, until he sees a new face among the regular vendors. Davis is a contractor's son, and he's interested in learning more about Jesse. If they can just ditch Jesse's little sister, they might get to know each other a little better.
- Summer Kisses and Ice Cream Dreams ~ Sean works at an ice cream shoppe on the boardwalk. When he meets Andrew, it's love at first sight, but he doesn't dare make a move, not with Andrew's girlfriend right there. So why does she give Sean Andrew's number?
- Easily Addicted ~ Trevor runs into a sexy co-worker named Zack while taking a much needed smoke break. Then Zack invites Trevor to his office after hours and the sparks fly when they get a moment alone.
- Makin' Copies ~ Johnson thought photocopying his butt at the office Christmas party would be a cheap laugh. Trouble is, he forgot to take the copies off the copier, and they wind up on his boss's desk Monday morning.
- Pleasure Cruise ~ Andy agrees to take a cruise with his college buddies, but when they can't score with the ladies, they make sure he doesn't score with the hot waiter Carlos, either. But Carlos gives Andy a second chance.
- On the Job ~ Cable technician Charles doesn't do new installs, but an irate customer demands service now. When Charles meets the sexy Billy Jackson, he's more than happy to hook the guy up.
- Car Trouble ~ Terrence takes his Mercedes to a local auto shop recommended by his secretary. What begins as a bad day improves when he meets the mechanic, and soon it's not just his car being serviced.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Round Robin V
It's my turn to play today! Following up on the last part.
*
With a burst of speed, Sam caught Ken before he hit the floor. Lifting Ken into his arms as easily as he would a child, Sam placed him on a spare gurney. Just as quickly, he ran into the main hall, barking out an order at a passing nurse to go check on Ken. As much as he liked Ken and didn't want anything to happen to him, Sam had to get to Blake.
A hundred images of what he might find in Blake's room flashed before Sam's eyes as he sped down the corridor. However, he found only Blake, unconscious and alive, the machines attached to him still beeping and whirring normally.
There was no sign of the elder vampire, although Sam could feel the vestiges of his great power shimmering in the air. Although the vampire was ancient, he had the face of an angel -- a beautiful young man of no more than 20 years. It was the best disguise a vampire could hope for, and Sam knew he had to be extremely careful not to fall under the elder's sway.
Blake's eyes flickered, and he moaned softly. All thoughts of the ancient one fled Sam's mind as he leaned over his former lover's bed. With another moan, Blake was out again. Sam tenderly brushed Blake's hair back over his forehead and was suddenly blinking back tears.
He hadn't realized just how much he missed him.
It was dangerous, all this damn emotion. He had to get out and get his head together. Without giving a reason, Sam ordered security to guard Blake's room. He ignored the whispers and pointed looks from the nurses' station and hurried to the fourth floor. He really needed to check on Ken, but there was something he had to do first.
Eddie Howell looked up from his Sports Illustrated and nodded to Sam. "What's up, doc?" Eddie laughed at his own joke, which he did a lot. "Need some blood?" He smiled, and the overhead lights reflected off his balding head.
Did he ever. "Yeah, we're running out of O-neg downstairs." Sam smiled and waved a hand. "No, no, don't get up. I need a break from the ER anyway."
"I tell ya, you're the most helpful doc I've ever met at this hospital." Eddie picked up a donut and offered the box to Sam. "Need a sugar boost?"
Pushing the door to the blood bank open, Sam shook his head. "No thanks, I'm watching what I eat."
Inside the cool interior of the refrigerated room, Sam took a deep, unnecessary breath. His senses tingled in the presence of so much blood when he was so hungry, and he quickly went towards the back corner, opening a glass case and taking out a bag of A-pos. His very favorite. His fangs extended, piercing the thick plastic.
As the sweet, sweet nourishment coursed down his throat, Sam closed his eyes. He was going to enjoy this moment. Then he'd deal with whatever else waited for him in the ER.
To be continued...
*
With a burst of speed, Sam caught Ken before he hit the floor. Lifting Ken into his arms as easily as he would a child, Sam placed him on a spare gurney. Just as quickly, he ran into the main hall, barking out an order at a passing nurse to go check on Ken. As much as he liked Ken and didn't want anything to happen to him, Sam had to get to Blake.
A hundred images of what he might find in Blake's room flashed before Sam's eyes as he sped down the corridor. However, he found only Blake, unconscious and alive, the machines attached to him still beeping and whirring normally.
There was no sign of the elder vampire, although Sam could feel the vestiges of his great power shimmering in the air. Although the vampire was ancient, he had the face of an angel -- a beautiful young man of no more than 20 years. It was the best disguise a vampire could hope for, and Sam knew he had to be extremely careful not to fall under the elder's sway.
Blake's eyes flickered, and he moaned softly. All thoughts of the ancient one fled Sam's mind as he leaned over his former lover's bed. With another moan, Blake was out again. Sam tenderly brushed Blake's hair back over his forehead and was suddenly blinking back tears.
He hadn't realized just how much he missed him.
It was dangerous, all this damn emotion. He had to get out and get his head together. Without giving a reason, Sam ordered security to guard Blake's room. He ignored the whispers and pointed looks from the nurses' station and hurried to the fourth floor. He really needed to check on Ken, but there was something he had to do first.
Eddie Howell looked up from his Sports Illustrated and nodded to Sam. "What's up, doc?" Eddie laughed at his own joke, which he did a lot. "Need some blood?" He smiled, and the overhead lights reflected off his balding head.
Did he ever. "Yeah, we're running out of O-neg downstairs." Sam smiled and waved a hand. "No, no, don't get up. I need a break from the ER anyway."
"I tell ya, you're the most helpful doc I've ever met at this hospital." Eddie picked up a donut and offered the box to Sam. "Need a sugar boost?"
Pushing the door to the blood bank open, Sam shook his head. "No thanks, I'm watching what I eat."
Inside the cool interior of the refrigerated room, Sam took a deep, unnecessary breath. His senses tingled in the presence of so much blood when he was so hungry, and he quickly went towards the back corner, opening a glass case and taking out a bag of A-pos. His very favorite. His fangs extended, piercing the thick plastic.
As the sweet, sweet nourishment coursed down his throat, Sam closed his eyes. He was going to enjoy this moment. Then he'd deal with whatever else waited for him in the ER.
To be continued...
Monday, March 24, 2008
Round Robin IV
earlier parts
#
Samuel was working a double. The buzz of the tungsten, the stench of detergent and the waiting room malaise all blurred together. Only Ken’s concerned glances provided flashes of lucidity. Their eyes would meet and Samuel felt himself pulled back into this life he was trying to make for himself here. This was what he had wanted, after all, a normal life. Work, sex, blood each tidily in their place and free of the drama he had become so tired of.
He checked in on Blake when a moment presented itself, in between the usual stream of drunken idiots, persistent hypochondriacs, panicked parents and addicts hoping to trick exhausted residents into writing them prescriptions. Ken watched as he slipped in and out, and must have known where he was going. Blake lay still, shadowed eyes restless with twitching lids like he never stopped dreaming. Light from the doorway glanced over his prone body, every angle and line so beguilingly familiar. Samuel didn’t go past the doorway but he felt the pull of the man. A pull he hoped, with the fatalistic hope of an autumn leaf, not to succumb to.
Hurrying back to admissions Samuel heard a whisper of sound down a side corridor. Too soft to make out the words but resonating with the patina of long life, and the blood of others. Without a thought Samuel went towards the voice. His weariness dropped away, this was his place. And even if he did not hunt here he would not tolerate the encroachment of another. Outrage spiked even higher when he saw a small lithe figure leaning towards another man, all but pressing him against the wall.
Even as they kissed he saw the taller mortal was Ken, the other—the vampire—he did not know. Rage swirled through Samuel, but his blood was thin and starved. He could not sustain the strength of the emotion. As he drew close Samuel saw the swirl of psychic vapor as the vampire drew Ken’s essence up from him as casually as inhaling scent from a flower. Ken leaned back against the wall, clearly dazed, hypnotized… and aroused. His eyes were blank and staring. The vampire looked up casually, belligerent. He was a small, dark-eyed, and old. Looking into his eyes was like plunging into icy water. A vampire so old he did not even need to consume the clumsy vehicle of blood.
“I did not realize this little amuse-bouche was yours,” the elder said archly looking Samuel up and down. "I would have thought you had better… taste. But then, I will know for sure, soon enough.”
The elder seemed to step towards him, leaving Ken standing in a daze. But in a wintery blur he had gone by and turned to the left, towards Blake’s room.
Ken’s voice was slurred. “Sam?” he said, confused. He swayed on his feet, almost ready to fall.
#
Samuel was working a double. The buzz of the tungsten, the stench of detergent and the waiting room malaise all blurred together. Only Ken’s concerned glances provided flashes of lucidity. Their eyes would meet and Samuel felt himself pulled back into this life he was trying to make for himself here. This was what he had wanted, after all, a normal life. Work, sex, blood each tidily in their place and free of the drama he had become so tired of.
He checked in on Blake when a moment presented itself, in between the usual stream of drunken idiots, persistent hypochondriacs, panicked parents and addicts hoping to trick exhausted residents into writing them prescriptions. Ken watched as he slipped in and out, and must have known where he was going. Blake lay still, shadowed eyes restless with twitching lids like he never stopped dreaming. Light from the doorway glanced over his prone body, every angle and line so beguilingly familiar. Samuel didn’t go past the doorway but he felt the pull of the man. A pull he hoped, with the fatalistic hope of an autumn leaf, not to succumb to.
Hurrying back to admissions Samuel heard a whisper of sound down a side corridor. Too soft to make out the words but resonating with the patina of long life, and the blood of others. Without a thought Samuel went towards the voice. His weariness dropped away, this was his place. And even if he did not hunt here he would not tolerate the encroachment of another. Outrage spiked even higher when he saw a small lithe figure leaning towards another man, all but pressing him against the wall.
Even as they kissed he saw the taller mortal was Ken, the other—the vampire—he did not know. Rage swirled through Samuel, but his blood was thin and starved. He could not sustain the strength of the emotion. As he drew close Samuel saw the swirl of psychic vapor as the vampire drew Ken’s essence up from him as casually as inhaling scent from a flower. Ken leaned back against the wall, clearly dazed, hypnotized… and aroused. His eyes were blank and staring. The vampire looked up casually, belligerent. He was a small, dark-eyed, and old. Looking into his eyes was like plunging into icy water. A vampire so old he did not even need to consume the clumsy vehicle of blood.
“I did not realize this little amuse-bouche was yours,” the elder said archly looking Samuel up and down. "I would have thought you had better… taste. But then, I will know for sure, soon enough.”
The elder seemed to step towards him, leaving Ken standing in a daze. But in a wintery blur he had gone by and turned to the left, towards Blake’s room.
Ken’s voice was slurred. “Sam?” he said, confused. He swayed on his feet, almost ready to fall.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Round Robin: Part 3
Yay, it's my turn. :) You'll find my addition in bold at the bottom. The previous two posts are up first in italics for those who are trying to catch up.
Samuel closed his eyes to catch a moment’s peace in the hospital’s break room before he had to head back to the overly-busy emergency room. He’d run out of coffee and blood in the same day, making him one very cranky vampire. If it weren’t for the fact that he’d just celebrated his one hundred and seventy eighth birthday recently, he’d think he was a new fledgling fresh out of med school. At least he’d been able to handle the residency process. Being over a hundred and fifty when you did rotations allowed some tolerance to sunlight and not needing any food or sleep.
“Dr. Wexford to emergency. Dr. Wexford to emergency,” Ken, one of the latest crop of residents, said over the intercom.
Ken doll. Samuel smiled as he downed the rest of the hospital’s god awful coffee and tossed the empty cup into the trash. It made a perfect arc and sailed neatly into the center of the receptacle. With his surfer spiky blonde hair and eyes the color of the ocean outside his the view from his remote home, Ken looked like the proverbial childhood toy. And boy would Samuel like to play with him. He shook his head to clear the thought as he hurried from the break room and down to whatever the latest crisis was. Tonight was his last night before a two week vacation.
He followed the sound of commotion into one of the bays and stopped. His blood ran cold. The mortal on the table looked heart-stoppingly familiar, and for once Samuel was thankful that his heart didn’t beat. Blood caked the man’s midnight dark hair to his forehead. A gash ran along the outside of his left eye. An air splint held his right arm, and Samuel bet he’d see bruising on the man’s chest from a steering wheel.
“Car accident. He rear ended a truck on the Pacific Coast Highway, just past the turn off to Malibu Canyon Rd. Apparently the truck thought he saw something on the road and our patient didn’t stop quick enough. At least that’s what the truck driver said.”
Samuel listened with half an ear as he stared down at the man he’d once professed to love until the end of time. “Blake Bothman, the founder of Wirefly International,” he said.
“You know him?”
Samuel nodded, his throat too tight to say anything more. He drew a deep breath. Damn it, where was his emotional detachment when he needed it.
Ken laid his hand on Samuel’s shoulder. “We’ll take good care of him. He’ll be just fine. I promise.”
Sam looked down at Ken’s hand with his neatly manicured fingernails. Such youthful optimism. He’d had it once long ago. “Thank you,” he said, and hoped like hell Ken doll was right.
On the table, Blake groaned. “Samuel. Must. Get. To Him.”
Samuel surged forward. He touched Blake’s shoulder. “I’m here,” he said. “You’re in the ER. You’re going to be all right.” He glanced at Ken and saw the resident nod. He grabbed a chart and shoved it in Samuel’s free hand. Scanning it, Samuel saw nothing more than a few minor injuries, nothing some rest wouldn’t cure.
“Samuel,” Blake groaned again. His eyelids fluttered open for a moment. Green eyes connected with dark brown. And then they dipped closed. Blake’s moment of consciousness had passed.
"Damn." Forcing himself to ignore the surge of fear, Samuel lifted his head to meet the gaze of the nurse standing on the other side of the stretcher. "Let's get a head CT."
Nodding, the nurse trotted off to call radiology. Samuel stared at Blake's face. Once, he'd called Blake his own. Thought they'd be together for years, decades. He'd even considered giving Blake the Gift, so they could be together forever. But that was years ago. Before everything changed. Before Blake left and took Samuel's poor undead heart with him.
Blake would no doubt say Samuel had driven him away. These days, Samuel tended to agree.
Samuel shook himself. This was no time for wallowing in his regrets. He touched Blake's bloodied cheek. "I'll be back, sweetness," he whispered. "When you wake up, we'll talk."
Straightening up, Samuel turned to leave and ran smack into Ken doll. "Oops. Sorry."
"No problem." Ken curled a hand around Samuel's upper arm when he tried to brush past. Those pretty ocean-colored eyes radiated concern. "You sure you're okay?"
Samuel forced a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Blake's... an old friend. It sort of threw me for a loop, seeing him here after all this time." He glanced over his shoulder, not quite looking at Blake's too-still form. "Especially like this."
Ken's eyes narrowed. Samuel could practically see the wheels turning. Ken was smart and perceptive. The way he could read people was just scary sometimes. If Samuel stayed there one second longer, he knew Ken would figure out what Blake had once been to him. From there, it would be nothing for the kid to see just how much Samuel wanted Blake back.
Ken moved closer. "Sam..."
"I'm fine. Really. Um, thanks."
Twisting loose of Ken's grip, Samuel strode away with his gaze firmly fixed on the while tile floor.
"Samuel..." Ken called after him, the sound of his feet slapping against the hospital corridor in an effort to catch up. "Sam, wait."
Sam dodged into the men's room, hoping Ken would take the hint and realize he didn't want to talk, not about Blake, not about their own fledging relationship -- if one could call two months of frantic, sweaty sex during their few shared off hours a relationship. Ken was adorable, with a mouth that could suck the chrome off a bumper, but Sam couldn't see it ever being more than that. Ken was too young, too perky, too...everything. He was like a tiny dog nipping at Sam's heels, and right then, Sam couldn't take it. He needed a moment of peace to figure out why Blake was back. Why Blake was here, in his town, when the man had been overseas for the better part of the last decade.
Ken walked through the swinging door, spotted Sam standing by the sinks, and smiled as he headed toward him. "Hey, I thought you might want to talk. I couldn't help but notice the way you were shaking."
Fuck. Sam ran a hand over the bristle on his jaw. "Yeah, well, there's nothing to talk about. I just needed to splash some water on my face. It's going to be a long night."
Ken walked up behind Sam and laid his hands on Sam's shoulders, giving them a squeeze. "Are you sure? You know I'm here for you, right? I know you want to keep things casual, but I care about you, Sam. There isn't anything you can't tell me."
Sam white-knuckled the cool ceramic edge of the sink and closed his eyes, relishing the feel of Ken's hands massaging the tension out of his muscles. "I know. I feel the same way, but there really isn't anything to talk about. Blake is an old friend; there isn't anything else to say until I know more about his condition."
"Sure." Ken pressed his chest to Sam's back and brushed a gentle kiss against the nape of his neck. "You must be worried sick."
"I am," Sam said, leaving out why he was worried. He wished it was over something as simple as Blake's health. His old lover would recover, and quickly. His immune system would allow nothing else. It was what would happen once Blake regained consciousness that Sam feared.
Their relationship has been a volatile one at the best of times; the thin line between love and hate so blurred it was almost nonexistent. While it was true that their passion had risen to beyond the heights of normalcy, so too had their fights. When they hadn't been ripping each other's clothes off, they'd literally been at each other's throats in anger.
Their love had been anything but healthy. In the end, love hadn't been enough. He'd left, too afraid of what they would do to each other if he'd stayed another night.
Now, almost ten years to the day Sam had ended things, Blake had finally tracked him down. God help him if Blake wanted him back, because regardless of what he had going with Ken, Sam wasn't sure if he'd be able to resist Blake once he turned on the charm.
Samuel closed his eyes to catch a moment’s peace in the hospital’s break room before he had to head back to the overly-busy emergency room. He’d run out of coffee and blood in the same day, making him one very cranky vampire. If it weren’t for the fact that he’d just celebrated his one hundred and seventy eighth birthday recently, he’d think he was a new fledgling fresh out of med school. At least he’d been able to handle the residency process. Being over a hundred and fifty when you did rotations allowed some tolerance to sunlight and not needing any food or sleep.
“Dr. Wexford to emergency. Dr. Wexford to emergency,” Ken, one of the latest crop of residents, said over the intercom.
Ken doll. Samuel smiled as he downed the rest of the hospital’s god awful coffee and tossed the empty cup into the trash. It made a perfect arc and sailed neatly into the center of the receptacle. With his surfer spiky blonde hair and eyes the color of the ocean outside his the view from his remote home, Ken looked like the proverbial childhood toy. And boy would Samuel like to play with him. He shook his head to clear the thought as he hurried from the break room and down to whatever the latest crisis was. Tonight was his last night before a two week vacation.
He followed the sound of commotion into one of the bays and stopped. His blood ran cold. The mortal on the table looked heart-stoppingly familiar, and for once Samuel was thankful that his heart didn’t beat. Blood caked the man’s midnight dark hair to his forehead. A gash ran along the outside of his left eye. An air splint held his right arm, and Samuel bet he’d see bruising on the man’s chest from a steering wheel.
“Car accident. He rear ended a truck on the Pacific Coast Highway, just past the turn off to Malibu Canyon Rd. Apparently the truck thought he saw something on the road and our patient didn’t stop quick enough. At least that’s what the truck driver said.”
Samuel listened with half an ear as he stared down at the man he’d once professed to love until the end of time. “Blake Bothman, the founder of Wirefly International,” he said.
“You know him?”
Samuel nodded, his throat too tight to say anything more. He drew a deep breath. Damn it, where was his emotional detachment when he needed it.
Ken laid his hand on Samuel’s shoulder. “We’ll take good care of him. He’ll be just fine. I promise.”
Sam looked down at Ken’s hand with his neatly manicured fingernails. Such youthful optimism. He’d had it once long ago. “Thank you,” he said, and hoped like hell Ken doll was right.
On the table, Blake groaned. “Samuel. Must. Get. To Him.”
Samuel surged forward. He touched Blake’s shoulder. “I’m here,” he said. “You’re in the ER. You’re going to be all right.” He glanced at Ken and saw the resident nod. He grabbed a chart and shoved it in Samuel’s free hand. Scanning it, Samuel saw nothing more than a few minor injuries, nothing some rest wouldn’t cure.
“Samuel,” Blake groaned again. His eyelids fluttered open for a moment. Green eyes connected with dark brown. And then they dipped closed. Blake’s moment of consciousness had passed.
"Damn." Forcing himself to ignore the surge of fear, Samuel lifted his head to meet the gaze of the nurse standing on the other side of the stretcher. "Let's get a head CT."
Nodding, the nurse trotted off to call radiology. Samuel stared at Blake's face. Once, he'd called Blake his own. Thought they'd be together for years, decades. He'd even considered giving Blake the Gift, so they could be together forever. But that was years ago. Before everything changed. Before Blake left and took Samuel's poor undead heart with him.
Blake would no doubt say Samuel had driven him away. These days, Samuel tended to agree.
Samuel shook himself. This was no time for wallowing in his regrets. He touched Blake's bloodied cheek. "I'll be back, sweetness," he whispered. "When you wake up, we'll talk."
Straightening up, Samuel turned to leave and ran smack into Ken doll. "Oops. Sorry."
"No problem." Ken curled a hand around Samuel's upper arm when he tried to brush past. Those pretty ocean-colored eyes radiated concern. "You sure you're okay?"
Samuel forced a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Blake's... an old friend. It sort of threw me for a loop, seeing him here after all this time." He glanced over his shoulder, not quite looking at Blake's too-still form. "Especially like this."
Ken's eyes narrowed. Samuel could practically see the wheels turning. Ken was smart and perceptive. The way he could read people was just scary sometimes. If Samuel stayed there one second longer, he knew Ken would figure out what Blake had once been to him. From there, it would be nothing for the kid to see just how much Samuel wanted Blake back.
Ken moved closer. "Sam..."
"I'm fine. Really. Um, thanks."
Twisting loose of Ken's grip, Samuel strode away with his gaze firmly fixed on the while tile floor.
"Samuel..." Ken called after him, the sound of his feet slapping against the hospital corridor in an effort to catch up. "Sam, wait."
Sam dodged into the men's room, hoping Ken would take the hint and realize he didn't want to talk, not about Blake, not about their own fledging relationship -- if one could call two months of frantic, sweaty sex during their few shared off hours a relationship. Ken was adorable, with a mouth that could suck the chrome off a bumper, but Sam couldn't see it ever being more than that. Ken was too young, too perky, too...everything. He was like a tiny dog nipping at Sam's heels, and right then, Sam couldn't take it. He needed a moment of peace to figure out why Blake was back. Why Blake was here, in his town, when the man had been overseas for the better part of the last decade.
Ken walked through the swinging door, spotted Sam standing by the sinks, and smiled as he headed toward him. "Hey, I thought you might want to talk. I couldn't help but notice the way you were shaking."
Fuck. Sam ran a hand over the bristle on his jaw. "Yeah, well, there's nothing to talk about. I just needed to splash some water on my face. It's going to be a long night."
Ken walked up behind Sam and laid his hands on Sam's shoulders, giving them a squeeze. "Are you sure? You know I'm here for you, right? I know you want to keep things casual, but I care about you, Sam. There isn't anything you can't tell me."
Sam white-knuckled the cool ceramic edge of the sink and closed his eyes, relishing the feel of Ken's hands massaging the tension out of his muscles. "I know. I feel the same way, but there really isn't anything to talk about. Blake is an old friend; there isn't anything else to say until I know more about his condition."
"Sure." Ken pressed his chest to Sam's back and brushed a gentle kiss against the nape of his neck. "You must be worried sick."
"I am," Sam said, leaving out why he was worried. He wished it was over something as simple as Blake's health. His old lover would recover, and quickly. His immune system would allow nothing else. It was what would happen once Blake regained consciousness that Sam feared.
Their relationship has been a volatile one at the best of times; the thin line between love and hate so blurred it was almost nonexistent. While it was true that their passion had risen to beyond the heights of normalcy, so too had their fights. When they hadn't been ripping each other's clothes off, they'd literally been at each other's throats in anger.
Their love had been anything but healthy. In the end, love hadn't been enough. He'd left, too afraid of what they would do to each other if he'd stayed another night.
Now, almost ten years to the day Sam had ended things, Blake had finally tracked him down. God help him if Blake wanted him back, because regardless of what he had going with Ken, Sam wasn't sure if he'd be able to resist Blake once he turned on the charm.
Round Robin pt 2
Dang, it's my turn! Y'all bear with me, I haven't had time to think up anything really good so I'm flying by the seat of my pants. I think Amanda's next, she's bound to have something good for you *g*
So here goes:
On the table, Blake groaned. “Samuel. Must. Get. To Him.”
Samuel surged forward. He touched Blake’s shoulder. “I’m here,” he said. “You’re in the ER. You’re going to be all right.” He glanced at Ken and saw the resident nod. He grabbed a chart and shoved it in Samuel’s free hand. Scanning it, Samuel saw nothing more than a few minor injuries, nothing some rest wouldn’t cure.
“Samuel,” Blake groaned again. His eyelids fluttered open for a moment. Green eyes connected with dark brown. And then they dipped closed. Blake’s moment of consciousness had passed.
"Damn." Forcing himself to ignore the surge of fear, Samuel lifted his head to meet the gaze of the nurse standing on the other side of the stretcher. "Let's get a head CT."
Nodding, the nurse trotted off to call radiology. Samuel stared at Blake's face. Once, he'd called Blake his own. Thought they'd be together for years, decades. He'd even considered giving Blake the Gift, so they could be together forever. But that was years ago. Before everything changed. Before Blake left and took Samuel's poor undead heart with him.
Blake would no doubt say Samuel had driven him away. These days, Samuel tended to agree.
Samuel shook himself. This was no time for wallowing in his regrets. He touched Blake's bloodied cheek. "I'll be back, sweetness," he whispered. "When you wake up, we'll talk."
Straightening up, Samuel turned to leave and ran smack into Ken doll. "Oops. Sorry."
"No problem." Ken curled a hand around Samuel's upper arm when he tried to brush past. Those pretty ocean-colored eyes radiated concern. "You sure you're okay?"
Samuel forced a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Blake's... an old friend. It sort of threw me for a loop, seeing him here after all this time." He glanced over his shoulder, not quite looking at Blake's too-still form. "Especially like this."
Ken's eyes narrowed. Samuel could practically see the wheels turning. Ken was smart and perceptive. The way he could read people was just scary sometimes. If Samuel stayed there one second longer, he knew Ken would figure out what Blake had once been to him. From there, it would be nothing for the kid to see just how much Samuel wanted Blake back.
Ken moved closer. "Sam..."
"I'm fine. Really. Um, thanks."
Twisting loose of Ken's grip, Samuel strode away with his gaze firmly fixed on the while tile floor.
-------
Okay, that's it for me. Short and sweet *g*
Neeeext!
So here goes:
On the table, Blake groaned. “Samuel. Must. Get. To Him.”
Samuel surged forward. He touched Blake’s shoulder. “I’m here,” he said. “You’re in the ER. You’re going to be all right.” He glanced at Ken and saw the resident nod. He grabbed a chart and shoved it in Samuel’s free hand. Scanning it, Samuel saw nothing more than a few minor injuries, nothing some rest wouldn’t cure.
“Samuel,” Blake groaned again. His eyelids fluttered open for a moment. Green eyes connected with dark brown. And then they dipped closed. Blake’s moment of consciousness had passed.
"Damn." Forcing himself to ignore the surge of fear, Samuel lifted his head to meet the gaze of the nurse standing on the other side of the stretcher. "Let's get a head CT."
Nodding, the nurse trotted off to call radiology. Samuel stared at Blake's face. Once, he'd called Blake his own. Thought they'd be together for years, decades. He'd even considered giving Blake the Gift, so they could be together forever. But that was years ago. Before everything changed. Before Blake left and took Samuel's poor undead heart with him.
Blake would no doubt say Samuel had driven him away. These days, Samuel tended to agree.
Samuel shook himself. This was no time for wallowing in his regrets. He touched Blake's bloodied cheek. "I'll be back, sweetness," he whispered. "When you wake up, we'll talk."
Straightening up, Samuel turned to leave and ran smack into Ken doll. "Oops. Sorry."
"No problem." Ken curled a hand around Samuel's upper arm when he tried to brush past. Those pretty ocean-colored eyes radiated concern. "You sure you're okay?"
Samuel forced a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Blake's... an old friend. It sort of threw me for a loop, seeing him here after all this time." He glanced over his shoulder, not quite looking at Blake's too-still form. "Especially like this."
Ken's eyes narrowed. Samuel could practically see the wheels turning. Ken was smart and perceptive. The way he could read people was just scary sometimes. If Samuel stayed there one second longer, he knew Ken would figure out what Blake had once been to him. From there, it would be nothing for the kid to see just how much Samuel wanted Blake back.
Ken moved closer. "Sam..."
"I'm fine. Really. Um, thanks."
Twisting loose of Ken's grip, Samuel strode away with his gaze firmly fixed on the while tile floor.
-------
Okay, that's it for me. Short and sweet *g*
Neeeext!
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Round Robin: Part 1
Samuel closed his eyes to catch a moment’s peace in the hospital’s break room before he had to head back to the overly-busy emergency room. He’d run out of coffee and blood in the same day, making him one very cranky vampire. If it weren’t for the fact that he’d just celebrated his one hundred and seventy eighth birthday recently, he’d think he was a new fledgling fresh out of med school. At least he’d been able to handle the residency process. Being over a hundred and fifty when you did rotations allowed some tolerance to sunlight and not needing any food or sleep.
“Dr. Wexford to emergency. Dr. Wexford to emergency,” Ken, one of the latest crop of residents, said over the intercom.
Ken doll. Samuel smiled as he downed the rest of the hospital’s god awful coffee and tossed the empty cup into the trash. It made a perfect arc and sailed neatly into the center of the receptacle. With his surfer spiky blonde hair and eyes the color of the ocean outside his the view from his remote home, Ken looked like the proverbial childhood toy. And boy would Samuel like to play with him. He shook his head to clear the thought as he hurried from the break room and down to whatever the latest crisis was. Tonight was his last night before a two week vacation.
He followed the sound of commotion into one of the bays and stopped. His blood ran cold. The mortal on the table looked heart-stoppingly familiar, and for once Samuel was thankful that his heart didn’t beat. Blood caked the man’s midnight dark hair to his forehead. A gash ran along the outside of his left eye. An air splint held his right arm, and Samuel bet he’d see bruising on the man’s chest from a steering wheel.
“Car accident. He rear ended a truck on the Pacific Coast Highway, just past the turn off to Malibu Canyon Rd. Apparently the truck thought he saw something on the road and our patient didn’t stop quick enough. At least that’s what the truck driver said.”
Samuel listened with half an ear as he stared down at the man he’d once professed to love until the end of time. “Blake Bothman, the founder of Wirefly International,” he said.
“You know him?”
Samuel nodded, his throat too tight to say anything more. He drew a deep breath. Damn it, where was his emotional detachment when he needed it.
Ken laid his hand on Samuel’s shoulder. “We’ll take good care of him. He’ll be just fine. I promise.”
Sam looked down at Ken’s hand with his neatly manicured fingernails. Such youthful optimism. He’d had it once long ago. “Thank you,” he said, and hoped like hell Ken doll was right.
On the table, Blake groaned. “Samuel. Must. Get. To Him.”
Samuel surged forward. He touched Blake’s shoulder. “I’m here,” he said. “You’re in the ER. You’re going to be all right.” He glanced at Ken and saw the resident nod. He grabbed a chart and shoved it in Samuel’s free hand. Scanning it, Samuel saw nothing more than a few minor injuries, nothing some rest wouldn’t cure.
“Samuel,” Blake groaned again. His eyelids fluttered open for a moment. Green eyes connected with dark brown. And then they dipped closed. Blake’s moment of consciousness had passed.
“Dr. Wexford to emergency. Dr. Wexford to emergency,” Ken, one of the latest crop of residents, said over the intercom.
Ken doll. Samuel smiled as he downed the rest of the hospital’s god awful coffee and tossed the empty cup into the trash. It made a perfect arc and sailed neatly into the center of the receptacle. With his surfer spiky blonde hair and eyes the color of the ocean outside his the view from his remote home, Ken looked like the proverbial childhood toy. And boy would Samuel like to play with him. He shook his head to clear the thought as he hurried from the break room and down to whatever the latest crisis was. Tonight was his last night before a two week vacation.
He followed the sound of commotion into one of the bays and stopped. His blood ran cold. The mortal on the table looked heart-stoppingly familiar, and for once Samuel was thankful that his heart didn’t beat. Blood caked the man’s midnight dark hair to his forehead. A gash ran along the outside of his left eye. An air splint held his right arm, and Samuel bet he’d see bruising on the man’s chest from a steering wheel.
“Car accident. He rear ended a truck on the Pacific Coast Highway, just past the turn off to Malibu Canyon Rd. Apparently the truck thought he saw something on the road and our patient didn’t stop quick enough. At least that’s what the truck driver said.”
Samuel listened with half an ear as he stared down at the man he’d once professed to love until the end of time. “Blake Bothman, the founder of Wirefly International,” he said.
“You know him?”
Samuel nodded, his throat too tight to say anything more. He drew a deep breath. Damn it, where was his emotional detachment when he needed it.
Ken laid his hand on Samuel’s shoulder. “We’ll take good care of him. He’ll be just fine. I promise.”
Sam looked down at Ken’s hand with his neatly manicured fingernails. Such youthful optimism. He’d had it once long ago. “Thank you,” he said, and hoped like hell Ken doll was right.
On the table, Blake groaned. “Samuel. Must. Get. To Him.”
Samuel surged forward. He touched Blake’s shoulder. “I’m here,” he said. “You’re in the ER. You’re going to be all right.” He glanced at Ken and saw the resident nod. He grabbed a chart and shoved it in Samuel’s free hand. Scanning it, Samuel saw nothing more than a few minor injuries, nothing some rest wouldn’t cure.
“Samuel,” Blake groaned again. His eyelids fluttered open for a moment. Green eyes connected with dark brown. And then they dipped closed. Blake’s moment of consciousness had passed.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Squees and Puzzlement
They don't get any better than this:
Grab onto your seats and hang on for a dark, fast ride that doesn’t leave you wanting! This is an extraordinary offering from the dynamic duo of Barbara Sheridan and Anne Cain. If you haven’t read their work before, and I admit this is my first, then you are really missing out!
You can read the rest of the review HERE
Interesting to me was a comment the reviewer made on how Dark Whispers contains scenes might push certain reader's "ick" buttons. There's no surprise there especially if you know how rough our boyz like ot play with one another but what got me was that s/he brought up the same scene that Mrs. Giggles was squicked by.
Anne and I and our editor find that particular scene to be one of the tamest things in the bunch.
Can you spot the squicky thing???
Sakurai moved through the darkened apartment, raising his eyebrows at the sparse furnishings. The entryway opened into a living area with only a leather sofa, a glass coffee table and a bar underneath the windows across from the door. To the left was an eat-in kitchen, noticeably missing its refrigerator, not that Sakurai would've used it anyway. Licking at the corner of his mouth, he tasted the bloody remnants of his evening's ”meal” and smirked.
A soft rustling came from outside the window over the bar. Sakurai crossed the room and pulled open the thick drapes. A fat, dark grey cat jumped through the opened window and rubbed against his hand, purring the whole time.
"You were stalking me all evening, sayuri." He laughed. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?" He'd spotted the cat's amber eyes peering at him through the darkness as he first walked past the apartment building in search of prey. The cat followed him through the whole course of the hunt, the only witness to the kill when Sakurai claimed a homeless street musician and drained the wretch as he slept in a doorway.
"Not a very impressive hunt," Sakurai murmured apologetically to the purring cat. "But nothing in this city has impressed me, either, so we're even."
Someone cursed out in the hallway, and the passion---the despair--in it took Sakurai's breath away. He was at the door an instant later, his hands caressing the stained wood as a sense of familiarity washed over him.
What kind of freak am I?
The man's thoughts echoed in Sakurai's mind, piquing the chiang shih's morbid curiosity. There was such anger and lust in this one, the latter maddeningly repressed.
"I'm starting to get the very annoying habit of speaking too soon. There may be something appealing here after all.” Sakurai whispered and chuckled softly.
Meanwhile, the man outside had returned to the elevators, cursing under his breath for having gotten out on the wrong floor. Soon he was gone, but Sakurai stayed at the door, laughing.
What was the thing the mortals said about New York—ah yes, the city is home to some of the most interesting people.
“Well my fur-covered friend—“ Sakurai broke off. The cat was gone, his presence undetectable in the apartment. Breathing a bored sigh, Sakurai decided to indulge in the one modern mortal custom he rather enjoyed—a hot shower.
*****
Some time later, Sakurai sat on the building’s rooftop, his long hair still damp, the ends drying and blowing in the breeze sweeping in from the north. A presence prickled his vampiric sense and he looked over his shoulder. “So you’ve come back to visit, sayuri. And what’s that you’ve brought me?”
The corners of Sakurai’s mouth turned down when the cat dropped a pair of men’s underwear by his hand. But then the wind drifted past again, carrying with it the scents that clung to the black fabric.
Sakurai fingered the garment. Interesting. The odors he detected might very well have come from the person in the corridor. The flavor of the passion he’d sensed earlier was quite the same. His eyebrow quirked when his fingers brushed a wet patch of fabric and Sakurai lifted his fingers to his sensitive nose.
“Oh yessss.”
He lifted the pair of nylon briefs and flicked his tongue across the wet spot, savoring the man’s semen. Grinning, he reached out and stroked the fat cat’s head before sucking the bit of cloth into his mouth to extract the heady, violent passion-filled fluid from the fibers. “Very good, my friend. Very good.”
Grab onto your seats and hang on for a dark, fast ride that doesn’t leave you wanting! This is an extraordinary offering from the dynamic duo of Barbara Sheridan and Anne Cain. If you haven’t read their work before, and I admit this is my first, then you are really missing out!
You can read the rest of the review HERE
Interesting to me was a comment the reviewer made on how Dark Whispers contains scenes might push certain reader's "ick" buttons. There's no surprise there especially if you know how rough our boyz like ot play with one another but what got me was that s/he brought up the same scene that Mrs. Giggles was squicked by.
Anne and I and our editor find that particular scene to be one of the tamest things in the bunch.
Can you spot the squicky thing???
Sakurai moved through the darkened apartment, raising his eyebrows at the sparse furnishings. The entryway opened into a living area with only a leather sofa, a glass coffee table and a bar underneath the windows across from the door. To the left was an eat-in kitchen, noticeably missing its refrigerator, not that Sakurai would've used it anyway. Licking at the corner of his mouth, he tasted the bloody remnants of his evening's ”meal” and smirked.
A soft rustling came from outside the window over the bar. Sakurai crossed the room and pulled open the thick drapes. A fat, dark grey cat jumped through the opened window and rubbed against his hand, purring the whole time.
"You were stalking me all evening, sayuri." He laughed. "Did you think I wouldn't notice?" He'd spotted the cat's amber eyes peering at him through the darkness as he first walked past the apartment building in search of prey. The cat followed him through the whole course of the hunt, the only witness to the kill when Sakurai claimed a homeless street musician and drained the wretch as he slept in a doorway.
"Not a very impressive hunt," Sakurai murmured apologetically to the purring cat. "But nothing in this city has impressed me, either, so we're even."
Someone cursed out in the hallway, and the passion---the despair--in it took Sakurai's breath away. He was at the door an instant later, his hands caressing the stained wood as a sense of familiarity washed over him.
What kind of freak am I?
The man's thoughts echoed in Sakurai's mind, piquing the chiang shih's morbid curiosity. There was such anger and lust in this one, the latter maddeningly repressed.
"I'm starting to get the very annoying habit of speaking too soon. There may be something appealing here after all.” Sakurai whispered and chuckled softly.
Meanwhile, the man outside had returned to the elevators, cursing under his breath for having gotten out on the wrong floor. Soon he was gone, but Sakurai stayed at the door, laughing.
What was the thing the mortals said about New York—ah yes, the city is home to some of the most interesting people.
“Well my fur-covered friend—“ Sakurai broke off. The cat was gone, his presence undetectable in the apartment. Breathing a bored sigh, Sakurai decided to indulge in the one modern mortal custom he rather enjoyed—a hot shower.
Some time later, Sakurai sat on the building’s rooftop, his long hair still damp, the ends drying and blowing in the breeze sweeping in from the north. A presence prickled his vampiric sense and he looked over his shoulder. “So you’ve come back to visit, sayuri. And what’s that you’ve brought me?”
The corners of Sakurai’s mouth turned down when the cat dropped a pair of men’s underwear by his hand. But then the wind drifted past again, carrying with it the scents that clung to the black fabric.
Sakurai fingered the garment. Interesting. The odors he detected might very well have come from the person in the corridor. The flavor of the passion he’d sensed earlier was quite the same. His eyebrow quirked when his fingers brushed a wet patch of fabric and Sakurai lifted his fingers to his sensitive nose.
“Oh yessss.”
He lifted the pair of nylon briefs and flicked his tongue across the wet spot, savoring the man’s semen. Grinning, he reached out and stroked the fat cat’s head before sucking the bit of cloth into his mouth to extract the heady, violent passion-filled fluid from the fibers. “Very good, my friend. Very good.”
Ropes
I love rope. Really, really love rope. It is a fetish for me. Tie you up, tie you down...oh yeah, I'm a top on it. That silky feel of rope sliding through your fingers. The little after mark dimples it makes on skin. Mmmmmm
No surprise that I have a story in this then:
Toy Box: Rope
Edited by M. Rode,
featuring stories by James Buchanan, Kiernan Kelly, and HB Kurtzwilde
41 pages / 18000 words
ISBN-13: 978-1-60370-306-2
ISBN-10: 1-60370-306-3
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc
Ever dream of being tied up and had wicked things happen? That's what the ropes Taste Test is all about. In James Buchanan's A Little Trust, Nicky and Brandon from the popular Cheating Chance, have a near miss after a rotten day at work for Brandon. Can they make the most of the adrenaline?
Cobalt Dynamus from HB Kurtzwilde features Alous, an aerialist who's invited to join a new act, one with two beautiful men who fly on silken ropes. Can he find a place at their center?
Finally, Kiernan Kelly creates a world for country singer Travis, who needs some time away. His old friend Booger picks him up, and ties him up, and Travis has to figure out what's important in life. Wrap yourself up in this one today!
Something wasn’t right.
It crawled up Brandon’s spine and nestled into the base of his skull as he headed toward his apartment. Indefinable, subtle, yet definite enough to set all Brandon’s senses on overload, the feeling wouldn’t let up. Nothing looked pried on the window screen or the door to his unit. The porch light flickered a jaundiced yellow, just as it had last night and the night before that. He couldn’t see more than darkness through the kitchen window, the only view into the apartment from the second floor walkway.
Still, the sensation lingered. Maybe the doormat had been moved. Or the beer bottles he kept lined up on the kitchen sill had been rearranged. The inside light: that was it. There should have been a light on in the very back of the apartment. Brandon didn’t like walking into a pitch-dark house. He liked being able to see any room he stepped into. And while the fifteen-watt bulb didn’t throw off much light, it was enough to bleed through into the kitchen.
Slowly, Brandon eased toward the door. In seconds he processed his surroundings. Hard line bass drifted in from the street. A child fussed somewhere close by. Otherwise, only the typical Riverside sounds, rumbles of semi-trucks on the freeway, helicopters, and the occasional unseen jet, broke the sleepy stillness of two in the morning.
Brandon took a deep breath and reached for his gun. Easing it from the slide holster at his hip, Brandon drew on the calm the familiar weight offered. What wasn’t so comforting was the gook slicking down the grip. He licked his lip and tasted rank water. At least he’d forced that punk-ass perp to swallow more of the shit they were rolling around in than he had.
A cautious step forward earned Brandon a squelch from his boot. Oh yeah, he needed to put a justifiable hurt on someone tonight. Whoever, whatever, waited behind that door was about to get the wrong end of the stick from a detective’s crappy day.
He moved to the side, pressing his body against the foot of stucco between window and door. Crouching down, he kept the gun raised near his right ear. Drawing his gun twice in one day -- what a way to break in the brand new Sig Sauer P229. He probably wouldn’t need all twelve of the .40 caliber rounds.
He wrapped his other fist around the tangle of keys -- bike, station locker, home -- and slipped the fob out of the saddle. His holster and the key keeper: two hold-overs from his uniform days. Rubber rings on each key kept the jangle down to a bare minimum. With his left hand he slid the key into the lock. Then he counted to fifty. Patience paid off many times over; Brandon had learned that early on. Make a sound and then wait for the effect to wear off before you move again.
Seconds often stood between him and death.
He twisted the key in the lock. A loud snick sounded. This time Brandon cycled through various VNV Nation lyrics. Three full songs worth, or at least the portions he remembered, kept his mind busy. At that point, well, there was no point. Either the perp knew he was there or he didn’t. Brandon reached out and slowly turned the knob. When he felt the catch give, he took a breath. Again, painfully slowly, he pressed the length of his left arm along the surface and eased the door open. Brandon’s position only let him get it about half way, but momentum kept the door swinging until it bumped into the wall.
Footsteps.
Buy it: http://www.torquerebooks.com/zencart/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=96&products_id=853
No surprise that I have a story in this then:
Toy Box: RopeEdited by M. Rode,
featuring stories by James Buchanan, Kiernan Kelly, and HB Kurtzwilde
41 pages / 18000 words
ISBN-13: 978-1-60370-306-2
ISBN-10: 1-60370-306-3
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc
Ever dream of being tied up and had wicked things happen? That's what the ropes Taste Test is all about. In James Buchanan's A Little Trust, Nicky and Brandon from the popular Cheating Chance, have a near miss after a rotten day at work for Brandon. Can they make the most of the adrenaline?
Cobalt Dynamus from HB Kurtzwilde features Alous, an aerialist who's invited to join a new act, one with two beautiful men who fly on silken ropes. Can he find a place at their center?
Finally, Kiernan Kelly creates a world for country singer Travis, who needs some time away. His old friend Booger picks him up, and ties him up, and Travis has to figure out what's important in life. Wrap yourself up in this one today!
By James Buchanan
Something wasn’t right.
It crawled up Brandon’s spine and nestled into the base of his skull as he headed toward his apartment. Indefinable, subtle, yet definite enough to set all Brandon’s senses on overload, the feeling wouldn’t let up. Nothing looked pried on the window screen or the door to his unit. The porch light flickered a jaundiced yellow, just as it had last night and the night before that. He couldn’t see more than darkness through the kitchen window, the only view into the apartment from the second floor walkway.
Still, the sensation lingered. Maybe the doormat had been moved. Or the beer bottles he kept lined up on the kitchen sill had been rearranged. The inside light: that was it. There should have been a light on in the very back of the apartment. Brandon didn’t like walking into a pitch-dark house. He liked being able to see any room he stepped into. And while the fifteen-watt bulb didn’t throw off much light, it was enough to bleed through into the kitchen.
Slowly, Brandon eased toward the door. In seconds he processed his surroundings. Hard line bass drifted in from the street. A child fussed somewhere close by. Otherwise, only the typical Riverside sounds, rumbles of semi-trucks on the freeway, helicopters, and the occasional unseen jet, broke the sleepy stillness of two in the morning.
Brandon took a deep breath and reached for his gun. Easing it from the slide holster at his hip, Brandon drew on the calm the familiar weight offered. What wasn’t so comforting was the gook slicking down the grip. He licked his lip and tasted rank water. At least he’d forced that punk-ass perp to swallow more of the shit they were rolling around in than he had.
A cautious step forward earned Brandon a squelch from his boot. Oh yeah, he needed to put a justifiable hurt on someone tonight. Whoever, whatever, waited behind that door was about to get the wrong end of the stick from a detective’s crappy day.
He moved to the side, pressing his body against the foot of stucco between window and door. Crouching down, he kept the gun raised near his right ear. Drawing his gun twice in one day -- what a way to break in the brand new Sig Sauer P229. He probably wouldn’t need all twelve of the .40 caliber rounds.
He wrapped his other fist around the tangle of keys -- bike, station locker, home -- and slipped the fob out of the saddle. His holster and the key keeper: two hold-overs from his uniform days. Rubber rings on each key kept the jangle down to a bare minimum. With his left hand he slid the key into the lock. Then he counted to fifty. Patience paid off many times over; Brandon had learned that early on. Make a sound and then wait for the effect to wear off before you move again.
Seconds often stood between him and death.
He twisted the key in the lock. A loud snick sounded. This time Brandon cycled through various VNV Nation lyrics. Three full songs worth, or at least the portions he remembered, kept his mind busy. At that point, well, there was no point. Either the perp knew he was there or he didn’t. Brandon reached out and slowly turned the knob. When he felt the catch give, he took a breath. Again, painfully slowly, he pressed the length of his left arm along the surface and eased the door open. Brandon’s position only let him get it about half way, but momentum kept the door swinging until it bumped into the wall.
Footsteps.
Buy it: http://www.torquerebooks.com/zencart/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=96&products_id=853
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Dive In!
I know I may be booed for saying this, especially with spring just days away, but I hate the sun. I hate the heat. You might even say I hate the summer. So try not to get too confused when I say that every June through August I can usually be found high up in a lifeguard chair, my Ray-Bans scanning a glittering swimming pool. And yes, I do still hate sun, heat and summer. But, as I am fond of pointing out, how else but as a lifeguard could I get paid to sit at the pool all summer getting a tan? When it rains and is cold, as it so often is in the great Northeast, I lock myself in the pool office and write about things much hotter than a humid day.
I’m also a lifeguard instructor. Once during training, I had one of those what if moments that all writers love to have pop into their brains. I was watching a particularly fetching male lifeguard trainee performing CPR on the dummy, his broad wet chest rising and falling, and there it was. What if? What if the instructor watching had a previous relationship with the guy doing the thrusting—on the dummy? It would be pretty hard to stop thinking about other kinds of thrusting.
That little what if marinated in my head for a year or two until it became my new Samhain release Diving in Deep. Cameron, the instructor, is trying very hard to forget the night that he let wedding champagne and the flattering attention of Noah’s crush override the part of his brain that told him sleeping with his best friend’s little brother was a bad plan. Now Noah, all wet—and grown up a lot since then—is the one with the powerful chest rising and falling with the thrusts of those rippling arms. Suddenly, CPR is sexier than Cameron ever thought possible and he finds himself trapped between a rock and a hard…place. As for Noah, who wouldn’t want a do-over with the one that got away? The one you’ve been comparing all your other lovers to?
Noah and Cameron were a lot of fun to write about. The biggest problem they gave me was not getting out of bed long enough to work on their issues. Now Noah’s friend Joey wants his own book. (Actually he’s kind of demanding.) I’m getting there, honey. And have I got the man for you.
To read more about Noah and Cameron, you can find the PG-13 excerpt at the Samhain website or for something with a little more steam, come on over to my website.
I’m also a lifeguard instructor. Once during training, I had one of those what if moments that all writers love to have pop into their brains. I was watching a particularly fetching male lifeguard trainee performing CPR on the dummy, his broad wet chest rising and falling, and there it was. What if? What if the instructor watching had a previous relationship with the guy doing the thrusting—on the dummy? It would be pretty hard to stop thinking about other kinds of thrusting.
That little what if marinated in my head for a year or two until it became my new Samhain release Diving in Deep. Cameron, the instructor, is trying very hard to forget the night that he let wedding champagne and the flattering attention of Noah’s crush override the part of his brain that told him sleeping with his best friend’s little brother was a bad plan. Now Noah, all wet—and grown up a lot since then—is the one with the powerful chest rising and falling with the thrusts of those rippling arms. Suddenly, CPR is sexier than Cameron ever thought possible and he finds himself trapped between a rock and a hard…place. As for Noah, who wouldn’t want a do-over with the one that got away? The one you’ve been comparing all your other lovers to?
Noah and Cameron were a lot of fun to write about. The biggest problem they gave me was not getting out of bed long enough to work on their issues. Now Noah’s friend Joey wants his own book. (Actually he’s kind of demanding.) I’m getting there, honey. And have I got the man for you.
To read more about Noah and Cameron, you can find the PG-13 excerpt at the Samhain website or for something with a little more steam, come on over to my website.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Shakespeare's Gay Boys
For the last two weeks I've been wondering what I was going to blog about when it was my turn again. Then this weekend fate handed me multiple possibilities. Because I'm a theatre geek, I chose this one. That's right. You're getting a dramatic critique for your blog today.
I saw "Troilus & Cressida" on Saturday night. If you don't know it—and I don't blame you if you don't; it's one of the Bard's lesser-produced plays—it doesn't matter. Suffice that it's Ancient Troy and that the Greeks have been laying siege to the city for seven years. That's not the point. The point is blatant slash in Shakespeare's play! Woo-hoo! I mean you can talk it up until the cows come home that Mercutio was in love with Romeo—and he totally was—but here is undeniable manlove in the text of a play written in (as far as they can tell) 1603 by the greatest English-speaking playwright in history. It warmed my slashy heart to be reminded of it, and in such excellent fashion. (The actors were fantastic. I say this without too much bias; only one of the actors in question is a friend of mine.)
There are three very different gay men in this script.
Pandarus is the original dirty old queen. He's got it bad for Troilus, a deliciously handsome young son of King Priam, and so his one goal is to hook up his niece Cressida with Troilus so that he can live vicariously through their pairing. This is a major plot point, but it's not my point so we'll just move on.
Patroclus is dubbed by scurrilous soldier Thersites as the "male varlet" (Huh. I just thought. I wonder if Shakespeare was word-playing on varlet/valet?) and the "masculine whore" of Achilles. (Yes, that Achilles. He of the Heel.)
Achilles is supposedly in love with one of King Priam's daughters, but his actions belie the accusation. The consummate soldier, he has lost his taste for war not because he's in love with the daughter of his enemy, but because his lover, a fellow soldier, has no stomach for fighting. Patroclus does try to get Achilles to get back to the fight, though, for the sake of his reputation, if nothing else.
PATROCLUS
To this effect, Achilles, have I moved you:
A woman impudent and mannish grown
Is not more loathed than an effeminate man
In time of action. I stand condemn'd for this;
They think my little stomach to the war
And your great love to me restrains you thus:
Sweet, rouse yourself; and the weak wanton Cupid
Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,
And, like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,
Be shook to air.
Achilles eventually decides to get back to the war, but before he can:
ACHILLES
My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite
From my great purpose in to-morrow's battle.
Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba,
A token from her daughter, my fair love,
Both taxing me and gaging me to keep
An oath that I have sworn. I will not break it:
Fall Greeks; fail fame; honour or go or stay;
My major vow lies here, this I'll obey.
Come, come, Thersites, help to trim my tent:
This night in banqueting must all be spent.
Away, Patroclus!
And you get the distinct impression that he's bound to the oath by principle rather than by love of the woman. I mean, come on, he doesn't even mention her name. You also get that he's glad for the excuse not to fight. He doesn't want to, and more than that, he doesn't want Patroclus to have to.
Of course war being war and soldiers being soldiers, Patroclus does go into battle. It isn't clear from the text exactly why. Maybe he feels bound to. Maybe when his words didn't work he figured his actions would get Achilles to fight and thereby restore Achilles' reputation. In the case of this production, it was a silent look of "If this is what I have to do, I'll do it. I'm still a soldier." that passed between Patroclus and Achilles. Really a heartstring-tugging moment from such a quick, non-verbal exchange.
Later still, we learn of Achilles' reaction to Patroclus' death in battle by the hand of Hector (Priam's oldest son and the great warrior o'
ULYSSES
O, courage, courage, princes! great Achilles
Is arming, weeping, cursing, vowing vengeance:
Patroclus' wounds have roused his drowsy blood,
Together with his mangled Myrmidons,
That noseless, handless, hack'd and chipp'd, come to him,
Crying on Hector.
Yeeeeah. Achilles really gives a shit about King Priam's daughter. Suuure. I mean, Isn't it obvious? That's why he hunts down and kills her brother, Hector, and drags Hector's body behind his horse around the walls of
Monday, March 17, 2008
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
Here we are again. Another holiday on my blogging day. Guess that's my lot in life *lol* Hope everyone wore their green and didn't get pinched too much :)
I've been busy trying to get my next Dragon Riders book completed so I can go on to my next M/M story. I'm truly having withdrawls :D
Meanwhile, I'm waiting word on one titled Fallen Angels and thought I'd give a little peek at it. Remember, this is unedited, so forgive if I've missed some grammer mistakes.
Blurb:
Adam Hardy’s assignment was clear: Infiltrate the pseudo-biker gang Fallen Angels and bring back the dirt on their big boss, Lucifer.
Nowhere in the mission statement did it tell him to fall for their leader, Mammon.
Marc, aka Mammon, thought that a quick dip would sate the lust he held for the newest Fallen Angel. After all, Adam would never be his now that Lucifer has taken an interest in the pretty-boy.
Who knew sex and the unexpected bond of trust would bring the two men together as they try to take Lucifer down and out of their lives forever. Can the two survive all the obstacles thrown at them or will Lucifer make their lives a true hell?
Unedited excerpt:
“Mammon?” Adam’s voice was thick with sleep.
“Marc.” Okay, I’m really losing it now. Where in hell had that come from?
Adam lifted his head, brows drawn together with confusion. “Huh?”
I swallowed hard, my throat trying to constrict. Only two people knew my real name. Adam would make three. Despite the devil on my right shoulder poking me with his pitchfork and cursing at my stupidity, I wanted this man to know my real name. I don’t know why, but I wanted to hear Adam say my name.
“Marc. My name is Marc.” Adam sat up, his gaze locked to my face. He still looked bewildered. I chuckled. “You don’t think my parents actually named me Mammon, do you?” It felt strange having after sex discussions. I usually took off right after the act, feeling restless and unsatisfied. It was refreshing not to feel that way with Adam.
“Uh, no. I mean, it just gave me a shock.” His cheeks darkened with a flush.
I smiled, really enjoying flustering him. From my observations and reports from the others, Adam was standoffish from the others, almost shy unless his mind was ticking away on a plan. And what he had shown the small group was that he could be a real hard ass at times. No one knew much about him as he rarely talked about himself. Besides what my background checks produced and what I’d observed of him, his history was a mystery. Perhaps that’s what intrigued me about him. His conflicting personality. Even now, after witnessing the passion buried deep under that stone cold, all-business character. He was a puzzle I wanted to solve. My problem was that I had only a day to do so.
I guess that’s why I decided to hit on him and try to sate this lustful ache I’ve had for him since I first laid eyes on him. But I don’t think it worked as I’d planned. Now, I just wanted more of him.
I shrugged, my smile fading. “I’m trusting you not to tell anyone else. It’s our secret.”
Adam nodded.
“And if I hear the slightest whisper, I’ll know where it came from.” I surprised him, pinning his hands to the bed, my body rolling on top of his. “Trust me when I say that you never want to screw with me.” My eyes narrowed on him, my expression grim. Intimidation was always one of my better traits. I’d learned from a master.
His brow raised and the corner of his lips twitched as if suppressing a smile. “I don’t know, Marc.” My stomach flipped and I had to hold back the pleasant sigh at hearing my name fall from his lips. “Screwing with you has so far been quite invigorating.” He smiled and my lungs emptied of oxygen.
That was it. I couldn’t hold up my threatening façade after that. My cock had rejuvenated with him just saying my name. What this man did to me was amazing. A once in a lifetime find.
“Invigorating, you say? Maybe stimulating is a better word?” I pressed my hips down and shoved upward, showing him just how he affected me.
Adam gasped. “Greedy man. Wanting more and more,” he said, but there was laughter in his voice, his eyes shining.
“Mammon is the name for the fallen angel of greed.” I dipped my head and nipped at his bottom lip.
“No complaints here.” Adam’s arm wrapped around my back, his fingers digging into my ass cheeks, pulling me closer.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
I picked up a "traditional" romance novel the other day. You know, with the busty heroine wearing the hero's shirt? And of course the hero is bare-chested, because he only has that one single shirt and he was gallant enough to give it to the heroine that was nearly captured by marauding village-pillagers. Weird how the hero has a dungeon of gold coins, but only that one shirt.
Anyway.
I used to devour those novels by the dozens in high school and my early college years. I would visit my local used bookstore and scour the shelves for whatever genre was appealing to me at the time: pirates, Native Americans, cowboys, British royalty. Some of them were okay, some sucked, and some were excellent. But you know, I never figured that just a few years later, I would be thinking, "This book would be so much better if that heroine was, you know. Male. And acted like a man."
Think about how much more rich and colorful the traditional M/F romance novel could be if there were two hot-headed men in the lead role. Actually, there are plenty of people who are thinking this same thing, as evidenced by the rise of the small publishing houses on the web that are specializing in M/M romance. I just wish someone had discovered this back when I was reading dime-store romances. Now, the novels I write are the ones I wish I could have read years ago.
And my heroes have more than one shirt.
Anyway.
I used to devour those novels by the dozens in high school and my early college years. I would visit my local used bookstore and scour the shelves for whatever genre was appealing to me at the time: pirates, Native Americans, cowboys, British royalty. Some of them were okay, some sucked, and some were excellent. But you know, I never figured that just a few years later, I would be thinking, "This book would be so much better if that heroine was, you know. Male. And acted like a man."
Think about how much more rich and colorful the traditional M/F romance novel could be if there were two hot-headed men in the lead role. Actually, there are plenty of people who are thinking this same thing, as evidenced by the rise of the small publishing houses on the web that are specializing in M/M romance. I just wish someone had discovered this back when I was reading dime-store romances. Now, the novels I write are the ones I wish I could have read years ago.
And my heroes have more than one shirt.
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