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maderrCount so far: 25
Will add more as I finish them. Some of these are like pulling teeth X_x It totally didn't help that my comp decided to restart itself the other day and I lost a few of them.
*notes*
~Embrace is hard b/c I don't want to write things that come after the story as I've not completeed it, nor am I even halfway. But the scene here comes a bit later in the story, and as I give no explanation for Gille's state, I feel it doesn't spoil anything.
~Prisoner I just c/p'ed directly from the story. No slash, but the way those two fight it may as well be. I've been rereading, tweaking the story lately, and I'm happy that's it's not the disaster I was starting to fear. Dieter is close to my heart. I wish I could post the story, but there's so much to fix X_x
Perfect (Ian/Tobias)
“One, two, one, two, three four, one, two, five—“ Tobias stopped the dance.
“Sorry, Tobias,” Princess Antonia said, shoulders drooping. “I always mess up that last step…”
Tobias let go of her hand to tug lightly on one of her bobbing gold curls. “No harm, Princess. It’s a difficult dance. You’re trying too hard – just let your feet do the work, hmm?”
“Yes,” said a voice from the doorway. “Focus on your instructor, on conversation, and let your feet do the dancing.” A warm chuckle.
Tobias glared over Antonia’s shoulder. “You are supposed to be in a meeting.”
“It finished early,” Ian said lazily.
Antonia laughed hesitantly and slowly stepped away from her tutor. She curtsied to Ian. “Highness.”
“Princess,” Ian greeted with a bow, kissing the knuckles of her hand as she held it out. “I encountered your mother on my way here; I do believe she is seeking you for a fitting.”
If it was suitable for a princess to squeal, that was how Tobias would have described the sound she made before she bobbed him a hasty curtsy and called a thank you over her shoulder as she fled the room.
“I seldom have seen a woman so jubilant to be getting married. Your girl was the last, as I recall.”
Tobias smiled faintly at the mention of Joanne – but he quickly reassumed his glower as Ian drew close. He put a hand to Ian’s chest. “Back off. I know that glimmer and this is neither the time nor the place.”
“It is always the time,” Ian said with a grin. He grasped Tobias’s wrist and tugged, moving their arms into position as he slid his other arm around Tobias’s waist.
“It is most definitely not the place,” Tobias hissed, but pure habit made him move as Ian began the steps of the dance he’d been attempting to teach Antonia. “What are you doing?”
Ian merely smiled until they finished the first set. “Every time I attend a fete, I must dance with dozens of girls who do not interest me. You, of course, refuse to attend.”
“I am a tutor,” Tobias said stiffly. “Tutors do not attend courtly functions.”
“Even if the tutor in question is my lover?” Ian asked, and continued speaking before Tobias could answer him. “Anyway, I think it a pity I dance with girls who all look the same to me and never dance with you.”
“Men do not dance together. It completely ruins the aesthetic.”
“Only you would use aesthetic as an explanation,” Ian said fondly. “Though if you want to maintain it, I wouldn’t object to you in a dress.”
Tobias narrowed his eyes and stepped hard on Ian’s toes as they turned into the last step of the second set. “You’re in a fine mood today.”
“I woke up well,” Ian said smugly, halting their dance to gather Tobias close and kiss him soundly.
“Remind me not to do it again,” Tobias said when the kiss finally ended. “Clearly it only encourages your propensity for mischief.”
Ian merely smiled, brushed another soft kiss across his lips, then resumed dancing, humming softly until Tobias at last smiled back.
DwtD (Doug/Zach)
Zach stirred and turned over, reaching out an arm – and encountering sheets long cooled. Sitting up, he yawned and slid from bed. A few minutes searching at last located his silk lounging pants – they’d wound beneath the dresser somehow – and a ribbon to tie back his hair.
Chris’s office was on the bottom floor a three story building in the middle of the downtown district. Slowly but surely he’d worked to restore the entire building – the irony being that by the time it was finished, Chris had moved in with Sable and no longer needed the rooms he’d converted to luxury apartments.
Phil and Myra had elected to take rooms elsewhere. That left two whole floors to Doug, who held the building too dear to ever want to leave it. Zach was content to live anywhere, happy simply to be away from the manor he’d felt trapped in for so long, though the prison was only ever in his own head.
Unlike Doug, who even after two decades of freedom could not escape the nine decades he’d spent enslaved.
It was hard to reconcile the imp he loved with the stories Doug had only once ever told him – of his wings tornhorns sawed off, kept short, abused and maltreated, made to bespell things, hurt them, bind them. Imps were powerful even before they matured, and rare was the imp allowed to reach maturity.
Zach could almost understand why – if all imps turned out as beautiful and powerful as Doug, they would be a force to be reckoned with. In his true form, Doug stood well over six feet, his wing span at least double that, mismatched eyes glowing with power and magic, his tail more than capable of inflicting damage on its own, claws that could cut the hide of an ogre. He was everything normals thought a demon was – and more besides, because he’d been taught how to fight by a real demon.
For all that, though, Doug still had the gentle nature of an imp.
Padding up the stairs, Zach stepped out onto the roof and crossed it, shivering in the cold early winter air.
Doug sat on a ledge, his wings partially unfurled, the end of his tail lying still on the roof. Zach hopped up onto the ledge next to him, pressing close. “S’cold, lover.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Doug said by way of explanation and apology. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Zach yawned. “You should have. I never mind coming up here with you.” How could he? He’d never been a prisoner in the way that Doug had, but he still knew how it felt to be trapped. Doug had once only watched the sky from windows, or with the bitter knowledge that his wings were broken, useless. Now he watched it because he could fly up into it any time he wanted – but chose not to, because he had reasons to stay on the ground.
“No sense in you freezing to death,” Doug said, and he moved his wings so that they fell over both of them, blocking out the worst of the wind and chill.
“Never a problem with you around,” Zach said, brushing a soft kiss across Doug’s shoulder before snuggling close, more than content to doze lightly while Doug watched the stars.
Sandstorm (Sahayl/Harem)
“This game makes no sense,” Isra said, glowering at the board. “Trust the northerners to come up with something so completely idiotic and stupid.”
Shihab laughed. “Isra, only you would complain that chess is too difficult. Taaki is far more difficult than chess – you just don’t have the patience.”
Isra picked up a small black piece shaped like a stone tower. “Patience, nothing. Taaki is much easier than this stupid game.” He dropped the piece in disgust.
Bahadur chuckled from where he sat next to Sahayl, reclining amongst a wealth of pillows as they watched Shihab and Isra play. “If you did not want to play, Isra, then why did you insist he teach you?”
“Because I’m tired of him cheating at taaki.” He flicked over a piece shaped like a crown and glowered at Shihab, who was snickering. “I don’t think you’re explaining this game very well. It makes no sense.”
Shihab rolled his eyes. “Only you, Isra,” he repeated fondly. “Chess has only six types of playing pieces, and each player starts with sixteen total – eight pawns, two knights, two rooks, two bishops, a king and a queen. Each piece has a very particular way it can move. Taaki has twenty different kinds of playing pieces, each player starts with ten and can wind up with as many as thirty – and how the pieces move depends on what other pieces are around it. The object of chess is to capture the king, the object of taaki is to take the entire board. Chess is for just two people, taaki can be played by up to six.”
“It still makes no sense,” Isra said. “Why did I let you talk me in to this game?”
“Because you were tired of losing at taaki?” Shihab asked.
Isra slammed his hands down on the table, knocking a couple more pieces over, and rose up on his knees to lean over the table, glaring at Shihab. “I lose because you cheat!”
Shihab snickered. “I don’t cheat, you just can’t play well. Too impatient, pretty little rose.”
Isra narrowed his eyes – then launched himself over the table and tackled Shihab.
Bahadur chuckled softly and sipped his wine, then held the dish to Sahayl, who sat relaxing against him, his quiet laughter mingling with Bahadur’s. “Do you think, my prince, they’ll ever figure out that persuading them to play is our own little game?”
“I doubt it,” Sahayl replied, eyes following Shihab and Isra as they wrestled and fought, exchanging kisses as often as they smacked or pinched. “They like arguing too much.”
Embrace (Gille/Stregoni)
“Stay in that bed!” Stregoni snapped. He grabbed Gille’s shoulders and pressed him back down.
Surprisingly strong arms came up and looped around his waist, and Stregoni found himself sprawled across a Gille whose bare chest suddenly ceased to be of medical interest only.
The bandages he wore, however, were not to be ignored. “Knock it off!” Stregoni hissed, struggling and squirming to get free, detesting his own body for noticing just how gorgeous Gille was despite the pallor of his skin, the exhaustion he was clearly fighting.
“You’re going to cause me more injury, Carrot, if you keep moving like that.”
“Let. Me. Go. This is no time for your games, Gille.” Despite his words, Stregoni stilled. He fought hard not to remember the last time he’d been straddled across Gille’s thighs – but it was hard to forget the scent of honey flower and lavender that still scented Gille’s sheets, mingling with the coppery smell of blood, the bitter smell of the medicine he’d given Gille to dull the pain and hopefully strengthen him. “You’ve lost too much blood. Playing your stupid games will just reopen your wounds. Let me—“ His words were cut off by Gille’s mouth.
Gille’s kisses were just as searing as he remembered. They burned, wiping away all his good intentions, his determination to give up on the bloody bastard once and for all.
Except he would never forget the image of Gille pale and almost dead on the floor, surrounded by a pool of his own blood. Stregoni shuddered and kissed harder, leaning forward and bracing his hands on either side of Gille. “Bastard,” he whispered when Gille finally let the kiss end. He tried in vain to resist the hands that started to explore him, sliding over him like they had every right, detesting the way Gille knew exactly how to touch him. “I hate you,” he said, trying not to moan, hating himself more for leaning down to take a second kiss.
Treasure (Raiden/Takara)
Taka stirred as he felt something heavy settle around his throat. His fingers fumbled for purchase on the soft sofa, and he realized fuzzily that the warm sunlight that had put him to sleep was now absent.
Warm fingers trailed down his back, curling around his hip and looping around his waist as Taka finally sat up. He leaned back against a warm chest and soft silk. “Raiden,” he said groggily.
“I swear sometimes you are a cat,” Raiden teased. “You find a sunny spot and curl right up” He shifted so that he sat on the sofa with Taka in his lap.
Taka yawned and curled up against his, tucking his head into the hollow of Raiden’s shoulder. “It’s not my fault I’ve become lazy.”
Raiden snorted softly. “Hardly lazy, my treasure.”
“Not a treasure…” Taka muttered, but the pet name reminded him of what had woke him in the first place. Blinking, making himself move, Taka sat up and touched fingers around the heavy necklace Raiden had slipped around his throat.
“Moon stone and sapphir, set in Highland silver.” Raiden said, his own fingers sliding over the stones, tangling briefly with Taka’s, before he slid them up Taka’s throat and jaw, brushing across a cheek before finally sliding away. “Light and dark blue, they match you perfectly. I bought them from a woman in Verde.”
“Bought or stole?” Taka asked dryly. “Stop putting me in jewelry intended for women.”
Raiden chuckled and dragged him close enough he could place a gentle nip to Taka’s throat right over his pulse, just above the jewels. “They look infinitely better on you, my treasure. I wish I could persuade you to wear nothing but jewels.”
“You’re an idiot,” Taka said, but he was fighting a smile as Raiden finally kissed him.
Prisoner
Beraht rolled his eyes. Wandering over to the table, he helped himself to the bread and sausage set out. “I don’t suppose you heathens keep wine about this place, do you? That’s the least I deserve after all this.”
“A prisoner deserves nothing,” Dieter said. “You should be grateful that I treat you as well as I do.”
“Well? I’ve got bruises and cuts in thirty different places, all because you think the way to end a conversation is with violence.”
Dieter laughed. “It shuts you up, doesn’t it? And I will gladly make it fifty if you do not shut up right now.” He laughed again when Beraht fell silent.
He let his mind wander for a bit, giving it a chance to clear. But gradually he brought his attention back around to the question of Beraht and the Illussor. Because though Beraht would pay in full for killing a hundred of his men while they rested in camp, the Illussor had slain the remaining four hundred because of Beraht.
And that was strange behavior for the Illussor – especially for the Illussor. Who seemed to fight for no apparent reason. The war over Regenbogen was predominantly between Kria and Salhara. Why the Illussor had gotten involved was a reason lost before his time. But they appeared seldom; generally, it seemed, merely to make sure the war had not wandered too far into Illussor territory.
Then again, with their nasty little mind-trick, there was really no telling how often they appeared.
So basically he knew nothing useful. No doubt it was something that made sense only to magic-tainted minds.
“What is your etiquette on prisoners? I can’t imagine this sort of journey is standard fare, though really you should consider adding it to your repertoire of tortures.”
Dieter continued eating, unfazed. He finished a length of sausage before bothering to answer. “Most are tortured for information. I’m sure I don’t need to explain the details of that to a man who is both polluted and given to skulking about in the dark.”
“You’re just infuriated that I managed to kill so many of Kria’s best soldiers – well, supposedly the best.”
Dishes and food flew about as Dieter upended the small table and pinned Beraht to the floor with it, resting his weight until he knew the man could barely breathe, and was in excruciating pain. But not quite enough weight to break anything. “How do you like it? Pinned and helpless, your life completely in my control? Feeling angry? Scared? Want to kill me? My men died in their sleep – they had as much chance to save their own lives as you do right now. But at least you had some warning. If you killed my men, Salharan filth, it is because you were a coward about it.” In one smooth move Dieter rose, threw the table aside, then reached down and hauled Beraht to his feet. “Do not doubt for one second that I won’t make you suffer. Every day for the rest of your life, you will regret killing my men as you did.”
Though sore and shaken and gasping for breath, Beraht lashed out to drive the man back. It had no effect. Dieter threw him on the bed. “You keep talking about this suffering – but beyond your usual crass behavior, bloodthirsty Krian, I’ve yet to suffer.”
Dieter threw his head back and laughed. “You don’t think it’s punishing enough to spend the rest of your life as my prisoner, Beraht? To know that until the day you die, you are mine. For the rest of your life, you will be in Kria. Under my control. Bearing the name I gave you. I do not understand the Salharan obsession with names, but I know you despise that I named you. That will serve nicely, or at least until I think of something worse.”
He’d expected a fight, but Beraht merely turned away and lay on his stomach in bed, staring out the window on the far side of the room. Dieter sneered at his back, then turned to clean up the mess he’d made of the food. When the table was righted, he blew out the lamps and sat at the table, mulling over events past, present and future.
When he was certain Beraht was fast asleep, he climbed into the empty side of the bed and eventually fell asleep, one hand on his sword.
Brightleaf (Geoffrey/Thorley)
“Serves you right,” Geoffrey said as Thorley hissed briefly in pain. Ignoring it, he continued to stitch up the wound running down Thorley’s forearm. “What were you thinking, Thorley?”
“That it’s a pity you stopped me before I could skin him alive,” Thorley snapped.
Geoffrey jabbed a bit harder than necessary as he started the next stitch. “He was stupid and ignorant; not worth you getting hurt,” he said quietly. “Or do you think it makes me happy to see you in pain? To stitch up a wound like this?” He tried to relax, but the tension in his shoulders and back wouldn’t go away.
The village was, by and large, accepting of him and Thorley, and those that disapproved weren’t going to risk angering the only healer for miles around – nor would they offend the Marquis, who it was well-known had taken Thorley’s brother as his lover.
Visitors, however, didn’t care about any of that.
And Thorley being Thorley, he wouldn’t just let anyone that called Geoffrey names get away with it. If they were stupid enough to do more than call him ugly names and make threats… “How did you manage to get injured, anyway?” Geoffrey finished stitching Thorley’s arm up and bit off the end of the thread. “Wyrms never touch you. How did those idiots?”
“Angel dust,” Thorley said shortly.
“Ah,” Geoffrey replied. Angel dust would have ruined his vision – which explained why he’d dumped water on his head in the middle of the fight. “I wish you wouldn’t get into brawls over such stupid stuff.”
Thorley growled and pulled Geoffrey close with his good arm. “You’re not ‘stupid stuff’.”
“I don’t like being the reason you’re hurt, Thorley,” Geoffrey said, glaring, only further annoyed at the way his tension immediately began to ease as Thorley held him.
“I don’t like being the reason you’re hurt – and I know exactly how much their stupidity hurts you. I’m a lot of things, but blind’s not one of them.”
Geoffrey smiled faintly and brushed a soft kiss across Thorley’s mouth. “They upset me because I know how much such words have always upset you.”
Thorley rolled his eyes. “Why can’t we just stay home instead of going and constantly worrying about each other? We can drink and eat just as easily here.”
“You like going out.”
“I like having you to myself more,” Thorley countered, blue eyes turning bright before he leaned in to kiss Geoffrey, nothing soft in it, teeth biting down gently on his bottom when he finally pulled away.
“Be careful of your arm,” Geoffrey reminded him as Thorley stood and dragged him off to the bedroom.
Paradise (Mickey/Sam)
“Who the hell is that?”
Sam didn’t even bother looking up from his paperback – his greatest source of cheap amusement was mafia thrillers. He didn’t need to look up to see who had just walked in the door, the tone of awe and sudden lust in Mr. Peterson’s voice all he needed.
Peterson was in for a meeting with Trick, who had assigned Sam to play watchdog. Peterson had a long way to go before he reached the level of ‘trustworthy’.
Sam pointedly kept his eyes on his book as he heard the new arrival approach. The scent of leather and subtle cologne was hideously distracting, but he had practice at ignoring Mickey.
“Hello, sexy,” Mickey greeted, snatching the book from Sam’s hands. He read the premise on the back with amusement. “Miss me?”
“No,” Sam said bluntly, not rising to the bait by trying to take his book back. “We were finally getting some peace and quiet around here.” He glared briefly at Mickey, who stared lazily back.
Their locked gaze was broken by Peterson’s discreet cough.
“You’re Peterson,” Mickey said, handing back Sam’s book as he focused on business. “We hear you’re the man when it comes to jewels. Sully recommends you.”
Peterson smiled briefly. “Sterling is a fine man to work with. He knows his business. I’ve never had trouble importing when I work with him.”
A door opened with a click, and Trick’s slippery secretary appeared. “Peterson. Azura will see you now. Sam, he says you can stay out here.”
Sam lifted a brow at the odd statement, but nodded. “Whatever he wants.” Tybalt was in today, a rarity, so Trick really didn’t need him.
Silence fell as he was left alone in the outer office with Mickey. He glanced down at his book.
He’d only just started this one. When he’d seen it in the grocery store, it had seemed suitably amusing. An undercover agent slowly works his way into the dark underworld of the mafia, eventually taking his place as bodyguard to one of the greatest mob bosses in the world – but gets into trouble when he finds himself falling for the beautiful woman who is both the mob lord’s lover and his right hand. Stupid, melodramatic, and such a sad imitation of reality it was funny.
Except suddenly it wasn’t funny.
In the book, of course, the undercover agent would vanquish the evil mobsters, get the girl, and probably go home with a trendy bullet wound or something that forced him into early retirement on some beautiful stretch of beach.
Reality wasn’t like that. He wasn’t a secret agent who was going to save the day. If he got shot, it would probably be fatal – missing wasn’t an option in this business.
Falling in love wasn’t either. Trick was number one in his life and in Mickey’s. There was no such thing as number two.
“Get out of my face,” Sam snarled.
Mickey laughed softly, but for once passed up the chance to taunt him.
It was an old game, one goading, one snarling. They did it as naturally as breathing. Taunts and insults were all they had.
A door clicked as Mickey left, and Sam returned to his book, laughing at the ridiculousness of it but secretly glad that at the end, the undercover agent would get his girl and beach.
Paradise (Sullivan/Tybalt)
Most days his life played like a bad movie or a TV show long overdue for cancellation.
Wednesday he’d killed a man trying to sneak into the Azura compound.
The day before that he’d finished a job guarding a chick who’d squealed on a potential double cross. Mickey had cleaned up that mess.
On Monday he had to fly to Japan. No one had told him why yet, except that it would count for two years off his family’s contract. He’d get the details in the morning.
He had scars from knives, guns, fingernails, scraping against cement and even an encounter with an oak table – he’d felt bad about that one. He’d been trained by his father and several specialists to use more weapons that he could count. He’d guarded business men, drug addicts, cute little housewives and even a bit of royalty once.
All because of a mistake he hadn’t made. A mistake his family would be probably be paying off well into the great grandchildren he wouldn’t be having.
In part because he probably wouldn’t live long enough to have them.
Mostly because that required a chick, and he wanted nothing to do with chicks unless he was contracted to keep them alive and relatively safe. Even then it was only because of the contract.
No, he wanted nothing to do with chicks. All he wanted he’d been lucky enough to get.
Funny that he’d been working for Azura all his life, but hadn’t met one of Azura’s most loyal associates until he was twenty-seven. Hell, he’d never even seen Liv until Trick had asked him to watch out for the guy.
Sullivan Sterling could import or export anything. If he couldn’t get something in or out of the country, no one could. The Sterling family and business had been part of the Azura syndicate for decades, but it was Live who had made it into the inner circle.
So Tybalt should have run across him far sooner than he had. It was just as well he hadn’t though, given how unstable he’d become right after meeting him.
Mickey had often described Sullivan – Sully to everyone but Tybalt – as ‘old school sexy’ but Tybalt had merely taken it as he took many such observations from Mickey – nodded and moved on.
But Liv was old school sexy. He was only thirty seven but his hair was already mostly gray, but he was the kind of guy who just looked stylish and dead hot with it that way. Intense eyes, totally at odds with the way Liv always appeared so relaxed. When he wore a suit, Tybalt wanted to jump him. Still, Live was hottest in his jeans and oxford.
Like he was now, sipping a whiskey as he poured over paperwork. From the hallway, a clock chimed eleven o’clock. Tybalt leaned against the door frame and just watched, more than content to just drink in the sight of his lover.
Though he knew he’d made no sound, given no indication of his presence, Sullivan must have sensed something, for he looked up, and a smile spread across his face. “You weren’t supposed to be back yet, lover.”
Tybalt returned the smile, an expression few thought him capable of. “Finished early.” He unfolded his arms and strolled into the room and around the desk, bracing his hands on the armrests of Liv’s chair as he leaned down to kiss him. “Missed you.”
“It’s never the same without you,” Liv replied. “Are you being dragged away again?”
“Not until Monday,” Tybalt said, stifling a sigh, determined not to think about anything but Live. He tugged Liv to his feet, careful of his leg. “How’s work?”
“Boring. Have you eaten? You always look too skinny.”
Tybalt snickered as he handed Liv his cane. “I thought you liked skinny boys too young for you.”
Liv laughed. “That is true. Still, I know you probably skipped whatever meals you could to get home so quickly.”
“I’ll grab a snack after you welcome me home properly.”
“That sounds like a plan,” Liv replied, eyes warming at how casually Tybalt referred to his house as home.
It was, though. Tybalt had never considered anything home until Liv, and for as long as he was able he’d keep returning.
Kidnapped (Baxter/Lucid/Pretty)
“Kreskan topaz,” Elton said, barely glancing at the stone before moving on to the next. “Zettic ruby.” He reached out and delicately lifted a dark blue gem, turning it back and forth in the bright overhead light. His eyes flared with pleasure, a soft gasp of delight escaping him. “Earth sapphire. I didn’t think it could be. So few of these are still around…magnificent.” He reluctantly set it back down and continued looking over the rest of the stones spread out on black velvet. “Tredad diamond,” he said briefly, skimming over the glittering diamond and several others, ticking off their names after only a brief glance.
On the other side of the room, four men and three women stared at him in awe. Two more merely watched him with fond smiles.
As he finished identifying the stones set out in front of him, Elton nodded politely to the IG officials sitting across from him.
“Incredible,” one man muttered. “Only the finest software programs could identify all those jewels as readily – and I think even they would take longer. How do you do it?”
The woman beside him laughed. “I guess that is what everyone wants to know – how do you tell the Jewels apart, hmm?” Her eyes flicked briefly to the twins sitting on either side of Elton.
“They sparkle differently,” Elton said absently, his eyes fastened on the Earth sapphire he’d admired earlier. “Diamonds especially. Tredad diamonds have a…wet sparkle. Cela diamonds have a harder shine, Earth diamonds a softer one. It’s not that hard.”
On either side of him, Baxter and Lucid reached out to pet him, one running a hand through his hair, the other sliding fingers lightly up and down his thigh.
Another man shook his head. “It’s not that hard, he says. Amazing.” He looked ruefully at the twins. “You were right, as I should have known you would be. We would be grateful, Master Elton, to have your assistance from time to time. The finest technology cannot always pick out faux gems.”
“Of course,” Elton said, finally lifting his eyes from the sapphire. “I’m more than happy to help.”
“Splendid. We’ll send all the official documents and certificates. I think you may be the finest jewel expert in the IG. Thank you for your time.”
Gradually the IG officials left the room.
Elton blinked. “They didn’t take their jewels.”
The twins laughed, sharing a mischievous look that Elton knew all too well. “We bet them this collection that you could identify all the jewels correctly in less than ten minutes. If we were right, you keep the jewels.”
“Is that even legal?” Elton asked, then it struck him what they’d said. “These jewels are mine. Baxter! The Earth sapphire alone is worth millions of points.”
Lips pressed against the back of his neck, Lucid’s hands wandering as he moved so that Elton was sandwiched between them. “I can give you the exact numbers if you want, pretty, but you’d probably panic and do something silly like feel bad. We do enough favors for them, both on and off the record. They can hand over a few trinkets.”
Elton sputtered. “Only you would call hundreds of millions of points worth of jwels trinkets.”
“Everything is trinkets next to you, pretty,” Baxter said. “But, you know, if you wanted to show us your gratitude…”
Elton rolled his eyes but didn’t bother to fight a smile. “I can certainly do that, though I should probably punish you for giving me more stuff.”
“What sort of punishment are we talking?” Lucid asked.
Sandstorm (Shah/Harem)
Nanda plucked hard at his instrument, summoning a harsh, discordant tune that did nothing to quell the uproar of laughter from the far side of the room. He glowered. “Must they always get drunk?” He turned away in disgust and began to play a solemn funeral piece.
Shah chuckled. “We all have our guilty pleasure, Nanda my beauty.”
“They take pleasures in acting like great fools?”
“It would seem so,” Witcher said with a laugh, glancing at where Aik and Beynum roared with laughter all over again over some private amusement. “At least they provide entertainment aplenty.”
“Why does it upset you so much, Nanda?” Kiah asked, perhaps the only one who could ask so direct a question without being snapped or glared at.
“My parents used to drink heavily,” Nanda said, fingers playing the funeral song with ease and some relish as he continued to glower at Aik and Beynum. “I dislike seeing such excessive overindulgence.”
Aik finally turned their way. “Excessive? Hardly. Excessive was that crabby old man at dinner last night.”
“No,” Bey corrected. “That was terrifying.” He drained his wine dish and then leaned back to stretch, muscles rippling, showing off the tattoo across his back. He crawled on all four over to Nanda, daring to take away his instrument and set it aside. Ignoring Nanda’s warning snarls, he wrapped arms around his waist and rested his head in Nanda’s lap. “I wouldn’t drink that much, you idiot.”
Nanda did not seem impressed by the statement, but rather than shove Beynum away he merely buried his fingers in his short hair and leaned down to kiss him. “You’re a brat.”
“Yes, but I am the brat of a King. That means it’s okay.”
Shah laughed and shook his head, sharing a smile with Witcher, who was splayed across his own lap. “Incorrigible, my pirate.”
“No fair,” Aik said, watching them. “I want a lap.” Abandoning his alcohol, he slowly walked over to Kiah and stole the book from his hands. Making himself comfortable in Kiah’s lap, he looked briefly at the book and then returned it. “More of Bey’s stash, I see. Read it aloud.”
Kiah’s cheeks turned red. “Aloud?” he repeated. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Beynum asked, pouting that Nanda had stopped kissing him. “We’ve done everything in it.”
Black Magic (Sorin/Koray)
Koray could not remember a time when resting, sleeping, had been a pleasant experience. It was always an escape, a blank void of time in which he recovered but never really rested. Always he woke up cold, sore, as weary and heartsick as ever.
It was still surreal, sleeping in Sorin’s bed – with Sorin. He knew the rumors spreading through the castle; his protestations only seemed to further fuel them.
He couldn’t bring himself to really care, though he’d never admit that to Sorin.
Caring would mean giving it up, slinking back to the graveyard. He just couldn’t do it. Late at night, when everyone else was asleep, Sorin snoring softly beside him, he was able to admit to himself that for the rest of his life, the nights he spent simply sleeping with Sorin would be his happiest memories. Especially nights like this, where something managed to wake him and he discovered that sometime in the night they’d moved toward each other, Sorin clinging to him like a leech, a warm and solid weight.
He was hot, almost unbearably so. Stranger, he felt…protected.
It was stupid and weak and foolish of him, because once the problems surrounding Rofell were resolved Sorin would no longer see a reason to keep Koray near to hand. He knew Sorin well enough to begrudgingly admit that Sorin would probably see he was well compensated…but that wouldn’t change the fact that Koray had been dismissed, sent off to resume his hard, cold life.
And when that time came, it would be so much worse than before, because now he knew firsthand what it was he’d been missing all these years.
Still, he wasn’t completely stupid. He’d keep his ‘thorns’ and distance, do as he was told, and enjoy nights like these, where he woke in the night to quietly relish his brief time with the Paladin, and could claim a pretense of sleep to move just a bit closer, until he could rest his head against Sorin’s chest and feel his heart beat.
Handcuffs (Paul/Owen)
“Man, what is with you tonight?”
Paul jerked his head around, and blinked, then flushed guiltily. “Sorry. My mind is elsewhere.”
“I’ll say man. What’s so distracting? You’re the backbone of our study group, man.”
“Yeah,” a girl agreed. “The rest of us totally depend on you. Don’t go flaking.”
Paul rolled his eyes. “I’m very sorry I’m not doing all the work for you.”
“As you should be,” a third guy said. “Why are you so distracted?”
“Waiting for someone,” Paul said absently, eyes straying back to the door. He’d told Owen exactly how to get to his campus, how to get to the coffeehouse where they’d be studying. He’d said nine…it was almost ten after…He glanced at the gold handcuffs on his wrist.
“Space cadet,” one of his friends said.
“Sorry,” Paul muttered. It was just they’d never been apart this long, and what if Owen had found someone less dorky at his own college? Which was stupid of course, he knew that, but still what if—
His thoughts broke off as the door chimed, and he looked up to see a figured he’d been aching for since they’d had to go to their separate schools. Paul shot out of his seat and all but ran to the door, throwing himself at a grinning Owen, not minding a bit when Owen held him tight and kissed him soundly.
Distantly he heard soft laughter from his study group, and someone saying. “I guess I’d be distracted too.”
Kidnapped (Einn/Cyan)
Einn hopped over what was left of the bar and poured himself a draft, then hopped neatly back over and retrieved a barstool that appeared to be intact. It was a bit short for his long frame, but most things were.
The beer wasn’t bad. Not the best, he preferred a good, dark Frop, but nothing on Gorob was ever truly awful – most thought the IG had brought in Gorob just for the booze.
Certainly not for the people. Einn idly counted the bodies. “Twelve that I can see for which you’re to blame, lover. What happened to the other eight?”
“They knocked each other out. I really only took out six of them. You got four. Two don’t count; they shouldn’t have moved that fast after doing doubles of Gorob whiskey.” Cyan made a face. “HG is going to kill us.”
“You, lover, they’re going to kill you. I didn’t start this fight; in fact I tried to stop it.” Not very hard, but he had tried. Stupid Soul dealers.
“Pyotr won’t kill me.” Cyan grinned and stepped carefully over the unconscious men scattered across the wrecked bar. The knuckles of one hand had split, but Einn doubted Cyan noticed.
He took another sip of his beer, then set it aside as Cyan reached him, spreading his legs so Cyan could stand between them, looping his arms around his lover’s shoulders. “I can’t take you anywhere, Rehab.”
“Hey, I was prepared to behave. They decided to be difficult.”
“Everyone thinks you’re the nice, quiet one,” Einn said fondly, giving Cyan a slow, lazy kiss.
Cyan smiled. “You didn’t.”
“I have a strong instinct for survival.”
Kidnapped (Pyotr/Jade)
Pyotr stared out the window, seeing nothing but unending white.
He’d hated Tredad as a child. He still hated it. He always would.
All the snow. The unending cold. The things that could be hidden in them.
Though at the moment being one of those hidden things was the only reason he was still alive.
Pyotr reached for his tea and wince at the pain that shot through his arm and shoulder. It was the sort of pain that he’d endure for the rest of his life. He was grateful he’d survived, and wished only that his crew had been so fortunate.
He took a sip of his tea and stared out the window.
A prickle of awareness ran up his spine, telling him he was being watched. Pyotr turned his head, eyes immediately finding the only other person in the small cabin.
Jade appeared to be enthralled in his book. Pyotr took the opportunity to do some looking of his own.
He was still as beautiful as he’d always been. Dark hair, pale skin, those sharp eyes that missed nothing. Proud and cool, but Pyotr had seen the fire that burned in his eyes.
Pyotr thought Jade would be beautiful no matter what happened to him or where he went. Even buried in the snow in Tredad, Jade wore only the finest silk, his long nails painted a dark, burnt orange. Pyotr had always loved Jade’s nails, though it was something he would probably never admit aloud.
Jade stirred, and Pyotr hastily turned his gaze back to the window. A moment later he again felt eyes on him, but he didn’t turn around.
Sandstorm (Sahayl/Bahadur)
The noise in the grand hall faded to a near silence as they walked through, heads bent low as they talked quietly together, hands moving to help illustrate whatever point they were trying to make. If they were aware of the stares and the sudden quiet, they gave no indication.
Eyes followed them, drinking in the striking picture of the Sandstorm Prince and the one all knew he called his warhorse, Bahadur.
Sahayl was just shorter than Bahadur, thick curls falling around his face, resistant to taming and all but begging to be touched. He carried himself with a quiet dignity, and his smile had a calming effect on all who saw it.
If for some strange reason anyone ever wanted to harm the Sandstorm Prince, one look at his companion inspired second thoughts. Bahadur was everything heathens pictured when they thought of the desert savages – tall, broad-shouldered, built like a sword weighed almost nothing. The intricate calligraphy tattooed into his cheeks and forehead added an exotic air. He carried no weapons, but gave the impression he did not need them to protect his Prince.
Most eye-catching thing about the pair, however, was the way the Sandstorm Prince’s calming smile was exclusively for the man beside him, and the way Bahadur’s hand rest lightly, protectively, on the small of Prince’s back.
The noise and chatter was slow to resume, not picking up again until well after the two sons of the Desert had passed from the room.
Sandstorm (Shir/Javed)
Shir hid a wince, but he could tell from the look he got that Javed had seen it.
So protective, his beautiful former slave.
He motioned away the man kneeling before him, causing another wince. He held up a hand as the guards started to bring forward the next petitioner. “A few moment’s rest, if you please. Bring them back at the next bell.”
The guards nodded, and in mere seconds the room was empty save for Shir and Javed.
Javed immediately stood and dragged Shir up, taking his place in the seat and settling Shir on his lap. “What is wrong?”
Shir chuckled softly, leaning back against his lover, hands stroking the arms wrapped around him. “Just sore, my beauty.” He reached up to bury his fingers in Javed’s hair, turning his head so he could reach up and steal a kiss.
Javed immediately returned the kiss, taking control of it, so much more confident than he’d once been. He broke away with a sound like a soft growl. “I don’t like seeing you in pain.”
“Pain?” Shir scoffed. “Merely sore, and I’d be more upset if you stopped leaving me sore, my beauty.” Shir laughed softly. “Though if you want to give me a massage later with those oh so clever hands, I will not protest overmuch.”
Teeth nipped gently at his throat, Javed’s way of acknowledging the teasing – he would never be much for laughing outright. “Yes, my prince.”
A Trilogy of Knights (Trey/Dunstan)
The fog was thick, the type that seemed like a living, breathing thing.
Which, in a way, was quite true. There was something in the mist – ghosts, some would say. Memories, others would pose.
Dunstan reached out to touch it, and for a moment the fog indeed seemed solid enough to hold – but at the last it slipped from his fingers, parting only just enough that he could walk through it.
The air was chilly, but it could not fully penetrate his heavy wool robes.
He resisted the urge to call out, knowing the fog would just swallow his cries. He walked steadily on, trusting his feet to know what his eyes could not see. The path was one he’d walked a thousand times, in daylight and in darkness.
Ever so faintly he began to hear the waves rushing up the shore, the scent of the sea finally penetrating the blanketing fog.
He started, gasped, as something latched onto his wrist – then Trey stepped out of the fog and drew close, his heat banishing what little of the chill Dunstan could feel. “Dunstan,” Trey greeted, saying his name like it was something precious. “What are you doing out at his hour? You’ll catch a chill.”
“I was beginning to fear the same for you,” Dunstan said, tilting his head up in silent plea for a kiss. “You were out later than usual.”
Trey immediately gave the kiss, slow and soft, banishing all the worries from Dunstan’s mind. “I did not mean to be. I was enjoying the cool.”
Dunstan smiled. “Come inside and I’ll show you reasons to enjoy the heat.”
“That does sound promising,” Trey replied, returning the smile, mist-gray eyes flashing as he followed Dunstan inside.
A Trilogy of Knights (Shahzad/Victor)
Victor woke feeling like something was horribly wrong. Then realized what had woken him.
Giggling.
He shoved back the covers and propped himself up on his elbows, and turned to blink sleepily at a gaggle of four women, all giggling madly behind the sleeves of their silk robes. He could feel his face begin to heat, and knew it was turning red – which only seemed to make them giggle more.
Groaning in despair, he tugged the blankets back up over his head and willed himself to immediately expire.
A hand slid soothingly up his back, and then cool air washed over him as Shahzad shoved the blankets aside again.
Victor didn’t budge, determined to never leave the bed.
Shahzad rumbled a few words and the giggling ceased, followed a moment later by the scuffling of slippered feet and the closing of a door. Shahzad’s hand slid up and down his spine, a soothing gesture.
“Do they do that every morning?” he finally asked. Of all the ways he’d thought to spend his first morning with Shahzad – and it still felt unreal, despite all evidence in his surroundings and aching body, to think that he was actually with Shahzad now – waking up to a bunch of giggling servant girls had not been among them.
“Every morning,” Shahzad said with a yawn. “Though usually it’s only three, not five.” He sounded more amused than Victor thought he should. “I think we’re lucky it wasn’t more, though I’d imagine we’ll be seeing girls that don’t normally serve me over the next several days.” He winked. “I guess we make a pretty pair.”
Victor made a face, loathing the heat he could feel in his cheeks. “You’re as bad as them.”
“Oh, I’m worse,” Shahzad said with a smirk. “They’re only misbehaving a little bit.” He moved suddenly, quickly, pinning Victor to the bed. “I misbehave lots.”
Paradise (Trick/Ex)
“Hey, boss.”
“Hmm?” Trick asked without looking up from the report Mickey had handed him just a minute ago.
Mickey caught him lightly by the elbow, forcing him to halt.
Trick finally looked up, brow furrowed in confusion. “What is it, Mickey?” They were busy today. He had a meeting scheduled with the syndicate in the private room of his convention center and if they didn’t hurry he’d be late – never a good idea, especially with Waterstone still pissy.
“Take a look,” Mickey said softly, pointing down to the center of the main convention hall.
It was crowded. Some private business convention or another; the Azura Corportion hosted a handful of them throughout the year – ostensibly to find fresh meat for the business world, connect with various just-starting companies…all of it a front for various other activities, including the meeting for which he was about to be late. His eyes wandered the milling crowd, searching for what Mickey had seen.
His breath caught as he saw.
Dark hair, tall, slender figure, more handsome than even the best pictures could convey, pacing restlessly at the perimeter of the convention floor as he talked animatedly on a cell phone.
“What’s he doing here?” Trick asked softly.
“I’ll find out, if you want.” Mickey shrugged. “Not his scene.” He smiled teasingly. “Maybe he’s meeting someone.”
Trick bit back the jealous retort Mickey was obviously angling for. “Find out,” he said. “Make certain he’s left alone.” Taking one last look, drinking in the sight of Ex, Trick finally wrenched himself away and continued on toward his meeting.
Paradise (Mickey/Cameron)
Cameron summoned his most withering look. “Get out of my face.”
“Now, now, pretty boy," the man said coaxingly. “We just want to make an appointment to see Mr. Sterling.”
“You and everyone else,” Cameron said. “Calling me obnoxious names isn’t going to get you one any faster – and may just get you dead.”
The man and his companion laughed. It was a cold sound. “Pretty boy, we’ll call you whatever names we like. Sterling might be part of the Syndicate, but that doesn’t mean he can get away with whatever he wants.”
“Sure it does.”
The laughter abruptly died. “Sterling isn’t that buddy buddy with Azura,” the second man said contemptuously.
Behind them the door of Cameron’s office suddenly clicked open. Cameron nearly went for his gun, sick and tired of people just strolling into his office like they had every right to be there – he might just be a glorified secretary but that didn’t mean they could run roughshoud.
He felt a headache coming on at who his new visitor turned out to be.
In front of him, the two men from Grayson’s turf – a paltry little thing Azura let live, though they didn’t know it – fell immediately silent. Though Cameron doubted these two had ever seen him, everyone knew Mickey on sight anyway. There was no way to be that gorgeous and infamous and not be immediately recognizable.
“Mickey,” he said curtly. “You weren’t scheduled to visit today.”
“Was in the area, baby doll,” Mickey said with a wink, stepping past the two men as if they weren’t even there. “Thought maybe I could convince you to go to lunch.”
“As soon as I finish up with my guests,” Cameron said, using whatever game Mickey was playing to his own advantage.
“We were just about to leave,” the first man said, not really hiding his slightly panicked look.
Attempting to hassle Sterling’s secretary was one thing. Attempting to hassle someone who was clearly in Mickey’s favor was suicide. The two men wasted no time in vanishing, and Cameron let them, not really in the mood to shoot people though they’d been pushing it.
“What do you want, Mickey?” he asked, shoving the man away.
“A little bird told me Grayson’s men were getting uppity. Came to ask you guys about it. Guess I have good timing.”
Cameron made a face. “I’ve also warned you about calling me by that stupid fucking name.”
Mickey merely grinned. “I really do have time for lunch, if you’re up for it, baby doll.”
Cameron rolled his eyes.
Paraidse (Klause/Bastion)
“So if you’re the wealthy, affluent, handsome spoiled brat,” Klause said idly, turning his head, reflective sunglasses flashing, “does that make me your boy toy? What’s the proper terminology for that? Is it still boy toy? Am I kept man?”
“How about an idiot?” Bastion asked, and Klause could tell he was rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. He turned over on his beach towel, giving his torso a chance at the sunlight. “Be a good idiot and grab me a soda.”
“Light or dark, oh lord and master – oh shit, I think that was a pun.”
Bastion reached out and smacked Klause hard on his flat stomach. “Shut. Up.”
“You’re not supposed to abuse your boy toy, you know.”
“Yeah, right,” Bastion said with a snort. “You should see what Law does to all his little treats.”
Klause rolled his eyes. “I saw the latest one yesterday before we left. I never understood what a ‘tart’ was until that moment.”
“Expensive tart, I’m sure,” Bastion said in annoyance. “Dad should cut off his allowance.”
“Yeah, speaking of that. As your highly skilled boy toy, shouldn’t I be getting, I dunno, really hot cars or something.” He laughed as Bastion groaned and turned over again. “Though I’d settle for more sex – but not out here. Sand can get really damned uncomfortable.” He snickered at the way Bastion glared. “I went skinny dipping once, that was all,” he soothed.
“Hmph,” Bastion said, laying back down. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s nice out here. You want me inside, you’re going to have to carry me.” Believing the matter settled, he turned back around to lie on his back and relaxed.
Klause grinned,
A few moments later, Bastion was howling in protest as Klause carried him back toward the beach house.
Dance with the Devil (Sable/Chris)
The first thing Chris knew was that he wasn’t at his shitty apartment.
He had so much work to do before his agency was worth anything, and more still before his own life was firmly on its feet.
The bed was sinfully comfortable – he couldn’t remember ever thinking of comfort that way before.
Though part of it was the man he was curled up against – demon, he realized, as everything finally crashed into place. The previous night, dinner with Sable, a demon. Who had acted far too possessive, didn’t know when to stop—
--and obviously who had gotten his way. Chris slowly disentangled himself and sat up to get his bearings.
Sable’s bedroom he remembered from the last time he’d been in it – the bed as well, though last time he’d been too upset and busy to appreciate how comfortable it was. It also wasn’t cheap; far from it. Sable obviously enjoyed his creature comforts.
It made him feel completely out of his element. He was a poor, struggling detective. He’d met Sable because he’d believed him a murderer.
He certainly didn’t belong in the demon lord’s lair, never mind his bed. This was twenty kinds of foolish. Obviously he’d not been thinking properly last night.
Giving in to his gloomy thoughts, Chris moved to climb from the bed – only to be snatched back by an arm around his waist, the strength in it startling, though familiar.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Sable murmured, nuzzling his throat. “It’s too early to get out of bed. Is the sun even up?”
Chris didn’t bother struggling; he’d learned the hard way that breaking free of Sable was futile until the demon allowed it. “Not all of us can afford to stay in bed all day,” he snapped.
Sable merely chuckled and held him tighter, fingers teasing lightly over his skin. “I’ll make it worth your while, beloved.”
“I’ve told you to stop calling me that.”
“Why?” Sable asked, shifting them so that Chris was beneath him, pressed into the dark silk sheets. “Hate it?” He leaned down and kissed Chris long and slow. “Afraid it might be true?” His stormcloud eyes were bright.
“Hate it,” Chris said fervently.
Sable merely smirked and leaned down to kiss him again.
Burning Bright (Dym/Raz)
“Eminence?” Dym called out as he traveled through the immense garden, brows furrowed in thought. He stopped beneath the tree of golden apples, brow furrowed in thought. He’d been certain Raz would be out here…
The rustle of leaves was his only warning before something heavy came crashing down, sending them both falling hard to the ground.
“Eminence!”
Raz laughed as Dym struggled to right himself, finally relenting and sitting back on his heels. “Good morning, my priest. Did you sleep well?”
Dym fixed his robes, fingers sliding over the soft gray fabric. He had feared more than once, during the thousand years he’d waited and worked, that he would never wear them again. That he would see nothing but the red robes of the royal office.
He looked reprovingly at Raz. A thousand years, it seemed, was not enough to cure the Firebird of his tendency to tease his priest. “Most well, Eminence.”
Raz leaned forward suddenly, bracing his weight on his hands, and brushed a kiss across Dym’s lips. “I like your pouts.”
“I do not pout,” Dym said.
Snickering, Raz moved closer and looped his arms around Dym’s neck, reaching up to kiss him properly. “Well, I like your not-pouts then. I think they’re more effective now than when you were a child, dearest Dym.”
Dym started to speak, then merely shook his head. “Eminence…”
“All right, all right – no more attacking you from the trees. I make no promises about the bushes, however.”
Never Afraid Are We
Almost better than sex.
Benson didn't bother to look up from his own strawberries and cream. You’re ridiculous.
I said almost, hot stuff.
So if you couldn’t screw us, ice cream would suffice? Jeremy asked with a laugh. The sudden noise from their table, which until then had been completely silent, startled a few people at the surrounding tables.
Baby, it’s always so weird when you say things like ‘screw’ and ‘fuck’ – you’re way too pretty for such dirty words. Rodney winked.
Benson rolled his eyes. Last night you were encouraging them.
It was still weird.
Jeremy snickered and sucked on his chocolate ice cream bar.
Would you both behave?
Why? Rodney asked, looking at Benson as he gave his ice cream another lick. It’s pretty obvious you like what we’re doing.
Behave, Benson said, or I’ll exact revenge.
That sounds like incentive to misbehave, hot stuff. What do you say, baby?
Jeremy merely grinned and sucked harder at his ice cream bar.
Will add more as I finish them. Some of these are like pulling teeth X_x It totally didn't help that my comp decided to restart itself the other day and I lost a few of them.
*notes*
~Embrace is hard b/c I don't want to write things that come after the story as I've not completeed it, nor am I even halfway. But the scene here comes a bit later in the story, and as I give no explanation for Gille's state, I feel it doesn't spoil anything.
~Prisoner I just c/p'ed directly from the story. No slash, but the way those two fight it may as well be. I've been rereading, tweaking the story lately, and I'm happy that's it's not the disaster I was starting to fear. Dieter is close to my heart. I wish I could post the story, but there's so much to fix X_x
Perfect (Ian/Tobias)
“One, two, one, two, three four, one, two, five—“ Tobias stopped the dance.
“Sorry, Tobias,” Princess Antonia said, shoulders drooping. “I always mess up that last step…”
Tobias let go of her hand to tug lightly on one of her bobbing gold curls. “No harm, Princess. It’s a difficult dance. You’re trying too hard – just let your feet do the work, hmm?”
“Yes,” said a voice from the doorway. “Focus on your instructor, on conversation, and let your feet do the dancing.” A warm chuckle.
Tobias glared over Antonia’s shoulder. “You are supposed to be in a meeting.”
“It finished early,” Ian said lazily.
Antonia laughed hesitantly and slowly stepped away from her tutor. She curtsied to Ian. “Highness.”
“Princess,” Ian greeted with a bow, kissing the knuckles of her hand as she held it out. “I encountered your mother on my way here; I do believe she is seeking you for a fitting.”
If it was suitable for a princess to squeal, that was how Tobias would have described the sound she made before she bobbed him a hasty curtsy and called a thank you over her shoulder as she fled the room.
“I seldom have seen a woman so jubilant to be getting married. Your girl was the last, as I recall.”
Tobias smiled faintly at the mention of Joanne – but he quickly reassumed his glower as Ian drew close. He put a hand to Ian’s chest. “Back off. I know that glimmer and this is neither the time nor the place.”
“It is always the time,” Ian said with a grin. He grasped Tobias’s wrist and tugged, moving their arms into position as he slid his other arm around Tobias’s waist.
“It is most definitely not the place,” Tobias hissed, but pure habit made him move as Ian began the steps of the dance he’d been attempting to teach Antonia. “What are you doing?”
Ian merely smiled until they finished the first set. “Every time I attend a fete, I must dance with dozens of girls who do not interest me. You, of course, refuse to attend.”
“I am a tutor,” Tobias said stiffly. “Tutors do not attend courtly functions.”
“Even if the tutor in question is my lover?” Ian asked, and continued speaking before Tobias could answer him. “Anyway, I think it a pity I dance with girls who all look the same to me and never dance with you.”
“Men do not dance together. It completely ruins the aesthetic.”
“Only you would use aesthetic as an explanation,” Ian said fondly. “Though if you want to maintain it, I wouldn’t object to you in a dress.”
Tobias narrowed his eyes and stepped hard on Ian’s toes as they turned into the last step of the second set. “You’re in a fine mood today.”
“I woke up well,” Ian said smugly, halting their dance to gather Tobias close and kiss him soundly.
“Remind me not to do it again,” Tobias said when the kiss finally ended. “Clearly it only encourages your propensity for mischief.”
Ian merely smiled, brushed another soft kiss across his lips, then resumed dancing, humming softly until Tobias at last smiled back.
DwtD (Doug/Zach)
Zach stirred and turned over, reaching out an arm – and encountering sheets long cooled. Sitting up, he yawned and slid from bed. A few minutes searching at last located his silk lounging pants – they’d wound beneath the dresser somehow – and a ribbon to tie back his hair.
Chris’s office was on the bottom floor a three story building in the middle of the downtown district. Slowly but surely he’d worked to restore the entire building – the irony being that by the time it was finished, Chris had moved in with Sable and no longer needed the rooms he’d converted to luxury apartments.
Phil and Myra had elected to take rooms elsewhere. That left two whole floors to Doug, who held the building too dear to ever want to leave it. Zach was content to live anywhere, happy simply to be away from the manor he’d felt trapped in for so long, though the prison was only ever in his own head.
Unlike Doug, who even after two decades of freedom could not escape the nine decades he’d spent enslaved.
It was hard to reconcile the imp he loved with the stories Doug had only once ever told him – of his wings tornhorns sawed off, kept short, abused and maltreated, made to bespell things, hurt them, bind them. Imps were powerful even before they matured, and rare was the imp allowed to reach maturity.
Zach could almost understand why – if all imps turned out as beautiful and powerful as Doug, they would be a force to be reckoned with. In his true form, Doug stood well over six feet, his wing span at least double that, mismatched eyes glowing with power and magic, his tail more than capable of inflicting damage on its own, claws that could cut the hide of an ogre. He was everything normals thought a demon was – and more besides, because he’d been taught how to fight by a real demon.
For all that, though, Doug still had the gentle nature of an imp.
Padding up the stairs, Zach stepped out onto the roof and crossed it, shivering in the cold early winter air.
Doug sat on a ledge, his wings partially unfurled, the end of his tail lying still on the roof. Zach hopped up onto the ledge next to him, pressing close. “S’cold, lover.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” Doug said by way of explanation and apology. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Zach yawned. “You should have. I never mind coming up here with you.” How could he? He’d never been a prisoner in the way that Doug had, but he still knew how it felt to be trapped. Doug had once only watched the sky from windows, or with the bitter knowledge that his wings were broken, useless. Now he watched it because he could fly up into it any time he wanted – but chose not to, because he had reasons to stay on the ground.
“No sense in you freezing to death,” Doug said, and he moved his wings so that they fell over both of them, blocking out the worst of the wind and chill.
“Never a problem with you around,” Zach said, brushing a soft kiss across Doug’s shoulder before snuggling close, more than content to doze lightly while Doug watched the stars.
Sandstorm (Sahayl/Harem)
“This game makes no sense,” Isra said, glowering at the board. “Trust the northerners to come up with something so completely idiotic and stupid.”
Shihab laughed. “Isra, only you would complain that chess is too difficult. Taaki is far more difficult than chess – you just don’t have the patience.”
Isra picked up a small black piece shaped like a stone tower. “Patience, nothing. Taaki is much easier than this stupid game.” He dropped the piece in disgust.
Bahadur chuckled from where he sat next to Sahayl, reclining amongst a wealth of pillows as they watched Shihab and Isra play. “If you did not want to play, Isra, then why did you insist he teach you?”
“Because I’m tired of him cheating at taaki.” He flicked over a piece shaped like a crown and glowered at Shihab, who was snickering. “I don’t think you’re explaining this game very well. It makes no sense.”
Shihab rolled his eyes. “Only you, Isra,” he repeated fondly. “Chess has only six types of playing pieces, and each player starts with sixteen total – eight pawns, two knights, two rooks, two bishops, a king and a queen. Each piece has a very particular way it can move. Taaki has twenty different kinds of playing pieces, each player starts with ten and can wind up with as many as thirty – and how the pieces move depends on what other pieces are around it. The object of chess is to capture the king, the object of taaki is to take the entire board. Chess is for just two people, taaki can be played by up to six.”
“It still makes no sense,” Isra said. “Why did I let you talk me in to this game?”
“Because you were tired of losing at taaki?” Shihab asked.
Isra slammed his hands down on the table, knocking a couple more pieces over, and rose up on his knees to lean over the table, glaring at Shihab. “I lose because you cheat!”
Shihab snickered. “I don’t cheat, you just can’t play well. Too impatient, pretty little rose.”
Isra narrowed his eyes – then launched himself over the table and tackled Shihab.
Bahadur chuckled softly and sipped his wine, then held the dish to Sahayl, who sat relaxing against him, his quiet laughter mingling with Bahadur’s. “Do you think, my prince, they’ll ever figure out that persuading them to play is our own little game?”
“I doubt it,” Sahayl replied, eyes following Shihab and Isra as they wrestled and fought, exchanging kisses as often as they smacked or pinched. “They like arguing too much.”
Embrace (Gille/Stregoni)
“Stay in that bed!” Stregoni snapped. He grabbed Gille’s shoulders and pressed him back down.
Surprisingly strong arms came up and looped around his waist, and Stregoni found himself sprawled across a Gille whose bare chest suddenly ceased to be of medical interest only.
The bandages he wore, however, were not to be ignored. “Knock it off!” Stregoni hissed, struggling and squirming to get free, detesting his own body for noticing just how gorgeous Gille was despite the pallor of his skin, the exhaustion he was clearly fighting.
“You’re going to cause me more injury, Carrot, if you keep moving like that.”
“Let. Me. Go. This is no time for your games, Gille.” Despite his words, Stregoni stilled. He fought hard not to remember the last time he’d been straddled across Gille’s thighs – but it was hard to forget the scent of honey flower and lavender that still scented Gille’s sheets, mingling with the coppery smell of blood, the bitter smell of the medicine he’d given Gille to dull the pain and hopefully strengthen him. “You’ve lost too much blood. Playing your stupid games will just reopen your wounds. Let me—“ His words were cut off by Gille’s mouth.
Gille’s kisses were just as searing as he remembered. They burned, wiping away all his good intentions, his determination to give up on the bloody bastard once and for all.
Except he would never forget the image of Gille pale and almost dead on the floor, surrounded by a pool of his own blood. Stregoni shuddered and kissed harder, leaning forward and bracing his hands on either side of Gille. “Bastard,” he whispered when Gille finally let the kiss end. He tried in vain to resist the hands that started to explore him, sliding over him like they had every right, detesting the way Gille knew exactly how to touch him. “I hate you,” he said, trying not to moan, hating himself more for leaning down to take a second kiss.
Treasure (Raiden/Takara)
Taka stirred as he felt something heavy settle around his throat. His fingers fumbled for purchase on the soft sofa, and he realized fuzzily that the warm sunlight that had put him to sleep was now absent.
Warm fingers trailed down his back, curling around his hip and looping around his waist as Taka finally sat up. He leaned back against a warm chest and soft silk. “Raiden,” he said groggily.
“I swear sometimes you are a cat,” Raiden teased. “You find a sunny spot and curl right up” He shifted so that he sat on the sofa with Taka in his lap.
Taka yawned and curled up against his, tucking his head into the hollow of Raiden’s shoulder. “It’s not my fault I’ve become lazy.”
Raiden snorted softly. “Hardly lazy, my treasure.”
“Not a treasure…” Taka muttered, but the pet name reminded him of what had woke him in the first place. Blinking, making himself move, Taka sat up and touched fingers around the heavy necklace Raiden had slipped around his throat.
“Moon stone and sapphir, set in Highland silver.” Raiden said, his own fingers sliding over the stones, tangling briefly with Taka’s, before he slid them up Taka’s throat and jaw, brushing across a cheek before finally sliding away. “Light and dark blue, they match you perfectly. I bought them from a woman in Verde.”
“Bought or stole?” Taka asked dryly. “Stop putting me in jewelry intended for women.”
Raiden chuckled and dragged him close enough he could place a gentle nip to Taka’s throat right over his pulse, just above the jewels. “They look infinitely better on you, my treasure. I wish I could persuade you to wear nothing but jewels.”
“You’re an idiot,” Taka said, but he was fighting a smile as Raiden finally kissed him.
Prisoner
Beraht rolled his eyes. Wandering over to the table, he helped himself to the bread and sausage set out. “I don’t suppose you heathens keep wine about this place, do you? That’s the least I deserve after all this.”
“A prisoner deserves nothing,” Dieter said. “You should be grateful that I treat you as well as I do.”
“Well? I’ve got bruises and cuts in thirty different places, all because you think the way to end a conversation is with violence.”
Dieter laughed. “It shuts you up, doesn’t it? And I will gladly make it fifty if you do not shut up right now.” He laughed again when Beraht fell silent.
He let his mind wander for a bit, giving it a chance to clear. But gradually he brought his attention back around to the question of Beraht and the Illussor. Because though Beraht would pay in full for killing a hundred of his men while they rested in camp, the Illussor had slain the remaining four hundred because of Beraht.
And that was strange behavior for the Illussor – especially for the Illussor. Who seemed to fight for no apparent reason. The war over Regenbogen was predominantly between Kria and Salhara. Why the Illussor had gotten involved was a reason lost before his time. But they appeared seldom; generally, it seemed, merely to make sure the war had not wandered too far into Illussor territory.
Then again, with their nasty little mind-trick, there was really no telling how often they appeared.
So basically he knew nothing useful. No doubt it was something that made sense only to magic-tainted minds.
“What is your etiquette on prisoners? I can’t imagine this sort of journey is standard fare, though really you should consider adding it to your repertoire of tortures.”
Dieter continued eating, unfazed. He finished a length of sausage before bothering to answer. “Most are tortured for information. I’m sure I don’t need to explain the details of that to a man who is both polluted and given to skulking about in the dark.”
“You’re just infuriated that I managed to kill so many of Kria’s best soldiers – well, supposedly the best.”
Dishes and food flew about as Dieter upended the small table and pinned Beraht to the floor with it, resting his weight until he knew the man could barely breathe, and was in excruciating pain. But not quite enough weight to break anything. “How do you like it? Pinned and helpless, your life completely in my control? Feeling angry? Scared? Want to kill me? My men died in their sleep – they had as much chance to save their own lives as you do right now. But at least you had some warning. If you killed my men, Salharan filth, it is because you were a coward about it.” In one smooth move Dieter rose, threw the table aside, then reached down and hauled Beraht to his feet. “Do not doubt for one second that I won’t make you suffer. Every day for the rest of your life, you will regret killing my men as you did.”
Though sore and shaken and gasping for breath, Beraht lashed out to drive the man back. It had no effect. Dieter threw him on the bed. “You keep talking about this suffering – but beyond your usual crass behavior, bloodthirsty Krian, I’ve yet to suffer.”
Dieter threw his head back and laughed. “You don’t think it’s punishing enough to spend the rest of your life as my prisoner, Beraht? To know that until the day you die, you are mine. For the rest of your life, you will be in Kria. Under my control. Bearing the name I gave you. I do not understand the Salharan obsession with names, but I know you despise that I named you. That will serve nicely, or at least until I think of something worse.”
He’d expected a fight, but Beraht merely turned away and lay on his stomach in bed, staring out the window on the far side of the room. Dieter sneered at his back, then turned to clean up the mess he’d made of the food. When the table was righted, he blew out the lamps and sat at the table, mulling over events past, present and future.
When he was certain Beraht was fast asleep, he climbed into the empty side of the bed and eventually fell asleep, one hand on his sword.
Brightleaf (Geoffrey/Thorley)
“Serves you right,” Geoffrey said as Thorley hissed briefly in pain. Ignoring it, he continued to stitch up the wound running down Thorley’s forearm. “What were you thinking, Thorley?”
“That it’s a pity you stopped me before I could skin him alive,” Thorley snapped.
Geoffrey jabbed a bit harder than necessary as he started the next stitch. “He was stupid and ignorant; not worth you getting hurt,” he said quietly. “Or do you think it makes me happy to see you in pain? To stitch up a wound like this?” He tried to relax, but the tension in his shoulders and back wouldn’t go away.
The village was, by and large, accepting of him and Thorley, and those that disapproved weren’t going to risk angering the only healer for miles around – nor would they offend the Marquis, who it was well-known had taken Thorley’s brother as his lover.
Visitors, however, didn’t care about any of that.
And Thorley being Thorley, he wouldn’t just let anyone that called Geoffrey names get away with it. If they were stupid enough to do more than call him ugly names and make threats… “How did you manage to get injured, anyway?” Geoffrey finished stitching Thorley’s arm up and bit off the end of the thread. “Wyrms never touch you. How did those idiots?”
“Angel dust,” Thorley said shortly.
“Ah,” Geoffrey replied. Angel dust would have ruined his vision – which explained why he’d dumped water on his head in the middle of the fight. “I wish you wouldn’t get into brawls over such stupid stuff.”
Thorley growled and pulled Geoffrey close with his good arm. “You’re not ‘stupid stuff’.”
“I don’t like being the reason you’re hurt, Thorley,” Geoffrey said, glaring, only further annoyed at the way his tension immediately began to ease as Thorley held him.
“I don’t like being the reason you’re hurt – and I know exactly how much their stupidity hurts you. I’m a lot of things, but blind’s not one of them.”
Geoffrey smiled faintly and brushed a soft kiss across Thorley’s mouth. “They upset me because I know how much such words have always upset you.”
Thorley rolled his eyes. “Why can’t we just stay home instead of going and constantly worrying about each other? We can drink and eat just as easily here.”
“You like going out.”
“I like having you to myself more,” Thorley countered, blue eyes turning bright before he leaned in to kiss Geoffrey, nothing soft in it, teeth biting down gently on his bottom when he finally pulled away.
“Be careful of your arm,” Geoffrey reminded him as Thorley stood and dragged him off to the bedroom.
Paradise (Mickey/Sam)
“Who the hell is that?”
Sam didn’t even bother looking up from his paperback – his greatest source of cheap amusement was mafia thrillers. He didn’t need to look up to see who had just walked in the door, the tone of awe and sudden lust in Mr. Peterson’s voice all he needed.
Peterson was in for a meeting with Trick, who had assigned Sam to play watchdog. Peterson had a long way to go before he reached the level of ‘trustworthy’.
Sam pointedly kept his eyes on his book as he heard the new arrival approach. The scent of leather and subtle cologne was hideously distracting, but he had practice at ignoring Mickey.
“Hello, sexy,” Mickey greeted, snatching the book from Sam’s hands. He read the premise on the back with amusement. “Miss me?”
“No,” Sam said bluntly, not rising to the bait by trying to take his book back. “We were finally getting some peace and quiet around here.” He glared briefly at Mickey, who stared lazily back.
Their locked gaze was broken by Peterson’s discreet cough.
“You’re Peterson,” Mickey said, handing back Sam’s book as he focused on business. “We hear you’re the man when it comes to jewels. Sully recommends you.”
Peterson smiled briefly. “Sterling is a fine man to work with. He knows his business. I’ve never had trouble importing when I work with him.”
A door opened with a click, and Trick’s slippery secretary appeared. “Peterson. Azura will see you now. Sam, he says you can stay out here.”
Sam lifted a brow at the odd statement, but nodded. “Whatever he wants.” Tybalt was in today, a rarity, so Trick really didn’t need him.
Silence fell as he was left alone in the outer office with Mickey. He glanced down at his book.
He’d only just started this one. When he’d seen it in the grocery store, it had seemed suitably amusing. An undercover agent slowly works his way into the dark underworld of the mafia, eventually taking his place as bodyguard to one of the greatest mob bosses in the world – but gets into trouble when he finds himself falling for the beautiful woman who is both the mob lord’s lover and his right hand. Stupid, melodramatic, and such a sad imitation of reality it was funny.
Except suddenly it wasn’t funny.
In the book, of course, the undercover agent would vanquish the evil mobsters, get the girl, and probably go home with a trendy bullet wound or something that forced him into early retirement on some beautiful stretch of beach.
Reality wasn’t like that. He wasn’t a secret agent who was going to save the day. If he got shot, it would probably be fatal – missing wasn’t an option in this business.
Falling in love wasn’t either. Trick was number one in his life and in Mickey’s. There was no such thing as number two.
“Get out of my face,” Sam snarled.
Mickey laughed softly, but for once passed up the chance to taunt him.
It was an old game, one goading, one snarling. They did it as naturally as breathing. Taunts and insults were all they had.
A door clicked as Mickey left, and Sam returned to his book, laughing at the ridiculousness of it but secretly glad that at the end, the undercover agent would get his girl and beach.
Paradise (Sullivan/Tybalt)
Most days his life played like a bad movie or a TV show long overdue for cancellation.
Wednesday he’d killed a man trying to sneak into the Azura compound.
The day before that he’d finished a job guarding a chick who’d squealed on a potential double cross. Mickey had cleaned up that mess.
On Monday he had to fly to Japan. No one had told him why yet, except that it would count for two years off his family’s contract. He’d get the details in the morning.
He had scars from knives, guns, fingernails, scraping against cement and even an encounter with an oak table – he’d felt bad about that one. He’d been trained by his father and several specialists to use more weapons that he could count. He’d guarded business men, drug addicts, cute little housewives and even a bit of royalty once.
All because of a mistake he hadn’t made. A mistake his family would be probably be paying off well into the great grandchildren he wouldn’t be having.
In part because he probably wouldn’t live long enough to have them.
Mostly because that required a chick, and he wanted nothing to do with chicks unless he was contracted to keep them alive and relatively safe. Even then it was only because of the contract.
No, he wanted nothing to do with chicks. All he wanted he’d been lucky enough to get.
Funny that he’d been working for Azura all his life, but hadn’t met one of Azura’s most loyal associates until he was twenty-seven. Hell, he’d never even seen Liv until Trick had asked him to watch out for the guy.
Sullivan Sterling could import or export anything. If he couldn’t get something in or out of the country, no one could. The Sterling family and business had been part of the Azura syndicate for decades, but it was Live who had made it into the inner circle.
So Tybalt should have run across him far sooner than he had. It was just as well he hadn’t though, given how unstable he’d become right after meeting him.
Mickey had often described Sullivan – Sully to everyone but Tybalt – as ‘old school sexy’ but Tybalt had merely taken it as he took many such observations from Mickey – nodded and moved on.
But Liv was old school sexy. He was only thirty seven but his hair was already mostly gray, but he was the kind of guy who just looked stylish and dead hot with it that way. Intense eyes, totally at odds with the way Liv always appeared so relaxed. When he wore a suit, Tybalt wanted to jump him. Still, Live was hottest in his jeans and oxford.
Like he was now, sipping a whiskey as he poured over paperwork. From the hallway, a clock chimed eleven o’clock. Tybalt leaned against the door frame and just watched, more than content to just drink in the sight of his lover.
Though he knew he’d made no sound, given no indication of his presence, Sullivan must have sensed something, for he looked up, and a smile spread across his face. “You weren’t supposed to be back yet, lover.”
Tybalt returned the smile, an expression few thought him capable of. “Finished early.” He unfolded his arms and strolled into the room and around the desk, bracing his hands on the armrests of Liv’s chair as he leaned down to kiss him. “Missed you.”
“It’s never the same without you,” Liv replied. “Are you being dragged away again?”
“Not until Monday,” Tybalt said, stifling a sigh, determined not to think about anything but Live. He tugged Liv to his feet, careful of his leg. “How’s work?”
“Boring. Have you eaten? You always look too skinny.”
Tybalt snickered as he handed Liv his cane. “I thought you liked skinny boys too young for you.”
Liv laughed. “That is true. Still, I know you probably skipped whatever meals you could to get home so quickly.”
“I’ll grab a snack after you welcome me home properly.”
“That sounds like a plan,” Liv replied, eyes warming at how casually Tybalt referred to his house as home.
It was, though. Tybalt had never considered anything home until Liv, and for as long as he was able he’d keep returning.
Kidnapped (Baxter/Lucid/Pretty)
“Kreskan topaz,” Elton said, barely glancing at the stone before moving on to the next. “Zettic ruby.” He reached out and delicately lifted a dark blue gem, turning it back and forth in the bright overhead light. His eyes flared with pleasure, a soft gasp of delight escaping him. “Earth sapphire. I didn’t think it could be. So few of these are still around…magnificent.” He reluctantly set it back down and continued looking over the rest of the stones spread out on black velvet. “Tredad diamond,” he said briefly, skimming over the glittering diamond and several others, ticking off their names after only a brief glance.
On the other side of the room, four men and three women stared at him in awe. Two more merely watched him with fond smiles.
As he finished identifying the stones set out in front of him, Elton nodded politely to the IG officials sitting across from him.
“Incredible,” one man muttered. “Only the finest software programs could identify all those jewels as readily – and I think even they would take longer. How do you do it?”
The woman beside him laughed. “I guess that is what everyone wants to know – how do you tell the Jewels apart, hmm?” Her eyes flicked briefly to the twins sitting on either side of Elton.
“They sparkle differently,” Elton said absently, his eyes fastened on the Earth sapphire he’d admired earlier. “Diamonds especially. Tredad diamonds have a…wet sparkle. Cela diamonds have a harder shine, Earth diamonds a softer one. It’s not that hard.”
On either side of him, Baxter and Lucid reached out to pet him, one running a hand through his hair, the other sliding fingers lightly up and down his thigh.
Another man shook his head. “It’s not that hard, he says. Amazing.” He looked ruefully at the twins. “You were right, as I should have known you would be. We would be grateful, Master Elton, to have your assistance from time to time. The finest technology cannot always pick out faux gems.”
“Of course,” Elton said, finally lifting his eyes from the sapphire. “I’m more than happy to help.”
“Splendid. We’ll send all the official documents and certificates. I think you may be the finest jewel expert in the IG. Thank you for your time.”
Gradually the IG officials left the room.
Elton blinked. “They didn’t take their jewels.”
The twins laughed, sharing a mischievous look that Elton knew all too well. “We bet them this collection that you could identify all the jewels correctly in less than ten minutes. If we were right, you keep the jewels.”
“Is that even legal?” Elton asked, then it struck him what they’d said. “These jewels are mine. Baxter! The Earth sapphire alone is worth millions of points.”
Lips pressed against the back of his neck, Lucid’s hands wandering as he moved so that Elton was sandwiched between them. “I can give you the exact numbers if you want, pretty, but you’d probably panic and do something silly like feel bad. We do enough favors for them, both on and off the record. They can hand over a few trinkets.”
Elton sputtered. “Only you would call hundreds of millions of points worth of jwels trinkets.”
“Everything is trinkets next to you, pretty,” Baxter said. “But, you know, if you wanted to show us your gratitude…”
Elton rolled his eyes but didn’t bother to fight a smile. “I can certainly do that, though I should probably punish you for giving me more stuff.”
“What sort of punishment are we talking?” Lucid asked.
Sandstorm (Shah/Harem)
Nanda plucked hard at his instrument, summoning a harsh, discordant tune that did nothing to quell the uproar of laughter from the far side of the room. He glowered. “Must they always get drunk?” He turned away in disgust and began to play a solemn funeral piece.
Shah chuckled. “We all have our guilty pleasure, Nanda my beauty.”
“They take pleasures in acting like great fools?”
“It would seem so,” Witcher said with a laugh, glancing at where Aik and Beynum roared with laughter all over again over some private amusement. “At least they provide entertainment aplenty.”
“Why does it upset you so much, Nanda?” Kiah asked, perhaps the only one who could ask so direct a question without being snapped or glared at.
“My parents used to drink heavily,” Nanda said, fingers playing the funeral song with ease and some relish as he continued to glower at Aik and Beynum. “I dislike seeing such excessive overindulgence.”
Aik finally turned their way. “Excessive? Hardly. Excessive was that crabby old man at dinner last night.”
“No,” Bey corrected. “That was terrifying.” He drained his wine dish and then leaned back to stretch, muscles rippling, showing off the tattoo across his back. He crawled on all four over to Nanda, daring to take away his instrument and set it aside. Ignoring Nanda’s warning snarls, he wrapped arms around his waist and rested his head in Nanda’s lap. “I wouldn’t drink that much, you idiot.”
Nanda did not seem impressed by the statement, but rather than shove Beynum away he merely buried his fingers in his short hair and leaned down to kiss him. “You’re a brat.”
“Yes, but I am the brat of a King. That means it’s okay.”
Shah laughed and shook his head, sharing a smile with Witcher, who was splayed across his own lap. “Incorrigible, my pirate.”
“No fair,” Aik said, watching them. “I want a lap.” Abandoning his alcohol, he slowly walked over to Kiah and stole the book from his hands. Making himself comfortable in Kiah’s lap, he looked briefly at the book and then returned it. “More of Bey’s stash, I see. Read it aloud.”
Kiah’s cheeks turned red. “Aloud?” he repeated. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Beynum asked, pouting that Nanda had stopped kissing him. “We’ve done everything in it.”
Black Magic (Sorin/Koray)
Koray could not remember a time when resting, sleeping, had been a pleasant experience. It was always an escape, a blank void of time in which he recovered but never really rested. Always he woke up cold, sore, as weary and heartsick as ever.
It was still surreal, sleeping in Sorin’s bed – with Sorin. He knew the rumors spreading through the castle; his protestations only seemed to further fuel them.
He couldn’t bring himself to really care, though he’d never admit that to Sorin.
Caring would mean giving it up, slinking back to the graveyard. He just couldn’t do it. Late at night, when everyone else was asleep, Sorin snoring softly beside him, he was able to admit to himself that for the rest of his life, the nights he spent simply sleeping with Sorin would be his happiest memories. Especially nights like this, where something managed to wake him and he discovered that sometime in the night they’d moved toward each other, Sorin clinging to him like a leech, a warm and solid weight.
He was hot, almost unbearably so. Stranger, he felt…protected.
It was stupid and weak and foolish of him, because once the problems surrounding Rofell were resolved Sorin would no longer see a reason to keep Koray near to hand. He knew Sorin well enough to begrudgingly admit that Sorin would probably see he was well compensated…but that wouldn’t change the fact that Koray had been dismissed, sent off to resume his hard, cold life.
And when that time came, it would be so much worse than before, because now he knew firsthand what it was he’d been missing all these years.
Still, he wasn’t completely stupid. He’d keep his ‘thorns’ and distance, do as he was told, and enjoy nights like these, where he woke in the night to quietly relish his brief time with the Paladin, and could claim a pretense of sleep to move just a bit closer, until he could rest his head against Sorin’s chest and feel his heart beat.
Handcuffs (Paul/Owen)
“Man, what is with you tonight?”
Paul jerked his head around, and blinked, then flushed guiltily. “Sorry. My mind is elsewhere.”
“I’ll say man. What’s so distracting? You’re the backbone of our study group, man.”
“Yeah,” a girl agreed. “The rest of us totally depend on you. Don’t go flaking.”
Paul rolled his eyes. “I’m very sorry I’m not doing all the work for you.”
“As you should be,” a third guy said. “Why are you so distracted?”
“Waiting for someone,” Paul said absently, eyes straying back to the door. He’d told Owen exactly how to get to his campus, how to get to the coffeehouse where they’d be studying. He’d said nine…it was almost ten after…He glanced at the gold handcuffs on his wrist.
“Space cadet,” one of his friends said.
“Sorry,” Paul muttered. It was just they’d never been apart this long, and what if Owen had found someone less dorky at his own college? Which was stupid of course, he knew that, but still what if—
His thoughts broke off as the door chimed, and he looked up to see a figured he’d been aching for since they’d had to go to their separate schools. Paul shot out of his seat and all but ran to the door, throwing himself at a grinning Owen, not minding a bit when Owen held him tight and kissed him soundly.
Distantly he heard soft laughter from his study group, and someone saying. “I guess I’d be distracted too.”
Kidnapped (Einn/Cyan)
Einn hopped over what was left of the bar and poured himself a draft, then hopped neatly back over and retrieved a barstool that appeared to be intact. It was a bit short for his long frame, but most things were.
The beer wasn’t bad. Not the best, he preferred a good, dark Frop, but nothing on Gorob was ever truly awful – most thought the IG had brought in Gorob just for the booze.
Certainly not for the people. Einn idly counted the bodies. “Twelve that I can see for which you’re to blame, lover. What happened to the other eight?”
“They knocked each other out. I really only took out six of them. You got four. Two don’t count; they shouldn’t have moved that fast after doing doubles of Gorob whiskey.” Cyan made a face. “HG is going to kill us.”
“You, lover, they’re going to kill you. I didn’t start this fight; in fact I tried to stop it.” Not very hard, but he had tried. Stupid Soul dealers.
“Pyotr won’t kill me.” Cyan grinned and stepped carefully over the unconscious men scattered across the wrecked bar. The knuckles of one hand had split, but Einn doubted Cyan noticed.
He took another sip of his beer, then set it aside as Cyan reached him, spreading his legs so Cyan could stand between them, looping his arms around his lover’s shoulders. “I can’t take you anywhere, Rehab.”
“Hey, I was prepared to behave. They decided to be difficult.”
“Everyone thinks you’re the nice, quiet one,” Einn said fondly, giving Cyan a slow, lazy kiss.
Cyan smiled. “You didn’t.”
“I have a strong instinct for survival.”
Kidnapped (Pyotr/Jade)
Pyotr stared out the window, seeing nothing but unending white.
He’d hated Tredad as a child. He still hated it. He always would.
All the snow. The unending cold. The things that could be hidden in them.
Though at the moment being one of those hidden things was the only reason he was still alive.
Pyotr reached for his tea and wince at the pain that shot through his arm and shoulder. It was the sort of pain that he’d endure for the rest of his life. He was grateful he’d survived, and wished only that his crew had been so fortunate.
He took a sip of his tea and stared out the window.
A prickle of awareness ran up his spine, telling him he was being watched. Pyotr turned his head, eyes immediately finding the only other person in the small cabin.
Jade appeared to be enthralled in his book. Pyotr took the opportunity to do some looking of his own.
He was still as beautiful as he’d always been. Dark hair, pale skin, those sharp eyes that missed nothing. Proud and cool, but Pyotr had seen the fire that burned in his eyes.
Pyotr thought Jade would be beautiful no matter what happened to him or where he went. Even buried in the snow in Tredad, Jade wore only the finest silk, his long nails painted a dark, burnt orange. Pyotr had always loved Jade’s nails, though it was something he would probably never admit aloud.
Jade stirred, and Pyotr hastily turned his gaze back to the window. A moment later he again felt eyes on him, but he didn’t turn around.
Sandstorm (Sahayl/Bahadur)
The noise in the grand hall faded to a near silence as they walked through, heads bent low as they talked quietly together, hands moving to help illustrate whatever point they were trying to make. If they were aware of the stares and the sudden quiet, they gave no indication.
Eyes followed them, drinking in the striking picture of the Sandstorm Prince and the one all knew he called his warhorse, Bahadur.
Sahayl was just shorter than Bahadur, thick curls falling around his face, resistant to taming and all but begging to be touched. He carried himself with a quiet dignity, and his smile had a calming effect on all who saw it.
If for some strange reason anyone ever wanted to harm the Sandstorm Prince, one look at his companion inspired second thoughts. Bahadur was everything heathens pictured when they thought of the desert savages – tall, broad-shouldered, built like a sword weighed almost nothing. The intricate calligraphy tattooed into his cheeks and forehead added an exotic air. He carried no weapons, but gave the impression he did not need them to protect his Prince.
Most eye-catching thing about the pair, however, was the way the Sandstorm Prince’s calming smile was exclusively for the man beside him, and the way Bahadur’s hand rest lightly, protectively, on the small of Prince’s back.
The noise and chatter was slow to resume, not picking up again until well after the two sons of the Desert had passed from the room.
Sandstorm (Shir/Javed)
Shir hid a wince, but he could tell from the look he got that Javed had seen it.
So protective, his beautiful former slave.
He motioned away the man kneeling before him, causing another wince. He held up a hand as the guards started to bring forward the next petitioner. “A few moment’s rest, if you please. Bring them back at the next bell.”
The guards nodded, and in mere seconds the room was empty save for Shir and Javed.
Javed immediately stood and dragged Shir up, taking his place in the seat and settling Shir on his lap. “What is wrong?”
Shir chuckled softly, leaning back against his lover, hands stroking the arms wrapped around him. “Just sore, my beauty.” He reached up to bury his fingers in Javed’s hair, turning his head so he could reach up and steal a kiss.
Javed immediately returned the kiss, taking control of it, so much more confident than he’d once been. He broke away with a sound like a soft growl. “I don’t like seeing you in pain.”
“Pain?” Shir scoffed. “Merely sore, and I’d be more upset if you stopped leaving me sore, my beauty.” Shir laughed softly. “Though if you want to give me a massage later with those oh so clever hands, I will not protest overmuch.”
Teeth nipped gently at his throat, Javed’s way of acknowledging the teasing – he would never be much for laughing outright. “Yes, my prince.”
A Trilogy of Knights (Trey/Dunstan)
The fog was thick, the type that seemed like a living, breathing thing.
Which, in a way, was quite true. There was something in the mist – ghosts, some would say. Memories, others would pose.
Dunstan reached out to touch it, and for a moment the fog indeed seemed solid enough to hold – but at the last it slipped from his fingers, parting only just enough that he could walk through it.
The air was chilly, but it could not fully penetrate his heavy wool robes.
He resisted the urge to call out, knowing the fog would just swallow his cries. He walked steadily on, trusting his feet to know what his eyes could not see. The path was one he’d walked a thousand times, in daylight and in darkness.
Ever so faintly he began to hear the waves rushing up the shore, the scent of the sea finally penetrating the blanketing fog.
He started, gasped, as something latched onto his wrist – then Trey stepped out of the fog and drew close, his heat banishing what little of the chill Dunstan could feel. “Dunstan,” Trey greeted, saying his name like it was something precious. “What are you doing out at his hour? You’ll catch a chill.”
“I was beginning to fear the same for you,” Dunstan said, tilting his head up in silent plea for a kiss. “You were out later than usual.”
Trey immediately gave the kiss, slow and soft, banishing all the worries from Dunstan’s mind. “I did not mean to be. I was enjoying the cool.”
Dunstan smiled. “Come inside and I’ll show you reasons to enjoy the heat.”
“That does sound promising,” Trey replied, returning the smile, mist-gray eyes flashing as he followed Dunstan inside.
A Trilogy of Knights (Shahzad/Victor)
Victor woke feeling like something was horribly wrong. Then realized what had woken him.
Giggling.
He shoved back the covers and propped himself up on his elbows, and turned to blink sleepily at a gaggle of four women, all giggling madly behind the sleeves of their silk robes. He could feel his face begin to heat, and knew it was turning red – which only seemed to make them giggle more.
Groaning in despair, he tugged the blankets back up over his head and willed himself to immediately expire.
A hand slid soothingly up his back, and then cool air washed over him as Shahzad shoved the blankets aside again.
Victor didn’t budge, determined to never leave the bed.
Shahzad rumbled a few words and the giggling ceased, followed a moment later by the scuffling of slippered feet and the closing of a door. Shahzad’s hand slid up and down his spine, a soothing gesture.
“Do they do that every morning?” he finally asked. Of all the ways he’d thought to spend his first morning with Shahzad – and it still felt unreal, despite all evidence in his surroundings and aching body, to think that he was actually with Shahzad now – waking up to a bunch of giggling servant girls had not been among them.
“Every morning,” Shahzad said with a yawn. “Though usually it’s only three, not five.” He sounded more amused than Victor thought he should. “I think we’re lucky it wasn’t more, though I’d imagine we’ll be seeing girls that don’t normally serve me over the next several days.” He winked. “I guess we make a pretty pair.”
Victor made a face, loathing the heat he could feel in his cheeks. “You’re as bad as them.”
“Oh, I’m worse,” Shahzad said with a smirk. “They’re only misbehaving a little bit.” He moved suddenly, quickly, pinning Victor to the bed. “I misbehave lots.”
Paradise (Trick/Ex)
“Hey, boss.”
“Hmm?” Trick asked without looking up from the report Mickey had handed him just a minute ago.
Mickey caught him lightly by the elbow, forcing him to halt.
Trick finally looked up, brow furrowed in confusion. “What is it, Mickey?” They were busy today. He had a meeting scheduled with the syndicate in the private room of his convention center and if they didn’t hurry he’d be late – never a good idea, especially with Waterstone still pissy.
“Take a look,” Mickey said softly, pointing down to the center of the main convention hall.
It was crowded. Some private business convention or another; the Azura Corportion hosted a handful of them throughout the year – ostensibly to find fresh meat for the business world, connect with various just-starting companies…all of it a front for various other activities, including the meeting for which he was about to be late. His eyes wandered the milling crowd, searching for what Mickey had seen.
His breath caught as he saw.
Dark hair, tall, slender figure, more handsome than even the best pictures could convey, pacing restlessly at the perimeter of the convention floor as he talked animatedly on a cell phone.
“What’s he doing here?” Trick asked softly.
“I’ll find out, if you want.” Mickey shrugged. “Not his scene.” He smiled teasingly. “Maybe he’s meeting someone.”
Trick bit back the jealous retort Mickey was obviously angling for. “Find out,” he said. “Make certain he’s left alone.” Taking one last look, drinking in the sight of Ex, Trick finally wrenched himself away and continued on toward his meeting.
Paradise (Mickey/Cameron)
Cameron summoned his most withering look. “Get out of my face.”
“Now, now, pretty boy," the man said coaxingly. “We just want to make an appointment to see Mr. Sterling.”
“You and everyone else,” Cameron said. “Calling me obnoxious names isn’t going to get you one any faster – and may just get you dead.”
The man and his companion laughed. It was a cold sound. “Pretty boy, we’ll call you whatever names we like. Sterling might be part of the Syndicate, but that doesn’t mean he can get away with whatever he wants.”
“Sure it does.”
The laughter abruptly died. “Sterling isn’t that buddy buddy with Azura,” the second man said contemptuously.
Behind them the door of Cameron’s office suddenly clicked open. Cameron nearly went for his gun, sick and tired of people just strolling into his office like they had every right to be there – he might just be a glorified secretary but that didn’t mean they could run roughshoud.
He felt a headache coming on at who his new visitor turned out to be.
In front of him, the two men from Grayson’s turf – a paltry little thing Azura let live, though they didn’t know it – fell immediately silent. Though Cameron doubted these two had ever seen him, everyone knew Mickey on sight anyway. There was no way to be that gorgeous and infamous and not be immediately recognizable.
“Mickey,” he said curtly. “You weren’t scheduled to visit today.”
“Was in the area, baby doll,” Mickey said with a wink, stepping past the two men as if they weren’t even there. “Thought maybe I could convince you to go to lunch.”
“As soon as I finish up with my guests,” Cameron said, using whatever game Mickey was playing to his own advantage.
“We were just about to leave,” the first man said, not really hiding his slightly panicked look.
Attempting to hassle Sterling’s secretary was one thing. Attempting to hassle someone who was clearly in Mickey’s favor was suicide. The two men wasted no time in vanishing, and Cameron let them, not really in the mood to shoot people though they’d been pushing it.
“What do you want, Mickey?” he asked, shoving the man away.
“A little bird told me Grayson’s men were getting uppity. Came to ask you guys about it. Guess I have good timing.”
Cameron made a face. “I’ve also warned you about calling me by that stupid fucking name.”
Mickey merely grinned. “I really do have time for lunch, if you’re up for it, baby doll.”
Cameron rolled his eyes.
Paraidse (Klause/Bastion)
“So if you’re the wealthy, affluent, handsome spoiled brat,” Klause said idly, turning his head, reflective sunglasses flashing, “does that make me your boy toy? What’s the proper terminology for that? Is it still boy toy? Am I kept man?”
“How about an idiot?” Bastion asked, and Klause could tell he was rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses. He turned over on his beach towel, giving his torso a chance at the sunlight. “Be a good idiot and grab me a soda.”
“Light or dark, oh lord and master – oh shit, I think that was a pun.”
Bastion reached out and smacked Klause hard on his flat stomach. “Shut. Up.”
“You’re not supposed to abuse your boy toy, you know.”
“Yeah, right,” Bastion said with a snort. “You should see what Law does to all his little treats.”
Klause rolled his eyes. “I saw the latest one yesterday before we left. I never understood what a ‘tart’ was until that moment.”
“Expensive tart, I’m sure,” Bastion said in annoyance. “Dad should cut off his allowance.”
“Yeah, speaking of that. As your highly skilled boy toy, shouldn’t I be getting, I dunno, really hot cars or something.” He laughed as Bastion groaned and turned over again. “Though I’d settle for more sex – but not out here. Sand can get really damned uncomfortable.” He snickered at the way Bastion glared. “I went skinny dipping once, that was all,” he soothed.
“Hmph,” Bastion said, laying back down. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s nice out here. You want me inside, you’re going to have to carry me.” Believing the matter settled, he turned back around to lie on his back and relaxed.
Klause grinned,
A few moments later, Bastion was howling in protest as Klause carried him back toward the beach house.
Dance with the Devil (Sable/Chris)
The first thing Chris knew was that he wasn’t at his shitty apartment.
He had so much work to do before his agency was worth anything, and more still before his own life was firmly on its feet.
The bed was sinfully comfortable – he couldn’t remember ever thinking of comfort that way before.
Though part of it was the man he was curled up against – demon, he realized, as everything finally crashed into place. The previous night, dinner with Sable, a demon. Who had acted far too possessive, didn’t know when to stop—
--and obviously who had gotten his way. Chris slowly disentangled himself and sat up to get his bearings.
Sable’s bedroom he remembered from the last time he’d been in it – the bed as well, though last time he’d been too upset and busy to appreciate how comfortable it was. It also wasn’t cheap; far from it. Sable obviously enjoyed his creature comforts.
It made him feel completely out of his element. He was a poor, struggling detective. He’d met Sable because he’d believed him a murderer.
He certainly didn’t belong in the demon lord’s lair, never mind his bed. This was twenty kinds of foolish. Obviously he’d not been thinking properly last night.
Giving in to his gloomy thoughts, Chris moved to climb from the bed – only to be snatched back by an arm around his waist, the strength in it startling, though familiar.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Sable murmured, nuzzling his throat. “It’s too early to get out of bed. Is the sun even up?”
Chris didn’t bother struggling; he’d learned the hard way that breaking free of Sable was futile until the demon allowed it. “Not all of us can afford to stay in bed all day,” he snapped.
Sable merely chuckled and held him tighter, fingers teasing lightly over his skin. “I’ll make it worth your while, beloved.”
“I’ve told you to stop calling me that.”
“Why?” Sable asked, shifting them so that Chris was beneath him, pressed into the dark silk sheets. “Hate it?” He leaned down and kissed Chris long and slow. “Afraid it might be true?” His stormcloud eyes were bright.
“Hate it,” Chris said fervently.
Sable merely smirked and leaned down to kiss him again.
Burning Bright (Dym/Raz)
“Eminence?” Dym called out as he traveled through the immense garden, brows furrowed in thought. He stopped beneath the tree of golden apples, brow furrowed in thought. He’d been certain Raz would be out here…
The rustle of leaves was his only warning before something heavy came crashing down, sending them both falling hard to the ground.
“Eminence!”
Raz laughed as Dym struggled to right himself, finally relenting and sitting back on his heels. “Good morning, my priest. Did you sleep well?”
Dym fixed his robes, fingers sliding over the soft gray fabric. He had feared more than once, during the thousand years he’d waited and worked, that he would never wear them again. That he would see nothing but the red robes of the royal office.
He looked reprovingly at Raz. A thousand years, it seemed, was not enough to cure the Firebird of his tendency to tease his priest. “Most well, Eminence.”
Raz leaned forward suddenly, bracing his weight on his hands, and brushed a kiss across Dym’s lips. “I like your pouts.”
“I do not pout,” Dym said.
Snickering, Raz moved closer and looped his arms around Dym’s neck, reaching up to kiss him properly. “Well, I like your not-pouts then. I think they’re more effective now than when you were a child, dearest Dym.”
Dym started to speak, then merely shook his head. “Eminence…”
“All right, all right – no more attacking you from the trees. I make no promises about the bushes, however.”
Never Afraid Are We
Almost better than sex.
Benson didn't bother to look up from his own strawberries and cream. You’re ridiculous.
I said almost, hot stuff.
So if you couldn’t screw us, ice cream would suffice? Jeremy asked with a laugh. The sudden noise from their table, which until then had been completely silent, startled a few people at the surrounding tables.
Baby, it’s always so weird when you say things like ‘screw’ and ‘fuck’ – you’re way too pretty for such dirty words. Rodney winked.
Benson rolled his eyes. Last night you were encouraging them.
It was still weird.
Jeremy snickered and sucked on his chocolate ice cream bar.
Would you both behave?
Why? Rodney asked, looking at Benson as he gave his ice cream another lick. It’s pretty obvious you like what we’re doing.
Behave, Benson said, or I’ll exact revenge.
That sounds like incentive to misbehave, hot stuff. What do you say, baby?
Jeremy merely grinned and sucked harder at his ice cream bar.
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Date: 2006-10-14 07:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-14 09:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-14 11:20 pm (UTC)who/what do you want for Mythos? Don't tell me whatever, I'll beat you.
Eh, whatever .... ;)
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Date: 2006-10-15 12:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-15 12:47 am (UTC)Happy Birthday again.
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Date: 2006-10-15 01:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-15 02:03 am (UTC)Doug/Zach: ;;________;; Awww... *cuddles them lots*
Sandstorm: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! ^______________________^
Embrace: o.o???
Treasure: Awwwwwwwwwwwww... *.*
Prisoner: “Well? I’ve got bruises and cuts in thirty different places, all because you think the way to end a conversation is with violence.” ^________________^ *bounce* Hope you work on this s'more. ^^
Brightleaf: *insanesqueeingfangirlgigglefit* =^.^=
Paradise: *resists impulse to correct homophones...* ..... Awwww.... ;_; Do they ever get a happy ending? 9.9 And how come the secretary calls him Trick? Wouldn't s/he say Azura instead? o.o;; >.> *wants to read more Paradise now too* ^^;
*prances around with hot cocoa singing Happy Birthday horribly off-key in Japanese* ^__________________^
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Date: 2006-10-15 02:22 am (UTC)And I don't see anything wrong with finding a sunny spot and curling up in it. I'd do it all the time if I could. >.> and I try to get away with it on my days off as much as possible (which messes up my sleeping schedule)
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Date: 2006-10-15 03:30 am (UTC)And I must get you something properly wonderful and reverent to thank you for all this wonderfulness you give us.
...and happy birthday! Can I write something for you?
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Date: 2006-10-15 05:18 am (UTC)XD
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Date: 2006-10-15 05:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-15 06:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-15 08:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-15 04:03 pm (UTC)I have a question, though. The first drabble, titled Perfect. What story is that from? I haven't yet worked my way through all your work yet, and I'm now really curious where these characters come from. :)
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Date: 2006-10-15 04:12 pm (UTC)Thankee ^___^
Perfect is a fairytale I wrote awhile back (http://maderr.livejournal.com/528828.html).
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Date: 2006-10-15 11:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-16 01:48 am (UTC)I've enjoyed them all muchlies, Meg. Is there anything small, short little thing I can attempt to write for you?
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Date: 2006-10-16 02:00 am (UTC)I figured you were around ^____^ I'm glad you saw your P/O. I should give them a proper story someday, eh? They're fun and cute.
Heh. You know what I always want. Or Kyle pouting. But you don't have to write anything <<<333
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From:no subject
Date: 2006-10-16 06:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-16 05:09 pm (UTC)I absolutely love your stories. I've read them over and over again. And these drabbles are so cute. Brightleaf (Thorley/Geoffrey) is my favourite!! Will you write more about them? *excited*
English is not my native language so I apologize for all grammatical mistakes... :P *goes off to read your stories again*
PS. Ever thought about publishing them? I would buy... ^^
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Date: 2006-10-18 02:13 am (UTC)Pretty, et all: EEEEEE!!!! *____________________* Love them. Love Elton. Love the bet. Love everything. *_________________* *purr*
Harem: “I want a lap.” ^__________^ That was priceless.
Black Magic: Awwwwwwww...... ;;;_____;;; *sniffle* They need to be together together. ;_; *sniff*
Handcuffs: *gigglefit* Okay, that was Really Cute. ^.^ *beam*
Einn/Cyan: ...... *adds Kidnapped to the 're-read this asap' list* ^^;
Pyotr/Jade: ;;_____;; And you so need to write that sequel-thingie... *sniff*
Sahayl/Bahadur: .... wow. o.o I think this is one of the best descriptive bits you've ever done. *semi-speechless*
Shir/Javed: ^______________________^ *snickergigglefit*
Trey/Dunstan: *_____* Meow. I so loved that story. >.> Another for the re-read list...
Shahzad/Victor: YAY! ^__________^ I was hoping we'd get to see them again. *happy*
Trick/Ex: ;;;;_______________;;;; You are SO EVIL!!! ;_; I so want them to get their Happy Ending... *whimper*
Mickey/Cameron: ^____________________^ I like Mickey. He's so awesome. In my more masochistic moments I wanna draw him. ^^
Klause/Bastion: HAHAHAHAHAHA! ^_____^ Go Klause! And I have it on good authority that he's very right about sex on the beach being damned uncomfortable. ;)
Sable/Chris: *completelyincoherentsquee* *__________________________________*
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Date: 2006-10-19 12:16 am (UTC)I'm actually working on editing Kidnapped, so I can start the sequel. I've been itching to dive back into my lame but endearing (to me, anyway) sci-fi verse.
Hee. I would die happy to see someone draw Mickey. He is probably my sekkret favorite.
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Date: 2006-10-18 02:19 am (UTC)In the Mickey/Cameron drabble, you misplaced some quotation marks and a comma: “Now, now,” pretty boy the man said coaxingly. should go "Now, now, pretty boy,"
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Date: 2006-10-18 10:05 am (UTC)^____^
Thankee. I shall fix it.
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From:no subject
Date: 2006-10-18 02:47 am (UTC)In conclusion, I love you, happy birthday again, and
poor, neglectedPARADISE!! >.>no subject
Date: 2006-10-18 09:58 am (UTC)I do have a chapter nearly complete - there's just one part my betas dissapprove of, and I've yet to properly fix it. I'll give it another go tonight.
<3 Thank you, my dearest Star.
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Date: 2006-10-18 03:01 am (UTC)And Kidnapped. Pretty. A *SO* thankyou and may you have many more birthdays as happy. I love your ideas for celebrating your birthday. *babbling*
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Date: 2006-10-18 10:03 am (UTC)^_^ I am glad you liked it. Thank you for reading.
I will always be supremely fond of my half ghost and demon. I just wish I could make their last two stories work.
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Date: 2006-10-18 03:12 am (UTC)There are all sorts of characters that I can't find stories for on your site. In particular, Sandstorm. I know Shah and Nanda and the other King's Harem members, but I'm noticing mention of several more here. Where do I go to read about Shir and Sahayl and others?
WAIT! Nevermind, found it in your LJ memories.
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Date: 2006-10-18 10:04 am (UTC)^_^ So it meets with approval? <3
Hee. Glad you found it. Though it probably means you'll start getting on me with the others to finish it. Heh.
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Date: 2006-10-18 08:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-18 10:05 am (UTC)Ahaha, I can't write every little scene, that would take away the fun of imagining it.
Thankee ^_^
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Date: 2006-10-18 03:03 pm (UTC)I have to go one by one, because I am so filled with squee right now. I can't even pick out my "favorites" because they'are all so good.
Perfect: EEEEEEEE! Tobias! It's amazing how he can go from kind to sour in .0000001 seconds flat. And Ian is getting the hang of handling him! Eeee!
DwtD: Zach is so incredibly lucky. I love the imagery you use for Doug, how it feels like he's the sentinel of the neighborhood, as he watches over it at night.
Embrace: It's odd, but I can't really get into Embrace. I don't know why. But I like the emotion and fear that I feel in that last paragraph. How afraid he is that he almost lost Gille.
Treasure: Taka is so wonderful. I don't even really know why he is. He just is. I forgot to ask. He isn't a god, but is he mortal? Will he die eventually?
Prisoner: Nope, still hate Dieter. I really do wish I could feel pity for him, but I just can't seem to. I love how you write, and how emotional I get over your characters. *hugs*
Sandstorm: I feel sort of sory for Isra, being ganged up on like that, but I can't feel too sorry for him, since he knows it. I like these guys so much (but not as much as Shah).
Brightleaf: You know, I really like how your characters go beyond the stories you write, especially the fairy tales. Because life goes on after happily ever after, and it's not really ALL happily ever after, because that would be boring. *loves muchly*
Paradise (x2): I feel so sorry for Sam and Mickey, never quite being able to get together. But Tybalt and Sullivan? Oh my goodness, how I love them. My favorite favorite line is "old school sexy". I love your description of Sullivan and how every single bit of it is old school sexy in truth.
Kidnapped: One of the things I absolutely LOVE about all your stories is how each of your characters has his or her own little quirk. I love Elton for his ability to distinguish gemstones. You know, I wonder if he can do it for raw gemstones as well as cut ones.
Sandstorm: I LOVE SHAH AND HIS HAREM. LOVE, LOVE LOVE! *ahem* I like the little glimpse into Nanda's past. He is my favorite, followed closely by Witcher.
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Date: 2006-10-18 11:22 pm (UTC)^__________^
I need to finish Embrace so I can be done with that story once and for all. I'm really not into it either. I think tygs said it best - it sounds like something someone else should be writing.
It actually makes me happy you don't like Dieter. He's supposed to be a bastard, but I know all sides of him so I never know how much of the bastard fact is being conveyed. He has his reasons, and I hope a smidgen of sympathy is gained for him by the end, but he's not supposed to be totally likeable.
*loves loves loves you*
Squee part 2
Date: 2006-10-18 03:04 pm (UTC)Black Magic: I feel so bad for Koray, but how can he believe that Sorin would want him gone? Poor Sorin, poor Koray. I still hope for happy endingness.
Handcuffs: Eeeee! Paul is so sweet, and adorable, and it's so nice to see that they're together still. Well, of course they are, but still. Eeee!
Kidnapped (x2): I would love to know what happened that Cyan got into a barfight. I can't believe he would start things. Their bitlet is such a complete contrast to Jade and Pyotr, and their almost/sort of loneliness.
Sandstorm (x2): I always enjoy those little glimpses at characters when they are distracted, and Sahayl and Bahadur are really a great combination. And hmmm...I wonder just how Shir got to be "sore"... *snickers*
Trey and Dunstan: They make such a wonderful pair, they really, really do. I can't even tell who is supposed to protect who, and it's really best that way.
Shahzad and Victor: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! This made me laugh so much. I feel sorry for Victor and his light coloring. And he won't have to worry about becoming tanned. He's going to have a permanent blush for the rest of his life! THANK YOU so much for them! EEEEEEEEEEEE!
Paradise (x3): How the heck are you able to pull at my hearstrings like that with a teeny-tiny drabble bit? Trick and Ex are...are...words fail me. And I have to say that I really like Mickey and how his hand is in practically everything. Including almost every story in Paradise. Because he adds this wonderful sense of competence and comedy relief to every story. And I almost caused a ruckus at work because I was laughing so loud about Klause and Bastion. Bastion SO asked for that! *loves the grump*
DwtD: I almost feel sorry for Chris. Everyone runs willy-nilly over him. So a question--how does he know that his attraction to Sable isn't just some sort of spell that Sable has cast on him? I mean, it would be easy for a demon, right?
Thank you so much for sharing all of these with us! I know you said you're having trouble with some of them, but I appreciate you writing for us so much. This distracted me from the pain that my shoulder and neck are giving me. *loves you soooooo much*
Re: Squee part 2
Date: 2006-10-18 11:33 pm (UTC)Cyan and Einn were trying to sniff out Soul dealers - soul being a popular drug in Kidnapped 'verse. I keep meaning to actually do a story on it. Anyway - their attempt went sour, and it all devolved into a brawl. Nothing special, really. Pyotr is going to ream them for it, though.
Hmm...well, there are people that would know he was bespelled - Doug, his parents, but I think Chris, on at least a sublevel, just assumes what is actually true - Sable is too arrogant to resort to spells for such things.
<3 I'm happy you enjoyed them ^____^