More Alasdair

I had a few requests to know what happens after 🙂 on a post I did for Rainbow Snippets, so here it is 🙂

“He is yours now, isn’t he, sir?”

“He certainly is, Edgar, my dear, he certainly is.”

“Will I be permitted to share him when the time comes, sir, if I may ask?”

“Are you talking blood, or pleasure?  You know what too much blood might do to you.”

Edgar smiled.  “A taste of his blood, and pleasure with you after you are done, sir.”  His eyes lowered, suddenly shy.  “I find myself wishing for pleasure from you only.”  He had watched his master take pleasure with other humans many times, but he was guilty of only a twinge of jealousy now and then.  He knew what place he held.  He wasn’t usually bold enough to tell him how he felt, though.

“Edgar, my dear.”  Alasdair reached over to him, stroking his cheek, and Edgar smiled, covering his master’s hand with his own.

“It doesn’t matter if you make love to me or merely pleasure me, sir. I am with you. That is my pleasure.”       Alasdair smiled at him, genuinely delighted.  He leaned over and kissed him, short and sweet.

“Now, let’s get my hair braided and check out that watering hole.  I might even let you share before Bruce.”

“Oh thank you sir, you know how much I dearly love to do your hair, it’s almost as good as–well–”

“Say no more, Edgar, understood.”

They walked side by side as the large double doors closed behind them.

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Alasdair

Dear Alasdair–sometimes he wants what he cannot have, and he’s not used to that–here’s a small conversation he had with Edgar–

“He is yours now, isn’t he, sir?”

“He certainly is, Edgar, my dear, he certainly is.”

“Will I be permitted to share him when the time comes, sir, if I may ask?”

“Are you talking blood, or pleasure?  You know what too much blood might do to you.”

Edgar smiled.  “A taste of his blood, and pleasure with you after you are done, sir.”  His eyes lowered, suddenly shy.  “I find myself wishing for pleasure from you only.”

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More Sin

I posted six sentences from this portion of my WIP on another page yesterday, and it occurred to me that those of you who read Rainbow Snippets might appreciate a bigger picture 🙂

“ENOUGH!”

Both Oz and Craig lowered their heads and sat down, but Craig simmered with barely disguised fury. Carl continued.

“We will go to London, and I‘ll go to the theatre, and you both WILL come to me with your mother when you both wake. No arguments, I’ll handle it.” He stalked toward the sleep chamber door.

“I’m going to finish packing my bag.”

As the door clicked shut, Oz turned to Craig.

“He’s mad, I screwed up, I guess.” He shook his head, and Craig did the same.

“You might have a larger stake in behaving around him, Oz, but he’s my bondmate, not my master; I’m sick and tired of him acting like it.” He leaned back in the chair, his eyes closed.

“He’s jealous of me,” Oz murmured, and Craig moved his head up and down.

“I know; and I don’t really know what to do about it, we’ve never given him any reason to doubt either one of us.”

“But that’s just the thing, Craig,” Oz said. “We have.”

“How do you figure?”

“That protection thing, where we tasted him and each other, for one, and—I sensed something, but I don’t know if I’m right.”

Craig gave Oz a dark look.

“What is it?”

Oz cringed, then stared Craig straight in the eyes with no hesitation.

“I felt Carl was attracted to me too, you tell me if that’s true.”

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Sins Of The Sire

Here’s a snippet from my WIP–there’s some questioning among the friends if there feelings are more than friendly–

“I felt Carl was attracted to me too, you tell me if that’s true.”

Craig’s eyes grew wide, then shrank back into themselves. He thought about all the little cues that Carl gave, the little shreds of jealousy that he displayed. Had they all been for him, or had any of them been directed at Oz?

Is he in love with both of us?
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Sins Of The Sire

Here’s a post from my WIP–Carl has just told Craig and Oz about Ninian ; he’s still at the library and Craig’s mother is in potential danger–

“Dr. Vivian O’Connor, curator.” He looked at Oz, then back at Carl. “Well, there you go, it’s not him. Vivian is a woman’s name.”

Oz nodded. ”See, nothing to worry about.”

Carl shook his head.

“Vivian has only been feminine since the early twentieth century, and even then only in the States, it’s a bastardization of Ninian,” he said softly. “and O’Connor is a modern form of Na Connacht.” Carl’s eyes did a slow blink. “He’s there.”

“Oh shit.” Oz’s face went whiter than usual.

“This is going to be a problem whichever way we handle it, Carl.” Craig told him. “If we tell Mom, she’s going to go in there and spill everything without meaning to and your Ninian will seize on it, he’ll eat her for breakfast, literally.”

Carl nodded.

“And if we don’t tell her, she’ll let it slip somehow that she’s also over here to help support her son and his husband—me,” Carl answered. “Ninian will know I’m here, and he’ll use your mother to get to me.”

Craig threw his hands up in the air.

“You know my mother; she’s stubborn as hell and won’t listen to reason.”

“How about if I went with her?”

Both Craig and Carl whipped their heads around, staring at Oz.

“Well, he doesn’t know about me, he’s not my maker, and I could help steer her away from, you know, like putting her foot in her mouth.” Cringing, he gave Craig a look.

“Sorry.”

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Merchant Of Venice Beach

This is a scene from my modern day  m/m version of Shakespeare, in which Porsche and Bartholomew have finally–gotten together 🙂

 

“God, you’re good at that,” he told him as he shivered, and he couldn’t help the little boogie his muscles put into his very interested cock. Porsche jumped a little when it hit the side of his ear, leaving a small drop of precum on the skin.

“Oh, look, Mr. Happy’s dancing,” Bartholomew grinned. That was all it took, and they both dissolved into gales of laughter, hugging each other.

“Oh–my God-,” Porsche gasped, drying his eyes with the corner of the fine cotton sheet. “I never laughed during sex before.”

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Poppa Lando

This snippet is from Heart’s Embers, in which Jeffrey’s Poppa has come all the way from Down Under to be with him and Bruce and help them get through their troubles–

“Excuse me, young lady, is Dr. Bayfield in?”

Marsha looked up from her work, startled. He sounded like Jeffrey.

This man certainly didn’t match his deep, vibrant voice. He looked to be in his late seventies, and his rich complexion and profile reminded her of a South Seas war chief, with edges of curling, blue-black tattoos peeking from his collar and snaking down his muscled forearms. His close cropped head was pure white, and he was smiling at her.

Of course, war chiefs didn’t wear blue jeans and a hat that looked like it had once belonged to Crocodile Dundee.

The gentlemen reached up, sweeping the hat off as if he had committed a faux pas by wearing it in the presence of a lady. Marsha blushed, reaching up to brush some unseen strands of hair from her face.

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