This snippet is from The Ancient, which I read this week in preparation for inserting some of the characters into my WIP. Bruce has just had a Skype conference with Alasdair and Bruce’s boss, and after that dance at the wedding, he’s not really comfortable about it–around his boss, that is:
. Why was he feeling like this? Maybe he just found it hard to be the butt of speculation, however silent it was. He had the feeling that men were even worse than women when it came to gossip. If Alasdair had been a woman, Halford would have been slapping his back. They all knew he was bi, what was the big deal? He was also married. They must have been thinking he would jump on anything that moved or something.
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For my snippet, I’ve picked a passage from Heart’s Embers in which the reporters that have been following Bruce end up saving his life:
Marsha hissed at him. “Just stifle it and call 911, Mason, all right?” Nodding, he did as she told him. Getting closer, she held her ear close to Bruce’s lips.
“They—did call, Jeffrey, it—hurts–” His voice was garbled and hard to understand.
Marsha raised herself and whipped off her windbreaker, tucking it around Bruce’s shoulders. She heard a slow, singsong moan.
“How come I can’t get up?” he mumbled as Marsha leaned forward to hear better, her ear at his lips. She raised her head and gulped down her panic, trying to soothe him as best she could.
“You—you’ll be okay, Dr. Bayfield, the ambulance’s coming.” She glanced around at a tinny, crackling sound coming from under the car next to them, a song sounding like the Thompson Twins.
“That’s his phone, Mason, it’s his husband’s ringtone, answer it.”
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Here we have Ninian, who has just come from talking through Leah one last time, and is ready to prepare for the final confrontation with Carl, Craig, and Oz:
Ninian eased back into his body.
He’d felt momentary panic when he couldn’t quite remember where he’d left it, but relaxed, sure that it was where it always was; the inner chamber where he existed, where he worked.
Where Carlo would come to him. He reached over and brushed his fingers over Mary.
“Your sons are coming to get you, my dear,” he crooned. “Won’t they be pleased and surprised?”
She didn’t respond, of course; he really didn’t expect her to.
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Another scene from Craig’s daydream at the barbershop–he didn’t wake up too soon ❤
erotic sensuality trigger 🙂
Craig waited until James stopped moving, then pulled away from him and watched his face. James was trembling, his eyes half shut. Craig stroked his thighs up and down as he moved up next to James, putting his arms around him. “I love you, James,” he said, his voice quivering. “I wish I hadn‘t waited so long to tell you how I felt.”
James touched his face, smiling.
“And you were worth waiting for, Craig.” He propped himself up on his elbows. “I am in love with Craig Hanson, and he loves me.” He smiled “I can finally say it, and I don’t care how cheesy it sounds. Do you know how much that‘s worth to me? To tell you right to your face, after whispering it to myself night after night?” He turned over on his side then, propping himself up on his elbow. He leaned over, whispering in Craig’s ear.
“Now it’s my turn.”
He let his lips trail down Craig’s chest, putting his hand around him as he stroked him firmly up and down, then swirled his tongue over the head. Craig stretched out on the quilt, languid, like a cat, his eyes closed. He arched his back.
“Oh, God, James–”
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This is a post from Talk Of The Town, in which Craig is visiting a barber shop for a shave, because he really, really doesn’t want to enter eternity looking like a lumberjack (because we all know my vamps don’t shave ) He falls asleep in the chair when he gets the hot towel, and dreams about high school :
“It’s all right, you don’t have to feel embarrassed any more. I know, Craig.”
“What–what do you know?”
“I know how you feel. About me, I mean,“ James said, a shy smile on his attractive face. “Cindy isn’t the only one who’s been throwing hints around.” He started stroking Craig’s arm up and down. He looked at Craig, at his flushed face. Craig was still, not moving. “I haven’t asked her out because she’s not my type either, Craig. You are.”
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Here’s what happened with Craig’s shirt–after Carl left him:
He went into the living room, still nude, and opened his laptop. He had to look up what Carl said to him when he woke, when he saw Carl in the chair. He brought up his translating program and typed in Italian to English, then put in the words. He had no trouble remembering what they were. He looked at the translated phrase, catching his breath.
“You are beautiful, a beautiful man.”
Craig closed the laptop, leaning on the table with his eyes closed. “He called me beautiful.” He went over to the couch and picked up the pieces of the shirt that he had been wearing before Carl ripped it open, when Carl carried him to the bedroom and undressed him. The thought made him stir again. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the soft cotton, smelling Carl’s scent mixed with his own, remembering those lips on his chest, then kissing his mouth. Tasting him. He trembled……whispering…
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This week I thought I’d use a snippet in which Carl has his A game going with Craig–
“Will you let me taste you?” Carl said “Please, caro-unbutton your shirt. I need to touch you.” His eyes had turned totally black, sparkling like chips of opal. The edges were red–blood red. Carl gently stroked Craig’s cheeks with his thumbs in a hypnotic, sensuous motion.
“I need to feel you.”
Speechless, staring, Craig’s hands went to the row of buttons. Carl reached down and took both sides of the shirt in either hand, ripping the heavy cloth and making the buttons fly across the room.
“You’re taking too long, my love.”
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