R. Cooper's Blog, page 10

tonight i will be your piece

I wrote a book!!!!

Okay I know that people are going to be confused by that statement, so lemme explain: (no it's too much, lemme sum up, Buttercup is marry Humperdinck in little less than half an hour...) a while ago I went to write a short steampunk story from Dreamspinner's last collection... only it's me so short... hahaha short. Yeah right. So then I was like, fuck this noise, I'll expand it and make it novella or novel length. That shouldn't be too hard, I can do that in a month.

252 pages and several cranky breakdowns later... book!

Of course I need to edit it and tweak a bit and write up a summary and everything else awful that I hate doing. But book! And then back to magical creatures! But first I have to say, I'm kinda adoring these boys. Sure one is a total lecherous perv, but he's a lecherous perv in love!

Hmm no I am explaining them wrong, aren't I? One acts really tough and fearless but really he's just a confused kid. The other wants to shower his fierce little beloved in love and attention (and come). No! Dammit! Well it's difficult to describe them. Sweet yet deadly assholes? Spy dorks in love during the American Civil War? Fierce little warrior guy who can be utterly undone by a few kisses and a thumb brushing under his ear? GAAAAAAH Also with like, spy and steampunk shenanigans and side characters and the classic "trapped in a whorehouse together" cliche.

Is that a cliche? I feel like it should be.

ANYWAY. I have another thing coming out on Oct 9. About coffee! (clearly one of my favorite things). Medium, Sweet, Extra Shot of Geek. Geeks and coffee, two of my favorite hot things!

Though speaking of hot things, did I mention the Civil War steampunk has lots of suspender porn? Er, hot men in suspenders? Also if no one slashes and OTPs/OT3s my side characters I will be so sad.

Now, have an excerpt because I am hyper and happy and DONE!


"Wicklow," Rhoades said his name as he almost never did. "Private, you do not have to…" he trailed off there, his accent somewhere between North and South. Wicklow tossed his head, the only thing he could do with those eyes on his back. He could only try to guess if Rhoades would still think him handsome after seeing the marks and scars and bruises that Wicklow had earned in his twenty-one years. Rhoades did not speak to tell him, and Wicklow found he did not want to ask. He could not even turn to look. Rhoades spoke roughly. "I would never make you."

Rhoades made life or death decisions every day. Telling Wicklow to play the part of a paid cocksucker shouldn't have been anything compared to that.

"I'll be believable, won't I?" Wicklow asked with a frustrated noise that did not drown out the whisper of denial from Rhoades. Wicklow brushed his hair from his eyes. "I have seen people looking, seen men looking. Seen you," he told Rhoades, as soft as Rhoades ever was, and dropped his shirt over his pistol. He would have to leave the gun behind, which was the last thing he wanted, but he reminded himself of the blade in his boot and let it go. "I've seen them looking most of my life. Never wanted it but there it is."

"Private…" Rhoades was probably averting his eyes now, something Wicklow would have laughed at if he'd seen anyone else doing it. As Louis had intimated, Wicklow was a good piece, that was true. Only to Rhoades was Wicklow anything more. That was why probably why his presence tangled Wicklow's guts and calmed him at the same time.

Wicklow let out a breath and scowled at the floor. "I don't mind as much when it's you."

Rhoades made that same startled sound again and Wicklow angled his head down, exposing his neck since he'd already admitted too much "You want me," Wicklow said as directly as he could, and turned around. Not so many scars were visible on his chest, but his life was there to be read in his body. He knew what he looked like. He drilled with the Colonel until he could bayonet men in his sleep. He ran farther and faster than a hungry rat, or so Anthony said. He boxed and wrestled and tried to take fencing seriously until his body had formed like a working man's, thick with muscle despite how he lacked a great height. That's what he was, a working man, just in a strange line of work. He should have been ordinary to someone like Rhoades who had probably seen many men in an intimate fashion, perhaps some of them just as handsome as he was, perhaps some of them even great men.

He should have been ordinary to Rhoades, but he wasn't, and that was the truth that made him tremble. He meant something to Rhoades, something terrible and weakening, something that meant Rhoades was here with him now when he should have been far away and safe.

His whole body was hot, too hot in the little room with Rhoades staring at him now like he couldn't have looked away if he'd wanted to.

"Private Doyle," Rhoades whispered finally and swallowed, "I am sorry." Wicklow didn't know what Rhoades was apologizing for, but Rhoades stayed in place, one hand clutching at his lapel. Wicklow's heart beat so fast he thought it might stop altogether.

"Some things have to be done." Wicklow rolled his shoulders to seem more at ease and slowly moved forward. For the two of them to get a disguise, he needed to blend in, and for that he had to belong in this place. He leaned in and put his head to Rhoades' chest like the men had done downstairs, marveling faintly at the frantic beat of the heart under his ear when he spoke. "Tonight I will be your piece."

i need all the cappuccinos... or maybe i've had enough

Because sometimes you just need a story about awkward flirting over a coffee counter.

Medium, Sweet, Extra shot of Geek

Well... because sometimes I do, I guess, and I hope other people do as well. Look at that cover though, how sweet is that cover? Tina keeps putting little hearts on there to embarrass Tavio but secretly he likes seeing them I think, or he would say something.



In other news, I am 3/4... slightly over 3/4 actually, done with this current weird steampunk I am writing and then back to fairy tales! Up next after the Firebird, it's Granny and Grumpus, the story of the awkward keeper of a dark garden and the, um, rather crude werewolf who loves him. Or something. If one can trust werewolves with their crazy instincts. Carnivorous plants are so much more trustworthy.

But first! Back to Civil War spying shenanigans! (And dorky dorks flirting in a coffeeshop). I meant to do fairy things first, but Civil War thing took over my brain. Weird how that happens. Nothing and then everything all at once. Why can't I write faster?!! (agony! torment! feelings!)

...Okay yes too much coffee.

yes, darling

So... more than one person has asked for more Arthur and Bertie. And one person in particular asked about Bertie's point of view.

Yeah about that. So I am trying to work on a series of short stories about Beings (that hopefully a publisher might want) and one of them *ahem* might be something from Bertie's point of view. In the meantime, there is always this little nugget, which was hard (impossible) to find before because I didn't tag it properly. Whoops.

It's set during A Boy and His Dragon, and I wrote it waaaaay back when I was writing that, sort of as an exercise, and sort of because a friend likes stories about men baking or cooking for someone else rather than expressing their feelings. Anyway, have a thing.

.....

“I borrowed another book.”

Arthur, the dear boy, could sometimes insist upon speaking at the most inopportune moments.

It wasn’t that Arthur didn’t have interesting things to say. On the contrary; there were moments when Bertie would be riveted by Arthur’s quiet, thoughtful comments on his work. In other moments, Bertie quite lost track of time while listening to Arthur’s enchanting stories of his childhood. Arthur told his tales most beautifully, with the gifts of a natural storyteller.

But Arthur would also decide to talk when speaking was beyond Bertie’s current capabilities.

“Mmm.” Bertie encouraged him. The startling weakness in his midsection was becoming an increasing problem when in Arthur’s presence. He nearly sighed when Arthur picked up a scone still warm from the oven and held it up without eating it.

“It was a reprint of a diary of a soldier from the late Victorian era.” Arthur took a moment to lick some pale, white icing from his lower lip before he went on. Bertie gave in and sighed, heavily and with feeling.

Arthur loved scones and he loved them sweet. They weren’t the easiest thing to make to tempt Arthur into his kitchen, but they were by far Bertie’s favorite simply because he, in his turn, loved watching Arthur eat them.

It, perhaps, wasn’t dignified for a dragon of his lineage, or even for a grown man, but considering Bertie wouldn’t touch Arthur unless Arthur indicated that he might enjoy that as much as Bertie knew he would, it was a small, harmless treat for himself.

There was more of course; he liked feeding Arthur, liked seeing to him and fussing over him and watching that confused little frown come and go on his pretty face that meant Arthur quite obviously did not understand being fussed over. It saddened Bertie to think that no one had ever taken the time to properly care for Arthur, though he was slightly ashamed to admit that he liked that too, more than might be sensible. It pleased him in the sharp, grasping way that dragons felt pleasure to think that in some way, he might be Arthur’s first.

Such things shouldn’t matter in the modern world, but they did. Just as modern dragons shouldn’t really think about eating anyone, but Bertie still thought of the fairy who had hurt Arthur with a certain… hunger.

In any case, once Arthur was properly fed and greeted and listened to in these morning moments with Bertie, he was an unstoppable working machine. It was both awe-inspiring and somewhat frightening.

Bertie let out another sigh that made Arthur stop in the middle of his description of the book to stare inquisitively at him. Bertie struggled to recall what Arthur had been saying—and to wipe the smile from his face. He had a feeling it wasn’t very flattering to stare at his assistant with stars in his eyes. Luckily, he remembered the diary Arthur had been raving about, so he mumbled something approving and waited for Arthur to continue.

Arthur was excited, the darling, and it didn’t take him long to add something else that had occurred to him in the story of the soldier, though he did stop to take a bite of his scone first. It was caramel, and Bertie had made sure to leave it dripping with icing.

Arthur was such a classic tease, unknowing of his own charms though Bertie could list them in a heartbeat: the intelligence and drive of his mind, the width of his shoulders, the stubborn little chin, the unexpectedly fierce blue of his eyes when his deeper feelings were roused.

Oddly, Arthur seemed to consider himself unfeeling. As though he had no temper spent in defense of books and works of art or Bertie’s home and had never blushed to find Bertie’s eyes on him.

Bertie knew the ridiculous smile was back on his face but Arthur was absorbed in his recounting of the story and wouldn’t comment. If he did happen to see, he would go momentarily silent and then lift his chin in a challenging gesture that he did not seem aware of. Arthur, Bertie mused, was a being of fire. But it was those strong feelings he so denied that was keeping Bertie from offering to lick the trail of sugary icing from Arthur’s mouth and then ask, beg, if he could lick any traces from his throat, to be sure it was all gone.

Arthur was not a boy to take that lightly, to Bertie’s daily regret, and so Bertie made scones and waited and brought his eyes up again and again and made noncommittal, hungry sounds to keep his pet talking, to keep Arthur near him, to have him close in the hopes that someday soon Arthur might look back.

“Yes, darling,” he breathed it, then nearly bit his tongue when the roused blue of Arthur’s eyes met his and Arthur licked a drop of sweet temptation from his mouth.
.....


In other news, I have a short story coming out soon: Medium, Sweet, Extra Shot of Geek. It's about a barista named Tavio and a geek named Tommy and just thinking about it makes me want a (soy) latte. And to go see Pacific Rim again. Aaaah, the fun life of a geek! Where's my hot barista? *whine*

Fanart!

It's Adam from Frangipani and the Very Shiny Boy, as drawn by Selenographics

I love that she focused on the ordinary human. He's so smitten but confused!

Frangipani and the Very Shiny Boy

Note: This short was a birthday gift to the lovely Yolandaash.

Summary: Frangipani is a fairy with a problem; he has a found a human that shines like no other, but he can't seem to get that human to notice him.


Frangipani and the Very Shiny Boy




"Hey there," Frangipani began only to immediately fall silent, because wow, way to sound like an idiot. Thankfully, there wasn't so much as a twitch from the boy he'd been trying to talk to, the impossibly cute human boy deeply engrossed in his book, so if Frangi wanted, he could just slip away right now in a flutter of wings and humiliation.

He would have, too, if that hadn't been what he'd done last time, and the time before that, and the time before that. Just thinking of it made Frangi let out a small whimper and slink back to his wrought-iron table in the café's patio, where his vanilla-caramel-mocha with a dash of praline syrup was waiting for him. It was his sixth of the morning, and at this rate, he was going to burn through his college fund in coffee alone.

Maybe if the shiniest human he had ever laid eyes on didn't come to this coffee shop everyday for what must be his downtime between classes, and maybe if that human didn't sit outside so the breeze could stir his light hair and make it fall in front of his eyes so he would absently brush it away so he could keep reading, and maybe if he didn't always get the cheapest drip coffee to save money but then drop a quarter in the tip jar anyway, then Frangi could give up and fly away and get his sugar somewhere else.

But he wasn't so lucky. In fact, he'd swear he'd been cursed with this. This, this condition, as he was starting to call it. The stuttering tongue, the cold uncertainty in his stomach, the heat in his cheeks. He knew what humans called this, but he wasn't human, and he knew that couldn't be the case. The human was simply very shiny, so shiny that Frangi was kind of amazed that every other Being on campus wasn't drawn to him as he was. It was strange enough to him that the other humans didn't seem to see anything special about this boy.

Frangi thought him beautiful. Handsome, yes, but he'd always had a weakness for a human male with a strong jaw. He fluttered back a little closer at the thought, trying to display his body as best he could despite shivering every few moments. The fall days were colder than he liked. Most fairies did not take well to cold, and Frangi's kind, used to tropical climates, suffered more than most. Winter was on its way, but he did not want to think of that now, and stretched in the open air to feel the sun soak into his skin.

The sun perked him up more than his morning's intake of sugar and he raised his face toward it, stilling his wings and then extending them for a moment to absorb the heat. His wings were sheer white, tipped with a yellow-gold, the same yellow-gold that swirled through his brown eyes and tinted his black hair. He had tucked a white flower behind his ear that morning, full of hope and determination that today would be the day he got this human's attention.

Sure, okay, he'd swiped the flower from a professor's garden, but if the humans didn't want fairies taking their flowers, they should allow gardens in the on-campus housing. And the flower made him look good.

Better. It made him look better. Fairies already looked good, especially to humans, and Frangipani was no exception. If past experience was anything to go by, Frangipani was even more of a draw to these mainland humans with his warm brown skin and sunny smile. Humans, all humans, liked him.

Except this one. The shiniest one. The one who did not smile, but wore ragged, thin jeans, and ratty sneakers, and thick glasses with a scratch in the lens. The one who had a pink mouth and kind eyes, and skin that burned in the sun, and who shined, shined so brightly that silver lights streaked around him when he moved. He was different, that shine said, he was special, and Frangipani wanted him.

He wanted him so much he had accepted this daily shame of coming here to stare at him, which was something fairies did not do, because they did not have to do it. They were beautiful, and the beautiful did not pine.

His sister, the English major back at the University of Hawaii might disagree, and quote a fairy poem of longing at him, but he could never tell her about this. She would never let him hear the end of it.

Frangi let out a sigh and dropped his head. The boy, his boy, looked up, giving him one startled, blue-eyed glance that said clearly he thought he'd been alone out on the chilly patio, then swept a look over Frangi's bare chest before quickly ducking back down over his book.

Frangipani sighed again and flopped down in the nearest chair. He put his chin in his hands and stared morosely at the rosy color painting the human's cheeks, which was a positively lovely sight. Frangi must have embarrassed him. Yes, it was a little cold to be walking around bare-chested, but anyone who had been around fairies before should be used to that, and Frangi had a very nice chest.

A sweatshirt would have been nice though. The one his boy was wearing seemed especially comfortable. Frangi wanted to sit on his lap and slide his hands underneath it to feel bare skin. He could apologize for his cold fingers with a kiss, something soft, just there, under the human's ear, and laugh if it tickled and he finally got the boy to smile. The boy rarely smiled. Obviously he was working hard at school, but if he had friends, Frangi never saw them. He'd pulled out a phone a few times and texted back and forth, but Frangi had never heard it ring, or overheard him make plans on a Friday night. He'd never even heard him laugh out loud.

"I bet your laugh is amazing," Frangipani told him softly, unsurprised when that got no response. The boy continued to frown down at a gigantic chem text. Frangi was half a second away from doing the Bend and Snap out of desperation, and wouldn't his roommates think that was hilarious? Rooming with other fairies had its downside, even if they did understand his lack of a proper sleep schedule and inability to stay dressed for the periods of time that humans seemed to need to stay dressed.

Clothing just wasn't natural; there was no way around it. But Frangi looked at the boy's university sweatshirt again and imagined it draped over him in the library while he waited for the boy to finish his studying so they could go out.

Which was a thought that made him pause, because he wanted to roll around naked with this human. He didn't want to date him. He didn’t even know him, and anyway, he was too young to be settling down. Frangi had decades before he had to start considering settling down, especially with a human. But then he wondered if the boy liked flowers, or boys, or fairies.

"Can’t you just look up and see me and drag me away for sex?" Frangipani asked, though there was no one around. If the boy was shy, as humans tended to be when it came to things like public fucking, than they could go somewhere else, but Frangi would have been fine out here on the patio, slipping down to suck him off under the table, or straddling his lap to kiss him, or bending him over a table to trust between his pale, skinny thighs until they were rosy too. Maybe the boy liked to top, maybe he was fierce and strong and he'd kiss back hard and tug Frangi close by his hair. Maybe….

What was the use, Frangi thought, and stood up, loudly scraping his chair against the cement and stalking back over to his coffee, which he drained in a gulp while wishing he could get drunk and forget everything the way humans did.

He gathered up his things and slung his bag over one shoulder and decided that no matter how tempted he was, tomorrow he'd get his coffee somewhere else. The pastries weren't even that good here. He had to pour sugar from the dispenser on top of the donuts to make them edible.

Of course, feeling so resolved didn't keep him from turning around to get one last look at the shiny boy--or from jumping in surprise to find the shiny boy standing a foot away and looking right at him.

Frangi made an embarrassingly squeaky noise and flew back into the table, knocking his paper cup to the ground, though he didn't risk bending over to get it. At this rate he'd probably fall on his ass.

His wings were racing faster than the rush of his heart, but he did his best to lean against his wobbling table and look like a graceful fairy of legend, or at least like a sexy potential hook up at a bar. His stomach flipped uncontrollably, but he ignored it, and smiled widely.

The boy's lips parted at his smile, but he frowned without smiling back. He focused on Frangipani's mouth for a moment, his eyebrows in a tight line, and then he raised a hand. Between two of his fingers was the flower Frangi had tucked behind his ear that morning. Frangi reached up automatically to feel for it at his ear, but of course it was gone. He hadn't really expected a haole from the mainland to understand what he was trying to say with that flower, but he still felt stupid realizing that it must have fallen to the ground sometime during today's attempt to get the guy's attention.

"Sorry," he mumbled, feeling even dumber when the guy frowned harder at him. But he accepted the flower with the lightest, most careful touch he could manage with the boy this close. Despite his efforts, their fingers touched. He shivered, and thought it was his imagination that the silver, shining light around the boy seemed to flare brighter.

It was just the sun playing with his aura of fairy glitter, he told himself, but held his breath when the boy didn't move away. There was still that pink blush in his cheeks, slowly spreading to his ears the longer he stood there. Frangipani hesitated with the flower in his hand, then slipped it over his ear, only to be completely taken aback when the boy stared at it with wide eyes and then at Frangi's mouth a second before he dropped his head. His blush went from pink to red, and he was so close it felt like sunlight. Frangi cupped his cheek without thinking then remembered he was dealing with a human, and humans tended to be awkward about that kind of thing. He pulled his hand away and then stood there, waiting for the boy look back at him.

He could do this. He could speak. "Hi," he whispered, and briefly closed his eyes at his own stupidity. "I sound like an idiot," he complained a second later, "talking isn't something I have much practice with. I mean, not to get someone to sleep with me." He pushed out a breath and wondered why his human was glancing from his mouth to his eyes with such startled intensity. "Maybe you just don't like fairies, huh?" he pondered aloud, more to himself since the guy still hadn't answered him. "Or maybe you want a fairy who is less of a dork. My sister always called me a dork. And the kids in high school. Maybe it's true." Frangipani huffed at the memory and got his wings under control at last. He looked deep into ocean blue eyes, past the scratch in the right lens of the guy's glasses. "I still talk plenty though, eh? Sorry."

"No!" The human burst out, almost too loud for just the two of them, and frowned so deeply that Frangipani wanted to apologize again. He must have had a weird look on his face anyway, because the boy shook his head and wet his lips before speaking again. "No, but please speak slower," he enunciated, still loud, and watched Frangi's mouth.

The frown on the boy's face wasn't going anywhere. Frangi looked back at him, totally confused, until he realized what was going on. His smile returned and he bounced back to life, extending his wings with a flash of gold glitter.

"Thank you for my flower," he said, as slowly as he could, making sure the boy could read his lips as well as his sincerity, and was warmed all over by the boy's answering grin.

The human ducked his head for a moment, like he was shy after all, but when his gaze came back up it was bold and bright. "You haven't worn it before." This time he moved his hands as he spoke, using Signs, which Frangipani could only wish he understood.

Frangipani reached up to touch the petals without thinking. His wings were creating a breeze of their own, stirring the boy's hair and sending it into his eyes.

"You noticed?" Frangi nearly panted it, a dork to the core. "I mean," he tried to stay cool, "I mean, my name is," hesitant over the unusual word, he paused, then leaned in, "Frangipani." They were close enough to kiss. He wondered if the boy would mind and flicked a look up into his eyes, which were wide and stunned and really pretty, for a human, for anyone.

The boy's hands curled, skittering out like he had a thought he didn't share, so Frangi said it again. "Frangipani," he pronounced, then shrugged, "or just Frangi. Like most fairies, I got stuck with a flower name."

"Adam," the boy volunteered and brushed his hair impatiently from his eyes. Frangipani had wanted to do that for him, but only sighed and inched in closer.

"Adam," Frangi repeated, liking the quick, happy grin that appeared in Adam's serious face, "hey there."


The End

all i ever wanted was the world

To the person who wanted me to try to upload Ideas of Sin to All Romance Ebooks... yeah, I tried. But no matter what I do to the cover image, how many times I get the pixels perfectly measured up, ARE keeps telling me that the dimensions are off from what my graphics program says they are, and frankly I want to punch that website in the face right now, so that isn't happening. Sorry. Maybe someday. (Seriously though I could scream right now I have tried it so much. It was just not meant to be, cherie.)

Meanwhile, you know when you are working on a project and it's not there yet, but you can kind of see what it's turning into and it's awesome, but you still know it's going to be a while? Yeah that is where I am.

But my nerds in a coffee shop short story should be coming out soon. I did my cover sheet today, which means describing them and trying to think like an artist today (which yeah I can't. Art is hard work, y'all. Recognize.)

You know what I miss though? Fairies so in love that they have heart eyes. I need to write more of that. Maybe try to fit another fairy story into the weird short story collection I am trying to do here. I love twinky fairies especially, though I was considering doing a Love Talker (gancanagh). Then again, there are so many other things to do and I want some fun to balance out all the drama. There is some serious drama. I blame Kazimir, operatic courtesan and consummate drama queen.



"I know I haven't eaten or slept in far too long, but I must confess to some confusion." Jacob did not seem to notice Kazimir was trembling against him. A kiss might have made him stop talking, but Kazimir could not lift his head for one.

"It is very hard to hold onto a firebird," Kazimir told him despite never having met another of his kind. He had heard once that the czars had kept them, to their peril. Persian kings had taken them and worn their feathers, courting disaster in their pride. Only Egypt was said to have honored them, but the pharaohs were still gone. "Those who try often live to regret it."

Kazimir was so close to him that he could hear Jacob swallow. "Do you warn all men this way?"

"I could demand the impossible from you," Kazimir continued, feeling Jacob's hand tighten on him and smiling for it, "watch you throw yourself after what cannot be caught."

"Yesterday I would have said this was impossible," Jacob mused, "try again, golden bird."

Kazimir, on the verge of asking for the moon, closed his mouth. There was little use in warning a drunkard from drink, or a man in lust from the object of his passion. He pressed his palm to Jacob's chest, surprised at the insistent thrum of his heart, the strength of the breath Jacob drew in. He smoothed out the wrinkles in the old shirt, taking his time and wondering when Jacob would speak again.

the oldest game in history repeating

Some things:

Plainapple doodled some Cal and Ray Ray for me.

Ray is nicely glowering and annoyed. Anyone that sexually frustrated is bound to be.


Also hey, just for funsies (and practice) I wrote a sort of-steampunk/Victorian but historically inaccurate AU for Will and Charlie. Lots of angst and feelings and master/servant vibes. I don't know how long I am going to leave it up, so read soon if the mood strikes you.

And I Am Happy

Gah. I have written three steampunk shorts for myself now, and I don't think any of them really even count as steampunk. One probably needs to be longer. Bah! Humbug! Back to Firebirds!

I'm an embodiment of chaos, asshole. I don't do good or evil.

I keep writing all these things and I don't know what to do with them. Weird short story things and alternate universe of existing story things. Just random ideas that don't seem to have a place, no matter how adorable I might think they are.

Short stories in the Beings universe seems to be a place my mind keeps going, though I have no idea if that sort of thing is publishable. Maybe a series of them with a unifying theme. Or no theme, just a series of short stories. (Would that be a thing people would read?) It might include existing characters or it might be all new. I wrote a thing about an imp in love the other day.

An imp! I know! It just happened.

Anyway, I'm still alive, just sort of frazzled. :)

Have an excerpt...


"Someone once told me that you were the enforcer of Mr. Summers' political will, Mr. Rennet. You should consider the source of your information," Campbell the reporter snapped back, sweating but brave. Rennet stared at him, then directed a look over at John. John was calm, even smiling faintly, which could have meant anything, but he wasn't intervening to shut Rennet up, so after a long minute, Rennet arched his eyebrows.

"Just Rennet," he corrected the reporter, in case this was on the record. "Rennet the imp. What kind of idiot would hire an imp for matters of a delicate nature? I'm an embodiment of chaos, asshole. I don't do good or evil. Didn't you learn this in school?"

"Asshole seems harsh, Rennet," John commented, taking his empty cup and setting it next to the coffee machine. Rennet would need at least two cups to feel any effects from the caffeine. John removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves before preparing a second cup, just for Rennet.

"See?" Rennet continued with his mouth dry, trying not to stare at John's forearms. "Sorry about the asshole thing, but you honestly think I take orders from this guy?"

Margery coughed around her sip of coffee.







I don't even know where my brain is anymore, but Rennet will pretty much do anything John wants, little delusional failboat that he is. He is fooling no one.

There Is No Pon Farr In Baseball

A while ago I wrote a very silly short story in an attempt to get it published in one of Dreamspinner’s anthologies. The anthology was sports themed romance stories, and why I thought I could write anything sports themed I have no idea. It’s really no surprise they didn’t want it for that. (I mean, holy balls, the title is There Is No Pon Farr In Baseball. It just screams athleticism doesn’t it?)

However, they do want it just on its own. A little, vaguely sports-related but not really, story on the side. Since I feel good about that and I haven’t felt good in a while, I am going to share the love. (Also I have been messing around with Smashword and their tech.)

For the next two weeks (ish? roughly?) here is a coupon code for 30% off Ideas of Sin.

Coupon Code: XK25G

It expires May 5. Have some pirate porn. :)

Edit: hmmm I have to change the title... but to what?

I have never had so good a gentleman

Getting back into writing can be difficult, so I tried to do a little something and ended up with two steampunk/not really steampunk stories. One of them is basically an alternate universe Will and Charlie. I'm not sure what to do with them. They aren't very good, at least, not from what I can tell, but I am kind of fond of them. It's very discouraging though, to see all that effort just sitting there in two random, blah stories. But hey, at least they got me kind of excited about werewolves again.

In other story type news, I put Ideas of Sin (oh dear, that old thing) up on Smashwords. If you are hankering for some French corsair with daddy issues captures bookish but fine English piece of ass, then that is where you should go. Also featuring 17th century stuff and religious debate and booty (pirate sex pun!) and very bad things and lots more sex. Six people have bought it so far, which tickles me to no end for some reason. SIX BRAVE SOULS. (I am so sorry. I wrote it years ago. But there's porn!)

Also, to the people who follow me on Tumblr or read these posts on Goodreads, you know I have no idea how I am supposed to act in these spaces, so you get this. You're welcome. ;)

Have some steampunk-ish valet-ness starring a slightly different Will and slightly different Charlie:



Will did not mean to linger by the door, but at quarter past twelve when he heard it open he was there to watch Charlie-- his gentleman, Mr. Charles Howard, esq.-- push open the door as he let himself in. For a moment Charlie was a tall, strong figure silhouetted by yellow, flickering street light and then he removed his hat to lean against the wall and sigh, which told Will all he needed to know about his master's current state. He hurried closer without a thought, startling Charlie who must not have seen him in the dark.

"It's just me, sir," Will whispered as he slid one of his master's arms around his shoulder to take his weight. He took the hat and set it aside. There was no sign of Charlie's cane, so when Charlie attempted to straighten, Will stubbornly stayed where he was. There was a cloying, heady scent clinging to his master's clothes, a scent that was neither the cologne that Will sprayed onto Charlie's handkerchief nor the crisp scent of the starch Will had personally used in his master's collar.

It was Lily-of-the-Valley perfume. Will wanted to hide his face when he recognized it and was grateful for the darkened entryway, though he did not think even in broad daylight that his gentleman would have noticed his reaction. There was much his gentleman did not notice.

Will eased one hand over Charlie's shirtfront and pressed until he could feel warmth and the beat of a heart. "Let's get you to bed."

Charlie attempted one more time to stand on his own, but gave in when Will would not release him. His right foot hit the floor too heavily, and despite the rugs laid down over the marble, a metallic echo carried up to Will's ears. He could nearly feel Charlie's skin grow warmer. Charlie often got embarrassed about things that weren't under his control, as though his occasional clumsiness weren't understandable.

"I thought I instructed you not to wait up," Charlie remarked as they turned to head to his room. No upstairs in this bachelor flat, no stairs at all beyond the ones to get in, and even those Will could do without. But some things his gentleman insisted on, and one of them was appearances. There would be stairs, and he would walk up those stairs, at least for the public to see.

Inside his flat the upstairs was a guest room and a library where Will fetched books for him. After prompting from his sisters, Charlie had agreed to install a lift, but hadn't yet committed to a timeframe.

"I wasn't tired, sir," Will puffed against Charlie's shoulder, inhaling the scent of lilies again. Will did not care for lilies, or the women who wore their scent, or women at all, for that matter, not in the way most men did.

Once inside the bedroom, he eased Charlie down onto the edge of his bed and removed his coat. He carried it into the closet and buried it under a pile of clothing waiting to be laundered.

Breathing freely again, he went back to his master's side, pausing only to turn up the gaslights. For a moment as he turned back, he lost his breath at the sight of Charlie in the amber light, his shirt starkly white, his skin warm and his hair dark, shadows along his square jaw and handsome face, under his eyes. He looked both strong and weary, but his eyes were steady on Will.

Will was conscious of his dishabille. He'd half undressed, fully intending to retire some time ago before he'd finally accepted that he couldn't sleep without knowing how Charlie's evening had gone. Now he knew. From the scent of those lilies, it had gone very well.

He scowled and looked away to hide his face, aware once again of what a dismal valet he was. At least his hands did not shake when he rested them against Charlie's throat, feeling hot skin for a bare second before he tugged at the knot of his cravat and slid it free.