S.L. Armstrong's Blog, page 26

Advent: Day Two (NSFW)

Title: Winner Take All

Characters: Alec, Tavish

Origin: World of Egaea (WIP)

Advent Day: Day 2 (November 28th)

Rating: NC-17

Word count: 2,159

—

Tavish moved carefully through the forest, his fur-covered feet almost silent in the snow. Almost. He wasn't nearly as stealthy as the feral-Maith with their paws and claws. He just had feet, covered in thick fur and hide, and that didn't lend itself to silence. But he tried. Every winter, he tried. Tavish thought he was doing a hell of a lot better than the previous two years, but he still worried. Alec expected him to hunt him down, to capture him.

But, Tavish had never been an ideal hunter. It was a hopeless cause, if anyone had asked him… though no one had. Alec and Nahele were certain that since he was now bound to the lynx, he should be as good a hunter. Or that he could become as good a hunter.

He wasn't a hunter, though.

He was just Tavish. A scribe. Even if he never saw Forrin again, he was a scribe. It was all he knew. Books and parchment and ink and quills. Not stealth and scenting and pouncing and killing. Especially the killing. Killing wasn't high on Tavish's list of things to accomplish. They'd had too much death in their lives, and if he didn't have to take a life—even the life of an animal that would sustain him—he was all the happier for it.

Then, he heard a soft laugh.

Alec was teasing him! Tavish growled. Damn his mate. Damn Alec for making him want to hunt him down successfully.

He crouched down and inhaled, trying to call on the feral spirit that was bound with his. It wasn't easy, not with his lynx back at their den, but when he dug down deep inside and followed that thread of connection, it helped just a little. He felt his senses expand, and the scent of the snowy landscape deepened. Alec had left no tracks. Alec was far too smart to leave an easy trail, but then the slightest hint of scent reached his nose. Tavish perked. The scent went up.

Tavish frowned a little, and then inwardly cursed himself. He knew where to look now, but he kept his eyes trained on the snow. He crept along, each step careful and slow, but now his attention was directed upwards. He would get Alec. By all the gods, he would succeed.

It took him another freezing twenty minutes to follow the trail. And then he scurried up a tree, moving carefully from branch to branch, making his way higher. Then he perched, waited. It was times like these he wished he had a tail. A tail would make this so much easier. He huffed softly in the cold air and waited.

He didn't have to wait long.

Alec effortlessly hopped from one tree to the next, coming closer and closer. Tavish had selected right, and he couldn't help the triumphant smile that curled his lips. One more leap… and Tavish lunged. Mid-air, he brought Alec down into the soft snowdrift below. He growled, straddled Alec to hold him down, and then sank his teeth into his mate's furry throat.

I caught you! Tavish cried out delightedly between their minds, his words carrying easily down their soulbond.

Alec gasped beneath him, but the purr he emitted rumbled loudly up against Tavish's lips. You did it all on your own! I knew you could do it. Alec's strong hands hugged him close, moved from his back down to his hips, kneading at him through the furs keeping his pale skin safe from the frigid cold. The kneading shifted over his hips, teasing up under the fur on his back, and then down to his ass.

Tavish whined and wriggled, bearing down on Alec to keep him in the snow. It was then that he felt Alec more fully beneath him, and it sent a shiver through him. Alec was hard as a rock beneath him. He froze atop his mate and pulled back from Alec's throat, wide-eyed. "Y-Y-You're…"

"So happy you caught me, love," Alec purred with a smirk.

A flush moved over Tavish's cheeks. It didn't matter how long he'd been mated to Alec, he easily became flustered about intimacy. He licked his lips. "It took m-me over an h-hour to c-c-catch you."

"But you caught me." Alec rolled his hips up, and Tavish couldn't help the soft mewl that came from his throat. "Don't you think that deserves celebrating?"

"Celebrating?" Tavish opened his eyes. "You m-mean… rut? Out here?"

Alec moaned, squeezed Tavish's ass again. "I mean, the winner should take his prize."

Tavish shook his head a little. "One of the others might come by. They m-might see."

"And what would you like them to think if they see, hmm?" Alec asked, his nails digging into Tavish's hips a little. "Do you want them to think I just humored you? That you gave up the hunt?"

A muscle in Tavish's face twitched, and he frowned, pushing Alec down into the snow. "No. Everyone sh-should know I caught you. I s-succeeded."

"That's right," Alec encouraged with a grin. "But if I struggle, push you into the snow, and take you…"

Alec began to shift beneath him, and Tavish growled. "No! They have to know I won!" He ground down to try to stop Alec's squirming, and when that didn't keep his mate still, he grabbed Alec's arms and pinned them into the snow. "I hunted you." There was no hint of his stutter now. That feral spirit inside him rose up. "I caught you." He'd never caught Alec before without Alec giving in and letting himself be caught. "The whole clan should know I caught you, and that you were mine to claim."

"Can you claim me?" Alec whispered, struggling against Tavish's strength.

Tavish snarled, a wildness surging up through him at the challenge. "Yes!" In a flurry of motion, Tavish turned Alec over, forced him face first into the snow as his clawed hands pulled at Alec's loincloth. When he leaned down to nose and lick at Alec's exposed hole, he smelled oil. If he hadn't been hard already, that would have done it for him. "Did you let me win?" he snarled, wondering if Alec had prepared himself knowing he'd give up and let Tavish catch him. The idea he hadn't won fair and square this time set Tavish on edge, made him angry in a way he wasn't accustomed to.

A muffled sound escaped Alec, and Alec's long tail twitched. Tavish let up his grip on Alec ever so slightly, and Alec turned his head, panting, "No! No, Tavish. I just… I hoped. Gods, I've prepared myself and hoped every year."

Tavish frowned a little. "Every year?"

Alec whined. "Every year. I swear."

"So… I did catch you fairly?"

"Yes, love, you did," Alec panted. "Do you plan to stake your claim on what you've captured?"

Tavish growled again, nipping at the base of Alec's twitching tail. "Yes. Push myself in, leave the musk of me behind," he panted, cheeks burning as he speaks so plainly.

Alec moaned and whimpered, pushing back into his bite. Alec's tail twitched one more time before curling upward, arcing over Alec's dark, furry body, and the way it exposed Alec's hole called to that feral spirit inside Tavish. He fumbled with the ties of his trousers, loosening the folds of the furs until he freed his sex.

The cold air against his hard flesh made him hiss in a breath, and he gripped Alec's hips and positioned himself quickly. He pushed forward in a single, rough thrust, and his possessive cry echoed up into the trees. Oh, gods, Alec's body was so hot around him. So slick. And the desperate whine his mate gave, shifting eagerly back against him pushed his shyness and misgivings to the far reaches of his mind.

Only one thought filled Tavish's mind: claim. He didn't wait long between the first thrust and the next. He felt overheated in his furs, his face icy from the cold wind that whipped around them. It didn't matter. What mattered was how hot and tight Alec was around him, how his mate met him thrust for thrust. Usually, he laid beneath Alec, but there were times… times like now… when the dominant beast inside Tavish took over and fulfilled its Alpha's submissive needs. Tavish took Alec as hard and fast as his slighter, leaner body could. His body tingled with heat and cold and pleasure, small barks and loud yips leaving his throat as he announced to any within hearing distance that he'd won, he'd caught his mate, and he was taking what was his.

His thighs began to burn from the strain, and he saw Alec shift and reach between his own legs. A low growl escaped him, and he leaned forward, taking the nape of Alec's neck between his teeth. He bit down as he surged forward again and again, pushing them both toward the edge. Alec's tail suddenly went rigid, and Tavish gasped when Alec's inner muscles clamped down around him. Alec came with the sweetest of cries, and Tavish tightened his jaw, biting harder as he followed his mate into that white-hot moment of pleasure and dominance.

After a few tense moments as his body shuddered, Tavish released Alec's neck. He sat back on his heels, panting, his breath icing in large clouds in front of him. Tavish stared at Alec's wet hole, smeared with his seed, and a wave of possessive triumph washed through him. He grinned as he reached out, rubbing his seed into Alec's furry flesh. "Mine," he breathed.

Alec mewled, his tail flicking and caressing up and down his arm. Tavish knew it was an unconscious touch, but it made him grin and take hold of Alec's tail with his free hand, scritching and petting the cool length of thick fur. Alec's purr was deep and loud as the cold wind died down. "Yours," he moaned. "All yours, Tavish. So proud of you."

Another flush crept over Tavish's face. "You are?"

"Yes," Alec whispered, turning around to face Tavish. "So proud." Alec leaned in to kiss him softly, and Tavish whimpered in the back of his throat as Alec's tongue moved through his mouth.

It's taken me four years to catch you. Though, if Tavish were honest, after the war three years ago, he had been off his game entirely, as had everyone else. Losing loved ones could really gum up the works. He loved the way Alec's tongue slid along his, Alec's a little rough, sandpapery, but so good. And you would have found me within five minutes if you'd been hunting me.

Alec's purr intensified, wrapping around his senses just as surely as Alec's body curled around him in the snow, holding him close. All the more reason to celebrate your successful hunt, Alec's mindvoice insisted in his head. Besides, it's taking me a lot longer to track you down without cheating these days.

Tavish pulled back from their kiss, his eyes wide. "You've cheated?"

"Maybe just once or twice, following our connection to feel which way you've gone," Alec admitted with a light blush, his ears twitching to an incredibly guilty angle.

"Alec!" Tavish laughed, fwapping his mate. "Cheating's not allowed!"

Alec pounced him, pressing him down into the snow. "Are you saying you dislike it when I catch you?"

"N-No," Tavish whispered, his hands pressed to Alec's broad chest. "It's just not fair."

"How about we go back to our den," Alec purred, nuzzling and nipping at Tavish's throat, "and you punish me for my cheating."

Tavish moaned, arousal beginning to swirl through his senses. "P-Punish you?"

"All night long, if necessary," Alec offered. "Your scent all over me so everyone will know about your triumphant hunt and the claiming of your mate."

How could he resist such a thing? He wanted everyone to know, to respect his accomplishment, and if that meant covering Alec with marks and scenting him all night, he wouldn't back down from the challenge. "B-Back to the den," he ordered.

Alec rose to his feet, picking up his loincloth, but not bothering to put it back on. "Race you?"

"You can't use the trees," Tavish said with a grin, fixing his own trousers.

"If I win, I take you," Alec purred, licking broadly over Tavish's lips.

Tavish moaned. "And if I win?"

"Aside from you rutting with me all night long?" Alec laughed. "If you win, we will finally venture to Tira for those rings you admire on the triplets and Kyran."

Wedding bands? Alec would actually wear a wedding band from him? Tavish gave an excited yip and took off toward the settlement and their den. He'd win. He had to win. He didn't want to wait a whole other year to try again! As he ran, he could hear Alec's laughter behind him, and Tavish smiled into the cold bite of the wind.

He'd win.

Advent: Day One (NSFW)

This begins our Advent Challenge for 2011. Last year, we didn't make it all 25 days. This year, though, K. Piet and I banded together and wrote twenty-nine shorts to share–for free–from November 27th until December 25th. Most are not safe for work, some are lesbian, a couple het, but mostly they star the gay characters from our past and future works. We hope you enjoy them as we countdown to Christmas Day!

When we complete the Advent, all the stories will be compiled into one volume with awesome cover art, along with 11 new original shorts plus five rewritten shorts from last year. This volume will be made available for purchase at a small cost, as we're only basing the purchase price on the word count of the eleven bonus shorts we're not releasing for free. More about that after the Advent is complete. Until then, enjoy!

I want to thank Alex for all her help in beta'ing these shorts. Without her diligent work, many errors would have remained in the shorts.

***

Title: Icy Desperation

Characters: Cade, North

Origin: Lessons In Cowboy (WIP)

Advent Day: Day 1 (November 27th)

Rating: NC-17

Word count: 2,127

—

North shivered as he finished emptying the wheelbarrow for what had to be the hundredth time. Who knew horses could make so much of a mess? And in the dead of winter, no less! "No animal should ever shit that much," he mumbled, trying to wipe the sweat from his forehead without smearing grime all over himself.

"A little harsh, don't you think? They can't help themselves."

North spun around, his heart jumping up into his throat. His eyes met Cade's, and he huffed out a breath of relief, watching it fog the air between them. "Shit, Cade."

Cade's gaze dropped to the wheelbarrow for a moment. "I see that."

North laughed and shivered again. "I meant shit, you crept up on me. I was just finishing up."

"Emma Rae and the others are already inside, eating." When North took the wheelbarrow back into the barn, Cade followed and leaned against one of the stalls. "Why did you volunteer to stay out in the cold, shoveling shit?"

It took North a couple of swallows before he could manage an answer. Cade looked to damn sexy in his jeans, flannel, and jacket, his Stetson low on his brow. "Why not? No one'd miss me."

Something flashed in Cade's eyes. "That's a pitiful lie, and you know it."

"Bullshit." North yanked off his work gloves and tossed the down. "You sneak me into your room after everyone's asleep, and you kick my ass out before the sun comes up. I'm just a hole for you to warm your dick in, but only as long as you don't get caught. Why would you miss me at the damn dinner table?"

Cade shoved off the stall and stalked toward him, his boots crunching in the frozen hay that lined the barn hall. Cade's face was red, and North knew Cade was pissed. Well, so was he, and he refused to back down. He stared defiantly up at Cade when the rancher stopped a foot in front of him. North's heart was beating so fast, he wondered if Cade could hear it. He didn't want to lose those few precious hours of pleasure and intimacy with Cade, but he didn't like the dirty feeling before and after.

"You saying I'm ashamed?"

North clenched his teeth. "I'm sayin' you're chickenshit."

Steam practically rose off Cade's Stetson. "I've never backed down from a challenge in my life. I'm a grown man!"

"So are your damn kids!" North fired back. "Your sons are grown. Emma Rae's more of a woman than most men can handle. For Christ's sake, they know what we're doing! There's no one to fool, and if they have a problem with us being together, they can say it to our faces. I don't know what the hell you're so afraid of. If you're a grown man, then man up!"

It was a direct challenge, and North was half afraid Cade wouldn't do anything but turn on his heel and walk back into the warm house to his dinner. Cade might have faced down the challenges of having kids, upkeeping his ranch, and even caring for his wife when she was sick, but would staring down the fact he was sleeping with North finally break the camel's back? The silence was stretching longer than he liked, and he swallowed thickly, refusing to take back a single word.

"What I do in my bed," Cade snarled, "is of no concern to anyone else on this ranch!"

"It's my concern!" North shouted. "It's my concern, Cade, because I'm in your bed!"

Cade pushed him back into an empty, clean stall, a hand in North's hair while the other bunched in North's jacket. In seconds, Cade's mouth was on his, tongue thrust between his lips. North hadn't yet experienced Cade while the rancher was angry, and it both frightened and excited him. By the time his back hit the exterior wall, his was hard as a rock in his jeans. He gave as good as he took, the kiss savage, angry, and hurt. All North wanted—all he'd ever wanted—was to be acknowledged and loved openly by the men he called lover. Cade was what he wanted now, and he didn't want to hide anymore. Not from Cade's family or his own fans. Music career be damned, he was tired of being a coward!

The kiss seemed to go on forever, both of them refusing to stop or pull back for more than a breath before diving forward again. He wasn't sure what kind of point Cade was trying to make. Hell, he wasn't even sure what point he was making by kissing back so hard, but he couldn't stop. His hands yanked at Cade's jeans, pulled at flannel and the layers beneath.

Cade's thought process must have been a little more organized. Cade went for his jacket first, shoving it over his shoulders and down off his arms. Rough hands rubbed against his nipples through his shirts, and North moaned, his own hands stalling for a moment. Cade growled into their kiss at the pause, and North felt his knees go a little weak. Cade's hands went for his jeans, and before he knew it, his cock was exposed, and he hissed at the chill of the cool air against his overheated skin.

"Left the… stable door… open," he panted, finally getting the button and zipper of Cade's jeans open.

"Doesn't matter," Cade growled out, and with a rough grip, North was spun around and pushed down into the hay. Cade yanked off one of North's boots, and his jeans were pulled down his waist just far enough for him to get the one leg out. He reached for his other boot, but Cade slapped his hands. "Down!"

"But it's not—"

"It's plenty." And then Cade's mouth was on his again, and all he could think to do was part his legs to welcome the warmth of Cade's body closer as the hay scratched against his ass and leg.

It was more passion than North had seen from Cade since the first night they'd started fucking. Not that North minded slow and deep lovemaking, but this… this was something else. This was something he was sure Cade didn't let out often, and all it did was make North's cock that much harder. He moaned when Cade pulled back enough to wet his fingers, and then their tongues were battling one another again while Cade pushed two inside him. It wasn't as smooth as lube, but having Cade finger him felt too good to stop.

Cade's mouth moved to North's throat. When had Cade ripped open the upper buttons? North's eyes rolled back in his head as Cade's teeth and suction set a deep, throbbing mark in his throat. Cade hadn't dared mark him where anyone might see, and to have it done now… "Fuck!" He worried he'd come right then between the combination of that mark and Cade's fingers pushing in and out, rubbing against his prostate every now and again.

North tried to move his hips, to push into those fingers, but the moment he started shifting eagerly, they were gone. He was about to protest when Cade sat back a little and spat into his palm. North knew what that meant, knew the pain that was about to come, but he couldn't bring himself to stop Cade. He braced himself, but when Cade thrust inside him with almost no glide, everything went white. His nails dug into Cade's flannel shirt, as he shouted, pain flashing through him. It made his skin flush, his sinuses sting, his eyes tear up, but—God help him—he was still so hard!

Cade winced above him, and he saw sweat pop up on the creases of Cade's brow. The fire in Cade's eyes was even hotter, though, and they stared at each other for several seconds. It made North's heart pound, and his hands tightened in Cade's clothing, his knuckles turning white. They pulled each other close the same instant, their mouths colliding in another rough, possessive kiss. He battled Cade for dominance, but then Cade made that first nearly-dry thrust, and he gasped. Cade took advantage, groaning as he staked his claim.

After years of careful coordination with his manager Danny over every single fuck North had, this was heaven. It didn't matter that his ass was on fire. It didn't matter that Cade hid everything from everyone. It didn't matter that, in nine weeks, he'd leave the Stallings Ranch and Cade behind forever. The only damn thing that mattered was the taste of Cade in his mouth, Cade's worn hands on his hip and thigh, and Cade's cock pushing into him brutally over and over. North tried to shout, but Cade's tongue muffled every cry, every groan.

North's hands clung to Cade's neck and shoulder. Tears wet his lashes as pain and need and lust warred inside North. And still, his cock strained between their bodies, dark and wet. Cade growled, moved faster, and North ripped his mouth away to let loose a sharp, pained shout.

"Shut up!" Cade snapped breathlessly. "I don't want everyone knowing what the fuck we're doing."

Pain stabbed at North's heart, sharper than the pain of Cade's unlubed cock inside him. "And what… are we doing… Cade?"

"Fucking." Cade stared down at him, and North thought he was looking up at a stranger. "Jack yourself off," Cade ordered.

North felt a flush steal over his cheeks, but he was so desperate, so aroused despite Cade's harsh, bitter words. Fucking. They were fucking, a word Cade had never used to refer to what they did. It chipped away a little at North's heart, and the tiniest kernel of regret began to settle cold and heavy inside him. Still, he reached between their bodies and took himself in hand, pumping his prick hard and rough, as hard and rough as Cade took his body.

It didn't take long. The combination of pain and pleasure was potent enough to override his emotions. He craned his neck, seeking the comfort of another kiss. Whether Cade indulged him because he loved kissing him or because he just wanted to keep him quiet, North wasn't certain. He came with a muffled shout, his release shooting up over his hand to his abdomen and disheveled shirts.

The moment of blissful pleasure was short-lived, and Cade's thrusts became erratic and even more forceful, ripping away the afterglow North usually enjoyed with him. Cade grunted against his lips, and then he felt the heat and sting of Cade's come inside him. Cade shuddered and twitched above him, and he watched as the pleasure gave way to stillness and silence.

They panted for a minute, and with the way Cade stared at him, North thought the man would speak up. Say something. Anything. Instead, Cade just stared at him in shock, and North finally swallowed thickly, saying the only thing he could think of. "You didn't use a condom, either."

Through a haze of tears North hadn't realized had settled over his vision, he watched Cade's face close off. All emotion drained away, and Cade's eyes became shuttered. And still, Cade said nothing. He pulled out, and North closed his eyes as his ass throbbed and the warmth of Cade was lost. The air was too cold now. The horses were whinnying, restlessly moving in their stalls. North was thankful no tears fell, and he only opened his eyes when he heard the rustle of clothing.

Cade was pulling his jeans up, adjusting his shirts and jacket, grabbing his Stetson. "Get yourself cleaned up. Close up the fucking barn and come inside for dinner."

"Cade, I—"

Cade glared down at him. "Did I ask for your opinion? Finish up your work in the barn, and then come eat. If you don't get to the table by seven, you don't eat tonight."

And then Cade was striding away, out into the snow and gray sky. North just stared at the open barn door, hoping Cade would come back, would apologize. But nothing. Just the slam of the screen door, and then the interior door, of the main house. Blushing deeply, and feeling so fucking dirty, North slowly pulled himself together. How he managed to dress, stow the wheelbarrow, check all the horses' feed, and lock up the barn, he'd never know, but when he stepped into the main house, it wasn't the kitchen he headed to.

North wasn't hungry.

He felt humiliated, used, and pissed. All he wanted was a shower and his bed. North was as cold inside as the world was outside the house, and he worried that no amount of hot water would thaw the ice forming around his heart.

Final Advent Teaser!

Today is the last day you'll get a teaser for Advent since I start posting those shorts on the 27th! I hope everyone likes what K. Piet and I have in store. We've been writing our tails off since the beginning of October to bring this month of free fiction to readers.

This one stars Sasha and Aneira from my short in the Daughters of Artemis anthology, Sacrifices. It's just a sweet moment between them while their daughter sleeps.

—

Her eyes on Aneira, Sasha then licked up the seam of Aneira's sex, barely biting back a moan as the thick flavor of her mate filled her mouth. If it took her considerable effort not to make a sound, she couldn't imagine what it took Aneira. Aneira's body became stiff, her hands flew to her mouth, and the barest of squeak slipped out. Sasha just wanted to laugh. It was the most adorable damn thing, and so she presses her mouth to that wet flesh, suckling Aneira's clit between her lips and flicking it with the tip of her tongue.

Aneira bucked beneath her, tension rippling through the muscles of her abdomen and legs. She saw Aneira's hands tighten on her mouth, trying so hard to keep back the small sounds that would normally have echoed in their chamber. A thrill of wickedness shivered through her, and she sucked harder, her teeth nipping at the sensitive nub. Aneira's hands instantly darted for the sheets, and the loud bark of a moan escaped her made them both freeze, their gazes snapping to the cradle.

For a few seconds, all Sasha could hear was the pounding of her own heart, but when no sign of stirring came from the cradle, she let out a laughing breath and fwapped Aneira's thigh with a grin. Aneira's cheeks turned red, but her smile was unmistakable, even beneath the hand that had returned to cover her mouth.

Sasha shook her head, giving Aneira the best stern expression she could. If you cannot be quiet, then we can't do this. But, gods, Sasha wanted to do this. It downright ached to not have made love with her mate for weeks!

I'll be quiet. I promise. Aneira reached down with one of her hands and brushed her fingers through Sasha's hair. I haven't been able to stop thinking about this all day.

Then hush. Quiet as mice. Sasha bent to her task once more, drawing Aneira's clit between her lips and suckling, licking, scraping her teeth so very gently, and then slipping two fingers into the wet warmth of Aneira's body.

Aneira tried her best, and Sasha had to give her usually vocal lover credit. Aneira thrashed, bucked, and whimpered, but never did a cry leave her tightly pressed lips. Sasha almost wanted to see how far she could push Aneira, just how quiet Aneria could remain when Sasha did her worst. With that in mind, Sasha curved her fingers inside Aneria, sought out that spot that could drive her mate wild with passion, all while her lips and tongue tormented her swollen nub.

Aneira's eyes became the size of saucers, and her hands flailed a little, staying only for a moment at the sheets, Sasha's hair, or even moving to cover her own mouth. Sasha… Sasha! She could hear Aneira's voice inside her mind, so desperate to find an outlet for that pleasure, and it made a wave of heat unfurl between her legs as she licked and sucked, touched and teased. She knew when Aneira's breaking point approached, and she briefly thought to ease back, to deny Aneira the pleasure. The thought was gone in a flash, however, and she pressed her fingers upward again, delighting when Aneira gasped harshly but managed to choke back all but the softest squeaks of sound.

Happy Thanksgiving, Everyone!

A very Happy Thanksgiving from the Armstrong, Piet, and Moses households! I'm enjoying a nice turkey and ham supper at my folks' place, surrounded by the people I love the people who love me. I wish you all the same joy on this day of overeating and family!

Annoying Female Characters

The annoying female friend. I've been told I've written such a character, and I'm sure I'll do it again. But—and here's the thing—I won't apologize for it. Those annoying friends? They exist in our lives. They're a part of our everyday experiences. Some people might not tolerate such people, but I know from my own personal experiences, those annoying friends tend to have many non-annoying traits. They're not annoying 100% of the time.

Also? What one person might find annoying, another might find perfectly enjoyable. I've had friends that have driven me up the proverbial wall, but no one could understand why because those people weren't annoying to anyone else. Just me. So, I had to learn that what annoys me doesn't necessarily annoy another. I also had to realize that a couple annoying traits didn't mean the person was a bad person.

This is something I keep in mind when I'm writing. Cheryl, from Other Side of Night: Bastian & Riley, is considered a terrible stereotype. When I wrote her, I didn't see her as that. When I wrote Cheryl, I thought of myself and my best gay friend, how I hung out with him endlessly, how he loved me and I loved him even with our little quirks. Admittedly, I never asked him to kiss his boyfriend in front of me, but I'm also more of a introvert than Cheryl is. Therefore, I found her to be perfectly acceptable. She was that best friend who loves you to death and sometimes says inappropriate things that just make you want to facepalm.

And I don't think there's a thing wrong with that. All female characters in fiction don't need to be wonderful, sweet, tolerant, caring, and appropriate. Female characters should run the same gamut as male characters. I should feel the freedom to write a nasty, unpleasant female without worrying that I'm going to be slammed as a woman-hater. I should feel the freedom to write a sweet, innocent, sparkling female without being slammed as writing a Mary Sue. See what I'm getting at here? Yeah, an author sometimes can't win for losing, quite honestly.

I think I've come to a point where I'm okay with that. I'll write the male and female characters I want, the way they come to me, as they want to be written, and just smile when someone complains. I love my readers, I appreciate them, but I also know that writing solely for the readers—and not for myself—I'll miss out on writing some awesome characters, male and female alike. Everyone has an opinion, and I don't blame anyone for theirs.

So, I will continue to write my annoying females, my evil females, my gloriously sweet females, and my females who walk the gray area of good and bad. I love diversity in all my characters, and I just can't convince myself to write differently.

The Craft of Writing VI: Hyphens and Dashes

The Craft of Writing VI: Hyphens and Dashes

(or Big, Bigger, Biggest)

Among the most misunderstood and misused punctuation marks are the hyphen, en-dash, and em-dash. These three marks are distinct and have separate uses, but they are often confused. So I thought I'd take a moment and discuss the specific uses for each mark.

Hyphens

The hyphen is the simplest of the three marks; it is also the only one that is found on the keyboard. You'll recognize this little guy: -. The problem is, because it is the only one on the keyboard, it has become the catch-all for all three, when it actually has well-defined uses (see, there's one there!).

Hyphenated words: Compound words like "eye-opener" use hyphens, but not all compound words (eyewitness, eye shadow) do. When in doubt, check the dictionary. Also use hyphens between adjective-noun and adjective-adjective constructions being used as an adjective preceding a noun, like "twentieth-century film" and "friendly-looking dog".

Numbers and fractions: Hyphenate compound numbers between twenty-one and ninety-nine. Also hyphenate all spelled out fractions, like one-third or three-fourths.

Before certain prefixes: The prefix "ex-" is always followed with a hyphen (ex-wife, ex-roommate). When "self-" is used as a prefix, it is always followed by a hyphen (self-confident and self-assured, but selfish and selfless). Also, prefixes before proper nouns are always followed by hyphens (un-American, anti-Semitic).

To avoid ambiguity or strange spellings: When a prefix ending in "a" or "i" is used before a word starting with the same letter, use a hyphen, as in "ultra-ambitious" and "anti-independent". Prefixes ending in "e" or "o" usually don't take hyphens (reevaluate, coordinate), but there are exceptions (de-emphasize, co-owner). Finally, there are times when adding a prefix to a word can resemble a completely separate word. In such cases, use a hyphen to separate the prefix in order to avoid ambiguity. Examples: "re-create" vs. "recreate", "re-cover" vs. "recover", and "re-press" vs. "repress".

Stuttering: When demonstrating a stutter in dialogue, the hyphen is the preferred choice. "W-w-what are you d-d-doing?" (Only use this sparingly! Readers can get very exhausted if you overemphasize a speech impediment.)

En Dashes

The en dash is a little bit longer than a hyphen: it spans the width of the letter "n", hence the name. It looks like this: –. In some programs like Word and OpenOffice that have AutoCorrect options, you can create the en dash by typing space hyphen hyphen space. Most PC users can also create the en dash by holding down the ALT key and typing 0150 on the keypad. (You MUST use the keypad and not the number keys above the letters!) For web pages, using the entity – (starts with the ampersand and ends with the semicolon) in the markup will display an en dash on the displayed page. Some style guides say there should be spaces around en dashes; others insist on no spaces. It is largely a matter of preference.

The en dash is probably the least-used of the three, because of the very specialized use. It is used primarily to denote ranges and certain open compound words. Examples:

"The years 2001–2003 were our most profitable ever!" (range)

"Fighting erupted on the Israeli–Palestine border." (open compound)

Em Dashes

An em dash is the longest of the three, running the width of the letter "m", as in: —. To make an em dash in an AutoCorrect-enabled processor, type two hyphens between the words to link with no spaces. Holding ALT and typing 0151 on the keypad will also create an em dash. The HTML entity to show an em dash on a web page is — (again, make sure to include the ampersand and the semicolon). Unlike en dashes, em dashes should never be set off with spaces.

Some style guides say that in informal writing, the em dash can be used in place of colons, semicolons, and even commas. When writing for publication, though, avoid this informal usage and stick to the main purposes of the em dash, which are for interruptions, emphasized appositive phrases, and abrupt changes of thought. Examples:

"What in the—?" (interruption)

"You are the first person—the only person—I have ever loved." (emphasized appositive phrase)

"I just wish that you—never mind." (abrupt change of thought)

Abusing these aspects of punctuation only annoys editors. So, try to learn everything you can about the punctuations you use before you use them. Don't make assumptions. Make sure you're using them correctly so they can add to your writing, not detract.

Another Taste of Advent

Yet another teaser! This is a short that takes place in the world of Morningstar. I have to admit, writing it made me want to revisit that world and those characters. I'd like to write something longer than Morningstar that focuses on his life with Radueriel on Earth. I'd also love to show both their points of view, as Radueriel is such a sweet, innocent character, which we didn't get to see in depth during Morningstar's first story. Something to ponder. Until then, enjoy this little teaser (this one will post in full on December 23rd).

—

Radueriel smiled brightly. "It is just missing one thing." He reluctantly slipped from Morningstar's arms and fetched the topper. Unsteadily, he climbed the little step ladder and set the white-clad angel atop the tree, plugging it into the upper strand of lights. Immediately, the fiber optic wings lit up, and the candle the angel held glowed. He stepped down and stared up at it. "Now it is stunning."

"You bought an angel?" Morningstar chuckled. "That is… so perfectly you, love."

Radueriel turned to face Morningstar. "And is being perfectly me good enough?" he asked, a moment of uncertainty filling him. "Do I not bore you with my silliness?"

"Oh, Radueriel," Morningstar murmured, tenderly running his fingers through Radueriel's long, dark hair. "You never bore me. Through you, I'm able to experience all the things that are worth celebrating. You bring light back to the things that had lost their sparkle to me."

Radueriel blushed and smiled, playing with a golden lock of Morningstar's hair. "I know you are world weary, that life with Him has left you just as jaded as being parted from Him. I just think there are so many beautiful things in this world. Do you not think they deserve to be celebrated?"

"I'd celebrate anything with you," Morningstar purred, kissing him sweetly.

"Even tinsel?"

Morningstar laughed. "Even tinsel."

Radueriel ran his hands up Morningstar's chest. "Could we celebrate the tinsel and the lights and our joys? Here? Under the tree?"

"Are you asking me to make love with you?"

Radueriel blushed. "Yes."

Morningstar cupped his face and drew him into a deep, sweet kiss. Radueriel's heart began to pound, and blood pooled low in his body. Arousal—even after all this time—was something that still fascinated Radueriel. No longer being an angelic body, the arousal was hotter, heavier, so much more potent than what he'd felt in Heaven all those long years ago with Morningstar. By the time Morningstar broke the kiss, Radueriel was swaying on his feet, flesh warm and hard, his breath short.

"Let me fetch the lube," Morningstar moaned as Radueriel leaned in and kissed, nipped at his throat. "Radueriel, I can't get the lube if you're doing that."

"Mmm," Radueriel whimpered, the sound soft and high. "All right." Morningstar never wanted to hurt him, and he insisted the lubrication was always—always—necessary. "I will wait for you here."

Morningstar pulled away, and Radueriel watched until he disappeared into their bedroom. He worked quickly, removing his layers of clothing and tossing them over the back of their sofa. He moaned softly as his hard flesh was exposed, and he stretched himself out on the floor beneath the tree, smiling up at the lights and ornaments. Manny darted past, playing with a stray piece of tinsel stolen from one of the lowest boughs of the tree. He laughed. It seemed Morningstar was right about Manny playing despite his age, but it just made him smile, and that's exactly how Morningstar found him when he returned from the bedroom.

Morningstar stopped short and stared at him so long that Radueriel felt a flush creep over his cheeks and down his neck to his chest. "Is something wrong?"

"No." Morningstar's voice was rough, a little gravelly, and Radueriel was about to frown with concern when Morningstar rounded the sofa. The large bulge in Morningstar's jeans gave away his arousal. "You're just… stunning."

"Like the tree?" Radueriel asked happily, reaching out in invitation.

Morningstar took his hand and sank down to the carpet. "Even more so than the tree."

Radueriel held out his hand. "Will you make love with me now?"

"All night," Morningstar breathed as he knelt between Radueriel's spread thighs. "Forever."

Taboo Themes

I like things that tend to squick a lot of people out. I love reading and writing same-sex incest (and I have a big soft spot for twincest in particular). I love intense BDSM. I like bloodplay and breathplay. I like slavery (to an extent, when well written and supported by excellent worldbuilding). I like religious characters/figures made into sexual beings who love and want despite their religious restrictions. I like darkness and evil and have a soft spot for bad boys. I'll even read a main character death and cry along with the other characters. There's very little I won't read—even if some of it I don't wind up enjoying.

By the same token, I'll write those things, too. I have a married quad in one of my upcoming fantasy novels that's a set of triplets and their fourth, and all are sexually intimate with each other. I have another fantasy novel that stars a triad, two of which are twins who—gradually and through the encouragement of their shared lover—become lovers as well. I have one fantasy novel where one of the main character's dies, leaving behind their broken lover. I have BDSM stories in the works that are as dark and deep as one can go. I've got slavery and kidnapping and the corruption of a priest, all in various stages of development.

I don't think I'm alone in loving those taboo topics. Not in the gay romance community, anyway. XD I love writing them. I love reading them. When the story is compelling, the characters deep and rich, and the main theme a taboo, I'm drawn like a moth to a flame.

Admittedly, I've found very few books that focus on a taboo topic to be any of those things. Usually, those topics are used solely for the shock value. The characters and stories aren't nearly as developed as they could have been, and the worldbuilding tends to be lacking in many ways. Still, I keep trying! I keep buying the books, I keep reading them, and then I make notes to myself when I'm disappointed about why I was disappointed and how I would correct that… and then I wait for a plot bunny to strike so I can do the taboo theme 'right'. (I say 'right' the way I do because I'm sure many people would debate with me on whether or not I do said topics right.)

In the end, I write what I want to read. Sales don't mean all that much to me. Yes, when I sell a thousand or more books of a title, I get giddy and grin like a moron, but I don't delude myself into believing sales equal people liking my book. It's why I don't give any credence to bestseller lists. But, in the end, I'm happy with my books, with the themes I tackle, and I'm not about to leave the taboo behind anytime soon.

The Craft of Writing V: Dialogue Tags

The Craft of Writing V: Dialogue Tags

(or When He Said, She Said Just Won't Do)

This has been on my mind for a few weeks, mainly because I've been neck-deep in editing for various anthologies. I've had to take a step back a couple of times when it came to dialogue tags. I also had a new editor for Storm Moon Press mention a current fad that—quite honestly—I hadn't noticed and certainly don't intend to follow. So, why don't we take a few minutes and discuss dialogue tags and their purpose in fiction?

There are three areas of contention, but while I recognized that none of them are technically incorrect, I have my preferences. As an author and a publisher, this is how I tend to view things.

Bob said vs said Bob

This isn't about the location of the dialogue tag in the sentence. We all agree that, depending on necessity, tags can go at the beginning, the middle, or the end of a statement. What I am referring to here is the order of the words in the dialogue tag. Compare these two sentences:

"Dinner was delicious," Bob said.

"Dinner was delicious," said Bob.

Obviously, both are correct. However, I tend to prefer the first over the second. Something about putting the speaker at the end of the dialogue tag feels more passive. It's not technically passive voice, but it still has something of the feel. To me, it feels less like the speaker is an active participant rather than the words just coming out of his mouth. There may be times you want that feel, but in general, I urge authors to put a speaker front and center.

Said Adverb vs More Active Verbs

This one is an old chestnut, and a pet peeve of many an editor and publisher. The question is whether to use the word 'said' along with a clarifying adverb, or to replace both words with a more descriptive speaking verb. For example:

"Keep your voice down," Alice said softly.

"Keep your voice down," Alice whispered.

While there is some disagreement on the general use of dialogue tags at all (more on that below), almost everyone agrees that if you insist on using a tag that you feel needs a clarifying adverb, you're almost always better off using a different verb. Again, it simply makes the dialogue feel more active. And because adverbs like 'softly' or 'loudly' or 'harshly' are generic at best, they can mean a range of things whereas a good, strong speaking verb—'murmured', 'shouted', or 'spat'—can give more clarity to the reader.

To Tag or Not To Tag

I was told the oddest thing a few days ago. There seems to be a trend at the moment—though I haven't really noticed myself—of editors removing all dialogue tags except for limited use of 'said' and 'asked' to determine the initial speaking order of a scene.

While I agree authors shouldn't keep saying 'said' over and over again, stripping out all dialogue tags makes it very difficult for the reader to get a sense of a character's tone. Some people say you should confine that to the narrative; I say that in many instances, it reduces the author to a sort verbal gymnastics to get their point across. It also leads—at least when badly done—to far more telling than showing as the author finds themselves struggling to get their characters' tones across. For example:

"Stay where you are!" Carlos ordered.

"Stay where you are!" Carlos' sharp tone would brook no argument.

Both these sentences are saying the same thing, but the first one does it in six fewer words. Everyone knows what sort of tone someone uses when they're ordering people around. Everyone has been ordered to do something and can associate that with a tone. We don't need to be told anymore than that. By removing the dialogue tags, I feel it leads to purple prose, artificially inflated word count, and awkward narrative.

If anything, you could remove the dialogue tag entirely so long as you've established who the speaker is and given us some hint of his character. Is a dialogue tag always necessary? No. Of course not. But in cases where communicating the tone is important, a dialogue tag can very often accomplish in a single word what narrative would take four or five to convey.

More words does not equal a better book.

A Bit of Free Fiction

Well, it's actually just another teaser for the Advent Challenge coming up in a couple of weeks (it starts on November 27th!). This one is from another series WIP called House of Cards, and it stars the tarot as personified beings that slip in and out of the lives of all sorts of creatures as they walk between worlds and times. This one in particular is about the Three of Swords (Sorrow) who, from a very young age, has loved the imprisoned vampire named Morgan.

—

He could hear the ocean, the beautiful sound he adored so much. It was another torture to hear the sea, taste the salt in the air, but never be allowed to see it, to touch it, to go sailing as he had before Scylla had ensnared him. His vision blurred as another wave of despair overtook him, and in the hazy shadows, he could have sworn he saw a girl emerge, pale, dark-haired, with piercing blue eyes.

Morgan blinked again, and then he was certain. There was a girl. Why would Crius have sent a girl up to him? Was he to be allowed to feed finally? Had he pleased Cruis this time? The sick need in him to please his master only made the pain of his soul that much deeper. He closed his eyes as she approached, and it was then he noticed she wore the robes of a noble Roman woman. Crius had given him a noblewoman? Morgan curled in on himself when she reached the bed, silent as a ghost. He wondered if she'd witnessed every humiliation he'd just been dealt. Of course she had. She'd been in that corner, hadn't she?

He jumped when he hand—so warm and alive—touched his sweaty brow. Morgan expected a blow, some new torture, but the girl only looked at him with those large, sorrowful eyes of such a deep, endless blue, he thought he could become lost in them. He swallowed against his tears, and she smelled so good… and he was so hungry…

"I'm sorry I can't take you from here," she murmured, and her voice! Morgan hadn't heard something so sweet and musical in a very, very long time. Innocence seemed to thrum in that voice, draw him in, promise him things he could no longer experience. "I wish I could."

Morgan's breath hitched, and it was then he realized she wasn't speaking Latin. She was speaking his language, the mother tongue of his island beyond what the Romans were calling Britannia. Now that Crius had left, probably heading for the baths and the young servant boys there, he didn't have to censor himself or speak only Latin. He forced his throat to work, and his voice was broken, raspy as he whispered, "Who are you?"

She smiled at him, and he thought he might go blind. It was so beautiful, so… understanding, even if he didn't know what it was she understood. "You may call me Mairg."