Jake C. Wallace's Blog, page 16
January 21, 2014
Wednesday Briefs #18 Diventando: Becoming
Copyright JC Wallace 2014
Welcome to another installment of Diventando: Becoming. Each week a group of authors participate weekly in Wednesday Briefs Flash Fiction. Each installment is 500-1000 words long and are posted to our blogs each week. After you read the latest in my story, click on the link at the end to visit other flashers.
If you are new to Diventando: Becoming and haven’t read the previous chapters, click on Wednesday Briefs in the left hand column and start with #1. Enjoy and leave a comment to let me know what you think.
Owen curled in on himself. He was back in bed in what he’d started to consider his prison cell. Hours ago—for all Owen knew it had been days—Turk had carried him to the room after the near escape of the Incubus. This time Turk had gently laid Owen onto the bed and Owen had immediately rolled away, his arms bound behind his back and his feet bound at the ankles once again. His repeated pleas for death had been ignored and he was terrified of what would become of him once the demon fully emerged. Would he be trapped in his mind, forced to witness the atrocities the Incubus would rend on innocent men? Having been party to one sickening attack already, Owen was sure his sanity wouldn’t hold through another.
He thought of his biological father, possessed by this demon until his body had broken down. He’d been used and discarded like a worn out suit. Had he been cognizant of his body’s actions once the demon had surfaced? Owen imagined his father as a young man, in his teens, and suddenly he hadn’t been human anymore, his young life cut short by the selfishness of a ruthless evil. Soon, Owen would merely become a meat suit for the Incubus to exploit and use to consume the life power of others.
For the first time since his capture, Owen was grateful for both his imprisonment and the drugs suppressing the dangerous predator lurking beneath his skin. This meant his family was safe from him. Even if they were scared to death, wondering where he was, that was better than the alternative of the demon attacking them. He imagined Wayne, wallowing in guilt over his supposed part in losing Owen. His mother and stepfather would also blame themselves for letting Owen move from home. Did they feel guilty for not telling him about the demon? Not that any of it really mattered. So much worry and heartache, but that had been all Owen caused ever since he’d first become sick. He’d gone from cancer to a body stealing demon. What was left?
Nothing but death.
He pondered Turk. Turk, who could have killed him but didn’t. A flicker of warmth sparked in Owen’s chilled body, as he recalled Turk’s tears. . Why hadn’t he killed Owen when he’d had the chance? Filled him full of bullets and ended the fucking nightmare of his life. Turk had tried to look determined, but Owen had seen had definitely been a struggle going on inside of the man as he’d aimed his gun at Owen.
Owen squeezed his eyes tight and willed the image of Turk from his mind. Despite any feelings Turk had for him, Owen was a dead man. Whether by Turk’s hand or someone in this pseudo-army, or by a demon siphoning too much power for his body to handle, his time was limited. As his time had always been. A fucking crap-filled life until the very end.
Owen waded deep in his despair, not bothering to hope for anything but a quick demise. Wading was easy in the quiet of the room. Miraculously, he’d been left alone for the most part after the IV had been reinserted yesterday. Since then, the door had opened a few times and Carson had heard shuffling of people in the room. however, they had left without speaking a word or forcing him to move.
No doubt they were all terrified of Owen’s resident evil.
Owen heard the door open and snick closed. Owen curled in on himself tighter, the restraints holding his arms behind his back making the task difficult. Footsteps sounded as someone circled around the bed. Owen squeezed his eyes shut tight as the person stopped. He could sense them close by and the hair on his arms stood on end. He fought the urge to see who stood, silently watching him.
A deep, weary sigh filled the silence. Nervous energy bounced through Owen’s muscles, tightening his gut. He swallowed hard. Maybe the guard he’d raped was back for revenge.
Just make it quick.
“Owen.”
The anxiety kicked up a storm of terror pushing Owen’s heart rate to the limit. Lying perfectly still, he hoped the man would leave. All he had was his hearing to try and discern the meaning of Turk’s presence—that and the crawling sensation under his skin that waited for a sword to cut off his head. His flight instinct joined the party and every ounce of conscious energy went to keeping him still.
“Owen.” A gentle touch on his arm sapped all his remaining control to play dead. Owen reared back against the metal safety bar behind him, his eyes still clamped shut. A whimper escaped his throat and he had not a fucking clue why.
Please, leave me alone.
The words rushed his veins and along his nerves, pinging through him but never making the journey from his mouth.
“I’m...I’m...Fuck,” Turk muttered and then Owen listened as he walked away and the door closed behind him. He fought to breathe evenly, stop the shudders wracking his body, cease the hot tears flowing freely, but he failed miserably. He just wanted to die.
* * * *
Turk’s voice, low and gravelly, spoke soothing words as a hand ran gentle fingers through Owen’s hair. Owen leaned into the touch as he clung to the edges of sleep. He was dreaming of Turk. That was the only explanation since he hadn’t returned for what had to be days. He wasn’t sure since time meaningless in his cell.
Owen had quit eating and drinking, refusing to participate in anything meant to keep him alive. He had a second IV in his other hand. Something to keep him hydrated and living, he’d overheard. When he’d thrashed with nightmares, they’d pumped him full of a drug that had made his head swim and his limbs heavy. Still the gory nightmares—ones filled with domination and death—came, he just didn’t thrash about anymore. He was stuck inside his head, unable to move, or beg to die anymore. They must have grown tired of the three words he’d uttered over and over.
Please kill me.
The hand continued to massage his scalp and Owen swore a groan escape his lips. If he could remain in this dream to the end, at least he wouldn’t die alone.
“I’m so sorry Owen,” Turk whispered as he continued to stroke Owen’s hair in an almost loving gesture.
Owen wanted to believe what he said, but knew he was just dreaming up words he wished to hear.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make this right. There’s no way to change what’s happening.” The choked words were rough and raw as if they were bleeding pain from each vowel and consonant. “I can’t...Gods, I couldn’t kill you. It would have been like shoving a sword in my own heart.”
A choked gasp came from Turk and Owen felt that sword pierce his own chest, the pain stealing his breath. Owen wanted to reach out and comfort Turk despite what he’d done to Owen. But all Turk had really done was contain a dangerous creature. And apparently this hadn’t even been the first time. That baffled Owen since the demon had shown him a vision of Turk chopping off its head—gory in its own right, yet impossible for Turk to have decapitated the Incubus, since the demon had been with Owen since birth.
Maybe the demon had lied.
A demon lying? Go figure.
The stroking of Owen’s hair slowed and then the hand disappeared. Owen tried to move and return contact, but the drugs had weakened him. If this was a dream, he should be able to will the hand to return.
What came next was better than a hand. Warm lips pressed against Owen’s temple, drawing a sigh from his lips. Then warm breath was on his ear.
“Hold on, babe. I’m getting Wayne and then we're getting you out of here,” Turk whispered and then he was gone. Owen held those words, as precious as any gem, close to his heart.
# #
Check out the other flashers this week at http://wedbriefsfic.com/ or click on the links below:
Jon KeysGrace Duncan
MA Church
Chris T. Kat
Shelly Schulz
Raine O’Tierney
Rob Colton
Victoria Adams
Elyzabeth VaLey
Cia Nordwell
Tali Spencer
Sarah Hayes
Michael Mandrake
Andrew Q. Gordon
MC Houle
Renee Stevens
Julie Lynn Hayes
Wednesday Briefs #17 Diventando: Becoming
Copyright JC Wallace 2014
Welcome to another installment of Diventando: Becoming. Each week a group of authors participate weekly in Wednesday Briefs Flash Fiction. Each installment is 500-1000 words long and are posted to our blogs each week. After you read the latest in my story, click on the link at the end to visit other flashers.
If you are new to Diventando: Becoming and haven’t read the previous chapters, click on Wednesday Briefs in the left hand column and start with #1. Enjoy and leave a comment to let me know what you think.
Owen curled in on himself. He was back in bed in what he’d started to consider his prison cell. Hours ago—for all Owen knew it had been days—Turk had carried him to the room after the near escape of the Incubus. This time Turk had gently laid Owen onto the bed and Owen had immediately rolled away, his arms bound behind his back and his feet bound at the ankles once again. His repeated pleas for death had been ignored and he was terrified of what would become of him once the demon fully emerged. Would he be trapped in his mind, forced to witness the atrocities the Incubus would rend on innocent men? Having been party to one sickening attack already, Owen was sure his sanity wouldn’t hold through another.
He thought of his biological father, possessed by this demon until his body had broken down. He’d been used and discarded like a worn out suit. Had he been cognizant of his body’s actions once the demon had surfaced? Owen imagined his father as a young man, in his teens, and suddenly he hadn’t been human anymore, his young life cut short by the selfishness of a ruthless evil. Soon, Owen would merely become a meat suit for the Incubus to exploit and use to consume the life power of others.
For the first time since his capture, Owen was grateful for both his imprisonment and the drugs suppressing the dangerous predator lurking beneath his skin. This meant his family was safe from him. Even if they were scared to death, wondering where he was, that was better than the alternative of the demon attacking them. He imagined Wayne, wallowing in guilt over his supposed part in losing Owen. His mother and stepfather would also blame themselves for letting Owen move from home. Did they feel guilty for not telling him about the demon? Not that any of it really mattered. So much worry and heartache, but that had been all Owen caused ever since he’d first become sick. He’d gone from cancer to a body stealing demon. What was left?
Nothing but death.
He pondered Turk. Turk, who could have killed him but didn’t. A flicker of warmth sparked in Owen’s chilled body, as he recalled Turk’s tears. . Why hadn’t he killed Owen when he’d had the chance? Filled him full of bullets and ended the fucking nightmare of his life. Turk had tried to look determined, but Owen had seen had definitely been a struggle going on inside of the man as he’d aimed his gun at Owen.
Owen squeezed his eyes tight and willed the image of Turk from his mind. Despite any feelings Turk had for him, Owen was a dead man. Whether by Turk’s hand or someone in this pseudo-army, or by a demon siphoning too much power for his body to handle, his time was limited. As his time had always been. A fucking crap-filled life until the very end.
Owen waded deep in his despair, not bothering to hope for anything but a quick demise. Wading was easy in the quiet of the room. Miraculously, he’d been left alone for the most part after the IV had been reinserted yesterday. Since then, the door had opened a few times and Carson had heard shuffling of people in the room. however, they had left without speaking a word or forcing him to move.
No doubt they were all terrified of Owen’s resident evil.
Owen heard the door open and snick closed. Owen curled in on himself tighter, the restraints holding his arms behind his back making the task difficult. Footsteps sounded as someone circled around the bed. Owen squeezed his eyes shut tight as the person stopped. He could sense them close by and the hair on his arms stood on end. He fought the urge to see who stood, silently watching him.
A deep, weary sigh filled the silence. Nervous energy bounced through Owen’s muscles, tightening his gut. He swallowed hard. Maybe the guard he’d raped was back for revenge.
Just make it quick.
“Owen.”
The anxiety kicked up a storm of terror pushing Owen’s heart rate to the limit. Lying perfectly still, he hoped the man would leave. All he had was his hearing to try and discern the meaning of Turk’s presence—that and the crawling sensation under his skin that waited for a sword to cut off his head. His flight instinct joined the party and every ounce of conscious energy went to keeping him still.
“Owen.” A gentle touch on his arm sapped all his remaining control to play dead. Owen reared back against the metal safety bar behind him, his eyes still clamped shut. A whimper escaped his throat and he had not a fucking clue why.
Please, leave me alone.
The words rushed his veins and along his nerves, pinging through him but never making the journey from his mouth.
“I’m...I’m...Fuck,” Turk muttered and then Owen listened as he walked away and the door closed behind him. He fought to breathe evenly, stop the shudders wracking his body, cease the hot tears flowing freely, but he failed miserably. He just wanted to die.
* * * *
Turk’s voice, low and gravelly, spoke soothing words as a hand ran gentle fingers through Owen’s hair. Owen leaned into the touch as he clung to the edges of sleep. He was dreaming of Turk. That was the only explanation since he hadn’t returned for what had to be days. He wasn’t sure since time meaningless in his cell.
Owen had quit eating and drinking, refusing to participate in anything meant to keep him alive. He had a second IV in his other hand. Something to keep him hydrated and living, he’d overheard. When he’d thrashed with nightmares, they’d pumped him full of a drug that had made his head swim and his limbs heavy. Still the gory nightmares—ones filled with domination and death—came, he just didn’t thrash about anymore. He was stuck inside his head, unable to move, or beg to die anymore. They must have grown tired of the three words he’d uttered over and over.
Please kill me.
The hand continued to massage his scalp and Owen swore a groan escape his lips. If he could remain in this dream to the end, at least he wouldn’t die alone.
“I’m so sorry Owen,” Turk whispered as he continued to stroke Owen’s hair in an almost loving gesture.
Owen wanted to believe what he said, but knew he was just dreaming up words he wished to hear.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make this right. There’s no way to change what’s happening.” The choked words were rough and raw as if they were bleeding pain from each vowel and consonant. “I can’t...Gods, I couldn’t kill you. It would have been like shoving a sword in my own heart.”
A choked gasp came from Turk and Owen felt that sword pierce his own chest, the pain stealing his breath. Owen wanted to reach out and comfort Turk despite what he’d done to Owen. But all Turk had really done was contain a dangerous creature. And apparently this hadn’t even been the first time. That baffled Owen since the demon had shown him a vision of Turk chopping off its head—gory in its own right, yet impossible for Turk to have decapitated the Incubus, since the demon had been with Owen since birth.
Maybe the demon had lied.
A demon lying? Go figure.
The stroking of Owen’s hair slowed and then the hand disappeared. Owen tried to move and return contact, but the drugs had weakened him. If this was a dream, he should be able to will the hand to return.
What came next was better than a hand. Warm lips pressed against Owen’s temple, drawing a sigh from his lips. Then warm breath was on his ear.
“Hold on, babe. I’m getting Wayne and then we're getting you out of here,” Turk whispered and then he was gone. Owen held those words, as precious as any gem, close to his heart.
# #
Check out the other flashers this week at http://wedbriefsfic.com/ or click on the links below:
Jon KeysGrace Duncan
MA Church
Chris T. Kat
Shelly Schulz
Raine O’Tierney
Rob Colton
Victoria Adams
Elyzabeth VaLey
Cia Nordwell
Tali Spencer
Sarah Hayes
Michael Mandrake
Andrew Q. Gordon
MC Houle
Renee Stevens
Julie Lynn Hayes
Wednesday Briefs #16 Diventando: Becoming
Copyright JC Wallace 2014
Welcome to another installment of Diventando: Becoming. Each week a group of authors participate weekly in Wednesday Briefs Flash Fiction. Each installment is 500-1000 words long and are posted to our blogs each week. After you read the latest in my story, click on the link at the end to visit other flashers.
If you are new to Diventando: Becoming and haven’t read the previous chapters, click on Wednesday Briefs in the left hand column and start with #1. Enjoy and leave a comment to let me know what you think.
Owen curled in on himself. He was back in bed in what he’d started to consider his prison cell. Hours ago—for all Owen knew it had been days—Turk had carried him to the room after the near escape of the Incubus. This time Turk had gently laid Owen onto the bed and Owen had immediately rolled away, his arms bound behind his back and his feet bound at the ankles once again. His repeated pleas for death had been ignored and he was terrified of what would become of him once the demon fully emerged. Would he be trapped in his mind, forced to witness the atrocities the Incubus would rend on innocent men? Having been party to one sickening attack already, Owen was sure his sanity wouldn’t hold through another.
He thought of his biological father, possessed by this demon until his body had broken down. He’d been used and discarded like a worn out suit. Had he been cognizant of his body’s actions once the demon had surfaced? Owen imagined his father as a young man, in his teens, and suddenly he hadn’t been human anymore, his young life cut short by the selfishness of a ruthless evil. Soon, Owen would merely become a meat suit for the Incubus to exploit and use to consume the life power of others.
For the first time since his capture, Owen was grateful for both his imprisonment and the drugs suppressing the dangerous predator lurking beneath his skin. This meant his family was safe from him. Even if they were scared to death, wondering where he was, that was better than the alternative of the demon attacking them. He imagined Wayne, wallowing in guilt over his supposed part in losing Owen. His mother and stepfather would also blame themselves for letting Owen move from home. Did they feel guilty for not telling him about the demon? Not that any of it really mattered. So much worry and heartache, but that had been all Owen caused ever since he’d first become sick. He’d gone from cancer to a body stealing demon. What was left?
Nothing but death.
He pondered Turk. Turk, who could have killed him but didn’t. A flicker of warmth sparked in Owen’s chilled body, as he recalled Turk’s tears. . Why hadn’t he killed Owen when he’d had the chance? Filled him full of bullets and ended the fucking nightmare of his life. Turk had tried to look determined, but Owen had seen had definitely been a struggle going on inside of the man as he’d aimed his gun at Owen.
Owen squeezed his eyes tight and willed the image of Turk from his mind. Despite any feelings Turk had for him, Owen was a dead man. Whether by Turk’s hand or someone in this pseudo-army, or by a demon siphoning too much power for his body to handle, his time was limited. As his time had always been. A fucking crap-filled life until the very end.
Owen waded deep in his despair, not bothering to hope for anything but a quick demise. Wading was easy in the quiet of the room. Miraculously, he’d been left alone for the most part after the IV had been reinserted yesterday. Since then, the door had opened a few times and Carson had heard shuffling of people in the room. however, they had left without speaking a word or forcing him to move.
No doubt they were all terrified of Owen’s resident evil.
Owen heard the door open and snick closed. Owen curled in on himself tighter, the restraints holding his arms behind his back making the task difficult. Footsteps sounded as someone circled around the bed. Owen squeezed his eyes shut tight as the person stopped. He could sense them close by and the hair on his arms stood on end. He fought the urge to see who stood, silently watching him.
A deep, weary sigh filled the silence. Nervous energy bounced through Owen’s muscles, tightening his gut. He swallowed hard. Maybe the guard he’d raped was back for revenge.
Just make it quick.
“Owen.”
The anxiety kicked up a storm of terror pushing Owen’s heart rate to the limit. Lying perfectly still, he hoped the man would leave. All he had was his hearing to try and discern the meaning of Turk’s presence—that and the crawling sensation under his skin that waited for a sword to cut off his head. His flight instinct joined the party and every ounce of conscious energy went to keeping him still.
“Owen.” A gentle touch on his arm sapped all his remaining control to play dead. Owen reared back against the metal safety bar behind him, his eyes still clamped shut. A whimper escaped his throat and he had not a fucking clue why.
Please, leave me alone.
The words rushed his veins and along his nerves, pinging through him but never making the journey from his mouth.
“I’m...I’m...Fuck,” Turk muttered and then Owen listened as he walked away and the door closed behind him. He fought to breathe evenly, stop the shudders wracking his body, cease the hot tears flowing freely, but he failed miserably. He just wanted to die.
* * * *
Turk’s voice, low and gravelly, spoke soothing words as a hand ran gentle fingers through Owen’s hair. Owen leaned into the touch as he clung to the edges of sleep. He was dreaming of Turk. That was the only explanation since he hadn’t returned for what had to be days. He wasn’t sure since time meaningless in his cell.
Owen had quit eating and drinking, refusing to participate in anything meant to keep him alive. He had a second IV in his other hand. Something to keep him hydrated and living, he’d overheard. When he’d thrashed with nightmares, they’d pumped him full of a drug that had made his head swim and his limbs heavy. Still the gory nightmares—ones filled with domination and death—came, he just didn’t thrash about anymore. He was stuck inside his head, unable to move, or beg to die anymore. They must have grown tired of the three words he’d uttered over and over.
Please kill me.
The hand continued to massage his scalp and Owen swore a groan escape his lips. If he could remain in this dream to the end, at least he wouldn’t die alone.
“I’m so sorry Owen,” Turk whispered as he continued to stroke Owen’s hair in an almost loving gesture.
Owen wanted to believe what he said, but knew he was just dreaming up words he wished to hear.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make this right. There’s no way to change what’s happening.” The choked words were rough and raw as if they were bleeding pain from each vowel and consonant. “I can’t...Gods, I couldn’t kill you. It would have been like shoving a sword in my own heart.”
A choked gasp came from Turk and Owen felt that sword pierce his own chest, the pain stealing his breath. Owen wanted to reach out and comfort Turk despite what he’d done to Owen. But all Turk had really done was contain a dangerous creature. And apparently this hadn’t even been the first time. That baffled Owen since the demon had shown him a vision of Turk chopping off its head—gory in its own right, yet impossible for Turk to have decapitated the Incubus, since the demon had been with Owen since birth.
Maybe the demon had lied.
A demon lying? Go figure.
The stroking of Owen’s hair slowed and then the hand disappeared. Owen tried to move and return contact, but the drugs had weakened him. If this was a dream, he should be able to will the hand to return.
What came next was better than a hand. Warm lips pressed against Owen’s temple, drawing a sigh from his lips. Then warm breath was on his ear.
“Hold on, babe. I’m getting Wayne and then we're getting you out of here,” Turk whispered and then he was gone. Owen held those words, as precious as any gem, close to his heart.
# #
Check out the other flashers this week at http://wedbriefsfic.com/ or click on the links below:
Jon KeysGrace Duncan
MA Church
Chris T. Kat
Shelly Schulz
Raine O’Tierney
Rob Colton
Victoria Adams
Elyzabeth VaLey
Cia Nordwell
Tali Spencer
Sarah Hayes
Michael Mandrake
Andrew Q. Gordon
MC Houle
Renee Stevens
Julie Lynn Hayes
January 14, 2014
Wednesday Briefs #17: Diventando: Becoming
Copyright JC Wallace 2013-2014Welcome to another installment of Diventando: Becoming. Each week a group of authors participate weekly in Wednesday Briefs Flash Fiction. Each installment is 500-1000 words long and are posted to our blogs each week. After you read the latest in my story, click on the link at the end to visit other flashers. If you are new to Diventando: Becoming and haven’t read the previous chapters, click on Wednesday Briefs in the left hand column and start with #1. Enjoy and leave a comment to let me know what you think.Note: This story has explicit sex scenes between men. In this week’s scene, there is nonconsensual sex, so if this makes you uncomfortable please, do not read any further. Like a spectator, Owen could only watch as the demon lunged with great speed and grabbed hold of the guard who’d escorted Owen to the bathroom. Owen could feel the warm stubbled skin of the man’s neck under his hand. His hand squeezed harder and the man’s eyes widened in fear. Strength flowed through Owen’s body and a heady rush of power expanded in every cell. Despite the guard having four inches and at least fifty pounds on him, Owen knew that his hand could crush the man’s windpipe with little effort. “I am stronger than ten men,” the Incubus agreed. “But we will not be killing this man.”The guard whimpered, his eyes filled with terror, knowing what was to come. He pushed against the Incubus, fighting unsuccessfully against the attack. Owen was about to protest when the Incubus leaned forward and traced the scar on the man’s face with his tongue. A burst of energy filled Owen’s tongue, as if he’d licked the end of a battery. So much power waiting to be taken, the Incubus thought as a growl rumbled from his chest. Owen felt drugged and was lost in the bliss. But he must give the power willingly.Owen’s hand moved to wrap around the man’s neck and drew him down until their lips touched. A fire swept through Owen’s body, hardening his cock instantly. The Incubus’ desire to possess this man overwhelmed Owen’s senses, drawing in the taste and smell of the man. The intoxicating waves drew Owen into the experience despite the lack of control he had over his body. The guard suddenly stopped struggling and lunged at Owen, crushing their bodies together. The man moaned into Owen’s mouth and his hard cock dug into Owen’s stomach. The man’s kiss intensified and his hands were everywhere on Owen’s body until he was practically mauling Owen.The rush, the electricity crackling the air, the pulsing throb of his dick, all had Owen ready to take this man, take everything he had to offer.“Not yet,” the Incubus said and pushed the guard back. The man’s chest heaved and his lips were red and swollen. His pupils were pinpoints of black as if he’d been drugged. A red flush covered his skin and the bulge in his pants strained the zipper. “Tell me I can have it,” the Incubus demanded of the man who immediately nodded pushing against Owen’s hand on his chest. “Say it!” the Incubus bellowed.“Take it! Fuck me, please,” the guard pleaded, his eyes hooded with lust.The Incubus growled with delight, turning the man and pushing his chest into the wall. Owen’s body blanketed the man as his hand reached around, flicking open the guard’s pants. In one motion, the man’s pants and underwear were around his ankles. “Please,” the man begged. “Fuck me!”“You will get what you desire, human,” the Incubus said, as Owen spit into his palm then rub his saliva over his dick. Excitement and expectation slammed Owen hard as his dick moved toward the guard’s entrance. His mind pinpointed on the adrenaline coursing through him and the pleasure that would come from owning and possessing the man. The man who…wasn’t Turk. “Stop thinking about the hunter,” the Incubus spat. “Once we have the power from this one, you will have the hunter.”An image of Turk splayed out, wanting and needy, before Owen flashed in his mind. Turk who Owen wanted with every fiber of his being. Turk who had warned Dr. Sealy , “It was two feet away from gaining the power needed to reach a corporeal state. Once he does,he will take control and be unstoppable!”Another vision of Turk, the gentleness of his brown eyes, the ease of his smile, the way he’d touched Owen with such reverence and care, tore at Owen’s heart. The man before him was not the person Owen wanted, was not the person who meant the world to him. He was about to…Oh God, he couldn’t do this!“You have no choice, human,” the Incubus said. The sound of delight in Owen’s own voice was jarring.Allowing the Incubus to take this man, violate him to obtain hiss power, drain him, would bring the Incubus forth, make him corporeal—and shit, that sound bad for Owen all around! But he was powerless to stop the demon.“Accept it human. You’re body belongs to me and soon it will be all mine.” The demon roared and pushed Owen’s dick into the guard’s ass in one solid motion. The man screamed yet still begged to be fucked, demanding more. Owen tried to block out the energy crashing around him as the Incubus used the man in front of them to fuel his emergence. This was less than a fuck, this was domination, a fucking rape, and Owen had to stop it now!Focusing on the energy within his body, Owen worked to harness the power. He focused on expanding within out into his own mind to gain what little control he could. For every inch he gained, though, the demon gained a mile. But Owen wasn’t going to quit until quitting was his only option!Again, Owen recalled what Turk had said in the dream. “I am life. But I am also death.Suddenly, he understood. Those words made perfect sense. Owen blocked out the demon and the crime he was perpetuating with Owen’s body. He thought of Turk, and his family, and love. He thought of shy smiles and gentle touches. He thought of a future with Turk, snuggling on the couch, walking hand in hand, making love, hot breath on his lips, fingers skating over his skin. He thought of life and the power of living every day, and he actual heard a sob escape his lips because he would never have any of that. Down the hall, shouts filled the air as the door banged open. Owen turned his head, which he seemed to have regained control of, along with his voice. The rest of his body, however, remained under the demon’s control. Turk ran down the hall followed by a group of men and women all with their guns drawn. Turk skidded to a stop, his gun pointing at Owen. Oh, the pain in his face, the hurt in his eyes as he watched Owen having sex with another man, tore a hole in Owen’s chest, the gaping wound irreparable. Tears filled Owen’s eyes and spilled in warm rivulets down his cheeks. Turk was death, but not only death. Salvation.“Kill me,” Owen begged, looking straight into Turk’s eyes. The demon roared in Owen’s head, struggling to regain control. Owen couldn’t allow the demon to exist any longer—even if that meant he had to die!Turk jerked back as if someone had slapped him.“It can’t get out! Shoot me, Turk!” Owen screamed. Turk’s eyes widened and he stuffed his weapon into the gun holster and reached over his shoulder and pulled a rifle over his shoulder. In quick succession, three darts stabbed into Owen’s chest. With one last flare of power, the demon screamed as the cold solution filled Owen’s chest and worked to reign in a struggling demon. With the last bit of energy he could pilfer, Owen pushed away from the guard he’d violated. Falling back, Owen curled into a ball, naked and exposed on the cold hard floor. Why hadn’t Turk ended him? Why hadn’t he filled him full of holes and freed him from this nightmare?Black boots raced around Owen and one set stopped in front of him. Owen shivered uncontrollably from the cold infiltrating his body. The Incubus was quiet. Gone with the insidious monster were the power and the lusty need to dominate. Nothing Owen did would keep the demon at bay; nothing anyone did would ever keep the monster from taking over and crushing Owen’s soul. Someone kneeled before Owen and he flinched as a hand gently grasped his chin and turned his head. With a furrowed brow, Turk searched Owen’s face for something. Owen’s tears flowed freely and they were all he had left to give. Turk’s palm cupped Owen’s face and the rough pad of his thumb brushed tears away. A sob tore right out of Owen’s chest and he leaned into the warmth of the hand. Turk’s eyes were glassy and his jaw clenched hard. “P-please, Turk. Just kill me.”A tear escaped Turk’s eye and rolled down his cheek but he didn’t answer. Owen closed his eyes and soaked in the warmth of the man he would never have. # #Check out the other flashers this week at http://wedbriefsfic.com/ or click on the links belowNephylim Jon KeysShelly SchulzMA Church Chris T. KatLily Sawyer LM BrownRaine O’Tierney Grace Duncan Rob ColtonCia Nordwell Victoria AdamsMichael MandrakeAndrew Q. GordonLily VeldenRenee StevensElyzabeth VaLey Tali SpencerJulie Lynn Hayes
Wednesday Briefs #16: Diventando: Becoming
Copyright JC Wallace 2013-2014 Welcome to another installment of Diventando: Becoming. Each week a group of authors participate weekly in Wednesday Briefs Flash Fiction. Each installment is 500-1000 words long and are posted to our blogs each week. After you read the latest in my story, click on the link at the end to visit other flashers. If you are new to Diventando: Becoming and haven’t read the previous chapters, click on Wednesday Briefs in the left hand column and start with #1. Enjoy and leave a comment to let me know what you think. Note: This story has explicit sex scenes between men. In this week’s scene, there is nonconsensual sex, so if this makes you uncomfortable please, do not read any further. Like a spectator, Owen could only watch as the demon lunged with great speed and grabbed hold of the guard who’d escorted Owen to the bathroom. Owen could feel the warm stubbled skin of the man’s neck under his hand. His hand squeezed harder and the man’s eyes widened in fear. Strength flowed through Owen’s body and a heady rush of power expanded in every cell. Despite the guard having four inches and at least fifty pounds on him, Owen knew that his hand could crush the man’s windpipe with little effort. “I am stronger than ten men,” the Incubus agreed. “But we will not be killing this man.” The guard whimpered, his eyes filled with terror, knowing what was to come. He pushed against the Incubus, fighting unsuccessfully against the attack. Owen was about to protest when the Incubus leaned forward and traced the scar on the man’s face with his tongue. A burst of energy filled Owen’s tongue, as if he’d licked the end of a battery. So much power waiting to be taken, the Incubus thought as a growl rumbled from his chest. Owen felt drugged and was lost in the bliss. But he must give the power willingly. Owen’s hand moved to wrap around the man’s neck and drew him down until their lips touched. A fire swept through Owen’s body, hardening his cock instantly. The Incubus’ desire to possess this man overwhelmed Owen’s senses, drawing in the taste and smell of the man. The intoxicating waves drew Owen into the experience despite the lack of control he had over his body. The guard suddenly stopped struggling and lunged at Owen, crushing their bodies together. The man moaned into Owen’s mouth and his hard cock dug into Owen’s stomach. The man’s kiss intensified and his hands were everywhere on Owen’s body until he was practically mauling Owen. The rush, the electricity crackling the air, the pulsing throb of his dick, all had Owen ready to take this man, take everything he had to offer. “Not yet,” the Incubus said and pushed the guard back. The man’s chest heaved and his lips were red and swollen. His pupils were pinpoints of black as if he’d been drugged. A red flush covered his skin and the bulge in his pants strained the zipper. “Tell me I can have it,” the Incubus demanded of the man who immediately nodded pushing against Owen’s hand on his chest. “Say it!” the Incubus bellowed. “Take it! Fuck me, please,” the guard pleaded, his eyes hooded with lust. The Incubus growled with delight, turning the man and pushing his chest into the wall. Owen’s body blanketed the man as his hand reached around, flicking open the guard’s pants. In one motion, the man’s pants and underwear were around his ankles. “Please,” the man begged. “Fuck me!” “You will get what you desire, human,” the Incubus said, as Owen spit into his palm then rub his saliva over his dick. Excitement and expectation slammed Owen hard as his dick moved toward the guard’s entrance. His mind pinpointed on the adrenaline coursing through him and the pleasure that would come from owning and possessing the man. The man who…wasn’t Turk. “Stop thinking about the hunter,” the Incubus spat. “Once we have the power from this one, you will have the hunter.” An image of Turk splayed out, wanting and needy, before Owen flashed in his mind. Turk who Owen wanted with every fiber of his being. Turk who had warned Dr. Sealy , “It was two feet away from gaining the power needed to reach a corporeal state. Once he does,he will take control and be unstoppable!” Another vision of Turk, the gentleness of his brown eyes, the ease of his smile, the way he’d touched Owen with such reverence and care, tore at Owen’s heart. The man before him was not the person Owen wanted, was not the person who meant the world to him. He was about to…Oh God, he couldn’t do this! “You have no choice, human,” the Incubus said. The sound of delight in Owen’s own voice was jarring. Allowing the Incubus to take this man, violate him to obtain hiss power, drain him, would bring the Incubus forth, make him corporeal—and shit, that sound bad for Owen all around! But he was powerless to stop the demon. “Accept it human. You’re body belongs to me and soon it will be all mine.” The demon roared and pushed Owen’s dick into the guard’s ass in one solid motion. The man screamed yet still begged to be fucked, demanding more. Owen tried to block out the energy crashing around him as the Incubus used the man in front of them to fuel his emergence. This was less than a fuck, this was domination, a fucking rape, and Owen had to stop it now! Focusing on the energy within his body, Owen worked to harness the power. He focused on expanding within out into his own mind to gain what little control he could. For every inch he gained, though, the demon gained a mile. But Owen wasn’t going to quit until quitting was his only option! Again, Owen recalled what Turk had said in the dream. “I am life. But I am also death. Suddenly, he understood. Those words made perfect sense. Owen blocked out the demon and the crime he was perpetuating with Owen’s body. He thought of Turk, and his family, and love. He thought of shy smiles and gentle touches. He thought of a future with Turk, snuggling on the couch, walking hand in hand, making love, hot breath on his lips, fingers skating over his skin. He thought of life and the power of living every day, and he actual heard a sob escape his lips because he would never have any of that. Down the hall, shouts filled the air as the door banged open. Owen turned his head, which he seemed to have regained control of, along with his voice. The rest of his body, however, remained under the demon’s control. Turk ran down the hall followed by a group of men and women all with their guns drawn. Turk skidded to a stop, his gun pointing at Owen. Oh, the pain in his face, the hurt in his eyes as he watched Owen having sex with another man, tore a hole in Owen’s chest, the gaping wound irreparable. Tears filled Owen’s eyes and spilled in warm rivulets down his cheeks. Turk was death, but not only death. Salvation. “Kill me,” Owen begged, looking straight into Turk’s eyes. The demon roared in Owen’s head, struggling to regain control. Owen couldn’t allow the demon to exist any longer—even if that meant he had to die! Turk jerked back as if someone had slapped him. “It can’t get out! Shoot me, Turk!” Owen screamed. Turk’s eyes widened and he stuffed his weapon into the gun holster and reached over his shoulder and pulled a rifle over his shoulder. In quick succession, three darts stabbed into Owen’s chest. With one last flare of power, the demon screamed as the cold solution filled Owen’s chest and worked to reign in a struggling demon. With the last bit of energy he could pilfer, Owen pushed away from the guard he’d violated. Falling back, Owen curled into a ball, naked and exposed on the cold hard floor. Why hadn’t Turk ended him? Why hadn’t he filled him full of holes and freed him from this nightmare? Black boots raced around Owen and one set stopped in front of him. Owen shivered uncontrollably from the cold infiltrating his body. The Incubus was quiet. Gone with the insidious monster were the power and the lusty need to dominate. Nothing Owen did would keep the demon at bay; nothing anyone did would ever keep the monster from taking over and crushing Owen’s soul. Someone kneeled before Owen and he flinched as a hand gently grasped his chin and turned his head. With a furrowed brow, Turk searched Owen’s face for something. Owen’s tears flowed freely and they were all he had left to give. Turk’s palm cupped Owen’s face and the rough pad of his thumb brushed tears away. A sob tore right out of Owen’s chest and he leaned into the warmth of the hand. Turk’s eyes were glassy and his jaw clenched hard. “P-please, Turk. Just kill me.” A tear escaped Turk’s eye and rolled down his cheek but he didn’t answer. Owen closed his eyes and soaked in the warmth of the man he would never have. # # Check out the other flashers this week at http://wedbriefsfic.com/ or click on the links below Nephylim Jon Keys Shelly SchulzMA Church Chris T. Kat Lily Sawyer LM Brown Raine O’Tierney Grace Duncan Rob Colton Cia Nordwell Victoria Adams Michael Mandrake Andrew Q. Gordon Lily Velden Renee Stevens Elyzabeth VaLey Tali SpencerJulie Lynn Hayes
January 12, 2014
Welcome Cia Nordwell to the blog and her new story Protecting Bear!
First off, thanks for hosting me, JC! Today I thought I’d let visitors find out a bit more about Bear. Don’t forget to check out the new excerpt and comment for your chance to win the $10 Amazon gift card. The winner will be chosen randomly from the commenters and then announced on the final stop back at my blog on January 20th. Don’t forget to leave your email, or I won’t be able to contact you.
Uncovering Kameron
Bear gave me a hard time, so I thought I’d try to keep this simple. Tell us something about you we don’t knowSorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. Bear’s been a little cranky since Jimmy’s last visit. Something about me? I hate those kinds of questions. I mean, what do I chose? Favorite food, childhood pet, family secrets or… what do I have in my pockets?
What you have in your pockets? Oh no, let’s not go there. How about your childhood pet?
I didn’t have one.
Really? Why’d you pick that as a question then?
I dunno. Random thought, I guess. I always wanted a cat though. They’re fun to stroke.
No stroking! This is not going to head into the gutter like Bear’s interview. Let’s keep it clean.
That’s not nearly as much fun.
Too bad. Why’d you become a cop?
Cops help people. I’ve always wanted to be someone that helps others. Just… no more undercover work. It’s hard on all of my relationships.
I bet. Can you tell us a bit about your family?
Two parents. They split up when I was a teen, but stayed friendly. I’ve a little sister, but she’s from my dad’s second marriage and still in grade school. Mom was upset when I moved, but coming here was good for me. I’m gonna take Bear to meet them soon.
I bet he’ll like that. How about your hobbies?
I like soccer. I miss having a local league, but I watch it on TV. I run. Can’t get soggy around the middle or the perps will start getting away from me. I like reading biographies when I’m not watching movies with Bear.
Running, ughs. Better you than me.
Bear says that too! He refuses to get up and go with me.
What three words do you think best describe you?
I hate these kinds of questions. You know, I’ve been in mandated therapy before. It’s always a balancing act. Can’t be too cocky, but you don’t want to come across as having low self-esteem or emotional problems.
I promise not to tell your boss you need therapy.
I guess… Strong. Dependable. Bear would say I’m a cocky giant. Of course what he really means is—
Don’t finish that! What is with you guys?
We’ve only been together a few months. What do you expect?
Grr!
Bear was right, your face does turn really red.
You’re both full of yourselves!
And whose fault is that?
…
Sorry.
No you’re not.
You’re right. But hey, at least we keep you entertained!
Right. Thanks for that. I think I’m just gonna go. If I wanted to deal with a pair of kids I’d be paying attention to mine.
Synopsis: Bear has horrible luck with guys. Kameron seems like a good guy, but Bear thought his ex was a good guy too. He turned out to be a drug dealer. Kameron isn't who Bear thinks he is, though, and Vilem's enemies are looking for Bear. They want to… talk.
Excerpt: He'd received a tip Vilem was on the move and wanted more eyes on the bar. After their drink, they left, but only to keep an eye on the outside exits around Capstone. Kameron stayed to watch Bear.
The slim man rocked behind the bar, serving customers, smiling and joking as he got them their drinks. The crowd on the floor was a writhing mass of flesh, zoned out on the hardcore beat of the bass-thumping music. More than one man leaned in too close, which made Kameron growl, but Bear never let anyone invade his space. Jimmy sent him a text. Loren almost ratted us out. You have to catch that mutt before he tells Bear!
“Shit.” Kameron tapped the tiny keyboard on his phone, cursing the buttons. Working on it. Staking out the bar.Kameron didn’t take his eyes off Bear, unable to stop worrying since one guy was tossed by a bouncer for trying to climb over the bar. Two other guys had been helped out after they were yanked down off their tables.
Bear’s neighbor said a man matching his desc was hanging around yesterday too.
Kameron winced. That meant he’d need to take Bear home or follow him again. With a cop for a brother, Bear was smart enough to make it risky to tail him. The late nights in his car were starting to wear on Kameron. But if he took Bear home, he’d be tempted to go inside and once there… well, his control wasn’t what it should be. He wanted Bear.
Available for purchase at:
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Author Bio:
Alicia Nordwell is one of those not so rare creatures, a reader turned writer. Striving to find something interesting to read one day, she decided to write what she wanted instead. Then the voices started... Yep, not only does she talk about herself in the third person for bios, she has voices in her head constantly clamoring to get out. Fortunately for readers, with the encouragement of her family and friends, she decided for her own sanity to keep writing. Now you can find her stories both free and e-published! Oh yeah, she's a wife, mom of two, and lives in the dreary, yet ideal for her redhead complexion, Pacific Northwest. Except for when she disappears into one of the many worlds in her head, of course!
BLOG * FACEBOOK * GOODREADS * TWITTER: @AliciaNordwell
January 8, 2014
Wednesday Briefs #16 Diventando: Becoming
Copyright JC Wallace 2013
Welcome to another installment of Diventando: Becoming. Each week a group of authors participate weekly in Wednesday Briefs Flash Fiction. Each installment is 500-1000 words long and are posted to our blogs each week. After you read the latest in my story, click on the link at the end to visit other flashers.
If you are new to Diventando: Becoming and haven’t read the previous chapters, click on Wednesday Briefs in the left hand column and start with #1. Enjoy and leave a comment to let me know what you think.
Owen jumped back with a shout as the image of the sword coming towards his neck vanished. He turned around in the small bathroom almost expecting Turk be behind him. He rubbed his hand over his neck, checking to make sure…what? That his head was still attached? His heart pounded in his ears. The vision had been so real; visceral in every sense. Owen had smelled something sweet in the air. Had felt the rage emanating from Turk as he’d raised his silver blade. Had heard the scream, which still echoed in his ears. Had felt the tingle of something on his neck. And in Turk’s beautiful brown eyes he’d seen pure hatred covering a deep, soulful pain. But none of it had been real.
The day he took my head off is as real as I am now.
Owen barked out a laugh. The mad sort of chuckle bounced off the tiled walls.
“You’re not real. I’m stuck in some fucked up version of hell, dying from cancer in a morphine induced coma.”
A snort filled his head. Human, herbal concoctions designed to keep me from becoming were the only source of your illness. Not cancer.
“No! No,” Owen said, vehemently shaking his head. “You’re lying. Trying to trick me. You’re not real!” Owen clutched his head in his hands and squeezed his eyes tight. “You’re not real, you’re not real, you’re not real.” He chanted over and over, hoping the mantra would stop the voice and return his life to its cancer eating reality. God, now he was wishing he had cancer!
CEASE HUMAN!
Owen reeled back and fell against the small sink attached to the wall. Damn, that was loud! The sound still vibrated through his skull and teeth and bones.
I am as real as the sun and the moon in the sky. As real as the eons of time that have passed since my creation. And in those eons I have seduced and taken power from countless men, feeding my desire, bending them to my will. Until I was trapped inside of this useless body pumped full of poison to keep me at bay.
At bay? Poison?
“Are you talking about my chemotherapy treatments?”
Poison! Designed to keep me from emerging and taking form.
The bathroom disappeared before Owen’s eyes and he was lying in a bed inside one of the rooms in Dr. Celo’s clinic. He’d spent months at a time there fighting for his life…or so he had thought. The usual IV drip went into a vein in his thin, wasting arm. His mother stood near the door conversing quietly with Dr. Celo.
Oh, how he missed his mother. Her black hair pulled back in that no-nonsense bun, her face drawn with dark circles under his eyes. Beautiful, but exhausted. She had been his rock. Why hadn’t he listened to her and stayed at home? No, he had to go and be independent.
Stop the insipid whining and listen, human.
“Cynthia, the drugs aren’t working like they should. Every two years we’re back here. We need drugs that are stronger that will keep the illness.” Dr. Celo looked toward Owen who quickly averted his eyes. Dr. Celo continued speaking with his mother. “We need to keep this at bay for longer periods of time or I fear the drugs will eventually shut down his body.”
His mother wrung her hands and tears filled her eyes. “There has to be something stronger. What about that priestess in South America?”
Dr. Celo shook his head, and ran a hand over his bristly grey hair. “Many have verified her ability to exorcise the Incubus however I can’t—”.
The room at the clinic faded suddenly and Owen was back in the bathroom standing before the sink.
“Wait no! Take me back. I need to hear.”
Dr. Celo had said exorcism.
Owen had heard the word. “You can be exorcised?”
The spark of hope Owen allowed in his gut tried to spread and grow, however he kept the diseased emotion small as he’d done so often when he was sick. Hope was okay in small doses, however too much was guaranteed heartbreak.
Nonsense! Hearsay. No one can exorcise an incubus! I have been with you since your birth.
Owen gasped. “T-that’s not possible! I didn’t get sick until I was a teenager.”
I slumber until the age of manhood. You, human, were late to the hormones of puberty. (The voice said this with a tone of exasperation). And then when I was to emerge and solidify my transformation, the poison locked me away in a dark corner of your mind. I don’t like dark corners.
That last declaration had been mumbled. Owen snorted thinking of the big bad demon afraid of the dark.
Ahh! What was he thinking? There was no demon.
I am as real as—
“Yeah, yeah. You told me,” Owen said a little fed up with the entire conversation. Having a talking know-it-all-demon in his head was worse than hell. And that made him think. And his eyes widened. “Um, just how were you born inside of me?” The minute he asked Owen knew he’d regret doing so.
Human bodies are fragile. The power I consume quickly deteriorates the condition of the vessel. I must have a vessel to survive. When a body wears out I must seek a new vessel by mating with a female.
Owen’s eyes widened and his stomach rolled in that on-a-rocking-boat kind of way. The demon was talking about…
“Oh. My. God! You had sex with my mother!” The horror burned into his brain, and he couldn’t remove the gut-churning vision.
The demon actually fucking chuckled. My vessel performed intercourse with the woman who bore you.
“Oh, no.” Owen turned around and braced his hands on the sink. Drawing in deep breaths through his nose, he tried to calm his body reaction. The demon in his body was also his father.
I did not father you. The human whose vessel I inhabited impregnated the woman. Incubi are created, not born, and we cannot procreate.
Owen groaned. “Great. I’m in hell and hallucinating and I have a fucking parasite!”
A roar filled Owen’s mind and the rage poured freely.
You have no idea the power I possess!
“Yeah, but you’re trapped inside of a weak human,” Owen snapped.
Silence was the only response. Good, finally silence. Owen walked to the shower and was about to turn on the water when a rush of heat flooded his body. He stumbled and leaned against the cool tiles. Searing his veins, and flooding into his groin, the heat rushed the blood to his cock. Precum flowed freely from the head and his balls ached with the need to come. But that wasn’t the only need. A hunger sprouted deep in his groin spreading like spilled ink on a paper, saturating and moving outward, invading his cells, staining his very being.
The intensity of the hunger melded with the need…the need to…oh fuck!…the need to take someone and devour their very essence, swallow them whole. Owen grabbed his dick in his hand, panting, as sweat soaked his hair and beaded on his skin. He imagined Turk, glorious dark skinned Turk, and he worked his dick in long, tight strokes as a shiver coursed over his skin.
My power is strong. I can give you everything you desire. Turk can be yours. The seduction of an incubus is one seduction that is irresistible.
Owen’s head fell back. His legs shook with the intensity of the pleasure. His mouth watered as he imagined Turk laid out before him, legs splayed wide, body glistening, groaning and writhing. Without a touch, he responded to Owen, begging and pleading.
Oh, yes!
Yes,the demon hissed. Give me your power. Bring me to the forefront and I will get you your hunter.
Owen’s pulls on his cock increased and a low growl escaped his throat unlike anything he’d ever uttered. He was on the balls of his feet chasing his orgasm, needing to cum as if his next breath depended on the act. The muscles in his stomach clenched and his neck muscles corded as his jaw tightened. He wasn’t sure if he was going to survive when he exploded. A heated dizziness filled his head. Nothing could stop the speeding bullet that was his orgasm as the demon chanted in his head.
Yes! Yes! Yes!
Owen’s mouth dropped open and the air rushed from his lungs, as the first ejaculate squirted from his pulsing dick. With each spasm of his balls, the bliss coated him like a gossamer blanket and shudders jerked the muscles in his arms and legs.
The demon roared and as if putting on an Owen suit, stretched out and filled Owen’s arms, pushed into his legs, and filled his head. When Owen tried to move, nothing happened. When his hand lifted from his cock, he wasn’t the one who’d lifted the appendage.
Fuck! Owen was no longer in charge of his body.
A deep chuckle filled the room. “The one in charge would be me.”
Shit.
The demon walked over and threw open the locked bathroom door practically ripping it off the hinges.
“Time to find the hunter.”
##
Check out the other flashers this week at http://wedbriefsfic.com/ or click on the links below
Jon KeysTali Spencer
A.R. Von
Grace Duncan
Raine O’Tierney
MA Church
Chris T. Kat
Lily Sawyer
Nephylim
Shelly Schulz
Victoria Adams
Michael Mandrake
Cia Nordwell
Lily Velden
Elyzabeth VaLey
Renee Stevens
Andrew Q. Gordon
Julie Lynn Hayes
Wednesday Briefs #15 Diventando: Becoming
Copyright JC Wallace 2013
Welcome to another installment of Diventando: Becoming. Each week a group of authors participate weekly in Wednesday Briefs Flash Fiction. Each installment is 500-1000 words long and are posted to our blogs each week. After you read the latest in my story, click on the link at the end to visit other flashers.
If you are new to Diventando: Becoming and haven’t read the previous chapters, click on Wednesday Briefs in the left hand column and start with #1. Enjoy and leave a comment to let me know what you think.
Owen jumped back with a shout as the image of the sword coming towards his neck vanished. He turned around in the small bathroom almost expecting Turk be behind him. He rubbed his hand over his neck, checking to make sure…what? That his head was still attached? His heart pounded in his ears. The vision had been so real; visceral in every sense. Owen had smelled something sweet in the air. Had felt the rage emanating from Turk as he’d raised his silver blade. Had heard the scream, which still echoed in his ears. Had felt the tingle of something on his neck. And in Turk’s beautiful brown eyes he’d seen pure hatred covering a deep, soulful pain. But none of it had been real.
The day he took my head off is as real as I am now.
Owen barked out a laugh. The mad sort of chuckle bounced off the tiled walls.
“You’re not real. I’m stuck in some fucked up version of hell, dying from cancer in a morphine induced coma.”
A snort filled his head. Human, herbal concoctions designed to keep me from becoming were the only source of your illness. Not cancer.
“No! No,” Owen said, vehemently shaking his head. “You’re lying. Trying to trick me. You’re not real!” Owen clutched his head in his hands and squeezed his eyes tight. “You’re not real, you’re not real, you’re not real.” He chanted over and over, hoping the mantra would stop the voice and return his life to its cancer eating reality. God, now he was wishing he had cancer!
CEASE HUMAN!
Owen reeled back and fell against the small sink attached to the wall. Damn, that was loud! The sound still vibrated through his skull and teeth and bones.
I am as real as the sun and the moon in the sky. As real as the eons of time that have passed since my creation. And in those eons I have seduced and taken power from countless men, feeding my desire, bending them to my will. Until I was trapped inside of this useless body pumped full of poison to keep me at bay.
At bay? Poison?
“Are you talking about my chemotherapy treatments?”
Poison! Designed to keep me from emerging and taking form.
The bathroom disappeared before Owen’s eyes and he was lying in a bed inside one of the rooms in Dr. Celo’s clinic. He’d spent months at a time there fighting for his life…or so he had thought. The usual IV drip went into a vein in his thin, wasting arm. His mother stood near the door conversing quietly with Dr. Celo.
Oh, how he missed his mother. Her black hair pulled back in that no-nonsense bun, her face drawn with dark circles under his eyes. Beautiful, but exhausted. She had been his rock. Why hadn’t he listened to her and stayed at home? No, he had to go and be independent.
Stop the insipid whining and listen, human.
“Cynthia, the drugs aren’t working like they should. Every two years we’re back here. We need drugs that are stronger that will keep the illness.” Dr. Celo looked toward Owen who quickly averted his eyes. Dr. Celo continued speaking with his mother. “We need to keep this at bay for longer periods of time or I fear the drugs will eventually shut down his body.”
His mother wrung her hands and tears filled her eyes. “There has to be something stronger. What about that priestess in South America?”
Dr. Celo shook his head, and ran a hand over his bristly grey hair. “Many have verified her ability to exorcise the Incubus however I can’t—”.
The room at the clinic faded suddenly and Owen was back in the bathroom standing before the sink.
“Wait no! Take me back. I need to hear.”
Dr. Celo had said exorcism.
Owen had heard the word. “You can be exorcised?”
The spark of hope Owen allowed in his gut tried to spread and grow, however he kept the diseased emotion small as he’d done so often when he was sick. Hope was okay in small doses, however too much was guaranteed heartbreak.
Nonsense! Hearsay. No one can exorcise an incubus! I have been with you since your birth.
Owen gasped. “T-that’s not possible! I didn’t get sick until I was a teenager.”
I slumber until the age of manhood. You, human, were late to the hormones of puberty. (The voice said this with a tone of exasperation). And then when I was to emerge and solidify my transformation, the poison locked me away in a dark corner of your mind. I don’t like dark corners.
That last declaration had been mumbled. Owen snorted thinking of the big bad demon afraid of the dark.
Ahh! What was he thinking? There was no demon.
I am as real as—
“Yeah, yeah. You told me,” Owen said a little fed up with the entire conversation. Having a talking know-it-all-demon in his head was worse than hell. And that made him think. And his eyes widened. “Um, just how were you born inside of me?” The minute he asked Owen knew he’d regret doing so.
Human bodies are fragile. The power I consume quickly deteriorates the condition of the vessel. I must have a vessel to survive. When a body wears out I must seek a new vessel by mating with a female.
Owen’s eyes widened and his stomach rolled in that on-a-rocking-boat kind of way. The demon was talking about…
“Oh. My. God! You had sex with my mother!” The horror burned into his brain, and he couldn’t remove the gut-churning vision.
The demon actually fucking chuckled. My vessel performed intercourse with the woman who bore you.
“Oh, no.” Owen turned around and braced his hands on the sink. Drawing in deep breaths through his nose, he tried to calm his body reaction. The demon in his body was also his father.
I did not father you. The human whose vessel I inhabited impregnated the woman. Incubi are created, not born, and we cannot procreate.
Owen groaned. “Great. I’m in hell and hallucinating and I have a fucking parasite!”
A roar filled Owen’s mind and the rage poured freely.
You have no idea the power I possess!
“Yeah, but you’re trapped inside of a weak human,” Owen snapped.
Silence was the only response. Good, finally silence. Owen walked to the shower and was about to turn on the water when a rush of heat flooded his body. He stumbled and leaned against the cool tiles. Searing his veins, and flooding into his groin, the heat rushed the blood to his cock. Precum flowed freely from the head and his balls ached with the need to come. But that wasn’t the only need. A hunger sprouted deep in his groin spreading like spilled ink on a paper, saturating and moving outward, invading his cells, staining his very being.
The intensity of the hunger melded with the need…the need to…oh fuck!…the need to take someone and devour their very essence, swallow them whole. Owen grabbed his dick in his hand, panting, as sweat soaked his hair and beaded on his skin. He imagined Turk, glorious dark skinned Turk, and he worked his dick in long, tight strokes as a shiver coursed over his skin.
My power is strong. I can give you everything you desire. Turk can be yours. The seduction of an incubus is one seduction that is irresistible.
Owen’s head fell back. His legs shook with the intensity of the pleasure. His mouth watered as he imagined Turk laid out before him, legs splayed wide, body glistening, groaning and writhing. Without a touch, he responded to Owen, begging and pleading.
Oh, yes!
Yes,the demon hissed. Give me your power. Bring me to the forefront and I will get you your hunter.
Owen’s pulls on his cock increased and a low growl escaped his throat unlike anything he’d ever uttered. He was on the balls of his feet chasing his orgasm, needing to cum as if his next breath depended on the act. The muscles in his stomach clenched and his neck muscles corded as his jaw tightened. He wasn’t sure if he was going to survive when he exploded. A heated dizziness filled his head. Nothing could stop the speeding bullet that was his orgasm as the demon chanted in his head.
Yes! Yes! Yes!
Owen’s mouth dropped open and the air rushed from his lungs, as the first ejaculate squirted from his pulsing dick. With each spasm of his balls, the bliss coated him like a gossamer blanket and shudders jerked the muscles in his arms and legs.
The demon roared and as if putting on an Owen suit, stretched out and filled Owen’s arms, pushed into his legs, and filled his head. When Owen tried to move, nothing happened. When his hand lifted from his cock, he wasn’t the one who’d lifted the appendage.
Fuck! Owen was no longer in charge of his body.
A deep chuckle filled the room. “The one in charge would be me.”
Shit.
The demon walked over and threw open the locked bathroom door practically ripping it off the hinges.
“Time to find the hunter.”
##
Check out the other flashers this week at http://wedbriefsfic.com/ or click on the links below
Jon KeysTali Spencer
A.R. Von
Grace Duncan
Raine O’Tierney
MA Church
Chris T. Kat
Lily Sawyer
Nephylim
Shelly Schulz
Victoria Adams
Michael Mandrake
Cia Nordwell
Lily Velden
Elyzabeth VaLey
Renee Stevens
Andrew Q. Gordon
Julie Lynn Hayes
January 2, 2014
The Truth About Shaney (or When Fanart Gets Ugly!) By Raine O'Tierney...w/ a Rebuttal by JC
Happy New Year everyone! Today I welcome fellow author and one of my best friends Raine O’Tierney, who is about to cut me down a peg or two! Yes, I am allowing this because seriously I love to look bad. Not really, however I will give a short rebuttal at the end to defend myself. And by the way not only is she a great author she is a great artist as well. Take it away Raine…
Shaney (Curiosity Killed Shaney) by RaineAwesome confession: I started my career in FANDOM. I still consider myself a HUGE fangirl! I used to write fanfiction with my mother when I was in middle school, I would draw fanart when I should have been paying attention in class (total Rocketshipper right here!), and there was even a time when I was the SFX translator for a group of yaoi fan scanlators! Hecks yeah. :) Fans ROCK. Fans keep the world turning.
It's always been my dream to receive fanart for my own stories. And as such, I like to draw fanart for other people! I'm not amazing at it, I admit—but I'm passionate so I keep on trying!
It seemed perfectly natural as a *~*~MASSIVE FANGIRL OF ALL THINGS JC WALLACE~*~* that I would create a bit of fanart for this incredibly talented (and lovely!) author.
Little did I know that my whole concept of fanart was about to be turned upside down.
Now, I've drawn a lot of fanart for a lot of things. Things you'd be like... huh? Lots of Team Rocket kissy pictures, Mishima Kazuhiko and Sanami Matoh fanart, Toe Jam and Earl fanart (hecks yeah!), Nightmare Before Christmas, I even drew Jolene from Dolly Parton's Jolene! And the one thing all these works had in common: the original creator never came back at my young self and said, "Um, Raine... that doesn't quite look right."
And then I drew Shaney.
Shaney is the oft-curious MC of JC Wallace's forthcoming title Curiosity Killed Shaney—a fun, sexy story about a man whose curiosity gets him into hot water...a lot. I love the story, so why wouldn't I draw the characters?
BECAUSE JC WALLACE IS THE MOST DEMANDING RECIPIENT OF FAN ART ON THE PLANET.
I had to redraw the picture five times. FIVE. TIMES. FIVE! TIMES!
Dolly Parton never made me redraw Jolene!
I'll admit though, once I FINALLY got the work to JC's demanding specifications (*coughs* TYRANT! *coughs*) it did feel like I'd accomplished something real and right and good. So let it be a warning to all who would tread this path: if you love Mr. Wallace's books enough to draw for him? Do it in secret. In a bunker. Underground. Unless you have a high tolerance for pain! ^_~
*MWAH!*
Raine O'Tierney
http://www.raineotierney.com/
Curiosity Killed Shaney is coming out Mar 2014 from Rooster and Pig Publishing.
JC’s Rebuttal (or saving face…whatever you want to call it)
Okay. First off, Fanart. I had no clue what the heck that term meant. Although from the words fan art I should have been able to figure that one out. I am pretty smart, sometimes. Fanart definition(provided by Raine of course): Art drawn by fans depicting how THEY see a character. Oops! Apparently, not how I see the character. Okay, I am now up to speed. Promise. Really.
Now, while Raine freely throws out words like “tyrant” and “demanding” and the causer of “pain”, most people save those words for use behind my back (I’m sure my staff have more harsher terms to add to that list as well). To my face, I tend to be called “picky” and “bossy” and a “perfectionist” by those near and dear to me in my life (i.e., my mother and sister, hmph!). This is a cross I must bear because, damn it, I’ve earned these titles! So what is my point?
I LOVE my fans and anything they do for me, be it, nice comments, constructive feedback, or (ahem!) fan art. No need to hide in a bunker or underground or anything drastic because I know Raine means nothing but good old fun with our blogging today because she calls me “The Demanding Overlord of Awesome!” Hey, all I see there is “awesome.”
And her fan art is totally rockin’! I mean look at that awesome pic of Shaney!! Nailed it!
Thanks for stopping by and may you stay warm if it’s cold and cool if it’s hot and have a great day!
JC
Shaney (Curiosity Killed Shaney) by RaineAwesome confession: I started my career in FANDOM. I still consider myself a HUGE fangirl! I used to write fanfiction with my mother when I was in middle school, I would draw fanart when I should have been paying attention in class (total Rocketshipper right here!), and there was even a time when I was the SFX translator for a group of yaoi fan scanlators! Hecks yeah. :) Fans ROCK. Fans keep the world turning.It's always been my dream to receive fanart for my own stories. And as such, I like to draw fanart for other people! I'm not amazing at it, I admit—but I'm passionate so I keep on trying!
It seemed perfectly natural as a *~*~MASSIVE FANGIRL OF ALL THINGS JC WALLACE~*~* that I would create a bit of fanart for this incredibly talented (and lovely!) author.
Little did I know that my whole concept of fanart was about to be turned upside down.
Now, I've drawn a lot of fanart for a lot of things. Things you'd be like... huh? Lots of Team Rocket kissy pictures, Mishima Kazuhiko and Sanami Matoh fanart, Toe Jam and Earl fanart (hecks yeah!), Nightmare Before Christmas, I even drew Jolene from Dolly Parton's Jolene! And the one thing all these works had in common: the original creator never came back at my young self and said, "Um, Raine... that doesn't quite look right."
And then I drew Shaney.
Shaney is the oft-curious MC of JC Wallace's forthcoming title Curiosity Killed Shaney—a fun, sexy story about a man whose curiosity gets him into hot water...a lot. I love the story, so why wouldn't I draw the characters?
BECAUSE JC WALLACE IS THE MOST DEMANDING RECIPIENT OF FAN ART ON THE PLANET.
I had to redraw the picture five times. FIVE. TIMES. FIVE! TIMES!
Dolly Parton never made me redraw Jolene!
I'll admit though, once I FINALLY got the work to JC's demanding specifications (*coughs* TYRANT! *coughs*) it did feel like I'd accomplished something real and right and good. So let it be a warning to all who would tread this path: if you love Mr. Wallace's books enough to draw for him? Do it in secret. In a bunker. Underground. Unless you have a high tolerance for pain! ^_~
*MWAH!*
Raine O'Tierney
http://www.raineotierney.com/
Curiosity Killed Shaney is coming out Mar 2014 from Rooster and Pig Publishing.
JC’s Rebuttal (or saving face…whatever you want to call it)
Okay. First off, Fanart. I had no clue what the heck that term meant. Although from the words fan art I should have been able to figure that one out. I am pretty smart, sometimes. Fanart definition(provided by Raine of course): Art drawn by fans depicting how THEY see a character. Oops! Apparently, not how I see the character. Okay, I am now up to speed. Promise. Really.
Now, while Raine freely throws out words like “tyrant” and “demanding” and the causer of “pain”, most people save those words for use behind my back (I’m sure my staff have more harsher terms to add to that list as well). To my face, I tend to be called “picky” and “bossy” and a “perfectionist” by those near and dear to me in my life (i.e., my mother and sister, hmph!). This is a cross I must bear because, damn it, I’ve earned these titles! So what is my point?
I LOVE my fans and anything they do for me, be it, nice comments, constructive feedback, or (ahem!) fan art. No need to hide in a bunker or underground or anything drastic because I know Raine means nothing but good old fun with our blogging today because she calls me “The Demanding Overlord of Awesome!” Hey, all I see there is “awesome.”
And her fan art is totally rockin’! I mean look at that awesome pic of Shaney!! Nailed it!
Thanks for stopping by and may you stay warm if it’s cold and cool if it’s hot and have a great day!
JC
January 1, 2014
Wednesday Briefs #15 Diventando: Becoming
Copyright JC Wallace 2013
Welcome to another installment of Diventando: Becoming. If you are new and haven’t read the previous chapters, click on Wednesday Briefs in the left hand column and start with #1. This week’s prompt I used: sunrise or sunset. Enjoy and feel free to leave a comment.
Owen curled into a ball on the gurney he’d been confined to since he’d been abducted. Kidnapped. Taken prisoner…captured. Silence filled the room where he’d been moved earlier. The room was similar to the last one; however there was a large mirror on the wall next to the door. Not hard to figure out he was being observed like an animal. Hooked back up to the IV once again, the cold solution filled his veins, yet the cold wasn’t as intense this time. Now he was only half-frozen to death from the inside out.
Whatever was being pumped into his veins had depressed his appetite—as if he could afford to lose any more weight—and he had to piss constantly. Conveniently, he’d been provided with a bottle to empty his bladder. Fucking humiliating. He’d totally lost track of the time of day or what the day actually was. The room lacked exterior windows and time seemed to move in ebbs and waves. He was experiencing a complete mental breakdown …Or he was in hell. And Turk or Daniel—or whatever his name—was the devil.
After dumping Owen onto the gurney, Turk had backed away, a confusing war of emotions on his face. Then he’d left Owen alone with the monster staff and the monster inside of him. Owen laughed aloud, not caring who watched his spiraling breakdown. If he didn’t laugh, he’d cry. They believed he was an incubus. An incubus that Turk had been hunting from the information he’d gleaned from Dr. Sealy and Malcolm. They seemed to forget Owen existed and most of the time spoke loud enough for him to hear. Their words only reiterated how far up shit crick he was without a fucking paddle.
The door opened and a large man, wide enough to fill the doorway from shoulder to shoulder, entered. He was dressed in the same black outfit as Turk and the other two hooligans he’d encountered. As the man approached the bed, Owen immediately noticed a nasty, jagged scar reaching from his temple down his cheek and jaw, ending at his collar bone. Shit, that must have taken a shit load of stitches to close. The scar pulled down one side of his mouth in a permanent frown. Even without that scar he appeared to be perpetually pissed off.
The mountain moved to the gurney. Owen’s breath hitched with a wisp of panic, growing larger as the man pressed the button to lower the side rail. In one swift movement, Owen was snatched from the bed and forced to steady himself on wobbly legs. Reaching out to grab anything solid, his hand made contact with the man. A trembling growl filled the air and the man shoved Owen away. A stiff wind could have blown Owen over and he slammed into the wall, falling down onto his ass. He hissed at a sharp pain in his hand. Blood pooled on the back of his hand where the IV had been ripped out. Immediately, the cold in his arm began to dissipate.
The man stalked over and pointed a meaty finger at Owen. If hellfire had sprouted from behind the bastard, Owen wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised.
“Keep your hands off, demon. I won’t hesitate to snap your neck.” The vitriol was intense. Owen had never encountered such hate and he was gay. Even with the fear of death mere inches from his body, Owen dared to speak.
“Owen. My name is Owen,” he said forcing the words to reach the man’s ears.
The man blinked a few times, totally thrown off guard by Owen’s words. Owen held his breath as the scowl returned to the man’s’ face.
“Get up,” he growled. “Shower.”
He turned away and waited by the door for Owen to join him. On shaky legs, Owen managed to stand, leaning heavily against the wall. Taking in a couple of deep breaths he walked slowly, fearful of falling and pissing the man off even further. As Owen approached, the man, retrieved a gun from a holster under his arm and chambered a bullet in warning. Owen got the hint.
Opening the door, the man backed out into the hallway waving the gun to the left, indicting which direction Owen should move. The bright lights from the large windows momentarily blinded him and the heat from the sun wrapped his body in warmth. He wasn’t sure if it was rising or setting but he reveled in seeing the world again even if the view was obstructed by a brick wall. Still he could see the faint blue of the sky. Hope bloomed once again in his chest until the man grunted.
“Don’t even think of trying to get out of here. This entire floor is locked down. Even I can’t get out without someone on the outside. Now, move. Second door on the left.”
Owen moved forward, slowed by the weakness in his body which only reminded him of his supposed illness. He snorted. Not sick. Something else. Something to do with demons and crazy people who believed in them. His mother and step father and Dr. Celo and Wayne had to be involved somehow, too. His mind forcefully tried to reject the notion, however he couldn’t believe they had deceived him for over ten years or possibly his entire life. He’d never felt more alone
Stopping before the door, the man said, “Five minutes. Put on the clothes hanging on the back of the door.”
Opening the door, he waved Owen inside and the door slammed behind him. He stood in a small cubical with a narrow shower with a dingy white curtain. Nothing else. Quickly, Owen regulated the water temperature, grateful for the chance to clean up. As he stripped out of the skanky hospital gown, a shot of heat raced up his spine and spiked into his head. Grabbing the metal bar by the shower, he and steadied himself. The temperature of his body seemed too warm. Like a fever. Sweat popped out on his skin and he clamped his jaw tight as vibrations filled his muscles. A bolt of terror grabbed his heart as unfamiliar images flashed through his mind, reeling like a film spinning too quickly. Nausea filled his mouth with saliva and if there had been anything in his stomach, he might have thrown up. When he lifted his hand to wipe at the drool at the corner of his mouth, he saw the pool of coagulated blood where the IV had been.
Fuck. The IV.
Another wave of heat expanded through every cell in his body as the images slowed. Images of a battle, of blood, of gore and…damn sex. Lots of sex.
“I can show it all to you. Show you how I came to be. Show you how he will try to kill us.”
A vision of Turk filled his mind, dressed in a black t-shirt that had been torn, and large scratches covered his chest and stomach, blood running from the wounds. His breathing was labored, a scowling determination on his face, hatred in his dark eyes, a long silver sword in his hand. With a scream, Turk raised the sword and charged toward Owen and swung the blade right at Owen’s head.
##
Check out the other flashers this week at http://wedbriefsfic.com/
