What’s To Come From S.L. Armstrong & K. Piet
So, what’s coming in 2012 from K. Piet and me? (Because I don’t think I have anything solo planned, and I’m cool with that.) Well, a couple novellas and a couple of novels. 
Pawns Book I: Stalemate (novella) – Lord Ash, of the Faerie Solar Court, is used to getting what—and who—he wants. So when he is rejected by Frost, a Faerie of the Lunar Court, he becomes only more intrigued. What follows is an intricate game of move and countermove as Ash works to capture Frost’s favor, no matter what obstacles stand between them.
Lessons In Cowboy (novel) – The hot name in country music is cowboy-turned-singer North Larkin. The trouble is, his cowboy persona is all hype, and the media is beginning to suspect. Now it’s up to Cade Stallings to teach North the ropes, but despite the 18-year age difference, all North really wants to learn about is Cade.
Wanderlust: Land of Nod (novella) – Lilith, the first woman, and Cain, the first murderer, both outcasts from Paradise, find each other east of Eden, in the twilight land of Nod. Cursed with immortality and forsaken by their Creator, the pair come together as they struggle to find place and purpose in a world on the verge of unstoppable change.
Polyfidelity (novel) – Lorelei, Dorian, and Quinn are a happy, stable triad. But when Lorelei begins entertaining the idea of children, Dorian doubts his place in that picture. When Patrick enters his life, Dorian believes he’s found the solution. Together, the four of them try to balance the concerns of life, love, and family in a world that believes they are doomed to fail.
We also have a handful of shorts planned for some anthologies (If We Shadows, Flux, Fraternal Devotion, Devil’s Night, and The First Time), plus a couple of ideas we’re trying to write between our main releases. I’m hoping we have the time to edit and publish the following this year:
The Wolf-King (novel) – To defend his land and his people from an outside enemy, King Bleidd of Stoyrm seeks out the lost magics of spirit-bonding, tying his spirit to that of an animal. But his second-in-command, Terrill, remembers too well the Scourge that destroyed those who once dabbled in such things. So as Bleidd tries to protect his kingdom, Terrill must strive to protect its king.
Other Side of Night: Havva & Amiri (novella) – The decadent Havva has reveled in her vampiric nature for centuries, seeking out pleasure in all its myriad forms. But when she meets her complement in the dark, taciturn Amiri, he shows her there is more to their existence than simple, mindless pleasure.
A short for the 22 Days of Yule at Storm Moon Press (not 100% sure what we will do for it, but something happy and fluffy).
A novella for the Boys on Film line at Storm Moon Press (also not 100% sure what we’ll do, but we both love the idea of a porn industry main character).
So, it’s going to be a busy year. K. and I are already hard at work with Stalemate, and I can’t WAIT to share the cover with everyone. It’s absolutely gorgeous. I’m crossing my fingers that we meet all our deadlines and have a productive year.
Filing Off the Serial Numbers
Many of us have been in the position of having written fanfiction. Hell, I think most of the authors populating the M/M-gay romance genre got their start in fanfiction. And, at times, we have looked at the 80,000 word novel we wrote for our particular fandom, seen almost nothing of the source material in the work, and decided… hell, why not turn it into an original manuscript and make some money off the hard work we did?
Well, because it’s not that easy. I can’t tell you the number of books I’ve picked up that are barely more than poorly disguised fanfiction. From Star Wars to Lord of the Rings to Sherlock Holmes, it’s depressing. And the fact that publishers are publishing it! Now, I’ve seen people say that some publishers might not be wholly familiar with those fandoms or source material, but I say, come on. I’ve never read Sherlock Holmes and only have the vaguest introduction to Star Wars, but I can see a fanfic when I read it. A mass search and replace with names and places does not equal filing off the serial numbers.
Let’s start with the simplest issue: Fanfiction is paced differently than professional fiction. It’s true. It’s why you can see ‘Chapter 143 of ????’ attached to a fanfic. Authors can just ramble. They don’t know what’s really important for a reader versus what they simply want to write. Now, the two are not mutually exclusive, but for the most part? Fanfiction is windy. Plot holes abound, and there seems no end of ‘twists’ an author can weave in.
The second issue? Characterization. Or, actually, the lack thereof. In fanfiction, you have the source material as well as fanon to fill in most of your characterization and worldbuilding gaps. Authors don’t have to think about where to put Aragorn or how he would react to something, Tolkien has already done that for them. This leads to weak characters and squirrely worldbuilding, and it’s usually a tell-tale sign that someone hasn’t put the work in to file off the serial numbers.
Third issue tends to be plot related. Many fanfics depend on the core plot elements of the source material, or made up elements based on the source material. This can make things exceedingly difficult when you want turn it into something original. When the original story is so entrenched in the fabric of the original world the author borrowed from, changing it enough to be different and original can be impossible without extensive rewrites. And, by that point, why not start from scratch anyway and begin something new and wholly yours?
But, in the end, sometimes we want to take that story we did put so much time and effort in, alter it, and share it with a larger audience for pay. Nothing wrong with that, but you need to keep those three main issues in mind when you approach that old fanfic and dust it off. Not to mention the very good chance that your writing voice itself may have changed since you wrote it.
Revision is not the word for what needs to be done. Rewrite is. If you have a 25,000 word fanfic to offer, it better end up as a 50,000 word category novel. You should add a significant amount of new material to make up for the lacking of source material. Worldbuilding, characterization, plot, and relationships all need to be approached with a fresh eye and a strong red pen. Don’t just mass replace the names. Sit down and think about those characters. Who are they? What drives them? What are the fighting for or against? What is their motivation to go from who they are in the beginning of the story to who they should become by the end? All questions you should be able to answer—in detail—about these characters once you pull them from their source material.
The world. What about the world? What is it? Where is it? How does it look? What is its structure? What races live in that world? What are the political ties of those races? The questions are endless, and you should think about them in depth before taking on the challenge of reworking a fanfic. The world needs to be as original and alive as the characters. Yes, there can be some ties to the source material—taking your medieval elves out of Tolkien’s Middle-Earth, but keeping the medieval aspect and placing them in your own world—but you need to be careful. The broader themes are fine, as the literary world only has about five plots, but the finer points—how Fëanor was the King of the Noldor and led their rebellion against the Valar—need to be altered completely. Don’t make Fëanor into Fyner, King of the Spider Elves or some such thing and change nothing about Fyner himself and the world he influenced.
Have I filed off the serial numbers? Yep. What began as a filing off of serial numbers turned into a three year long creation of a world, creatures, religion, gods, afterlife, and characters. And I’m doing it again, only applying a half-complete fanfic to a world I created two years ago and playing with the past of that world. But it’s hard work, and whether or not I am successful will depend on editing and the reception the various stories receive from my audience.
In the end, I hope I’ve done well. I hope I took the kernel of idea I had begun to wrap in fanfiction and created gorgeous and rich stories people will love instead of scorn as recognizable ripoffs. (Which, btw, they aren’t ripoffs as I’m, by no means, trying to recreate the source material I originally fell in love with. >.> Just sayin’.) I want my characters to be my characters, and deep down, they are, as they bear no resemblance to their source material counterparts.
If you’re going to file off the serial numbers, do it right, do it well. Make the stories and characters your own. Stop looking over into the other sandbox and just build your castle in your own. 
It can be done. You just need the fortitude and support to ensure it’s done right.
Reviews, Again
Reviews. Such a touchy subject. It seems to go in cycles. There will be a lull in commentary on reviews, and then an explosion of unhappy authors, followed by a backlash from reviewers saying their piece, followed by another lull. These cyclical arguments are prevalent in every topic, but this one always sticks out to me, probably because I have such a specific view on reviewers.
I love reviewers/readers. Without them, I’d be out of a job. I respect that it takes a reviewer time to read and review my work, just as it does with a reader (though readers are out of time and money). I am not so arrogant or deluded to believe that a reviewer owes me a review, let alone a positive one, or that I have to right to pitch a fit if it’s negative.
However, I do believe that I—as the author—do have the right to respectfully respond. The key here, as it always has been, is respectfully. This idea that review space is sacred and that authors have no right to comment or engage their readers is crazy. Of course I do. If it’s a positive review, I want to thank the reviewer, maybe let them know that an unanswered question will be answered in a sequel, or just laugh with them over a funny section. On the other hand, if it’s negative, I (more often than not) still want to thank the reviewer for their time and apologize for the read not being quite their taste.
Then there are those negative reviews that just make me see red. Those I avoid. I just avoid because I know I’ll simply get into an argument with the reviewer, and that’s just never good. Respect goes out the window, and that’s not the professional face I want to present. If it’s a factual error about the book, I’ll contact the reviewer privately. Quite frankly, opinions and taste can’t—and shouldn’t—be argued, and I don’t. I may let the reviewers comments stew for a few weeks or months, and then compose an authorial intent post about the book, but I never name names, and I never will. It’s more a platform for me to think and speak critically about my own writing on my blog, not to get back at a reviewer who simply didn’t understand my genius. 
It’s important to keep your cool. Readers remember badly behaved authors. I have a decent list of authors I don’t engage with or read because they’re incredibly unprofessional and utterly unrepentant about that unprofessionalism. A negative review is just one opinion. I keep in mind for every one negative review, there are probably five readers who truly enjoyed the book but didn’t comment. People bitch more than praise. Someone is more likely to leave a negative review for a product than a positive one. It’s the nature of the beast. Humans love to complain. I do it, too. Most of my reviews are for books I didn’t like, not books I loved. It’s so silly, but the truth.
In the end, reviews are for products people buy, not critical assessments of writing skill or talent. Reviews cover plot, theme, characterization, editing, formatting, cover art, and price of book. They’re about products, nothing more, and that bit of emotional distance can do an author a world of good when someone says that their book sucks. Take a breath, remember everyone has an opinion, and go back to writing your next book. It’s always the next book that’s the most important, after all!
The Importance of Awesome Cover Art
I’m pretty particular about covers. Maybe because I’m utterly spoiled by Nathie. The awesome work Nathie does ensures that my characters are absolutely brought to life on a cover. I have prints made of the artwork and, eventually, I’ll display the covers in my home. I love how a vague description can bring about the most detailed, beautiful artwork that embodies my story and characters as I never imagined.
And while many authors/readers don’t like drawn covers, I wonder if it’s actually badly drawn covers they simply don’t like. Because I just can’t understand the desire for the headless torso covers. I just can’t. I think I’ve only had one cover done that way (Advent: Collected Shorts), which I did on purpose because it was a short story collection and I only wanted to hint at what was inside. I couldn’t pick ONE couple to put on the cover as there were 46 stories! XD
I tend to keep my eye out for cover announcements, and then I shake my head when I dare to look. The floating heads above a nondescript landscape seems to be pretty popular at the moment, and I have to say, they look as generic as can be. It’s like the Harlequin covers: interchangeable and easily forgettable. I don’t want an easily forgettable cover on my books. Call me a narcissist, but my books are unique pieces of art that deserve to be clad in the same.
But I’m a harsh critic when it comes to covers. I have high expectations of the artists I work with, and when they fall short, they know it. I’d just love to see less of these inexpensive stock photo covers and more unique art that tells the reader something about what they’ll find inside. I admit, I barely buy new books anymore based on covers because they all look alike! It’s sad. I will pass if the cover isn’t something interesting. Even authors I like will be passed over because my immediate thought it, ‘Oh, it looks like their last book. I don’t need to read the same thing twice.’
Because, quite honestly, that’s how I feel about Harlequin novels. I started reading those when I was fourteen, and by the time I was eighteen, I felt I’d read them all! They were the same plots and characters recycled over and over. I haven’t even glanced at a Harlequin for my own reading enjoyment in years (though I buy them frequently for my mother who calls them her ‘popcorn’ books—books she can read quickly and easily between longer, more difficult reads). It makes me a little sad for my niche genre to think that’s where we’re moving toward.
I want unique plots, diverse characters, and cover art that shows those aspects of the work. I know publishers can be cheap, and custom art can run upwards of $500+, but… gods! It shows how much you believe in the book, the author, to invest in the a beautiful, one-of-a-kind cover. Please! For all that is good, give me beautiful covers! I want to love the outsides as much as the insides because, really, guys, we do judge a book by its cover.
(Brief side note: OMG, Nathie’s work on K. Piet’s and my next release, Pawns Book I: Stalemate? Fucking gorgeous. Gor.Ge.Ous. I can’t wait to share! )
Significant Others & Writing
At one point, I saw someone say on a blog or on Twitter (I can’t quite remember now) how one’s significant other couldn’t possibly edit their work. There weren’t many details, and I tend to hesitate asking for details about that sort of thing, and so it’s had me wondering.
Why?
Is it because of the type of fiction? Is there a level of hidden shame in sharing erotic works with one’s significant other? Or is it that the significant other isn’t capable or knowledgeable enough to do even the most basic editing? Instead of editing, why not simply ask them to just read it over and give their general input on pacing, characterization, and voice? Those almost anyone can give an opinion on.
I suppose I’m just spoiled absolutely rotten. I lucked into having a significant other who not only reads everything I write, but he’s intelligent and can do the first editing pass for me. He also helps me with the outlining stage because, if he didn’t, I’d write every little thing that came into my head. XD He says, ‘Honey, no, you don’t need to show Character A showering as it doesn’t cause any progression in characterization or plot’. I need that.
I don’t know what I would do without him, and so when others say that their significant others don’t support them completely, I’m left baffled. I’ve also seen some authors share the snide comments their family or significant others make about their books, and again, I’m left blinking. Why would someone who loves you say anything disparaging about the work you pour your creative soul into… without even reading it first?
Never be ashamed of what you write. Never let anyone belittle what you achieve creatively. They love you, and thus, they should support you, regardless of the topic you choose to write about.
Again, perhaps I’m just spoiled. The two most important people in my writing career support and love me. They’re honest, open, and give me feedback when needed. I wish that for everyone. But, yes, thus brings a rambling conclusion to my, ‘Your significant other won’t even read/edit/beta your shit?’ XD
“Lessons In Cowboy” Teaser
Slated for release this summer is Lessons In Cowboy. This novel has been… oh, three or so years in the making. I love the characters of Cade and North, their complicated relationship, and the very large age difference between them (Cade is 42, North is 24). So, I thought I would share a bit from the manuscript (it’s unedited at this point, so please excuse any errors). Here’s your bit of free fiction!
—
“The shit’s hit the fan, North.”
North clenched his teeth, trying not to glare at Danny. Danny had been his manager for the last four years and had never steered him wrong. However, this was not a confrontation he’d been particularly looking forward to.
“I know I screwed it up,” he admitted. “I wasn’t prepared for her to ask all those questions.”
Danny shook his head, snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Country Now is comparin’ you to Vanilla Ice. I’ve spent some time working the phones, and I’ve arranged for them to cover your debut at the spring rodeo in Houston next March.”
North felt all the blood drain from his face. “To sing, right?”
“No,” Danny drawled. “You’re going to ride and rope and be a cowboy, just like your image says you are.”
“I’m not a cowboy, Danny! I’ve never even stood beside a horse!”
“Well, now you can.” Danny grinned at him. “I’ve taken the liberty of contactin’ some of the ranches around Wyoming, and one of them has agreed to take you in for six months.”
North felt sick. “Six months? Is that really necessary?”
“Yeah, it’s necessary.” Danny’s face darkened. “North, we’re talkin’ ‘bout your career here. They can destroy it by callin’ you a fake. We’ve presented you as a cowboy.”
“Had anyone done the digging, they would have found the truth out months ago,” North grumbled.
Danny shook his head. “I spent a lot of time buryin’ your past, North. They’ll believe whatever we want ‘em to so long as we can give ‘em proof of our claims. I claim you’re a cowboy. You’re not, but you will be, understand?”
North slouched in his chair. When did being a boy from Nashville become such a crappy beginning? But, Danny was right. He’d worked too hard for this career, this persona, to allow some bitchy ditz from a magazine ruin it. “When do I head out?”
“You fly out next weekend.” Sitting behind his desk, Danny began writing. “Stallings Ranch is cattle and horses, run by a man named Cade Stallings.”
“Cade.” North rolled the name around on his tongue. It was a good name. A cowboy’s name.
***
Tension hung in the room. Tension that made the hair on Cade’s arms prick. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. They were waiting for him to say something. What was there to say? “Ethan’s right,” he muttered.
Ethan, his second eldest, smiled smugly. “We’ve been running in the red for the last seven years.”
“That doesn’t mean we should sell out,” Emma Rae snapped. Oh, she had her mother’s attitude, Cade would give her that, even if she looked more like him. “Some pansy-ass city boy will gum up everything, Dad. We don’t need to be trippin’ over him for half the year!”
“At. A. Loss. What part of that don’t you get, Em?” Ethan shook his head, his cheeks flushing. “How long before the bank decides Dad isn’t good for the loan anymore? How long before they start repossessing the equipment?”
Eli cleared his throat. “We can’t lose the ranch.”
“No,” Cade agreed, giving a nod to his eldest. “We can’t. Stallings Ranch has been in the family for two hundred years. It’s gonna remain in the family. If it means we have some city slicker boy from Nashville in house for a while, then that’s what we’ll do.” A smile curved Cade’s lips. “Besides, I give him two weeks here before he’s fed up and stalks off back to the big lights of Nashville.”
Emma Rae snorted. “Just two weeks?”
Cade smirked and picked up his hat. “Maybe three, if we go easy on him. Now, come on.” He stood, four chairs scraping at well-worn wood. “We have four miles of fencing in Pasture 5 to repair, and Scott is bringing those two studs by for inspection before we make any decision on buying them. Let’s go, folks,” he barked and pointed to the door.
With pride, Cade stepped out of the modest home he’d lived in all his life and watched his children scatter. Spread out before him was Stallings Ranch, what he’d spent everyday since he was sixteen preserving. 14,000 acres of Wyoming land mortgaged to the hilt… or had been mortgaged to the hilt until that check from Daniel Carruthers arrived last week. The ranch was now at the break even point.
He resented that he’d not been able to pull the ranch back up on his own. It’d been his fault they’d fallen so far behind. Cade stepped down to the hard-packed ground, nestling his hat on his head, and made his way to the stable.
Marissa had been sick for so long, he’d made her his priority. No one blamed him except himself, but he couldn’t muster any sort of guilt. His wife had been as much his life as the ranch was, and her pain had been his pain. Four years he’d watched her waste away, and the ranch had wasted with her. It was only thanks to Ethan that the ranch hadn’t died along with Marissa.
Cade lifted his face to the sky, the late-May sun beating down on him. It was going to be dry this year, which meant he’d need to irrigate the pastures more than he had last season. He sighed, shook his head, and ducked into the main stable. Only two mares were inside, the rest of the stock out in the pasture, and he took his time looking them over. Gold Dust was maybe two weeks from foaling, but Shamrock would birth any day now. He grinned as he stroked down Shamrock’s back, murmuring soft words to the horse.
North Larkin.
Cade didn’t listen to much radio, but he knew of North Larkin. It was hard not to. Everyone talked about the young country singer who blew some of the old crooners out of the water with his talent. Other than that, he didn’t know a thing about the man except what Carruthers had told him. Larkin needed to make his persona a reality and there was a nice sum of money in it for the ranch if he would take the boy in.
Ethan had convinced him that agreement had been absolutely necessary. The books simply didn’t lie, and the ranch needed the money. It didn’t mean, though, that Cade had to be happy about the situation.
And Cade was, by no means, happy about the situation.
He left behind the mares, checking on Emma Rae once, and then headed to Eli. Grinning at his son, Cade took the reins of his mount, Firecracker, and swung up into the saddle. While many ranchers nowadays chose to use trucks and SUVs, Cade still clung to horses as his main transportation around the ranch.
Cade let loose a whoop when everyone had mounted, turning Firecracker toward the trail that would take them to Pasture 5.
Whatever else was true, it was going to be a damned interesting season.
Authorial Intent & Me
Kicking off 2012 with a somewhat… well, not bitchy blog post, but with a topic that really annoys.
Authorial intent and who can say what that was.
In my book, the only person who can say what an author intended with their book is the author. Now, readers can take whatever they like from the book, have it mean whatever they want it to mean to them, but for a reader to say ‘This is what the author intended’ is just rubs at me. A reader cannot know my intent unless they speak to me directly and ask.
I know it’s a fine line between ‘The author intended this’ and ‘I think the author intended this’, but it’s an important line. Maybe it’s because I was such a big fan of Tolkien and, within that fandom, there was a lot of speculation about his intent with various stories and characters. I was always very aware of putting words into a dead man’s mouth, and I didn’t want to ever say this, definitively, was what J.R.R. Tolkien intended with what he wrote.
And so, now that I’m writing and publishing, I find myself perusing conversations and viewing the discussions with a much different eye. While I try to never jump in or insult my readers, it can raise my hackles when someone says ‘Such-and-such character was a just X, and the author shouldn’t have made them that way’. Well, my response—in my head, mind you—tends to be, maybe the author didn’t write them that way; it’s just how you, the reader, interpreted it. And that’s all well and good. Readers should interpret the works they read however they want. But to say the author meant it? I think that might be a little too far.
I never meant for Riley to be the ‘cheating boyfriend’.
I never intended Kasper to be the ‘creepy doctor’.
I never intended Logan to be the ‘abusive boyfriend’.
I never intended The Keeper to be a soapbox about Christianity.
However, these are all things that have been said to have been my intent with those characters, stories, rather than merely what a reader took away from the story. Maybe I’m being too sensitive about it, but words are powerful things to me. I choose them carefully when writing, when communicating, and when I review/share my views of books. Thus, perhaps, I’m putting too much weight in readers’ comments and how they word thing.
Still, before you say ‘The author intended X’, stop and think. Is it truly what the author intended—did the author say this is what they intended with their book?—or merely what you, the reader, took away from the book? As an author and reader, I’m much more interested in the latter when I come across reader discussion/reviews for books, whether they be mine or someone elses.
Happy 2012, everyone! I hope everyone’s holiday season was awesome and that the new year is full of prosperity and good luck.
Advent: Day Twenty-Nine (NSFW)
And so we come to the final Advent short. I hope everyone enjoyed the Advent Challenge and all the free, smutty shorts we offered, and I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season. May you have received everything your heart desired! I wish you all an amazing new year!
Title: The Twinkle Of A Life
Characters: Quinn, Dorian, Lorelei, Patrick
Origin: Polyfidelity (WIP)
Advent Day: Day 29 (December 25th)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3,599
—
Patrick grinned like a madman as he turned his wrist back and forth, loving the way the light glinted off the surfaces of his Omega watch.
“It’s not a Rolex, but—”
“It’s perfect, Lorelei,” Patrick insisted. “God, it’s the best watch I’ve ever owned. I know it cost a mint, too.” Just like the other big gifts they had all contributed to in order to get something special for everyone. Quinn was still rubbing his hands over the beautiful, leather-bound law volumes they had bought him. Lorelei had wept five full minutes when she’d opened the box containing her brand new brushed copper KitchenAid mixer with every attachment imaginable. And Dorian… Well, Dorian was looking at his American Ballet Theatre membership card like he was going to make sweet, passionate love to it.
“Should we leave you two alone?” Patrick teased, poking Dorian’s side with his toes and watching his lover twitch on the floor.
“Shut up. It’s just… so beautiful,” Dorian purred. “It means watching Giselle, going to exclusive events, dress rehearsals of some of the best dancers in the country.”
Lorelei leaned over and kissed Dorian’s cheek softly. “You’re adorable.”
“I’m just glad he likes it,” Quinn said with a chuckle.
“Why wouldn’t he have liked it?” Patrick gave Quinn a nudge with his shoulder.
Quinn nudged him back. “Who knows with Dorian? He’s a moody Broadway baby.”
Dorian flushed, giving them all a silly smile. “I’m not on Broadway yet.”
“You will be,” Lorelei assured Dorian. “We all know it.”
“One dream come true at a time. I’ve met my quota for the year,” Dorian grinned at Patrick specifically, and then Quinn and Lorelei. Reaching up, he tugged a lock of Lorelei’s red hair, pulling her down for another kiss.
Patrick raised an eyebrow at the way Dorian shifted and stretched out on the rug, moaning softly into that kiss. He leaned close to Quinn. “Do you think he’s doing that on purpose?” he asked, licking his lips, unable to look away from Dorian’s body.
Quinn chuckled softly. “Dorian is many things, but subtle is not one of them.”
It had been a long, trying year for all of them, but Patrick was settling in finally. At first, he’d worried he wouldn’t fit into their lives, but he had. Somehow, they’d made him a part of their family. Patrick wanted to think it had been effortless. It had felt like it some of the time. But, they’d all had their moments, their jealousies and needs. They’d assured him those issues would crop up again in the future, but they’d all promised one another to be honest about the feelings. Nothing could be fixed if no one opened their mouths.
Though Dorian was opening his mouth quite a lot at the moment. His hands moved over Lorelei’s nightgown-encased body with zeal. Patrick’s cheeks tinted pink as Dorian hiked the gown up, cupped Lorelei’s ass through her panties. He had to look away, or else his cock was going to become way too hard to ignore.
“You don’t like what you see?” Quinn murmured near Patrick’s ear.
“It’s… not that,” Patrick whispered. “You know I think they’re fucking gorgeous.”
“What is it, then?” Quinn crooned, his deep voice sending shivers down his spine. “Thinking about touching them? Touching me? ‘Tis the season…”
Patrick smiled. “To grope and tumble with your three lovers?”
“Perhaps,” Quinn laughed softly, nipping his earlobe. “I meant, ’tis the season to celebrate what sees you through the harsh, cold times. Love, family, hope for the future.”
Dorian squirmed on the floor, drawing Patrick’s gaze. “So, when I say I want you to get your asses down here and rock me around the Christmas tree, it’s ’cause I want to make my Yuletide gay… and celebrate love, hope, and family.”
Lorelei laughed, giving Dorian a light slap. “Could you been any cheesier?”
“I’m sure he could try,” Patrick laughed. Then, he looked at Quinn. “So, now we’re going to strip and fuck by the warm light of the Christmas tree?”
Quinn cupped Patrick’s cheek, brushed their lips together. “No. We’re going to undress each other, kiss, touch, and make amazing love by the warm light of the Christmas tree.”
When Quinn spoke like that, Patrick’s insides turned to jelly. Before Dorian and Quinn, he’d only wondered about loving men, but now that he had them, he never wanted to let go. “Kiss me?” he breathed.
“Of course,” Quinn murmured, cupping his face and drawing their lips together. It started light and sweet, but Quinn effortlessly deepened it. Quinn’s hand moved from his face to his neck, and down the collar of his shirt. It felt like his shirt melted open of its own accord, and he distantly wondered how the hell Quinn learned to unbutton a shirt so smoothly. The answer didn’t seem important when Quinn tugged his shirt free from his pajama bottoms. Those hands slid up his skin to tease at his nipples, and he moaned loudly.
“Need a little help?” Lorelei offered.
“Those pajamas do look terribly uncomfortable.” Dorian’s voice was much closer than before, and the firm rub to his cock through his pajama bottoms couldn’t have been anyone else.
Being the utter focus of the three of them was overwhelming, but Patrick rolled with it. He moaned as Lorelei slid his sleep shirt off to join her nightgown on the floor. Patrick let his hands roam over the bare expanse of Quinn’s chest. He loved the warm feel of Quinn’s body, the broad expanse of flesh and muscle. Patrick had never thought Quinn looked like a lawyer, though Dorian always teased Quinn about being the poster child for law firms.
Quinn kissed him until he was hard and breathless, and by that time, he’d been stripped. Dorian’s body was firm against his side, and Patrick watched Quinn pull Lorelei into kiss. God, he thought they were beautiful. Lorelei’s lush body and fiery hair, and Quinn’s strong arms and arresting features. It made his heart ache to be a part of this, a part of them.
“You all right?” Dorian asked, lips trailing up Patrick’s throat.
Patrick turned to Dorian, eyes hungry and dark. “I’ve never felt better,” he moaned, and then took Dorian’s mouth in a searing, wet kiss.
Dorian moaned and practically crawled up into his lap. He ran his hands down Dorian’s back, loving that perfect taper of muscles brought on by years of dancing. His fingers moved from waist to ass, and when he gave it a squeeze, Dorian gasped back from the kiss. “Gods, yes.”
“Hey,” Lorelei pouted. “You see that, Quinn? Stole him right under our noses.”
“We’ll have to steal him back later,” Quinn chuckled, and a shift of his arm and hand made Lorelei squeak and shudder. “I have my hands full.”
Patrick glanced over to see Lorelei spread out on the floor, Quinn’s mouth at her breast while his hands worked her panties off. He moaned, turning back to Dorian, his hands massaging Dorian’s ass. “You want to feel a cock up your gorgeous ass today?” he asked, nipping at Dorian’s chin.
“I want whatever everyone else wants,” Dorian panted, rubbing himself shamelessly against Patrick. “Whatever configuration, I’ll be spectacularly happy.”
Quinn pulled off Lorelei’s nipple with a wet sound, and she cried out, arching against the carpet as Quinn sank two fingers inside her. “Lorelei’s wonderfully wet.” His blue eyes turned to Patrick and Dorian. “What do you want, Patrick? Our first Christmas morning together, what do you want?”
Patrick flushed. “Your cock in my ass.” Quinn had been his first, and he still had a soft need for the elder man he hoped would never fade. “Lorelei beneath me… and Dorian’s cock in my mouth.” He flushed, wondering if it was too selfish, too much to ask of them. “I mean, if everyone else would like that, too, for a start.” He was not so naïve as to think they wouldn’t go for a second… or third round throughout the day, all of them tasting one another in some varied way or another.
Dorian grinned at him. “And you thought you’d never be able to imagine all four of us together at once.” He brought his hand to his collarbone, making a show out of tearing up. “I’m so proud!”
Quinn laughed. “That sounds amazing, a wonderful start to our morning.” Quinn adjusted his glasses and looked down at Lorelei. “What do you say, Rory? Do you want Patrick’s thick cock stretching you open?”
“How many times have I told you to not call me Rory?” Lorelei asked, slapping Quinn’s hip.
“About as many times as I’ve called you it?” Quinn kissed her. “So? You want Patrick’s cock?”
Lorelei flushed, and with her pale skin, it was vibrant and beautiful. “Yes,” she said, glancing at Patrick. “I want his cock inside.”
Quinn motioned to Dorian. “Go grab the lube and a handful of condoms, pretty boy.”
“That means moving.” Dorian pouted for a moment and wiggled on Patrick’s lap. He was smiling an instant later, though, and with a quick kiss, he hopped off Patrick and practically danced his way back into their bedroom.
Patrick watched him with a grin, admiring the sight until Dorian disappeared around the corner. He looked down to see Quinn already offering him his hand. “Get down here,” Quinn ordered, though the words carried no sting, just that quiet authority he’d always admired.
“Join us,” Lorelei insisted, beckoning with her own hand. “I still owe you a million kisses for the mixer.”
“With all the hints you were dropping, it wasn’t a hard gift to choose,” Patrick said, laying out beside her. He kissed Lorelei softly as Quinn moved down her body, spread her legs wide. She cried out into their kiss a second later, and Patrick pulled back to moan. “Tasting you?” he asked, breathless, eyes on Lorelei’s blushing face.
“Yes!” Lorelei gasped. “God, Quinn, your tongue…”
Patrick chuckled, his hand massaging one breast, teasing the nipple, as his mouth sought the other. “Quinn is great with his mouth.”
“I learned from Dorian,” Quinn murmured, and then a low, muffled moan lilted up to Patrick, and Lorelei arched, pushing her chest against Patrick’s mouth.
“He going to make you come?” Patrick asked, nipping and sucking her nipple while his fingers played with the other.
Lorelei whimpered, one hand in Quinn’s hair, the other clinging to Patrick. “Yes!”
Patrick could easily feel the tension in her body, the way her muscles clenched, her breath caught. She was gorgeous, her pale skin flushed down to the tips of her breasts. He tugged at a nipple with his teeth, twisted the other between his fingers, and watched her. Waited. It was something he’d grown to love, the arousal just watching Lorelei come could spark.
She gasped twice, and her nails dug into Patrick’s shoulder. Quinn’s head moved quickly, and Patrick’s cock twitched at every wet sound that made it to his ears. God, he just wanted to sink into her, make her scream for him. In moments, Lorelei bucked and gave a choked cry, her limbs twitching uncontrollably as her climax washed through her. Patrick closed his eyes, moaned against her breast, and let the sounds of her pleasure and Quinn’s enthusiastic attention to her pussy.
“God, that’s fucking beautiful.”
Patrick looked up and shuddered. Dorian was leaning against the edge of the hallway, lube and condoms in one hand while the other pumped his cock. He looked like sex and seduction incarnate, and it just made Patrick all the more eager to taste him, to push into Lorelei, to feel Quinn take him. “You planning on just watching?” he asked, astonished that the words made it out with how breathy his voice already was.
Dorian pushed off the hallway wall and stalked closer. “I’ll do anything you want.”
“Anything?” Patrick wondered if any of them could hear how loud his heart was pounding.
“Anything,” Dorian assured him, dropping to his knees beside Patrick.
Quinn kissed his way up Lorelei’s squirming body. “Dorian is so flexible.”
Lorelei laughed breathlessly. “You love… his flexibility.”
“We all do,” Patrick murmured, pulling Dorian against him. “And I can’t wait to see some of it in action in a moment.” Patrick let his tongue snake out and lick sensually at Dorian’s lovely lips.
“You have some crazy position planned?” Dorian asked with a shaky moan, dropping the lube and condoms in order to hold onto him.
Quinn recovered the dropped items and smacked Dorian’s ass. “Butterfingers.”
“Just have better things to do with my hands,” Dorian breathed, arching for a kiss from Quinn as his hands wrapped around Patrick’s cock and stroked.
Patrick groaned, pressing up into Dorian’s hand. “Fuck,” he moaned.
“I know,” Lorelei purred. “They’re just so lovely together.” She pushed Dorian’s hand away from Patrick’s cock, and the snatched up a condom. “I want you inside.”
Quinn grinned against Dorian’s lips. “She’s as impatient as you.”
“Shut up and kiss me again,” Dorian demanded with a tug to Quinn’s hair.
Patrick laughed and spanked Dorian’s ass until the dancer shifted over to Quinn’s very capable hands. The two of them were erotic as all get out, but the sight of Lorelei taking hold of his cock and rolling a condom down the length of him is what made his cock positively ache. “Eager?”
“Just as eager as you,” Lorelei laughed, squeezing and stroking him through the condom.
Patrick rolled over, slipping between Lorelei’s spread legs. “You think I’m eager?” he asked, nudging her moist opening with his cock.
“I know it,” Lorelei gasped, pressing down against him.
“Yeah, I am.” Patrick surged forward, filling Lorelei in one, smooth thrust. She was always so damn hot, so wet, and a moan rumbled through him. “God, Rory, you feel so damn good.”
Lorelei’s fingers tangled in his hair as she pulled him down for a kiss. “So do you,” she whimpered, parting her lips and sliding her tongue into his mouth.
He could hear Dorian and Quinn moaning behind him, but all that mattered in those moments was Lorelei, the softness of her beneath him, around him. She loved him. He could tell in the way she would smile at him, the way her cheeks would flush when he’d compliment her, the way she’d go out of her way to surprise him with his favorite foods when he was stressed out about a production at work. And he had been so afraid of loving her while loving Dorian. He’d thought his heart would rip into pieces under the stress, but even after all the trials, it hadn’t broken; it had just expanded. He just hoped it came across in his own actions, his kisses, and the tender way he thrust into Lorelei again and again.
Hands moved along his back, and his eyes closed. Patrick shuddered under those strong hands. He knew those hands. “Quinn.”
“Right here,” Quinn purred in that damn sexy voice right near his ear. “I’m going slick and spread you while you love Rory.”
Lorelei cried out, and Patrick opened his eyes to the vision of Dorian sucking and pinching Lorelei’s breasts. His eyes focused on Dorian’s cock, thick and dark, and his mouth positively watered. “Yes,” he hissed as Quinn’s lubed fingers sank into his ass. “Want you all… love you all.”
“We love you, too,” Dorian replied an instant later. The quick response made everyone smile. Dorian had always been so focused on action. It was wonderful to see him finally trying to say the words instead of just letting everyone assume his feelings. “Well, we do,” he insisted with a laugh at everyone’s smiles and silence.
“Of course we do,” Quinn chuckled, curving his fingers just right inside Patrick.
Patrick threw his head back and cried out, pushing deep into Lorelei. Her nails raked down his chest as she whined, her thighs tense against him. “God, help me!”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Quinn said, lips trailing up and down Patrick’s back. “I love how tight you are.”
A flush stole over his cheeks as Patrick met Dorian’s eyes. “So I’m a tight ass?”
Dorian grinned, twisting Lorelei’s nipples so she writhed beneath Patrick. “You know it.”
“But tight means I’ll fit so perfectly,” Quinn purred, nipping at the ridge of Patrick’s spine. Those fingers were gone just long enough for Quinn to grab a condom and lube, and then Quinn’s cock was pressed to his hole.
His body protested for a few seconds, but when he forced himself to exhale slowly, Quinn took advantage and pushed inside with a careful, steady thrust. It forced a ragged cry from him, feeling that fullness after nearly a week on the giving end rather than receiving, but it was good, so good. Quinn took his time, gave him a moment to adjust before making small thrusts, setting a pace that rocked him perfectly into Lorelei.
Lorelei craned her neck, licked and sucked at his throat, and Patrick thought he would go mad with the pleasure. He moaned, lashes fluttering, and he eagerly moved back against Quinn before thrusting forward into Lorelei. Their sounds, their smells, they made his heart race, and then the wet tip of Dorian’s cock nudged his lips. He looked up. Dorian was straddling Lorelei’s face, and her mouth was around his balls, sucking and pulling at him, and Dorian’s groans only encouraged Patrick.
“Open up,” Dorian murmured. “Gods, Patrick, please…”
Patrick parted his lips and sucked the plump head of Dorian into his mouth. He shuddered. Everything swam in his head. Quinn in his ass, Lorelei around his cock, and Dorian pushing deeper into his mouth and throat. God, he wanted more. Anything. Everything. He was utterly theirs. An extension of their pleasure, their need, and he didn’t hesitate for a moment to give them all every piece of him.
“Oh, fuck,” Dorian panted, and his fingers tightened in Patrick’s hair. “Can’t… stop myself…”
Patrick only had a moment to prepare himself before his mouth was flooded with Dorian’s come, and he drank the release down, sucked even after he’d swallowed the last drop. It pulled loud cries from Dorian, cries that only served to make his own cock twitch as he thrust back and forth between Lorelei and Quinn.
“Keep sucking,” Dorian begged, tugging at his hair until he complied. “Yeah. Gods, yeah, just like that. Fuck, Patrick!”
Quinn groaned behind Patrick. “You’re incorrigible.”
“You know how good his mouth feels!” Dorian jerked, pushed his cock deep, and Patrick rode out the movement expertly. It had taken him months to do it, but now that he could, he relished the power it gave him. “And Rory’s mouth on my balls and ass only makes it that much harder.”
“Want me to stop?” Lorelei panted.
Dorian whimpered. “No.”
“Didn’t think so,” she said with a breathy laugh.
Quinn’s tongue moved along Patrick’s ear, his hands firmly around Patrick’s waist. “Reach between you and Lorelei,” he murmured. “Make her scream against Dorian’s ass.”
Patrick moaned around Dorian and sucked fiercely as he reached down, following Quinn’s orders without pause. He found Lorelei’s clit and circled it twice, loving the way the slightest touch made Lorelei buck and squirm. Quinn’s pace altered, deepening and speeding up, and he just about spent himself then and there. Only sheer willpower held him back, the need to bring everyone else pleasure before himself.
His fingers rubbed faster at Lorelei’s clit, and it only took a few of those deep thrusts from Quinn, driving him deep inside her, before she screamed, clawing at Dorian, who cried out and bucked into Patrick’s throat. It was a chain reaction, all of their bodies connected, all of their pleasures intertwined.
Lorelei came, squeezing around him in that beautiful way of hers, and Quinn’s low groan and deep thrust signaled his end. It was all Patrick needed for his own release. He trembled between Lorelei and Quinn, his come flooding the condom. The pleasure simply seared through him, and his throat went lax, allowing Dorian to push so fucking deep as he came a second time.
Patrick swallowed in order not to choke, and he felt completely, thoroughly debauched and loved. The twinkle of the Christmas lights on the tree, the scent of pine and sex, and the sounds of his lovers were all burned into his memory. This moment—inside Lorelei, Quinn deep inside him, and Dorian’s cock plugging his throat—was a moment of thorough possession. He was home. He was where he would always belong.
Dorian slowly pulled out, left him gasping, and cupped his face. He blinked slowly, dazedly, as Dorian’s face came into focus. It was when Dorian’s thumbs brushed over his damp cheeks that he realized he’d shed tears in those final moments. Dorian smiled faintly, eyes deep and full of the love he so rarely spoke aloud.
“You all right?” Dorian whispered.
Patrick swallowed thickly. “Yeah. Just… realizing how perfectly I fit with the three of you.”
Quinn hugged him tightly from behind. “It took you this long to figure it out?”
Lorelei’s hands moved over his chest and shoulders. Quinn held him close. And Dorian… Dorian’s lips pressed to his, and Patrick thought his heart would shatter under the pressure of love he felt for the three of them. But it didn’t. Nothing broke. Everything was whole and right, and Patrick laughed into Dorian’s kiss.
“No,” Patrick said, closing his eyes as he savored his life. “Took me this long to accept it.”
Advent: Day Twenty-Eight (NSFW)
Title: Season of Giving
Characters: Morpheus, Ethan
Origin: Life After Death (WIP, sequel to Oneiros)
Advent Day: Day 28 (December 24th)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 6,922
—
Ethan ran. He ran simply for the joy of running, and he loved the beach, the feel of sand and surf beneath his toes as he panted with exertion. The sun beat down on him as he kicked up sea water with every stride, but it only felt wonderful against his skin as the sea breeze whipped his hair about him. He licked his lips and concentrated, and it was as if the world rippled around him, the waves extending to the rocks lining the shore and distorting the sky.
One instant, he was running through the waves, and the next, he was racing through a forest, weaving in and out of the slender trunks of a copse of aspens. Laughter bubbled up out of him, loud and joyous, and he whooped, leaping over a fallen trunk and swiping at the leaves of a distant branch. It was far higher than he should have been able to reach, but a stretch of his imagination gave him all the height he needed, and he touched them before floating back down to the forest floor. He whirled and grinned and fell backward with his eyes closed. Instead of slamming to the leaf litter, however, his fall was met with the most comfortable pillows he could imagine. He panted and smiled, breathing in the crisp scent of freshly fallen snow, the smoke of a nearby wood-burning furnace, and apples.
“Enjoying yourself?”
The voice startled him just a little, but the moment his eyes snapped open and found the youthful face of his lover there, he relaxed, the smile returning to his face. “Guess you could say that.”
“You seem to love your runs.” Morpheus ran his finger from the hollow of Ethan’s throat down to his navel. “Do you know how long you have been here?”
Ethan purred, shivering in the wake of that intimate touch. “No. Time is hard to measure here. Days bleed into one another, and seasons change at a thought. How long have I been here?”
Morpheus leaned down, brushed his lips over one of Ethan’s nipples. “A year. It is Christmas in the Waking World, and I have made it Christmas here in the Land of Dreams. For you.”
“For me?” Ethan breathed.
“You came to me at Christmas.” Morpheus lifted his head, and something hopeful shimmered in the warm, brown eyes. “Does the anniversary mean anything to you?”
Ethan grinned. “Sure it does. A year’s a long time. Fuck, a single day in ICU felt like an eternity when I was waiting for that kidney.” A shadow must have moved over his face because Morpheus brought his attention back to the present with a simple brush of their lips. He played with a lock of Morpheus’ curly hair. “Feels a lifetime away. I have so much here with you, things I’m still just skimming the surface of.”
“You’re happy to be here with me?”
Ethan chuckled. “I won’t say it’s always perfect, ’cause I’m not perfect, but… yeah. I’m happy here.” He’d been scared shitless at first, and it had taken him a long time to adapt to Morpheus’ realm of dreams, but it was worlds better than what he’d had in the Waking World.
Morpheus smiled, and the expression was stunningly beautiful. “It pleases me that you’re happy.”
“Are you happy with me here?” Ethan asked, running his fingers over Morpheus’ golden cheek.
“You have helped heal something I didn’t want to admit was broken.” Morpheus kissed Ethan softly. “My heart is not so broken anymore.”
“What do you do for Christmas in the Land of Dreams?” Ethan murmured. “Does Santa come to visit?”
Morpheus laughed, the sound lyrical and warm. “No. We can do anything you like, Ethan. How do you want to spend Christmas? With me?”
Ethan chewed at his lower lip for a moment, but a grin slowly curved his lips, and he closed his eyes. It always helped to close his eyes, just so he could visualize what he wanted better. The bed remained beneath them, but the sea breeze stuttered to a stop, the roar of the waves replaced by the warm crackle of a cheerful fire. He opened his eyes again and smiled, sighing happily. Apart from the spacious bed, they were in his apartment, the one he’d lived in once Jesse had left. It was a small, studio apartment, but he’d known it would be easy to decorate.
He stood from the large bed, stepping forward from the alcove into the main space of the room. “I… never got to finish decorating. I had to call 9-1-1 because the pain got to be too much, and then I never came back.” He flushed a little, looking back at Morpheus. “Help me decorate? Your way?”
Morpheus raised an eyebrow at him. “My way?”
“My decorations suck. This way, we can imagine whatever we want and decorate together, the way I never got to.” He ran a hand through his windswept hair, pushing his blond bangs back from his eyes. “Or is this just kinda pathetic, me getting closure?”
“Closure is never pathetic. It’s necessary so you can begin again.” Morpheus rose from the bed, and suddenly there was a box stuffed full of ornaments at Ethan’s feet. “We will decorate together.”
Ethan’s heart thudded in his chest, and his throat tightened. “Why?”
“Why?”
“Why would you decorate with me, Morpheus? You’re a god. You have all of the sleeping universe beating down your door to demand your time. Why would you spend it with me?” Ethan had to know, had to hear the words Morpheus just hadn’t said yet. Words Jesse had said with annoyance until the words had stopped altogether. “Why are you here?”
Morpheus exhaled softly, looked around the small room. “Because you are here.” His dark eyes returned to Ethan. “Because you need me, and I need you.”
Ethan swallowed. “Just need?”
“No,” Morpheus admitted. “Not just need.”
Ethan waited, but Morpheus said nothing, plunging them into a silence filled only by the snapping of the firewood and the pounding of his heart in his chest. Morpheus looked up at him, and they stared at one another for a few seconds until Ethan finally swallowed thickly and whispered, “Please, Morpheus. Say it if you mean it.”
He needed to hear it, needed to feel that emotional connection from Morpheus if it was actually there. He knew Morpheus had reservations, that Morpheus had been burned really fucking badly before, but so had he. Maybe his life couldn’t compare to Morpheus’ long existence, but they’d become close. It was more than casual, more than just need that kept them together. His eyes pleaded with Morpheus. He’d accept any answer, anything that was real for Morpheus.
Morpheus stepped close, one hand coming up to cup Ethan’s cheek. “I am here because I love you,” the god said, voice so low and rough, Ethan couldn’t mistake the feeling behind the words.
Warmth rushed through him, more visceral and true than the heat from the fire that crackled nearby. He tilted his head, leaning into Morpheus’ hand as emotion welled up in him. “I love you, too,” he breathed, and when Morpheus’ fingers moved to his hair and pulled him forward and down a fraction, he eagerly parted his lips. Morpheus’ kisses were always so consuming, as if the god breathed life into him every moment their lips were locked.
Morpheus pulled back, leaving him panting, his mind a bit dizzy, and he laughed softly. “You’re here decorating with me ’cause you love me.”
“Yes,” Morpheus said, his voice practically shimmering with amusement to Ethan’s ears. “Where do we begin?”
Ethan concentrated, and when he glanced over, a bare Christmas tree appeared. “How about there?” he suggested, kissing Morpheus again before dipping down and grabbing a few decorations from the box Morpheus had caused to appear.
“A beautiful tree.” Morpheus reached for another ornament and placed it carefully. “Have you always decorated a tree at Christmas-time?”
“I only missed a couple,” Ethan said, loving all the unique, gorgeous colors of the ornaments. “The sicker I got, the less energy I had, and Jesse wasn’t big on the holiday spirit.”
Morpheus was quiet for a few moments, adding decorations slowly to the tree. Silence meant his lover was thinking, and Ethan gave him the time and silence to do that in. When Morpheus spoke, the words weren’t what Ethan was expecting.
“Why were you with Jesse?” Morpheus paused in his decorating and looked at Ethan. “You don’t speak of him with warmth or love.”
Ethan fought the anger that instantly rose in him, the bile of indignation. He took a few deep breaths, staring down at the colored glass ornament in his hands. “We met in college. Had the same Intro to Psychology class. I’d been in college a couple years, just taking a couple classes at a time so I could keep a full-time job without stressing myself into a coma. In a class meant for freshmen, we sort of gravitated to one another because we were both a little older. I had fucked around a bit by the time we became friends, but it was different with him. The friendship was there, and then it just deepened. It felt perfect. We bickered a bit, but it felt like it only made us closer. Then, my mom died, and he was with me through the entire thing, all the mourning, all the legal shit. He stuck with me, and I thought I was in love. I thought we could tackle anything together.”
He reached up and hung the ornament on a good, strong branch. Morpheus was quiet beside him, but the silence wasn’t awkward. Somehow, in this place, the silence was encouraging. Maybe Morpheus was messing with their surroundings, working some quiet sort of magic, but it put him a bit more at ease, and he gave Morpheus a sad smile. “If you’d asked me why I was with him then, I’d have told you because I loved him. But after my mom died, things just got more difficult. I started getting sick more often, and I’d get really fatigued after lots of activity. I can’t pinpoint when it all shifted. It was slow, y’know? Sex became exhausting. He was so passionate, had so much endurance I just didn’t have. We joked that I was just getting old, but Jesse just got quieter and quieter. I thought it was just a bit of a dry spell, that he was working through me not being able to keep up with him like I used to.” He shook his head. “This answer is becoming the story of my life.”
Morpheus just smiled and put another ornament on the tree. “It was a difficult question. The answer was bound to be complex.”
Ethan chuckled, glad for a moment of levity. “You saying I can’t handle it?”
“I’m saying you can take your time.”
Ethan looked down at the box of ornaments and chose another, but he hesitated putting it on the tree. “I’m not sure why I was with him near the end. We were spending less time together, I knew I wasn’t meeting his sexual needs, and that had dropped his interest in sex with me down to zero. He would stay the night with me, would always come help me out when I wasn’t feeling well or when I needed a shoulder to cry on. I’d interpreted that as devotion. I’d thought we were having rough times and that we’d make it through, but I was lying to myself. He was only with me out of obligation, probably just trying to finish what he’d started.”
Morpheus’ arms wrapped around him from behind, and Ethan let out a long breath, setting the ornament on a branch. “He left. I told him to leave. I didn’t want to be someone’s emotional charity case.” He smiled ruefully at the ornament. “I actually thought he’d come back, hold my hand, tell me he loved me, that he was sorry, that the stress of me being sick had just made him stupid.” Ethan poked the ornament, made it sway in the lighted bough. “It was me who was stupid.”
“That situation wasn’t about stupidity,” Morpheus murmured against Ethan’s ear. “It was about need and fear. It was about selfishness and a need for more compassion that many humans possess.” He paused, and then pressed a kiss to Ethan’s throat. “What of the situation now? Trapped in my world, unable to go back, unwilling to go forward?”
Ethan turned in Morpheus’ arms, his fingers curling in Morpheus’ silky hair. “I was afraid of moving on, afraid of being trapped here. Now, I’m just afraid of being parted from you… and afraid that I’ll be forgotten in your vast realm. It’s been a year, and I’m looking forward to another year, and another. Do you think I need more than you’re able to give?”
Morpheus stared down at him, and not for the first time, Ethan wondered what thoughts moved through the god’s mind. “What is it you need? What is it I need to give?”
Ethan licked his lips, knowing his answer was short but infinitely complex. “Love, devotion, time… and honesty.”
One of Morpheus’ eyebrows lifted. “Honesty?”
“Yes, honesty.” Ethan looked away for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. Honesty meant so many things! “I don’t expect you to be… all mine. I get that gods don’t tend to devote themselves to anyone person, but—”
Morpheus pressed a finger to Ethan’s lips. “You make a vast assumption about gods with that statement.”
“Is it not true?”
“We are not all like Zeus.”
“So the seventy-two virgins, the conquests, the… sex with your sister and half-brother’s mother’s handmaiden?”
Morpheus laughed. It wasn’t often he made Morpheus truly laugh, and the sound washed over him in the most wonderfully sensual way. “I’m not those gods.”
Ethan smiled and tilted his head. “Then what should I expect?”
“Love, devotion, time, and honesty,” Morpheus murmured, his lips traveling down Ethan’s exposed throat. “No obligation, just mutual need and mutual love.”
Ethan moaned softly, a shiver traveling down his spine. God, those words made his eyes sting, but his skeptical nature made him hesitant, and his hands tightened in Morpheus’ hair. “You’re sure you can give it? For the next year?”
Morpheus’ teeth nipped at his pulse. “For much longer than that. I won’t abandon you to fear and uncertainty.”
“God,” Ethan breathed. “What on earth do I have to offer that’s worth all that from you?”
Morpheus tugged at Ethan’s chin until their eyes met, their lips brushed. “Do you love me?”
Ethan’s cheeks heated up, but he nodded. “Yes.”
“Then that is all that must be offered, all that is worth my love in return.” Morpheus smiled faintly against Ethan’s lips. “I have wanted a lover that would be as devoted to me as I was to them. My wife, my lovers, even Caleb… my love simply wasn’t enough.”
“You didn’t love Caleb,” Ethan whispered.
“Didn’t I?”
Ethan swallowed. “I think you could have, but he would have had to give up living to be with you. I can see how tempting it was for him because you… Morpheus, you are bright and shining and so passionate.”
“But he didn’t choose me,” Morpheus said, a soft sadness to the words.
He pulled Morpheus closer. “He had to choose life. For someone who has years ahead of them, it’s a lot to ask, a lot to let go.”
“But I didn’t ask that of you,” Morpheus murmured.
Ethan smiled. “You didn’t have to. I had given up. I was out of time and ready for it to be over. All you’re asking for is my love, and you have it.”
Morpheus seemed to brighten, a glow returning to his face as he smiled and glanced at the tree. Ethan followed his gaze and watched as the tree shivered, suddenly sporting a glittering tinsel garland and a more traditional string of popcorn and cranberries. “And you have my time. Times like these.”
Ethan grinned, reaching out and running his finger over the garland with a happy laugh. “Times like these that we build together, remembering the past, but making our own future.”
“A future that spreads out beyond thought.” Morpheus nuzzled Ethan’s throat. “The idea of you, beside me, for years uncounted makes my very heart tremble. It’s been too long since I felt that.”
“But you feel it with me,” Ethan breathed, offering his throat fully again.
Morpheus moaned. “Every moment. Together or apart, you’re in my thoughts. My desires. My innocent musings.”
Was there anything more fulfilling, more heart-warming, than knowing you were in the thoughts of the person you loved? Ethan doubted anything could make him feel more cherished than that. He smiled as another suckling nip from Morpheus pulled a soft moan out of him. “Have I ever told you how sexy I find men who have innocent musings about me?”
“No,” Morpheus chuckled, his hands moving over Ethan’s clothed body. “Innocent musings about you are sexy?”
Ethan pressed into Morpheus’ hands. Never had he felt so at home, so at peace with himself. This little memory of his apartment, Christmas music playing quietly on the radio, the fire crackling, and his gorgeous god touching him. “I find the fact that you think of me at all sexy,” he whispered.
Morpheus’ lips blazed over his throat, making Ethan so hard in his jeans. “How could I not think of you?” Morpheus asked. “How could I not want you near every moment we’re apart? Wonder if another creature or mortal in my realm has caught your eye?”
“Well there was that centaur—Ow!” he laughed as Morpheus pinched him. “Teasing! I’m only teasing.” He pulled Morpheus’ mouth up to his, their eyes meeting as he whispered, “There is no other. Even in this world of wonders, no one but you.”
Morpheus kissed him, and it was almost like the world around them trembled with the passion he felt in every swipe of Morpheus’ tongue, every shift of their lips and bodies against one another. One moment, he was rubbing his clothed body against Morpheus, and the next his clothing was melting away, turning to water that trickled down his body but left him dry. He gasped, pulling out of the kiss with a look of awe. “You… you’ve never…”
“Did you like it?” Morpheus asked with a deep chuckle.
“Hell yeah,” Ethan moaned, eagerly pushing into Morpheus’ hands as they swept down his naked body. Morpheus smiled, looking young and perfect, and Ethan moaned. The bed full of pillows beckoned, and Ethan let Morpheus lead him to it. “You going to fuck me in front of the fire, in the glow of the Christmas tree?”
Morpheus nipped Ethan’s lower lip. “No. No fucking tonight,” he murmured. “There is too much love in me tonight to do anything hard and frantic.”
Ethan shuddered and ran his hands down the front of Morpheus’ tunic, pushing it open and off Morpheus’ shoulders. “I stand corrected. You going to make love with me? Replace the sickness in my memory with the love we share?”
“Yes,” Morpheus breathed. He wrapped his arms around Ethan, pulled him close, and the tip of his tongue teased Ethan’s lower lip. “I want to give you a special gift tonight, your Christmas gift.”
“A gift?” Ethan panted, and as his hands moved down Morpheus’ body, Morpheus’ trousers faded until Ethan’s hands touched smooth, warm skin. “I get a gift?”
Morpheus kissed him softly. “My body,” he whispered, a vulnerable shimmer in the brown eyes.
Ethan’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t help it. “Your body? But… I’ve never had you like that.”
The slightest flush of rose streaked over Morpheus’ golden cheeks. “That is the idea.”
It was a gift, one that Ethan would never have expected. Whenever he had tried to turn the tables a little and be more dominant with Morpheus, he was always foiled. Morpheus was a master at manipulating things back to his own comfort level and making Ethan love every second of it. He’d started to let go of the desire to take Morpheus, which made this gift even more special. In a world that changed to all his fantasies at every whim, the one thing that he couldn’t imagine into being was what Morpheus was going to give him.
Ethan caressed Morpheus’ face. “I love you,” he breathed before easing Morpheus into a series of soft, reverent kisses. He moved them onto the bed and pressed Morpheus down into the mattress and soft sheets. “Do you have a favorite position?”
“This one,” Morpheus moaned, parting his legs so Ethan could settle comfortably against him. “I like seeing the one I am with, kissing. This is the only position that offers such intimacy.”
“Other positions can be wonderful and intimate,” Ethan pointed out.
Morpheus’ lips twitched into a half-smile. “Not for tonight. This one is perfect.”
Ethan chuckled, licking over that smile. “Then we won’t tamper with perfection.” He brought their lips together again and began a slow, sensual rhythm of rocking and swiveling his hips, loving the feel of Morpheus’ hard length against his. Silver Bells began playing on the radio, and he smiled, humming along as he trailed kisses down Morpheus’ neck and chest. His fingertips teased Morpheus’ nipples, and he delighted in every moan, every breathless sound he was able to pull from his lover.
It was unusual being on this end of the pleasuring. Usually, their physical relationship centered on Ethan. He was the utter focus of Morpheus’ passion, brought to such heights each time they coupled. It was only now, as Ethan’s lips moved over Morpheus’ skin, teased at a dusky nipple, that he realized how one-sided their loving had been. Perhaps it had been selfish of Ethan, never forcing the subject, never pressing Morpheus to receive instead of giving all the time, but when he’d landed in Morpheus’ realm, he’d been battered and bruised. Ethan had needed to be the center of someone’s world, and Morpheus had so selflessly given him that.
“Thank you,” Ethan breathed before lapping at Morpheus’ tight nipple.
Morpheus’ fingers were tangled in Ethan’s hair. A moan passed Morpheus’ lips along with, “For what?”
Ethan pressed a reverent kiss to Morpheus’ chest, right above the god’s beating heart. “For giving me time. For giving me you without asking to have much of me in return.”
“You had to heal.” Morpheus smiled at him, the expression full of such love and understanding that Ethan thought no human could have affected it. “You still must heal, but the wound is not so deep anymore.”
“Neither is yours, I hope,” Ethan whispered, nuzzling warm skin and licking down to Morpheus’ navel. “The wound left by Caleb… by everyone before me.”
“With your help, my wounds are slowly healing,” Morpheus moaned, encouraging him down even farther. He couldn’t deny Morpheus. He worshipped every inch of skin between navel and sex, and he suckled at the base of Morpheus’ beautiful cock. It was perfect, the perfect length and thickness, so perfect that Ethan often wondered if Morpheus had always been this way or if he had taken this form based on his fantasies. “I’ve been this way a very long time.”
Ethan poked Morpheus’ ribcage. “Reading my thoughts?”
“I cannot help it when you’re thinking so loud,” Morpheus chuckled.
“Then you know how much I love your body?”
“Almost as much as you love the rest of me,” Morpheus purred, “and it brings me joy to know.”
Ethan grinned and continued downward. Given the chance to truly explore, he took full advantage, scooting even lower between Morpheus’ legs to lick and suckle at his balls, loving the soft texture of them and the way the attention made Morpheus shift against him.
Morpheus spread his legs wider with a low groan. “I’d almost forgotten how wonderful foreplay could be,” he murmured.
Ethan licked lower, dared to circle his tongue around Morpheus’ tight hole, and that hiss, the tension that sang through Morpheus made Ethan’s cock twitch. “Foreplay is most of the fun,” he said, and then began to push his tongue inside.
“I’m beginning to see that!” Morpheus cried, his fingers diving into Ethan’s hair as he bucked. “Gods alive, the pleasure!”
Many times, Morpheus had driven Ethan mad with such pleasure, but now it was Ethan’s turn, and he was determined to cherish the gift Morpheus was giving him. He wanted to make Morpheus fly, to scream and writhe, to lose control in a way the god never had. That was his goal. Strip away Morpheus’ control and leave him trembling and sated in the wake of it all.
His tongue worked in and out of Morpheus until he felt the flesh tremble against him. Only then did he pull back, but just far enough to replace his tongue with two fingers. He imagined them slick with lube and smiled when the thought was made real with just a small effort. He eased one finger inside Morpheus, loving the gasp that accompanied the thrust.
“You’re getting… quite good at that,” Morpheus laughed breathlessly.
Ethan just grinned. “It’s a skill you’ve helped me with, a power you’ve allowed me here. Just imagine what great things I can do if I start imagining toys to use on you.”
“I’ve been in the dreams of many people with—ah!—varied imaginations,” Morpheus panted, and his fingers tugged lightly at Ethan’s hair so he looked up. “I don’t want that tonight.”
Ethan felt heat move through him. “Not tonight,” he agreed with another thrust of his finger. He curved it as he withdrew again, searching for that spot inside. Did gods have that spot, too? As he struggled to find it, he began to truly wonder, but then Morpheus bucked and cried out beneath him, and he couldn’t help but smirk as he began tormenting that spot with first one, and then two fingers.
Morpheus was soon writhing on the bed, panting and sweating, as beautiful as any god should be in the midst of such pleasure. It always stole Ethan’s breath away. He was this perfect creature’s lover. Morpheus’ chosen. The one in which all hope was placed for happiness and love. It was a heavy burden, but one Ethan willingly shouldered. If he could lighten the grief of Morpheus’ past—even just a little—then he would in any way he could.
“So damn gorgeous,” Ethan whispered, rubbing at that raised place inside Morpheus. “You’re so unbelievably gorgeous.” He then dipped down and drew Morpheus’ cock between his lips, moaning. It fit his mouth and throat so well. Morpheus may have had this shape for a long time, but their bodies seemed to have been made for one another.
Morpheus gave a choked cry, his fingers tightening in Ethan’s hair. “Ethan!”
He groaned and held tightly to Morpheus’ thigh, steadying Morpheus’ hip with his other hand. He rose and fell, sucking Morpheus deep into his throat over and over, teasing the head with his tongue every few seconds. Morpheus tugged at his hair, bucked and cried out, but he refused to stop, and his mouth was soon filled with Morpheus’ come. It wasn’t bitter, wasn’t the least bit unpleasant, and the surprise of that sent a jolt of pleasure through Ethan. He redoubled his efforts, sucking passionately at Morpheus to milk every drop, which he swallowed greedily.
When Morpheus finally succeeded in prying him back, he groaned, his eyes hazy as he looked up at Morpheus and panted, “You taste… like a dream.”
Morpheus laughed breathlessly, his cock remaining hard, wet from Ethan’s saliva. “I taste like a dream?”
“You aren’t bitter at all.” Ethan pulled his fingers from Morpheus’ backside. “I thought it would be just like any other man’s.”
“I’m not like any other man,” Morpheus purred, fingers tracing down Ethan’s throat. “I can’t believe I’d not let you taste me in all this time.”
Ethan kissed from one hip to the other, loving that heat of Morpheus’ flesh. “Every time I tried, you’d somehow turn it all back around to be about me.”
“I don’t think I can do that anymore.” Morpheus combed his fingers through Ethan’s hair. “I like your mouth too much.”
Ethan grinned. “Then I haven’t lost my touch. I’d worried.”
“Don’t worry,” Morpheus insisted. “I’m going to keep your mouth very busy from now on.”
Ethan groaned, his cock positively aching against the sheets. “Promises, promises.” He circled his fingers at Morpheus’ entrance. “You ready, or…?”
Morpheus pulled him close, arched his hips. “Yes, Ethan,” he said, and Ethan had never thought his name to be as lyrical as that moment.
A thought. It was just a thought, and his cock was slick with lube. He pressed his mouth to Morpheus’, drew him into a deep, slow kiss as he pushed against Morpheus, into him. Ethan’s breath caught, and his lashes fluttered, and the look on Morpheus’ face… the shock, the pleasure, Ethan was so glad to have seen that moment. He’d remember it for all time, the look that had crossed Morpheus’ face the first time Ethan had slid into the glorious, tight heat of him.
Ethan let out a shuddering breath as his body rested against Morpheus’, joined as deeply as he could manage. He felt Morpheus’ legs shift against his sides, curl around him, and when Morpheus’ heels actually dug into his ass, trying to pull him deeper, he groaned. “Morpheus…”
“I’d forgotten,” Morpheus panted. “It feels… you feel… so good.”
“Just getting started,” Ethan choked out, making that first rocking thrust. Morpheus’ heels dug in again, and he set a rhythm, slow and deep. He’d not always been a bottom; he’d taken other guys before, but he couldn’t remember it being this good. None of them could have possibly been as beautiful, as passionate, as perfect as Morpheus was in those moments when pleasure transformed both of them and made everything around them seem to blur and fade away.
Ethan couldn’t stop kissing Morpheus. He couldn’t not touch the god. Even as Ethan rocked in and out of Morpheus, Morpheus’ body clinging to him, he couldn’t keep from touching him. He wanted nothing but this, the intimacy, the need, the way Morpheus pulled at him, gasped into his mouth. It was everything he’d ever dreamed about, the bright, vivid fantasy that used to get him through those endless nights in the hospital. When every bit of pleasure had been sapped out of him, all energy lost to illness, the dream of being love, of loving, of intimacy and trust and ecstasy, had kept him company.
“I always heard,” Morpheus panted into another series of kisses. “Your dreams… always crying out to me… so much need and fear and grief.”
Ethan found his throat tightening up against his will, and he tightened his hold at Morpheus’ hip. “Never knew anyone was listening.”
“We listen.” Morpheus smiled. “Every so often… we can’t help but listen.”
Ethan gave a breathy laugh, blinking back the sting of threatening tears. “You calling me a loudmouth?”
Morpheus pulled Ethan’s lips down to his with a groan. “I love you.”
He didn’t have to respond. He didn’t have to say over and over how much he loved Morpheus, because Morpheus already knew his innermost thoughts, knew that he’d give just about anything to stay in this moment of pleasure with Morpheus forever. He moaned into their kisses as his hips sped up, and the pleasure built and built until Morpheus was squirming beneath him, gasping and tugging at his hair. His hands caressed from Morpheus’ nipples down to his straining cock, and he pumped at the length, his thumb rubbing at the slit at the tip.
“Ethan,” Morpheus gasped. The dazed look in Morpheus’ eyes, the way his hands pulled at Ethan, it was exactly what Ethan had wanted. Ethan wanted Morpheus completely undone. “Ethan!”
Ethan thrust harder, faster, pleasure pulling him down, but he pushed it back, focused on Morpheus. “Yeah, I know,” he panted, brushing their lips together. “It’s like being broken apart, shattered to bits, but it feels so good, and you know I’ll catch every piece… help you put yourself back together.”
Morpheus’ back arched, and his breath caught as his nails raked down Ethan’s back. Ethan knew he’d have bruises along his ass from the pressure of Morpheus’ heels. “Ethan—” Morpheus’ cry of his name was clipped, ragged, and then he was coming. Ethan hadn’t ever seen Morpheus so free, trembling under him, around him, his seed hot over Ethan’s hand.
The pleasure of feeling Morpheus’ body clenching around him was second only to the pleasure of watching all those emotions wash over Morpheus’ face, through those dark brown eyes. Nothing existed but those eyes as the pleasure melded with the sweet pain of Morpheus’ nails at his back, and his mouth opened, but only a soft, choked squeak escaped as he thrust deep and finally let go. He wasn’t sure if the lights that flashed in his vision were imagined or his thoughts made manifest, but his vision narrowed to just Morpheus’ eyes as he came hard, holding tightly to Morpheus as the world around them spun.
It felt like he was falling in slow motion, that weightlessness of climax when the world seemed to fall away, leaving you behind in a warm, comfortable haze. He was floating. No, wait. He was actually floating. As he pulled back from Morpheus’ throat, he blinked several times with a soft gasp.
Morpheus was beaming up at him, and a caress to his cheek brought his gaze back to Morpheus’ eyes. “So this is how it feels?”
Ethan flushed so hard he felt his pulse in his cheeks.
“It’s beautiful,” Morpheus purred. “Nothing to be embarrassed about.”
The world slowly coalesced around them. The crackling fire, the tree with its lights and ornaments, the walls, the ceiling, and the softness of the bed with all its pillows. It wasn’t jarring. As his heart slowed, the world came back to them, and Ethan grinned. “That doesn’t usually happen when we make love.”
Morpheus kissed Ethan’s throat, stroked his hands up and down Ethan’s sides. “I don’t usually let go.”
Ethan shuddered and moaned. “The entire dream world twists and turns to everyone else’s whims when you let go?”
“Maybe not everyone’s,” Morpheus chuckled. “Yours, though. Your mind is powerful, focused. The centaurs have been helping you; I can tell.”
“Giltdard has been especially nice.” He saw a flicker of jealousy move over Morpheus’ eyes and pinched him. “No one but you could make me stop time and space like that. I’m all yours. This Christmas and every moment you have free from your work.”
Morpheus closed his eyes for a moment. “I should not be so jealous of your friends.”
Ethan nuzzled Morpheus’ throat. “No, you shouldn’t.”
“But I am.”
“Because you worry I’ll stray… that I’ll be tempted away by the wonders you have hidden in your world. I understand, but you don’t have anything to worry about,” Ethan insisted, winding his finger around one of Morpheus’ dark curls. “What can I give you this Christmas?”
“What?”
“A gift. You deserve one.” But he didn’t know what he could give of himself to help with that jealousy, to help heal hurts like Morpheus had just done for him. He’d never remember his apartment the same way again, and it made his heart feel lighter than it had before. It was the perfect Christmas gift, and he wanted Morpheus to have that same feeling of receiving something wonderful for the holidays.
“You have given me yourself,” Morpheus murmured.
“But it isn’t enough.” Ethan rested his head on Morpheus’ shoulder, making a soft noise when his cock slipped from Morpheus. “If just having me was enough, you wouldn’t become restless when I visit the centaurs or take me hard and fast as if you have something to prove when I return from seeing the unicorns.”
Morpheus kissed the top of his head. “You’ve noticed?”
Ethan snorted. “My ass certainly did. You leave me sore for days.” He tilted his head up. “What can I give to ease your fears?”
“I don’t know.”
“Not even a clue?” Ethan sighed softly, not disappointed, but a little annoyed with himself for being unable to come up with something. He traced idle patterns up Morpheus’ chest and over to his arm. His fingers trailed along the muscles and tendons, down to his palm, and then it occurred to him. “Would you like to mark me somehow?”
He looked up to see Morpheus frowning. “Mark you?”
“Not like a passion mark,” Ethan chuckled. “I don’t know what your custom would be. I mean, when people are devoted in my day and age, we exchange rings as a mark, a sign that we’re together. Or if someone matters, we get their name tattooed on our skin. Would you like something like that?”
“My name upon your flesh?” Morpheus stared at him.
Ethan smiled at him. “If that would make you happy, more secure in what we have. You can brand my ass with your name.”
Morpheus laughed, the sound melodic and deep. “It would not be your ass I would see branded.” He picked up Ethan’s left hand, ran his fingers up the palm and to his ring finger. “Just here.” Morpheus encircled Ethan’s finger with his own. A flare of magic and heat so intense, Ethan cried out, and then Morpheus pulled his fingers back.
On Ethan’s ring finger, circling it in dark, black ink, was Morpheus’ name in its original language. He knew it was Morpheus’ real name the same way he knew other things about the Land of Dreams. It was just a certainty, a knowledge of what it said, what it meant. The letters were beautiful, etched in his skin, and Ethan couldn’t look away. “Your mark.”
Morpheus held up his own left hand, the ring finger bare. “And, if you want me to, I shall wear yours.”
“I—I don’t know. I mean I want to!” Ethan quickly corrected, his eyes darting up from Morpheus’ mark. “I just don’t know if I have the skill. What if I accidentally cut your finger off?”
Morpheus chuckled. “Then I imagine it back, whole and unharmed.”
“You’re sure?” Ethan asked, and when Morpheus nodded, he gingerly took hold of the outstretched hand and bit his lower lip, concentrating. He imagined light, bright and hot, and drew his name in the air over Morpheus’ finger. His handwriting wasn’t the most elegant around, but it was better than chicken scratch. He imagined the letters, imagined the light piercing Morpheus’ skin.
Morpheus’ shout shocked him so badly he jumped, his eyes snapping open. “I’m sorry!” he yelped, his heart pounding in his throat. God, he couldn’t look. He didn’t want to see what sort of damage he’d unwittingly done. He just didn’t have the skill!
Morpheus was panting, flexing his hand. “No one… has ever been able to manipulate my form but family.” Deep brown eyes focused on Ethan. “Look, Ethan. Look what you—and no one else—have done.”
Ethan chewed at his lower lip and tried to steady himself before looking, but when he saw the glimmer of light still at Morpheus’ ring finger, his heart was in his throat again. The letters were there, just as he’d imagined them, his name glimmering in his handwriting, almost like the letters had been drawn there in flame. His cheeks flushed at the sense of possession that washed through him. God, he’d done it. He’d actually marked Morpheus. Pleasure and the smallest bit of fear swept through him. He looked up to meet Morpheus’ gaze. “They’re still written in light. Do—do you want them darker like mine?”
“Do you want it to remain this way?” Morpheus asked, his other hand smoothing up and down Ethan’s side.
“It might be distracting like that.” Ethan smiled. “Light isn’t very permanent, anyway.”
Morpheus arched his neck, kissed Ethan softly. “Then turn light into darkness.”
Ethan licked his lips and nodded. He stared down at his name on Morpheus’ finger, and he concentrated. His eyes narrowed, and he exhaled steadily until it was like his world narrowed to that spot, that intention. Light to dark, light to dark, he kept repeating the words in his mind, and it was as if the light glinting from Morpheus’ skin was sucked back into a void, pulled inside Morpheus’ body until it disappeared, replaced with darkness.
He let out his next breath in a rush, laughing softly. “Holy shit…” Such a little thing, and yet, it was an accomplishment that made him feel like a million dollars.
Morpheus reached up with that hand, cupped Ethan’s face. “You are full of surprises,” he murmured.
Ethan grinned, though he knew it was a little goofy and lopsided. “Good ones, I hope.”
“Astounding ones,” Morpheus chuckled.
“But I wear your mark now,” Ethan purred. “How’s that for a Christmas and anniversary gift?”
“One year seems such a short time.”
Ethan blanketed himself over Morpheus again, settling his head against Morpheus’ shoulder. “A blink of an eye… and a lifetime.”
Morpheus hugged Ethan, and Hark! The Herald Angels Sing began to play on the radio. “A good lifetime.”
Ethan smiled against Morpheus’ throat and closed his eyes, savoring the moment. “The best.”
