Crawling Into Bed With
And a Good Book
*crawls across the bed and reclines on the pillows* Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton?
Cotton. I’m a simple girl and I like to be able to make a mess…er, be able to wash the linens easily…um, it’s just more comfortable?
*chuckles* I see. Wait...are you blushing? That's cute. What are you wearing?
*cough* Well, if you saw me in something slinky, you’d probably faint. And not in a good way. So tonight, I’m wearing the cotton jammie bottoms with the moons on them and the matching little tank top. Yes, they’re powder blue. With yellow moons. :p *glares around* Anybody got a problem with that? I can’t wear black all the time.
*laughs* Of course not. You look...stellar. What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight?
*plunks the tray across Lee’s lap* Nachos! I love nachos. Good, strong chips that hold up under pressure, ;) sharp jack cheese, homemade guacamole, a chunky, hot salsa, refritos, chili with mole sauce! *plunks two more bowls onto the tray with lots of extra napkins* Don’t forget the jalapeños and the sour cream!
Er...Angel? I can't ... balance all this?
*runs back out and returns with an armful of bottles* And with nachos you have to have beer! You get to choose…lessee… *snuggles back in and bumps hips with Lee* We have a Belgian triple, some nice smoky stout, and Victory Hop Devil.
What? No tequila? Weren't you expecting me? *sigh* I'll try the stout, please. *leans over, jiggling laden tray* If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?
Er…a mess? Odds and ends…hair scrunchies…paperbacks…oh, look, a roll of Lifesavers! Um…chocolate body paint – hey who put that in there?
Oh no! Grab that! *bowl of chili slides to the left* Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night?
Covers off. Then on. Then off. Then on. Women of a certain age, you see. Forget that whole damn Sleep Number thing. They need to invent a bed that responds to body temperature *grumble*
That sounds like a genius plan. And a perfect segue to my next question. Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up?
Of course you can, dear! (No ulterior motives about using Lee as an ice pack. Nope. None at all.)
Oooh. You are toasty. *settles tray, sips beer* What are we reading?
Oh, this? Just a lil’ something I whipped up :D Vassily the Beautiful is a blended genre kind of meal – Science Fiction, M/M Romance, Tilted-axis Fairytale – but I’ll let the story speak for itself.
Vassily the Beautiful
M/M SF from Angel Martinez
Vassily has brains and beauty but an accident has left him with neural damage. With his mother missing and his cruel, amoral stepfather demanding he go see the criminal mastermind Baba Yaga, Vassily needs a hero. He might not have a choice but to become his own.
A faint glow of light appeared above him, growing brighter as he climbed, so he reasoned he must be near the top. As he craned his head back, his right foot slipped. His stomach plummeted to his feet as he banged hard against the ladder and clung there, his frightened gasps manifesting as white plumes in the dark.
Don’t turn into rubber now, legs, please, please don’t.
Shaking, panting, he found purchase again with his right foot and convinced his left hand to move, then his right. He shivered with more than cold, exhaustion and fear making each rung harder than the last. Forcing his body onward, he climbed. He had no choice and he was damned if he’d give up now.
The glow from the rooftop became bright enough for him to make out the building stones in front of him. Almost there…
He stopped as the whine of an airbike split the snow-blanketed silence. Risking a glance up, he nearly lost his footing again in shock. A flame-red airbike angled in toward the building and disappeared over the roof edge. The whine of its engine powering down made it obvious that the rider, it had to be the same one who had nearly hit him that morning, was landing on the roof.
All right, he seemed like a reasonable person. At least there would be someone on the roof when he got there to plead his case.
The surprise was considerably less when his second airbike encounter roared into sight overhead, the gold bike and rider muted to glowing tones in the soft roof lights. Baba Yaga’s security, they had to be, though the sun-yellow rider’s flamboyance seemed at odds with such serious employment.
Vassily sighed in relief when his head crested the roof ledge, a blurred view of figures moving about on solid rooftop threatening to turn his shaking legs to jelly. He was just about to hoist himself up when the third airbike knifed through the night sky, by the sound of it heading directly for him.
He cried out, legs kicking, when a rough hand seized the back of his shirt and yanked him from the ladder. Instead of falling, though, he hung suspended, dread creeping over him like morning frost as he realized he dangled from the grip of the black-clad rider who had passed him earlier.
The man maneuvered his vehicle over the roof, and in a voice like sandpaper dragged over broken glass, declared, “We have a spy.”
When not in bed with Lee, you can find Angel at: