Crawling Into Bed With
Angel Martinez
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
Blurb:
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.
Excerpt:
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:
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