You accept that failure is death? Flashing Friday #500words #mmromance #fairytale #flashfiction

Welcome back friends! It's Friday, and on Friday we flash. Today's flash took an unexpected turn, and I'm going to have to confess, I love it. I'm making plans to expand this into a full fledged fairy tale sometime in the future!

If you like flashing, pleas do drop by Havan's Heavenly Haven to visit my cohort in crime this morning!

Flash Fiction May #4

At Your Service

“If Sir will enter.” The butler indicated an ornately carved door.

Spencer kept his back straight and his jaw squared as he followed the direction. Show no weakness. Be strong. His father’s advice rang in his ears. He resisted the urge to straighten his jacket, tweak his trousers into place.

Channeling calm, he marched down the velvet carpet. Halfway, he snuck a peek to the left. His breath caught in his throat and his heart tripped, then vaulted into overdrive. The caged man was stunning, his limbs slender and well muscled, his  face… Oh God. His jaw was lean and clean shaven, his hair a silky straight fall of gold… his eyes though… His eyes were deep, clear pools of blue. So tranquil Spencer was certain he could stare into them forever.

“Sir Spencer Overburton of Cliproot Pass.” The booming voice startled him into paying attention to what he was doing.

A well dressed man appeared from the left. “State your business.” At his side was a scribe, who held an inked quill over a thick volume.

His tongue swelled, his mouth dried. The words he’d rehearsed in the carriage all the way over fled. “H-h-h--- Marriage.” He dragged in a deep breath, his eyes stung in humiliation. He could sense the courtiers… the other claimants in the background tittering over his lack of presence. “Proclamation. I… offer myself.”

“You will undertake the quest?”

“I… yes.”

“You accept that failure is death?”

He found his voice, finally, cast an admiring glance at the caged Prince. “The prize is worthy of the risk.”

Another man stepped forward, bowed obsequiously. “Beg pardon, liege. But this is Cliproot’s sole son and heir. Surely his family lineage dictates a different sort of marriage?”

Spencer intervened hastily. “My father has avowed himself willing to declare my cousin Niall heir in my place.”

“Then he is eligible.” The scribe scrawled his name in the book, sprinkled it with dust, and then slammed it shut.

“So be it.” The man he’d taken for a courtier gazed sternly upon Spencer. “Return from the dragon’s lair with the key to the cage, and my son will become your spouse, making you Prince of the realm and heir to the kingdom. Fail… forfeit your life to the dragon or the palace guard.”

“I will retrieve the key or die in the attempt.” His gaze roamed to the naked Prince. To call such beauty his own… Swallowing, he bowed deeply to the man he now recognized as King.

“The crown names Spencer Overburton of Cliproot Pass as affianced of Prince Gorin. Tonight we celebrate…”

The crowd responded with a mixture of jeers and cheers, but their noise faded in the background as Spencer met his prince’s eyes. What he saw there caused an ache in his heart like Spencer had never felt before. The blue depths were no longer tranquil- they were such a tormented mixture of hope and despair… he vowed then and there that the dragon’s days were numbered.

The Adoration of strangers means more to you than... #500words #mmromance #flashfiction

Flash Fiction May #3

Happy Friday! TGIF huh? *sips coffee* You ready to get flashed? This pic was chosen by Havan...and I have to say... oohh whee I wouldn't mind seeing that in my kitchen!

Flash Fiction May #3

The neat kitchen startled Brant. Vince had never been neat. “How do you live like this?” He rubbed the back of his neck and contemplated the man sleeping in the outer room. Vince Mayburn, soap star, best friend… and as of last night, lover. The changes in Vince - a man he’d known since kindergarten where they bonded over reading while their classmates sounded out their ABC’s- shocked him.

Throughout childhood, intelligence isolated them. It intimidated classmates and teachers, which was okay with Brant. He didn’t need people when he had numbers.

Vince was different. A deep need to be loved made him turn his back on numbers, languages and logic.

“This is the result of trying to be someone you’re not.” Brant scowled at empty shelves. His stomach grumbled. “Lose thirty pounds and America loves you but fuck it all!”

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s no food.” Brant twisted to face Vince. The thoughts milling around in his head for once had nothing to do with numbers. Vince was beautiful, his bushy brows plucked to defined lines, stubbled jaw, hair… Brant mourned the loss of the shoulder length locks even as he appreciated how the short cut emphasized a jawline no longer hidden in baby fat. The Vince he’d loved was still there, in the green eyes and plump lips.

“There’s food.” Vince pecked him on the lips. “Just not premade and loaded with sugar and preservatives.” He pulled on an apron. “Take a shower. I’ll make pancakes and bacon. How’s that sound?”

Chewing his lip, Brant wavered. He wasn’t really mad about food. it was so much more than that.

“Okay.” He muttered resentfully, as Vince went about the business of cooking. “But--”

“While you eat, we can talk about what’s bothering you.”

“How can you do this?”

“This?” Vince’s smile faded. “You mean, act? Lose weight? Dress nicely and live in a place that doesn’t resemble my parents’ basement?” He slammed a skillet down. “I love this life, Brant. It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

“You’re wasting your gifts... your brain.” The words tumbled out in a damning cascade. Brant cringed. “You could put men on Mars or discover the cure for cancer. Instead…” He sputtered to a halt.

“’I play a businessman with a dark streak on a daytime soap. It’s a challenge. I’m up for renewal, a raise and probably twice the airtime next season.”

“So the adoration of strangers means more to you than--”

He broke off, shocked.

“You?” Vince shook his head, lips twisting in an emotionless smile. “No.”

“I loved who you used to be.”

“Who? The man who couldn’t be himself because his own body… his own timidity kept him from living life?”

“My friend…” Brant choked. “I loved the boy I grew up with, the one who understood me.”

“That’s still me, just not all of me. I’m not just a brain… ” Vince wiped at his cheeks. “I want you to love me, the real me, just like I love the real you.”

What can you do with 500 words? Meet Prince Charming

Good morning Happy Saturday and I hope your weekend is bringing you all kinds of relaxation. Here I have for you a few hundred words, 500 to be exact, of my own bit of relaxation. Hope you enjoy! Click on over to Havan's blog for her take on the same pic! 

Meeting Prince Charming 

photo by nickanizer.stock.xchng

Cold wetness seeped through the denim of my jeans, creating a trail of icy goose bumps all across my body.

"Sorry." A strong, tanned hand dusted with fine dark hairs and blunt cut nails hovered in my field of vision. The tail end of what turned out to be a long, dramatic swirling tattoo just touched his wrist.

I stared, bemused. The hand wavered, then withdrew.

"Are you all right?"

Allowing my gaze to expand beyond the hand, which I suddenly couldn't believe I hadn't accepted, my jaw dropped. The man who'd crashed into me belonged anywhere on campus but barreling through the my office door. He was young, broad, golden in hair, and skin. A whole aura of Prince Charming hung about him, and my fingers suddenly itched to pick up a pencil and transcribe sonnets to his beauty and a character that I just knew was as lovely as his person.  "I'm okay." And so I would be, just as soon as my heart stopped racing and my vision returned to normal, because right now it seemed that somehow landing in a mop bucket on my ass had caused me to see blurred golden halos and narrowed my vision to a tiny circumference centered exactly on his concerned face.

He stood watching as I awkwardly fumbled my way out of the water, grimacing as the liquid dripped down my body. I had to give him credit though, true to the noble character my imagination had imbued him with, he didn't laugh at my predicament. I stood before him pretending to a sang froid that I had never felt in my life. Recalling that he had come from my office, I ventured to address the Prince. "Is there something I can assist you with?" I was late, having lost track of time in the upper rooms of the library, pouring over a volume of fifteenth century French poetry. I had interviews scheduled for interns for the fall semester, and I couldn't decide whether to hope he was or wasn't one of the candidates.

"Yeah," he breathed softly. Then before I had a moment to realize what he was about, soft plump lips brushed over mine, and a delicate tongue swiped a tender touch over my lips before he retreated. "I had an interview scheduled, but I think I changed my mind. I don't want the job."

Stunned, I wrestled the demon of desire his kiss had unleashed back under control. He wasn't a prince, but a demon sent straight from hell to tempt me to indiscretion. "You can have the job too." I heard the words, and couldn't believe they'd come from my mouth. No fucking way I wanted this man for my intern. And no way he could miss the implication, I was his for the taking.

Smiling gently, he combed his hand through my hair and cupped my cheek. "Oh hell no. No need to complicate the power dynamic between us."

"Then I have interviews."

"I'll wait."

What Can You Do With 500 Words? Hanging Out With Cassidy

Welcome back! Today We're flashing to the tune of 500 Words...

 Hanging Out With Cassidy

The night reeked of overwhelmingly sweet jacaranda trees. I took a drag on the clove cigarette, then passed it to Cassidy. I imagined his lips around the thin tube, right where mine had been. Would he feel the warmth of my mouth, the need that pulsed through me with slow, relentless intensity? When he passed the cigarette back, would I be able to taste him on it? I didn't dare dwell on the thought.

We waited for the milling crowd outside the theater to depart so we could make our way over the cobblestoned plaza to the dimly lit parking lot and my 1951 Cadillac convertible. The big old boat of a car had wide comfortable seats guaranteed to give anyone ideas.

I relaxed against the wall, rubbing my shoulders to scratch a mostly imaginary itch.  Cassidy stood quietly as usual, something I liked very much about him. In his company I found an inner peace the rest of the world seemed determined to destroy. We'd hung out a lot this summer, and not just because our mom's were close friends.

"That sucked."  

"Phft." I nodded. The action movie we'd watched scored rave reviews from everyone. We seemed to be the only ones who thought it was a farce. "You got that right. Coffee?" I suggested as casually as I could, hoping he wouldn't notice my breath catching on the last word. I stared straight ahead, watching the stream of people exiting the theater slow to a trickle.

"Nah." He threw his head back and stared up at the sky. I risked a glance at him out the corner of my eye. He skin was pale in the moonlight, his lips a slash of dark color. Thin white fingers tucked strands of dark hair behind his ear.  I detected a faint tremor in those fingers. I know I didn't imagine the way his throat worked as he swallowed.

I caught myself reaching out to reassure him, about what I didn't know, I just knew I didn't like his expression, the way it appeared he had to work up courage to speak to me. Cold chills raced down my spine despite the sultry night heat. Had I given myself away?

"Seth, we have to talk. I can't keep doing this with you."

Oh God. I had. He knew. "Don't. It doesn’t mean anything. I'll get over it, we can just be friends."

His head whipped around, eyes wide dark pools of …something hot and liquid and brain stealing. Fuck. "I have to ask. Seth, we've been hanging out all summer. Is this going anywhere? I keep thinking you're shy, and you'll make your move, then that I made a mistake, that I'm not seeing what I think when I look at you, that it's all in my mind, in my imagination. I have to know. Do you want me?"

Gratitude stole the last of my restraint, and instead of tasting his mouth on the fragrant cigarette, I tasted it for real.