The Captain's Cabin Previously Published Flash Fiction: #FREE #malexmale #NSFW

Great news! Some time back my publisher, Breathless Press, published a Flash Fiction anthology called Hot Shots. Since then, they've gone out of business and the rights to all these stories have returned to the authors. While I'm busy working on getting my novellas back on the market, I thought I'd share these super short, super hot, pieces with you. Hot shots had 5 stories... this is one of my favorites.

The Captain's Cabin

©Lee Brazil

Genre: historical fiction, m/m/m

Hot Flash/ Word Count: 1,000 

Mick opened the portholes to let some air into the hot and muggy captain's cabin. The rest of the crew was ashore in the mangy harbor town drinking and fucking, so it was safe enough no matter how rowdy things got when Robbie and the Captain returned. The fresh sea air tempted him to linger, but he had a deadline to meet.

His lovers had rowed ashore with the crew to negotiate a shipment of rum for their next port call at Charleston in the colonies. He'd wanted to go too, to find his land legs, but Devlin had taken one look at the state of his cabin and assured Mick that if he wanted to sit he'd attend to his chores. The threat of a whipping hadn't caused Mick's frenzied cleaning though. No. It was Robbie's thoughtfully tacked on suggestion that perhaps Mick would be better punished by being made to watch the evening's activities from the captain's straight-back chair instead of occupying his accustomed position between the two men.

He'd rushed to get the place ship shape before they returned. The whitewashed cabin was neat as a pin, whatever the fuck that meant. It was something he'd picked up from Robbie.  His lordship, the first mate. Mick shivered. Robbie was...if he'd had to choose between the Captain with his broad shoulders and piercing blue eyes, and Robbie's slender elegance, he'd have been hard pressed to decide. His captain could be rough, abrupt and harsh, but Robbie's punishments were always the more devastating.

Sweat dripped into his eyes as Mick surveyed his efforts. From the gleaming polished floorboards to the neatly hanging clothes, everything was secure. No fault could be found. He'd avoided dire threats of being forced to watch and not participate in his lover's activities.

Mick stripped down swiftly to his trousers, hanging his shirt on a peg.  Shrugging, he pushed off the trousers and hung them as well. Just in case he'd missed something, he'd give Devlin and Robbie something else to think about.

Voices drifted through the porthole on the breeze. The captain's deep baritone followed Robbie's husky chuckle. Hastily he climbed onto the bed, pretending to sleep. The voices grew louder and footfalls echoed in the empty passageway. He forced himself to relax, but couldn't do anything about the way his cock thickened heavily against his thigh. The key clinked in the lock and the door hit the bulkhead.

“Now there’s a pretty sight.  What do we do now?” Robbie's amusement was clear in his voice.

Mick struggled to keep the grin from stretching his lips and giving away his wakeful state.

“I’m sure I can think of something!”  Wicked intent echoed in Devlin's husky declaration.

A rough hand gripped his thigh, and a slick hot tongue pressed between his open lips. Warm wet silk engulfed his cock.  Mick's eyes shot open, and his back arched.  He moaned low and husky into Robbie's mouth as he met eyes gleaming with laughter.

The heated tug of Devlin's mouth on his cock, the hungry stroke of Robbie’s tongue against his own set his heart to racing.  Gasping, he pulled his mouth from Robbie’s. “I want to touch you.” His own temerity in making demands shook him.

Robbie leaned back, pulling his fine linen shirt over his head.  Nimble fingers unfastened the fly of his trousers.  Mick dragged his hands down the golden skin of Robbie’s lightly muscled chest.  Sun bleached hairs, relics of the few times Robbie threw propriety to the wind and went shirtless on deck, wandered in a sparse trail down, and he followed them, pausing to allow Robbie to unfasten the last of the buttons.  Together they spread the flaps of fabric aside, and Mick moaned in appreciation of the thick cock that burst forth.  Robbie took his cock in hand and painted Mick’s swollen lips with the damp tip.  Mick licked the moisture quickly away, then flicked the tip with his tongue. 

"Mm."

The murmur sent a glow of satisfaction through Mick. His balls drew up tight to his body, and his cock swelled painfully.  Licking and sucking, he spilled his release into Devlin’s mouth. 

Devlin pulled back and crawled up between Robbie's thighs, licking and sucking two fingers. 

Mick pause. He opened his mouth over Robbie’s throbbing cock, gliding down until his nose brushed the crinkled hair at the base, then settled into a familiar rhythm.

Robbie’s low moans mingled with Devlin’s muttered curses.  

“Ung.  Devlin, yes.” Robbie reached for Mick’s hand, guiding it under his balls to feel Devlin’s thick length sliding insistently into him. 

“Mm.” Eagerly, Mick twisted to watch. Impatient fingers fisted in his hair, and he swiped his tongue a few times across the sensitive skin of Robbie’s balls before he licked and kissed his way up the shaft.  He pressed a lingering kiss to the hand that held the cock, before reaching Robbie’s damp tip and taking his cock back into his mouth.  

Closing his eyes, he accepted Devlin's rhythm, absorbing the sounds of pleasure filling the room. He caressed every inch of flesh he could reach, massaging the jut of a hip bone, stretching to draw his nails down a spine. 

Devlin's groan mingled with Robbie’s feverish cry. Mick clutched Robbie's hips tightly, swallowing the salty cum eagerly, darting his tongue into the tiny opening to catch every drop. 

 Slowly his lovers wrestled him down onto the bed and he lay panting.The two men leaned forward, eyes locked to his lips and he trembled in anticipation.  His mouth opened on a sigh just as two pairs of lips descended determinedly.  They rubbed and pushed, fighting for possession, until first one then the other slipped a tongue inside to taste. 

His moan of appreciation was met with muffled chuckles, and a few minutes passed in long exploratory wet kisses.  When they lay breathless, cuddled together in the heat of the night, he was snuggly between his captain and the first mate, the two men he loved.

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.”

Have the witch's potions been effective? #flashfiction #mmromance #500words

This picture crossed my newsfeed on Pinterest... I was hooked. I'm sure he's a fabulous model, but I think he'd make an even better wizard. Combine that with Love Potion #9, which I could not get out of my head, and... 

Here you are. A bit of a flash to go with your cup of coffee today. 

                   The Wizard of Gorham Alley

“You again?” Hair tickled its way across his shoulder as Raven tipped his head and surveyed the man blocking his doorway. “Sorry, I’m all out of eel’s tongue. You’ll have to face the taverns on your own.”

“That’s not what I’m here for.” Seth Goran entered the shop, with a swift, cautious backward glance before closing the door. Snick. The deadbolt shot home.

Raven’s brows rose. He removed his hat and replaced on the peg beside the apothecary cabinet. Crossing his arms, he leaned on the work table, waiting.

To his amusement, Seth pulled down the moonshade over the shop’s round window, even flipped back the curtain that led to Raven’s tiny living quarters.

“Can I help you?” He’d had enough of Seth’s odd behavior. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure we’re alone.” The heavy black velvet curtain fell into place as Seth turned to Raven, his expression intent, gaze hot.

Oxygen vanished from the room. Raven’s throat tightened, his mouth dried. His heart pounded a frantic rhythm. “Seth…” Fear tingled his fingertips; power buzzed at the base of his skull with no outlet, no ingredients to push it into.

Seth stalked forward. Raven shrank back until the apothecary cabinet was a flat line at his back.   A hanging bunch dried lavender caught in his hair. Still Seth crowded closer, until Raven heard the golden god’s heart beat over his own. The heat of the swordsman’s body engulfed Raven…

Lust.

Fire.

Love.

His cock stiffened, mind scrambled. “I…” Fear, inadequate at quenching the flames Seth aroused, made him stutter. “I…”

“I’ve come here every Friday for how long?” Seth bent closer, making Raven feel small.

“S...six weeks.” He’d grown to anticipate and dread the man’s visits. “Six potions…” He never believed this man needed the love potions he demanded, but Grandmother taught him to give the customer what they wanted, be it a love potion for the handsomest man in the garrison, or a beauty cream for the fairest maiden in the kingdom.

Give them what they ask for, because sometimes all they really need is confidence.

“That’s right.” Seth stood so close his breath stirred the strands of Raven’s hair, scalding his ear. “And in six weeks… you haven’t wondered if those potions were effective?”

“I…” A wet, hot tongue licked its way over his cheek. Hot breath seared his parted lips.

Seth seized upon his his vulnerability, stole a kiss that found its way straight to Raven’s soul. The attraction he’d fought exploded; he was fully hard, throbbing with need for release before Seth’s mouth retreated.

“But… I didn’t really need them to, did I?” Seth murmured, sliding his fingers through Raven’s hair, tipping his head up and peering into his eyes.

Raven blinked, “No?” Good thing too, because the tincture of eel tongue and onion with raw sugar and herbs wasn’t good for much more than a nourishing broth. “Surely you’ve guessed by now that the potion was an excuse?”

“You…”

“Do I still need it?”

WIP Wednesday : Insomnia

This week I'm working on edits for a few stories I'd love to get out this month and early next month, so I don't have an actual WIP to share with you today. Instead, here's a bit of a flash- longish, about 1250 words- that is on my "Expand this someday" list. Meet Zeke and Jordan.

Insomnia

Flash Fiction

Copyright 2013 @Lee Brazil

"I can't sleep." Zeke yawned and belatedly covered his mouth with his hand as he noticed his host's eyes narrowing. Of course, his modesty would have been better served clutching his shirt closed over his thong underwear, but since he couldn't sleep…

"Maybe," Frosty disapproval echoed in Jordan's voice and his eyes were cold enough Zeke had to resist the urge to shiver. "You're just used to having someone else in bed with you."

And now he was fighting the urge to roll his eyes at his best friend's big brother's prudish attitude. "I don't think that's the problem, Jordy. I sleep alone plenty." Where the hell had Jordan McIntosh gotten the idea he was some sort of slut anyway?

"You forget I had the pleasure of being your next door neighbor for three years," Jordan's lips curled in a sneer. "The parade of men in and out of your door…"

Blinking, Zeke sipped the whisky in his tumbler and remembered those days. During college, he and Perry had lived in a duplex that Perry's parents owned. The unit next to theirs had been occupied by Perry's older brother Jordan, who had been ordered by his father to keep an eye on the young boys and keep them out of trouble. "That wasn't just my door." He pointed out calmly. He could say more, but the truth of the matter was that if Perry hadn't told his brother about his gay adventures during their years of schooling, then it certainly wasn't Zeke's place to do it.

"Oh, right. Perry is straight, or have you forgotten he's getting married next weekend? Which is why you," This was accompanied by a derisive, assessing glance that left Zeke's skin tingling, "are sleeping, alone, in my guest room."

"Whatever. I can't sleep because I'm too keyed up. It's been a hell of a week. I thought a drink might help, but you're right. A good fuck might turn the same trick. Are you offering?" He threw the last bit in just for shits and grins, and because he was annoyed with his friend's brother's judgmental attitude. Not like he didn't know damn well that Jordan McIntosh had been promiscuity itself until an HIV scare in his last year of college had reformed his habits.

""I'll pass. I’m not desperate enough for release to fuck just anyone." His distaste was clear in the way his head lifted and his nostrils flared. Or was it?

Zeke set his tumbler down and stretched his arms over his head, relishing the relief to his tense muscles as much as the flutter of Jordan's nostrils and the white line that bracketed his mouth. Smiling the sexy smile that made a million hearts throb on his daytime soap opera, he couldn’t resist teasing a little more. "But Jordy, Perry swore you'd take care of me." He let his lashes flutter, peeked at the six foot mountain of stoke broker in front of him from under them.

And found himself crushed between the marble counter top and what had to be at least two hundred pounds of hot, hard muscle. This time his eyes closed for real and he dragged in a breath, trying to jumpstart his heart after the foolish organ stalled with the contact. "Fuck." He breathed, feeling a branding iron of steely cock rubbing against his groin.

"That's all it would be, movie star." Hard hands closed on his shoulders. Jordan bent forward, and Zeke retreated, leaning back, struggling to unpin his arms. The movement brought their grins into even closer contact, and Zeke's cock made its own preference for resolving the sleep issue with sex instead of alcohol clear.

"Who needs anything else?" He wormed his arms out of Jordan's embrace and made the most of his freedom by wind his fingers in Jordan's thick, dark hair and dragging his mouth down for a kiss.

Jordan jerked his head back with a wordless snarl. "No kissing. Kissing is for lovers, and this is most definitely not going to be any of that romantic drivel you put on for the world."

The nearly hysterical urge to laugh at that little bit of prunes and prisms was overcome by dwelling on the fact that it made it sound like Jordan actually watched his show. "That's not me, it's script writers. I can give up on the kissing, as long as it's only mouth to mouth you're saying no to." He let his gaze drop, inventorying places on that hard body he'd like to kiss. The man wore pajamas, for Christ sake, silky green fabric that matched his eyes, clung to his body and did absolutely nothing to conceal the length and breadth of his shoulders, the flatness of his belly, or the mouthwatering stretch of cock tenting the fabric.

"Yes…you can kiss me anywhere else you like…" The sentence ended on a groan as Zeke took immediate advantage of the permission, latching his lips onto the fabric that covered Jordan's nipple. Dampening it with his tongue, he fancied he could taste the man through the silk, and twisted his hips. His cock pulsed, and he shuddered, liking the feel of the silk.

"It would be better…" Zeke pulled away, breathing hard, "naked." He finished, sliding his hands under the silk and lifting. Jordan took over, stripping the shirt over his head and tossing in on the black marble counter top. He stepped back and holding Zeke's gaze, hooked his thumbs in the waist band of the pajama pants.

"Go on," Jordan's voice had lowered, roughened, and the husky new tones conveyed a desire that encouraged Zeke to shake off any doubts. Shaking his head, he shrugged his shoulders and let his own shirt fall, leaving him standing in his thong while Jordan looked him over hotly.

Pouting slightly, he lifted a brow. "I'm still ahead of you here, McIntosh."

The pajama pants fell to a silken swirl around Jordan's feet and Zeke's gaze followed them. He kept his glance there, trained on the pool while he got his breathing under control. He was suave, debonair, a heart throb. He was experienced, this wasn't his first time at the rodeo, or on stage, or up to bat or whatever fucking metaphor you wanted to fill in the blank with.

Just because Jordan McIntosh had always been the unattainable fantasy, the image he'd jerked off to for the first time at thirteen, the crush who'd never known he was alive, was no reason to act like a virginal idiot. And he knew he'd waited too long to look back up, because  Jordon was forcing his chin up, searching his eyes and all Zeke could do was swallow and close his lids against the intrusion of that pale gold gaze, to hide everything he shouldn't be feeling.

"Fuck."

The kitchen door slammed, and Zeke crossed his arms protectively over his chest.  Fucking whisky. Now he'd never sleep. And, he'd be lucky if he didn't find himself shuffled off to some hotel in the morning despite the way the press hounded him at every sighting.

Sighing, he tossed back the last of the whisky and returned to his guest room, lying on the bed and feigning sleep when he heard footsteps in the hall outside his door. The sound stopped, as though someone stood outside the door, then continued, fading into the darkness, leaving him alone in a strange bed, with the fear that had originally sent him to the kitchen, and a healthy dose of humiliation in case that jittery someone's watching you feeling ever faded enough.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You can also pick up the first book in my Pulp Friction series on sale at Smashwords this month!  

Chances Are       $0.99 (~66% off) with code FM25N until 2013-10-22

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.

Hot Flashes...sexy shorts

New Release Today! 

This collection of short, sexy flash fiction is even on sale at 20% off! 

I have four stories in this anthology. 

The Captain's Cabin

While the captain and first mate negotiate a shipment, Mick cleans the captain's cabin then strips down to wait, avoiding the threat of watching instead of participating in their sexual play.

EXCERPT

Mick opened the portholes to let some air into the hot and muggy captain's cabin. The rest of the crew was ashore in the mangy harbor town drinking and fucking, so it was safe enough no matter how rowdy things got when Robbie and the Captain returned. The fresh sea air tempted him to linger, but he had a deadline to meet.

His lovers had rowed ashore with the crew to negotiate a shipment of rum for their next port call at Charleston in the colonies. He'd wanted to go too, to find his land legs, but Devlin had taken one look at the state of his cabin and assured Mick that if he wanted to sit he'd attend to his chores. The threat of a whipping hadn't caused Mick's frenzied cleaning though. No. It was Robbie's thoughtfully tacked on suggestion that perhaps Mick would be better punished by being made to watch the evening's activities from the captain's straight-back chair instead of occupying his accustomed position between the two men.

He'd rushed to get the place ship-shape before they returned. The whitewashed cabin was neat as a pin, whatever the fuck that meant. It was something he'd picked up from Robbie. His lordship, the first mate. Mick shivered. Robbie was...if he'd had to choose between the Captain with his broad shoulders and piercing blue eyes, and Robbie's slender elegance, he'd have been hard pressed to decide. His captain could be rough, abrupt and harsh, but Robbie's punishments were always the more devastating.

Spin the Bottle

Corey takes his seat in the circle, ready for his chance to spin the bottle, but Tarek's shocking revelation brings his dreams crashing down.

EXCERPT

Laughter and squeals greeted Corey as he descended the narrow stairwell into Amir's basement. He followed the sounds down the dark hallway into the game room. A large punch bowl on a side table held everyone's keys. Corey clenched his fist around the key to his own Mustang. Not this time. He shoved the keys in his pocket. Hopefully when it came time to split up, they'd be too drunk to notice him leaving alone.

Several people lounged in the dark corners, mostly established couples who had no interest in Amir's games. Others sat in a circle on the carpeted floor.

His gaze was drawn instantly to the handsome Amir, seated cross legged in the circle, his hand poised over the empty beer bottle.

"Spin, spin, spin." The guests chanted, giggling and eyeing each other speculatively.

This would be his night. Their night. He stepped forward to fill an empty space in the circle. A hard hand closed on his forearm. "Why the fuck do you let him do this to you every week?"

Corey shook off the grip. His skin burned where Tarek, Amir's older brother, had touched him. His glance was drawn again to Amir, who watched them intently. "Do what?"

"He's never going to give you what you want."

"Come play, Corey. This might be your lucky night." Amir laughed, pointing to the spot Corey had been heading for.

His Lordship's Journal

In a time where society dictates that to be together is to court death,  an aristocrat cannot resist finding every excuse to be near his estate manager.

EXCERPT

You sit across the room at the small mahogany desk, stooped over a heavy ledger chewing the tip of a pen in concentration. Your brow furrows just a bit, adding up the columns to double check.  It's a waste of your time, because I just reviewed the quarterly accounts, and I know exactly where the error in figuring occurred. The chandler has overcharged for the beeswax candles used at last night's ball. It's a mere few pounds difference, and not worth fussing over, but it keeps you inside.

You appear a little out of place in the study my long suffering mother decorated for me. She doesn't understand why you can't just use the estate manager's office like your father did. I'm not entirely sure you understand my reasoning either. My father, the late Earl, met with his estate manager once a week for an accounting. I can't go that long without seeing you.

I know you'd rather be out there, riding the lands, checking the fields and talking with my people. You're very much a hands-on manager, but I want you here, where I can peek under my lashes at you and remember.

Your face looks almost exactly like that when you concentrate on pleasure...perhaps a little more flushed, more intense. The calculations have your eyes narrowed in frustration. You think I'm being too demanding.

In other settings you love that demand...

Tarek's Rule

Would it be foolish or unkind for Tarek to take advantage of Corey's disappointment with Amir's duplicity to press his own suit?

EXCERPT

Tarek leaned in close to Corey. Admittedly, he thought the young man might run back to Amir.  He curled a hand around Corey's tense neck, massaging gently before guiding his chin up to kiss his lips lightly.  Pulling back from their first kiss in the basement had tested his willpower. He'd wanted so much more.

Corey gasped. "How did you know he was cheating?"

Tarek traced the tip of his tongue over Corey's full lower lip, trying to steal another taste of temptation. "I taught him how...the floor's uneven. It's all physics."

"I thought someday he'd realize..."

"He loves you, Corey. But not like I do." He glided his tongue along the narrow top lip, nibbling gently with his teeth at the plump bottom one.

"I think—"

Encouraged, Tarek tugged Corey closer until he could feel the man's cock stirring. He ground against Corey, loving the tiny whimper that elicited. "You think too much. Just feel." He was pushing Corey hard, he knew that, taking advantage, but damn it, he'd waited years.

"Fuck that." Corey's light growl made Tarek chuckle again. "Kiss me like you mean it."

"Like this?" He brought their mouths together again, no teasing this time, just taking.  His tongue plunged deep, seeking and finding places that made Corey groan and whimper.  His hands dropped down, tracing their way back up under Corey's T-shirt, finding bare skin.

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Flash Fiction: Every Note

Well, you might have known that I couldn't make it long without writing to a prompt...And of course, I dragged Havan along with me. This is a rather long flash, but I thought every word was needed. If you find any extraneous, don't tell me!

Prompt: "What are you doing here?"

Every Note

Copyright Jan 2013 © Lee Brazil

"What are you doing here?" Trey rolled over in the bed and pried one eye open. Yep. Jax lounged in the doorway in his usual, come and fuck me I'm home pose. In fact, he'd made himself so much at home that he'd already shed the disgraceful aged sandals he called footwear. Probably left them right inside the front door, where you can trip on them in the morning, Trey thought bitterly, letting his gaze roam hungrily over the lean figure slouched in front of him. Long dyed dark hair had been mussed by the wind, thin lips stretched in a hopeful smile, and damn it...it looked like the man had lost at least twenty pounds on this tour.

"The tour is over. Where else would I be?" Jax shrugged matter of factly.

Scrunching his pillow up and shoving it under his head, Trey sat up and glared, bleary eyed, at his ex, the rising star of the folk rock world. "We broke up before you went on this tour, or did you conveniently forget that?"

Jax rolled his eyes and strolled toward the bed, stripping off his tight band t-shirt and shucking his worn jeans. "That was just you being controlling and jealous. I know how your mind works. You wanted me to think about us while I was gone. It worked. I couldn’t get you out of my mind for the last three months."

If that could be interpreted as meaning that he hadn't been with anyone else, Trey would have scooted over and rolled Jax under him in a heart beat. Unfortunately, he knew better. "Right. In between all the glamour of life on a tour bus, you were thinking about me, about us, about life in a one bedroom apartment just barely on the right side of the tracks." He didn't even try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. What was the point? Jax wasn't interested in the day to day minutiae of life and love. He wanted the sex, the companionship on his own terms, not the work.

"You painted the living room. The couch is three feet closer to the patio, that's a new coffee table, the plant your sister gave us when we moved in here two years ago seems to have spawned, and the picture of us at your graduation is missing from the end table." Jax knelt at the side of the bed. "Should I go on? I didn't check specifically, but I'd bet my cd's, movies, and books are all missing. The shelves looked a little skimpy. I'd have checked, but I was anxious to see you, you see."

Trey's jaw dropped in astonishment. "How long have you been here?"

"I've been watching you sleep, just for a minute or two. I wanted to store up the memory, just in case." Callused fingers stroked his exposed shoulder, pleading eyes met his gaze.

Trey shuddered. Stay firm, he urged himself. This close, it was easy to see the sparse five o'clock shadow of thin blond hairs, the tiny lines of fatigue at the corners of that pouting mouth. "It's so easy, when you've been away, to think that this is what you want." He argued. "But when you're the one who stays at home, who waits for someone to return, seeing those little reminders every day...It's too much to ask."

"I can't stay here; traveling is part of the job."

Jax sounded as weary as Trey felt. "I know. The music comes first, it always has. When will we come first?"

He realized his mistake when Jax's expression brightened. "So you admit there is a we still?"

Opening his mouth to issue a denial, Trey couldn't find the words to express himself. "Damn it, Jax. There's been a we since you pranced in to pre-school in a purple tutu twenty-three years ago." He ignored the bright flash of white teeth as Jax's smile broadened. "But sometimes, the we that we are isn't good for me. Sometimes, I have to think about me, not us. Just like touring is good for you, and your career, I have to think about what's good for me."

Blue eyes darkened with hurt, though Jax controlled his flinch quickly. "You're saying I'm not good for you?"

"You've never been good for me, Jax. Not even during those purple tutu days." His heart ached at the admission.

Jax reared back from him, eye's widening in shock. "What?"

"I've always stood behind you Jax, even when standing there got me made fun of, mocked, ostracized, beat up. Being your friend, being with you, made it all worth while. But when you're not here, how does that make it a we?" He wasn't making sense, he knew that. But his heart believed every word he said, and from the expression on his face, Jax understood what he meant, even if he didn't understand the mess in his head himself.

"There's always a we, right here." Jax tapped his chest. "You're always with me, every mile on every bus, every minute of every concert, every note of every song. Do you think I could step up on a stage anywhere and have the guts to sing about love, or friendship, or hope, if I didn't have you with me?"

His heart rate picked, up, a slow burn began in the pit of Trey's stomach. "Really? But..."

"But nothing. I told you, it's always you. Nothing ever happens on a tour that isn't just work. I crawl into my bunk exhausted after smiling til two am, and I dream of you, of coming back to you, of kissing you—"

Trey stopped his speech with a kiss, flinging aside the bedclothes to invite Jax to climb up with him, devoured his mouth with a hunger born of denial, of loss. He tore his mouth away briefly to mutter, "I love you." Then swallowed Jax's response with another demanding kiss.