WIP Wednesday: The Interview

WIP Wednesday- Welcome back to Wednesday folk's where I share my current project with you - inmost cases this is an unedited excerpt of a project, but this week, I'm working on revising my holiday story The Interview, and so you're getting a dose of that!

The Interview was first published in the Story Orgy Anthology, And The Prompt Is Holiday edition two years ago. It was released as a single last year, and after being re-edited this year will be a single as well.

EXCERPT 
Copyright Dec 2011 By Lee Brazil

Chapter 1

The notes of "I'll Be Home For Christmas" wafted through the air. It seemed that no matter how many spritely and cheerful Christmas songs there were, I never heard any but the melancholy ones lately. Those that weren't blatantly sad served to remind me of what I was missing this Christmas. Who wants to hear about couples cuddling in front of the fire when they're spending the holiday alone? And who cares if Parson Brown asks to marry them when you couldn't get your boyfriend to commit to living in the same state?
I tugged my red wool cap down farther over my ears, shoved dark glasses on to block the sun from my aching eyes and headed to the library. I wanted to snarl at whatever idiot had his music playing so loud in the staff parking lot, but it wasn't worth the effort of speaking. Today was the last day of classes before winter break at the university, and I had exactly six hours of work at the library before my holiday, such as it was, started.
My boots crunched on the salted sidewalks as I wove my way between beleaguered students. The last finals were today, and the stress showed on everyone's faces. When the third student with his nose in a book nearly slammed into me, I darted from the semi clear sidewalk and tromped through the new layer of snow. I took a bitter satisfaction in marring that pristine sparkling surface with my boot prints. I didn't even care that this little side excursion might ruin my leather boots. Who cared? They were sleek and sexy, not real cold weather boots, but if no one was going to admire me in them, then what was the point?
Six miserable hours that I wished would drag out for four more days. I wasn't looking forward to going home at the end of this shift and spending the next few days being reminded that I was alone. I'd have way too much time to think about Cris and our years together. He should have been there. We'd planned for him to be there. Except, last weekend he'd called and told me about a new offer he had for an excellent position, great benefits, no more traveling. I could tell he really wanted that job.
I really wanted him to be around more, too. So I told him to go for it. Then the other shoe fell. I should have known there was a catch. There's always a catch. Turned out the only time he could interview for this position was Christmas Eve.
I'd assured him it was fine, that all would be well, that my family would keep me busy and I'd barely miss him if he stayed in California for the interview. After all, we weren't kids. He could arrive on December 26th and we could celebrate just fine.
But I was lying and he damn sure should have known it. Cris just accepted it though. Accepted and carried on as we always had, calling and texting and emailing and having our lovely long distance, open relationship.
The one I was beginning to loathe with all my being.
The familiar chirp of my cell phone had me reaching into my pocket, pausing near some evergreen shrubs just outside the library. I pushed my hair back over my shoulder as the wind whipped around the corner and sent it flying. Thin strands clung to the Chap Stick that I'd lined my lips with. Ordinarily I'd have used my favorite lip maximizer, but I'd been so down, I hadn't bothered to go through my usual winter ritual of applying mashed papaya paste to exfoliate and soften my lips. Which I guess is kind of crazy, because the whole purpose of the ritual was to keep my lips kissable in appearance and texture despite the dry cold, and just because Cris was arriving four days late didn't mean there wouldn't be plenty of kissing when he got here!
"Hello." I should have checked to see who it was before I answered. It was Cris, and I had to pretend to be cheerful and brimming with Christmas spirit when I was anything but.
"Hey Ben, I just called to remind you to get the tree after work today. You said last night that you hadn't gotten it yet, and I know it's one of your favorite things to do."
With you. I held the guilt inducing words back. With Cris, shopping for the perfect tree was my favorite holiday tradition. We made an event out of the whole thing. A thermos of hot cocoa with marshmallows in hand, we would wander through the tree lots looking for the perfect vehicle to display the antique and handmade ornaments that I inherited from my grandmother. We measured the distance between branches, studied every Scotch pine and every blue spruce, knowing all the while that we'd settle for a fragrant Douglas or red fir with its sturdy, widely spaced branches to show off the ornaments better.
I wasn't so much looking forward to finding a tree alone. Or decorating it alone. Hanging crocheted snowflakes, tinsel, and Grandma's vintage glass bird ornaments wouldn't have the same appeal without Cris's firm grip guiding my hand to the perfect spot on the tree. He tried very hard, my Cris, not to let his obsessive demand for symmetry and order mar the holidays, but the twitching always got to be too much. I confess, I deliberately placed an ornament or two in an awkward spot just to feel his hand on mine, the heat of his body close behind me.
"Yeah. I'll go when I get done here. Can you call me around four?" It would be a little bit better if I could talk to him about the choices, maybe send a photo of the final product.
"Ummm. I'll try, but I can't promise anything."
So I probably wouldn't even get that solace. "Okay. Call if you can. I have to go. Work awaits."
I hid in the stacks all day, shelving cart after cart of books, losing myself in the scent of leather and old paper. It beat working the counter where the aroma of pine from the decorative evergreen boughs—genuine, despite fire codes—and the peppermint of the candy dish just screamed Christmas. It beat smiling cheerfully and wishing sleep deprived teenagers a happy holiday—because it is a state funded school and Merry Christmas is just too politically incorrect.
In the end, I didn't bother with the measuring tape or the cocoa, just pointed my '67 Mustang straight for the nearest tree lot. Go in, pick a tree, go home and set it up so the branches could drop. I could do this, I didn't need Cris holding my hand to choose a tree.
My confidence in my ability to function as a rational adult was shaken when my first step on the tree lot brought tears to my eyes and bitterness to my heart. The scent of the pine trees made me nauseous, and the laughter of the kids running about chasing each other from Santa's sleigh to the giant snowman cut-out made me weepy. I've never been much of a people person, but I've never felt such a need for companionship either. Being on the tree lot without Cris, I was lonely. Overwhelmingly so.
I didn't have the heart to look around. Cris would have played tag with those kids. He would have coaxed me into the silly decorated sleigh and charmed some passing stranger into taking our picture.
I grabbed the first tree I found that seemed less than six feet tall and more than four. The tree needed to be tall enough to set on the low table in front of the street-side window of my living room. Everything else, I could work around. So what if the ornaments didn't line up perfectly because the branches weren't symmetrical?
I wouldn't say I wound up with a Charlie Brown tree, but the fact that the tree wasn't perfect soothed me a bit. The fact that it cost about half what we normally paid shocked me. Who knew? Somehow I had always assumed a tree for under a hundred bucks was impossible to find. I dropped the change into a bell-ringing Santa's bucket, feeling a bit better about both myself and my tree.
Funny how that works; I hadn't bought a cheaper tree intentionally to donate the rest of what I would have spent to any worthy cause. It just happened. And I felt just the tiniest bit lighter, happier, afterward.
I helped the two lot workers in red and black flannel shirts secure the tree to the roof of my car by staying the hell out of their way and not protesting about my paint job more than twice while they secured the tree with tarp and bungee cords that I provided. Cris would have been all over that, double checking and testing the security.
On impulse, I headed back over to the sleigh, where a weary looking young mom was struggling to get two rambunctious kids to sit still long enough so she could snap a picture.
"I'll take the picture if you want to get in there with them," I offered a bit awkwardly. Hopefully she wouldn't think I was some kind of stalking perv.
"Would you?" She seemed relieved and excited, maybe the rest of the world wasn't as paranoid and leery as I.
"Sure, if you'll snap a picture of me for my boyfriend after." Cris would get his annual photo of me in the Christmas sleigh after all.
She held out her gloved hand. "I'm Debbie Adams. The mischievous angels," she grimaced wryly as I awkwardly took her hand, "are Chad and Brad."
"Ben Cavelli. Twins, huh?" I accepted her camera as she seated herself between the two boys.
With their mom between them, the two demons turned into angels, smiling and snuggling into their mom's down coat, looking up at her with laughing blue eyes. I must have taken half dozen candid shots before mom got the kids positioned the way she wanted them.
Five minutes, that's all the stillness the little ones could take, but I did snap the pic the now smiling mom wanted.
I handed her my phone, showed her how to take a picture with it, and brushed off her thanks. Instead of climbing into the seat of the sleigh though, I leaned back against the painted side of the crimson vehicle and whipped off my dark glasses. I would send the picture, along with one of the tree, to Cris before I went to bed tonight. I wouldn't be looking my best, not without eyeliner and lip gloss, but I'd be genuinely smiling.
Sitting in my car, I laughed to see that the young mother had also taken a few candid shots…one of my ass in the tight denim jeans that was absolutely making the send-to-Cris cut.

Offer #1

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m/m Contemporary Romance, erotic

First they were three, now there are two.
Can Jason and Morgan make a relationship work without Paul?

Now only 99 cents with coupon code QA69U at Smashwords

New EXCERPT: Servant at Play

NEW RELEASE EXCERPT

Servant at Play

A Rake in London #5

Available at 

Amazon, ARE, and SMashwords

EXCERPT 
Marcus Jennings finger-combed his long brown hair and gathered it back into a queue. Tying the hair with a length of thin black riband, he cast a glance at the man sleeping peacefully in the large four poster bed. Gavin had come home from a night at the theater, troubled and uncharacteristically reticent about sharing his adventure.

He'd been weary, quiet, but adamant that Marcus stay the night in his bed, in his arms. Disturbed by Gavin's strange behavior, Marcus had acquiesced, despite the fact that he had a perfectly good bed in a room of his own on the floor above.

He'd have slept better if he'd retired to his own chamber and had even considered doing so well before Gavin's return from his engagement with the youthful Bernard. His lover was an excellent playfellow, an amenable and ardent lover, but in all honesty, he could only be described as a poor bedmate. Gavin tossed, turned, grunted, and sweated in his sleep as though his dreams were peopled by demons.

But curiosity had compelled Marcus to wait up despite his lord's direction, and empathy had kept him at Gavin's side throughout the hours as he dodged flung hands and ill-placed knees, pushed sweaty limbs aside, and wafted crisp linens to cool them both.

Unlike the last time they'd shared a bed and Gavin had murmured Bernard's name in a lusty dream, the young lord had muttered Marcus's own name and clung like a limpet even in his sleep, as though afraid.
The habit of early rising was hard to break, and when the rosy fingers of dawn streaked the sky, despite his lack of slumber, Marcus's lids had popped open, and he'd found himself staring at the ornate canopy of the bed. He'd managed to disentangle himself from Gavin's clutches and dressed by the sun's weak light.
It would be hours yet before Gavin woke, but the rest of the household was stirring, and Marcus had duties that could occupy his time until he could sit Gavin down and coerce the truth of his troubled demeanor from him.

For instance, Nicodemus Martins would arrive by eight of the clock to conduct his master's correspondence and other business, and that young man was a challenge that Marcus was determined to master. He crossed to the door and made his way down the hall to the servant's stair.

His most subtle ploys had met with blank-eyed stares, stilted conversation and finally outright avoidance. It was time to beard the dragon in his den. Marcus smiled to himself at the idea of the petite, slender secretary as a dragon and himself as St. George. Perhaps the analogy was not accurate, but in light of what might transpire, he felt much as that stalwart warrior must have.

Not that he feared physical harm from Nicodemus Martins. He had as much as two stone weight advantage, as well as height and reach, over the younger man and was certain he would be the victor in any conflict between them. No, his concern lay in the uncertainty of Nico's preferences.

If his blatant attempt at seduction was unsuccessful, and the secretary was of a mind to cavil at being opportuned in such a fashion, then he could cause trouble for Gavin and that was something that Marcus could not allow.

For himself, it wasn't of no great import. He was a man of moderate needs, modest means, and content with his station. But being deported because of his tastes wouldn't alter that at all. There was the chance that a man such as himself would be hung instead, but the true damage would come to Gavin, his lineage and position in society would be lost, his future drastically different than the life of luxury he currently enjoyed.
The idea of harm coming to his beloved Gavin through his actions was enough to still his intent, to make him reconsider, but the lure of the pretty blue eyes and the desire roused by the whip-thin frame were heady competition. Besides, Gavin had concluded aright. He loved the hunt, the chase, and the thrill of victory. He would just have to ensure that no one suffered through his amusement.

Having arrived at the kitchen, Martin resolved once again to temper his interest and avoid potential social ruin. He loaded a tray with rich steaming chocolate; flaky, buttery continental bread known as croissants, and a small china dish of golden honey from the baron's own estate. The mingled odors were sensual and alluring, the bait in a trap that would grant him at least the favor of Martin's company.

Anticipation made his steps quicken as he left the sleepy-eyed cook and his crew of two cleaning up the remains of the servant's morning meal and preparing the baron's breakfast.

Outside the study, he paused briefly, setting the tray on a side table to adjust his burden and himself. His steps weren’t the only thing that had quickened at the thought of seeing the auburn-haired beauty the baron had hired to tend his affairs. Marcus's prick had stiffened at the mere thought of putting his fate to the test this morning. A few moments of effort to control his breathing and heart rate proved ineffective at reducing the swelling of his lust.

A wicked grin twisted his lips as it occurred to him that rather than wish away his erection, he might be better suited to showing it off. Surely when confronted with the evidence of Marcus's lust, the secretary would in some way divulge his own sentiments, whether by a disgusted sneer, a patronizing smirk, or an innocent blush?

Swiftly, Marcus tugged his jacket back a little, adjusted his trousers slightly to emphasize rather than hide, and picked up his silver tray from the small Queen Anne occasional table. Squaring his shoulders, he mentally adjusted his image of the secretary from the vicious man-eating fire-breathing dragon of St. George to the wily red fox in a hunt. Yes, that put them on the right footing.

Nico was the quarry, Marcus a one-man Quorn.

He'd run his prey to the ground, and it was time to move in for the kill.

Smiling broadly, he twisted the handle and swung the door open, his gaze immediately traveling to the small oak desk in the corner of the room where Nico should be sitting. It was empty. His disappointment had scarce begun to bloom when he became aware of a quickened breath at the opposite side of the room.

"Eep!"

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



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m/m Regency erotica

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Top Five: Power Ballads for Rocking this Monday

Hey y'all! Grab some coffee and cushion! I've got the tunes cranked up real high today, so it's a darn good thing the neighbors are miles away! Nothing beats a good beat and soul touching lyric first thing in the morning...well, okay. A FEW things do! 






TOP FIVE -Power Ballads

Because sometimes, you just need to crank up the music and lose yourself in it.

1. Sister Christian - Night Ranger

2. Wasted Time - Skid Row

3. Nothing Else Matters - Metallica

4. Still Loving You - Scorpions

5. Cat's in the Cradle - Ugly Kid Joe

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

Offer #1

The Park at Sunrise 

m/m Contemporary Romance, erotic

First they were three, now there are two.
Can Jason and Morgan make a relationship work without Paul?

Now only 99 cents with coupon code QA69U at Smashwords

New Release : Cover Reveal and Blurb

 NEW RELEASE COVER & BLURB

L.B. and Pulp Friction present: Book 5 in the A Rake In London Series

 Servant at Play 

BLURB 

The morning after Gavin, Baron Stephenson, returns from his evening at the theater, troubled and unusually reticent, his valet and lover, Marcus, decides to let sleeping lords lie abed while he pursues other sport.

Nicodemus Martins, the enticing but apparently oblivious secretary is arriving to deal with his master's business affairs, and despite the man's consistent refusal to recognize his flirtations, Marcus is determined to press his suit and brook no resistance to his seduction.

WARNING: This tale of regency m/m seduction contains dubious consent, a prissy secretary, and a hint of trouble to come.

Available at All Romance EBooks, Amazon, and Smashwords

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

BARGAIN ALERT! 

The Aristocrat and His Servant 

m/m Regency erotica

The Aristocrat & His Servant is a 5,500-word erotic story of lovers indulging in light-hearted banter and little afternoon frolic. This is Book One in a Series recounting the sensual adventures of Baron Stephenson and his lover, Marcus Jennings.

FREE at All Romance EBooks 

New Deal! Donovan's Deal

For one week only, you can pick up Donovan's Deal,

 #6 in the Truth or Dare series for 99 cents, 

only at Breathless Press! 

Making a family is harder than keeping house. Donovan's patience is wearing thin, but Mischa needs time to make things right. Will Christmas bring heartache or compromise?

Mischa Blake needs the relaxation of the Blake brothers' weekly poker games now more than ever as he feels the pressure of his responsibilities as a parent, partner, and student multiplying. When one of his siblings proposes reviving their game of Truth or Dare, Mischa revolts. Instead, they all agree to share a truth, and Mischa has to decide how much of his domestic situation to share with his family.

The frantic pace of life is overwhelming, and Mischa has begun to let things slide. With the holidays just around the corner, he figures his current situation is a temporary thing. When he misses one of his son's soccer game that Donovan left work early to attend, time runs out.

Upset by the hurt in their son's eyes, Donovan decides that something must be done. He's worried that he's pushed Mischa into doing things at the wrong time, pushed his dreams on his young lover, just pushed too hard for too much in general.

In a desperate attempt to get Mischa to think about what he wants instead of what Donovan wants, Donovan issues an ultimatum. He sends Mischa away with orders to think about his priorities.

Happy Halloween from Breathless Press! 30%off paranormal titles

Visit Breathless Press to save on these and other paranormal titles today! 

Trick's Treat: A Truth or Dare Short featuring Terry Blake and the Hyatt Twins

Happy Halloween! 

As a special treat for you all, I've written a short addition to the story of Terry Blake and Dex and Trick Hyatt. Here's the trick - it's only free here on the blog. 

Soon, I'll get it up at the sales sites, but for now, here it is. 

Trick's Treat

A Telling the Truth / Truth or Dare Short

Copyright October 2013 Lee Brazil

"You wanted to see me?" Brandon hovered in the doorway of Terry's office, glancing back over his shoulder frequently, as though anxious to be off. Terry Blake couldn’t blame his older brother for that. He rather wanted to be off himself.

"Yes, I need a favor." Brandon frowned and that inner boy, the one who was anxious to please, quailed. Then he remembered that he wasn't that boy any more. He remembered the scene in his kitchen when he'd left for work this morning. Trick sat at the polished oak table, looking pale and tired with dark circles under his pretty blue eyes, the white blond roots of his dyed black hair showing. Dex hadn't even been up yet, but Trick had dragged himself out of bed to make coffee and breakfast for Terry before he left for work.

"Is this something that can't wait until morning? Arden and I are taking the boys to Knott's Scary Farm tonight and I'm running late already."

"No. It can't." His voice was sharp with the pain he'd felt, the failure that haunted him. Trick wasn't happy, he needed a break away from the baby and the house and Dex's mood swings or he'd fall into a depression.

Brandon must have seen something in his face because he sighed and his voice softened. He stepped into the office, the thick grey carpet muffling the sound of his Italian loafers. "What do you need?"

Relief flooded him. "I’m going to take Trick and Dex away for the weekend. Belle is moving into a new duplex and experiencing morning sickness with the twins. So, I need a babysitter. We'll be back Monday." He realized he was responding to Brandon's blank expression when his voice came faster. Heat colored his skin and he braced himself for the refusal he could see Brandon didn't want to make.

"It's not a good idea, Terry. I'd love to help you out, but with three troubled teenagers in the house and it being Halloween, I just can't see it being a good environment for the baby." Brandon crossed the room as he spoke, and ended his speech with a comforting squeeze on Terry's shoulder. The reminder of Brandon and Arden's status as foster parents had Terry nodding. Most of their boys came from troubled homes, dangerous backgrounds and required a lot of attention. "Have you asked Mischa? Or Dan?"

"Dan and Morgan would be horrible baby sitters. Mischa has his hands full with Matt; he doesn't need Michael too." As Brandon made his departure, Terry let his gaze wander to the computer screen, showing a rustic white painted cabin nestled in soft looking white sand. Taking the twins away for a weekend had been a silly dream anyway. He hadn't realized until Brandon refused how much he himself had come to count on that weekend of uninterrupted sleep, how attached he'd become to the vision of the three of them sitting in those rough looking Adirondack chairs watching the sun rise over the Atlantic ocean. It looked so peaceful…so…His hand was on the phone and he'd dialed Donovan's cell number before reason could steal the dream away.

"Holloway." The deep rumble brought him back to reality, and he dragged in a breath.

"Hey, Donovan. I have a favor to ask and I want you to know that it is perfectly all right if you say no." But please say yes, he begged silently.

"I'm not hosting Thanksgiving, Terry. We're already signed on for Christmas and I can see Mischa wigging out as it gets closer."

He laughed involuntarily, tension loosening. Mischa and Donovan were busy, it was true, but they were family. "Nothing like that. Well, you might think it's worse."

"Worse than hosting the lot of you Blakes for two holidays in a row? I’m not sure that's possible."

"God, I think it really will work out. Donovan, Trick and Dex and I need some time away. We're tired, Trick can't sleep through the night, and Dex is putting us all through hell with some mood swings he can't even explain, the baby…"

"Is there something wrong with Michael?"

He hastened to reassure the man when he recognized the concern in his voice. "No. Michael is fine. He's just very time consuming and demanding. I just want one weekend where we can all sleep without midnight feedings and five am diaper changes and …"

"And you want to get laid."

"Is that so wrong?" Shame, embarrassment, relief, he couldn’t even decide what he felt right at that moment, just that it felt good that someone might actually understand how he might love Michael but miss his lovers.

"No, it's not wrong at all. Sure. We'll babysit. I haven't forgotten how you guys were there for us when Matthew came to live with us. He loves Michael and will be thrilled that his cousin is sleeping over. One thing though, can you call Mischa and let him know? I’m heading into a meeting now."

"Absolutely. Anytime you guys want to send Matt over, he's always welcome. Maybe next weekend?" Shut up! He wanted to shout; he was babbling in his gratitude.

"That's all right. Not next weekend, but soon. Mischa and I could use some us time as well."

He'd clicked the link to book the cabin before he hung up with Donovan, and by the time the phone rested in its hook, he was emailing the pilot of the Blake studios private jet to make flight arrangements to the Caribbean.

***

"I already told Dex I'd do it. Seriously, you guys just go on and relax." He'd been so grateful for Mischa's easy agreement that he hadn't realized the importance of what he'd said. Until now.

When he stood head to head with a very angry, very loud Dex who apparently had plans of his own for Halloween night that he'd been hiding from the rest of them.

"Look, Dex, it's not a big deal. Whatever you have planned, we can still do it."

Bewildered, Terry reached out to brush a thick lock of black hair back from Dex's forehead, but Dex slapped his hand away with a sneer. "No! Not from Aruba we can't! And my fucking name is John!"

"John, babe, please. We all need this time away. Trick needs a break from the baby and the stress. I just wanted us to have a nice long weekend without pressure."

"You don't know what he needs! It's my job to take care of him. I know what he needs."

Tumblers fell into place with rapid precision as Terry processed that telling statement. Dex and Trick had had only each other for so long. When Terry had encountered them at Mischa's party, they'd clung together, being everything to one another. Terry had wanted to be a part of that open affection and had fallen easily into love. "I didn't mean to just charge in and take him away from you Dex, and this trip isn't all about Trick, it's about all of us. I need some time with the two of you."

"You want sex." Dex sneered, backing away. "Trick is my responsibility, my brother. I saw how he was feeling, and I made plans to make him feel better. Making him feel good is what I do."

"Pouting around the house sulking and being angry about nothing is supposed to make him feel better?" He knew he shouldn't say it, but the words came out anyway, even when he understood how damaging they could be.

Dex flinched, narrow elegant shoulders hunching forward then straightening, as he absorbed the blow. "He understands me. You wouldn't because you…"

"Enough!" An angry whirlwind in grey yoga pants and a thin black t-shirt pushed between them, black hair whipping in his face as Trick turned from Dex to him and back again.

"Trick…" They spoke at once, each one apparently determined to express the regret they felt over adding to their lover's stress with their petty argument.

"Enough. I am this close," he pinched two narrow fingers together, leaving a scant breath of air between them, "to telling you both to fuck off."

Terry winced as Trick shoved him sharply in the sternum. He stumbled back a little, then grabbed a chair back to right himself. Dex yelped as he received the same treatment.

"Trick!" He protested, meeting Dex's stunned gaze in amazement. "We just want to do something nice for you- you need time away from the baby. Doesn’t a nice weekend at the beach sound lovely?"

"Breakfast on the Riviera, a day in the sun, an early night in bed?" Dex pleaded. Terry nodded at him, approvingly. Apparently they'd both had quite similar ideas, even if different locations.

"Either one, Trick." He smiled coaxingly. "Your choice, the plans are all made just say where you'd rather go and we'll do it."

"Yes!" Dex cajoled. "You choose and then let us pamper you for the whole weekend."

Trick shook his head with a disgusted snort. "What the fuck makes either of you think I'm going to abandon Michael to some babysitter and jet set off to some foreign country?"

He and Dex were left staring at each other while Trick stormed out of the room as swiftly as he'd entered it, muttering indistinguishable, but distinctly menacing sounds under his breath.

Terry sank into the chair he'd been clutching onto and Dex dropped at his feet, resting his head on Terry's thigh. Automatically, he threaded his fingers through the soft hair, taking comfort from the familiar silky strands while he tried to process the scene they'd just participated in.

"What was that all about?" He murmured.

"Us." Dex answered without raising his head. His hands closed on Terry's pants, so tightly he could feel each finger through the fabric. "Our childhood."

"I see." He didn't really, but what else could he say as hot wet tears soaked through his trousers and dampened his leg?

"They were always running off, leaving us with nannies and housekeepers and body guards. Then one time they didn't come back. And then it all went to hell, and all we had was each other."

His fist clenched on the hair and Dex whimpered as it pulled. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that." He forced the tension from his fingers and breathed deeply. "We have to address this problem," he ventured when he felt like Dex had calmed down enough to talk.

"Nothing to address, Terry. Trick's right. We can't fly off and abandon Michael. He's ours, and I don't want him to ever have some stranger in a suit telling him that we won't ever come back."

Terry ached for the pain the young twins must have felt when they were confronted by that stranger. "It's not likely that anything will happen. But that's not what I meant. Michael will never be alone, no matter if something happens to one of us or all of us. He's got a whole boatload of Blakes and other relatives that will take care of him if we can't."

Dex hiccupped and finally raised his face. His eyeliner was smudged, his eyes rimmed with red and were faintly swollen. His pale cheeks were tracked by drying tears. "I forgot when we decided to keep you that you were part of a set."

Chuckling, Terry leaned down to place a chaste kiss on Dex's brow. "That's one way of describing my siblings." Seeing that Dex intended to completely avoid the real basis of their argument, he continued. "I am not taking Trick away from you, Dex. I wouldn't want to, and he wouldn’t let me."

"You couldn’t take him away." They both recognized the statement as weak bravado. "I know. I just…I wanted to help him, to take care of you both." He peered up under lowered lashes and Terry's heart twisted anew.

"I love you." The words slipped out, and he was glad, even though they still felt strange and raw in his heart, because Dex's cheeks flushed and the sparkle was back in his eyes. Trick wore his heart on his sleeve, and was vocal and free with his emotions, but Dex protected his own emotions with the same fierce intensity that he protected his brother.

The front doorbell rang and footsteps clattered through the hall way. Trick poked his head in the door to glare at them. He'd changed into a tuxedo and black and white spats, his hair combed in a restrained style. His slender form looked dangerous and tempting. Instead of a shoulder holster and pistol a la James Bond though, he wore a baby carrier with a smiling Michael cooing happily in his feathery owl costume.  Terry restrained himself from jumping up and dragging Trick into their embrace.

"That's Mischa. I’m taking Michael and going trick or treating with him and Matt. Then we're watching Young Frankenstein and Beetlejuice and gorging on apple cider and candy corn. Don't wait up." Hitching his designer diaper bag over one shoulder, Trick headed off down the hall

The front door slammed, and once more Terry found himself staring at Dex, feeling like his world view was slightly skewed, like maybe he had mixed up the brothers for the first time ever. Dex was supposed to be confident and powerful, Trick soft and gentle.

***

Trick had been watching the lights in the house across the street, rather than any of the hilariously un-scary movies that Mischa and Donovan had deemed appropriate viewing for their son. Michael slept in an upstairs room, but the baby monitor had been silent for hours. His eyelids drooped and tiredness dragged at his spirit, but Trick stayed on Mischa's couch, a plush throw wrapped around his feet opposite a giggling Matt.

He should go home. He wasn't having a good time, and he missed Dex and Terry terribly. He just couldn’t make himself get up and cross the road. He didn't want to open the door to their house and feel the tension. His bones ached and his heart throbbed a little as he recalled the angry voices, the violent way he'd shoved both of them.

The credits rolled on the last movie and a yawning Donovan rose from his recliner. "That's it Matt. Time to hit the hay." The tall man quirked an eyebrow at Mischa, and the two of them stared meaningfully at one another for a few minutes. A whole conversation passed between them without a word spoken, and Trick sighed.

He swung his feet onto the floor and folded the cozy hand knitted blanket carefully. "I guess I should go now and let you guys get some sleep."

Donovan herded Matt up the stairs, calling good nights in his clear childish voice all the way. Mischa smiled sympathetically at Trick. "How about a cup of hot cocoa and a smoke break in my office while you tell me why you aren't winging your way to some glamorous vacation spot for the weekend? I heard both Aruba and the French Riviera, and yet, here you are at Chez Holloway watching 80's movies and eating candy corn."

"I like 80's movies." He stalled for time but trailed after Mischa to the kitchen. Mischa filled two cups with hot cocoa from a pot simmering on the stove then gestured to his office, the room off the kitchen where he'd lived when he first moved into Donovan's house.

Trick entered the room and his gaze went automatically to the mahogany box on the table. All their old paraphernalia was there, but Mischa didn't keep smoke anymore. Trick had a metal box in his pocket with a dose from the pharmacy. He'd been given the prescription when all the anti- nausea drugs made him sicker, and it had helped.

He shouldn't smoke now. He wasn't nauseous. He was…"Furious?"

He tested the word, but it didn't quite fit right either.

"What's going on?" Mischa pulled him down on the cozy daybed and cuddled close to him. Trick felt some of the tension leaving him, relaxed into the comfortable touch.

"I was getting ready to come over and I heard them fighting, yelling at each other." He shuddered, that had been a horrible moment. "I think we, Terry, Dex and I are heading for trouble. I wonder if Michael wasn't too much too soon. I can't believe they were fighting with each other, over me. Mischa, I don't want things to end like this."

"Oh honey," Mischa stroked his hair soothingly. "Things aren't ending. People argue, they make up, they argue again."

"Do you and Donovan fight?"

"All the time. Over dumb shit too. Can you believe he won't let me pay off the house with my inheritance?"

Trick shook his head. "It must be some kind of alpha male thing. Terry won't let me pay for anything either."

"Is that what he and Dex were fighting over?"

"They were fighting about where to go on this trip, and then hit on this dumbass idea of making me choose a destination, as though I could choose one of them over the other. Because no matter which choice I made, the one who planned the other trip would be upset."

"They love you, that's all. Donovan said Terry was all about time for the three of you to rest and relax. And I can tell you Dex was the same. Why don't you take advantage of the baby sitting Don and I are providing and take one or both of them up on the weekend away?"

"I couldn’t. If I said I wanted to go to the Riviera, Terry would be hurt, and if I picked Aruba, Dex would be hurt. I can't choose one over the other, I love them both. Besides, it doesn't feel right to leave Michael and go so far away."

Mischa's brow crinkled in a thoughtful frown. Then a brilliant smile lit up his face. "I have it! Here's what you do…"

***

Dex lay awake, ears straining for the sound of the front door opening, absently playing with Terry's fingers where they rested on his belly. The two of them had talked at great length, and it had been awkward, sharing how he felt. They'd made their peace, and now it just remained for them to apologize to Trick for the stupid fight and things could go back to normal.

He stifled the little voice in the back of his head that whispered insidiously that normal hadn't been so awesome. Trick liked things the way they were, their lives were happy and comfortable, and they had friends and a home and a man who said he loved them.

It was beyond stupid that he seemed to be missing something. He would do anything for Trick, and he honestly loved Terry. Why couldn’t he be happy? Maybe it was time to see a counselor, like Trick had when his depression had become all consuming?

He wasn't depressed though. He was just…restless.

Maybe Terry was right. Maybe what he needed was exactly what Trick needed, and exactly what Terry had tried to give them all. Time together, in bed and out to just enjoy each other.

He'd become so absorbed in his thoughts that the slam of the door he'd been listening for came as a surprise. "Trick's back!' He shook Terry lightly, and the man came awake with a start and a splutter.

"Huh?" Green eyes blinked blearily up at him and he felt another pang of guilt lodge in his gut. Terry tried so hard, worked to give them what he thought they needed, a safe secure place. Why was he plagued with so much dissatisfaction?

Footsteps ascended the stairs and then stilled. Dex pictured his twin, the James Bond costume somewhat disheveled from a night of trick or treating and movie watching, standing in that wide open almost room sized hall. The hall was decorated like a lounge, with the four bedroom suites hidden away behind discreet doors. They each had their own suite, and while those rooms were generally used more as hobby and privacy spaces, each held a full bedroom. Could Trick conceivably be angry enough to actually sleep in that cozy little bed with its soft worn antique quilts and feather pillows?

While his instinct was to run out in the wide hall and demand to know what Trick was thinking, where he was planning to sleep, Terry's calming hand, warm and soothing on his arm, held him back, and he was grateful for that.

"Give him space. Let him choose for himself."

He scrunched a little closer to Terry, seeking more of that comforting heat. "What if he doesn't want to sleep with us? We need to be together."

"Just like you need to be able to work out or play the stereo loud in your room when you feel unsettled, Trick needs alone time too. I don't like it any more than you do," Terry's voice softened. "But we have to respect that he is his own person, not just our lover."

The spike of anger he felt was short lived and Dex felt immediately guilty for it. "He's not just my lover. He's my brother and I love him. Even if we aren't going to have…" his voice trailed off. What the hell was he talking about? Since Michael's advent into their lives, the nights when they didn't have sex far outnumbered the ones when they did. "He should at least sleep here." He finished lamely.

Terry frowned and his mouth opened to speak, but the door opened and faint light from the hallway spilled into the room. Trick stood, already dressed in his pajamas, soft flannel sleep pants, because he was always cold, a thin long sleeved t-shirt, and his growing hair pulled back in a pony tail. Dex's heart faltered then sped up. Terry remained calm, his expression bland, but his grip on Dex's arm tightened. At first he thought it was because Terry didn't trust him not to bolt out of the bed to Trick's side, but a glance at his face revealed tension that he was trying to hide.

Forcing himself to speak calmly so as not to let his own emotions influence Trick's, Dex aimed for welcoming. "Hi. Did you guys have fun?"

"I think I would have had fun…," Trick's voice was tired, but he entered the room and crossed to the bed. Dex scooted over, bumping Terry until there was room for Trick next to him. To his disappointment, Trick climbed onto the foot of the bed and sat cross legged, head bowed.

"If you weren't worried about the two of us being jerks back home?" Terry rumbled.

That brought Trick's head up, his blue eyes ablaze. "You aren't jerks. I never said you were. I just…I can't stand the fighting. I wanted you to be done fighting and making up by the time I got home."

"We're done fighting." Dex crawled out of the blankets and down to embrace Trick, who leaned into him. The bed shifted and he felt the warmth of Terry surrounding them both.

"We're sorry, Trick. We don't have to go anywhere if you don't want to."

"We can go lots of places, I just don't want to be so far away if anything happens to Michael. Mischa helped me find a place within an hour's drive of here. It's in the mountains, not at the beach, and it'll be cold and snowy." His face went soft and dreamy. "But we can curl up in front of the fireplace and cuddle under comfy quilts and…"

"Make love then fall asleep and wake up and do it all over again?"

Trick blushed a little at Terry's teasing. "We can start that part now."

Their lips met in an awkward, sloppy three way kiss where noses bumped and chins rubbed together. The soft, emotion driven caresses quickly evaporated, replaced by demanding forays of tongues and clinking of teeth until Terry pulled back, laughing, leaving Dex and Trick, mouths locked, staring into one another's eyes for long moments.

It was Trick who broke the kiss, tilting his head up to the ceiling and drawing in deep, ragged breaths. "I love you, Dex." He murmured when he was capable of speech.

The tension he'd been prey to lately faded away. Trick loved him, Terry loved him. He loved them. It was all good, and if it didn't sparkle like a fairy tale, that was okay too. They could slay giants and throw water on wicked witches together.

Satisfied of his place, Dex gave himself over to the physical needs that were making themselves felt. He tugged the hem of Trick's t-shirt up, revealing lean pale flesh. He lurched sideways, catching himself with a hand on the mattress as Terry surged into action, quickly removing the cotton boxer briefs he slept in.

Trick's arms crossed Dex's as they fumbled undressing each other. After a few stray limbs and Terry's hands were added to the mix, they were reduced to a naked jumble of body parts, smooth and hairy, lean and thickly muscled. Dex luxuriated in the supple smoothness of Trick's body, skimming his hands over lean muscles. He kissed his twin's lips, then when Trick twisted away, whatever skin he could reach, neck, ear, shoulder.

Terry had shifted, looming behind Dex, a comforting sturdy frame to lean against. Terry braced, him, rubbing his erection against Dex's buttocks, caressing his shoulders and thighs with fiery touches. The urge to come became overwhelming, his blood beat hot and loud in his ears.

Their movements became purposeful though, and Dex found himself unexpectedly in the middle of two men, a place usually occupied by Terry or Trick. Oh, he'd had his turn, but he'd rather thought that Terry was with him in intending this time to be all about making up to Trick for their stupid fight. Instead, Terry's thick fingers, somehow coated with slick oil, were rubbing against his hole, and Trick was mouthing his nipples and teasing his cock with soft, barely there touches that would surely drive him insane.

Dex sighed and let his mind go. There wasn't any right way to do this, and if Trick wanted him in the middle, then he'd be in the middle. He relaxed and Terry's fingers slipped inside, causing him to tense. The tissue burned pleasantly and he bit his lip. His fingers clenched on Trick's shoulders as Terry nibbled at his neck, and he moaned, tipping his head to the side to grant better access.

Trick shrugged his hands away and reared up, kissing Terry over his shoulder. Dex strained his eyes to watch the kiss, finding watching nearly as erotic as kissing itself. The little noises they made sounded loud and full of promise, laced around the beating of his heart and the rush of blood in his ears as they were.

"Ready?" Terry whispered, rough and sexy.

"Oh yes," Trick slithered down his body in a move so sleek and elegant it should have been made on a dance floor.

Dex scarcely had time to touch his twin's cheek before he was inundated with the dual sensations of a hot wet mouth pulling at his cock, and the thick probe of Terry thrusting into his ass with a smooth practiced move.

The man had learned a lot about sex in the time they'd been together, applying himself to learning the art of pleasure as determinedly as he had to learning business law, accounting, and the principles of investment. Dex let his eyes close briefly as he simply enjoyed the way his skin became hyper sensitive and his entire body became a sensory organ- prickling and pulsing and magnifying every touch until he felt the fragile skin could not contain it further.

He forced his eyes open and looked down, to meet Trick's crystal blue eyes peering up at him. His twin's cheeks were flushed, his pretty red lips stretched wide around Dex's cock as he sucked it deep then glided back to the tip, swirling his tongue around before leaning forward. Dex bumped the back of his throat, fancied he could feel Trick's heart pounding in a matching pulse there, before he retreated again. "Trick," he choked out between ragged breaths. "Want you to come, too."

And all the while, Terry pounded into him from behind, hard forceful thrusts accompanied by harsh grunts and ragged moans. The contrast of wet heat and steady, firm pressure luring, coaxing his cock to release in front, and the full, dark pleasure of being invaded from the rear built his arousal by leaps and bounds until he was barely clinging to a thread of control, holding on, waiting for his lovers to come with him? Why? Why not just let go?

Then Terry faltered behind him, losing his rhythm, and Trick released his cock. In a rush of movement he was pushed down from behind to find his mouth level with Trick's prick, hard and leaking. Terry's grip on his hips had tightened, and his body froze as he waited. "Suck him. Suck, Trick." Terry grunted, leaning into his backside and stroking one hard hand down the knobs of Dex's spine.

Without thinking, Dex obeyed, pleased by Trick's whimper, adoring the salty sweet taste of his twin's flesh. He knew what Trick liked, just how to touch, he could bring his lover off without thinking at all. Which was a good thing, because as soon as he started bobbing his head, toying with Trick's cock with his tongue like Trick enjoyed, Terry started moving again and there wasn't anything that could have made him capable of rational thought. He was full of sensations, his whole being was just feeling, feeling the bump and pulse and throb of Trick against his tongue, against the back of his throat, feeling the pulse and swell and friction of Terry pumping into him, fast and deep and driving him into a maelstrom of sensation that had only one possible outcome.

Trick's seed spurting in his mouth added a new dimension to the sensory input, and he gulped it down, shivering as his body tightened, all sensation coalescing into one long, vibrant shudder. He jerked, spilling cum on the tangled sheets.

Terry growled behind him, stilling, and then jerking a few times. The sensual rhythms of moments before became awkward in orgasm, slightly painful as they flinched and jerked and twisted, traded spurts and clenching muscles and exhausted chuckles until the three of them collapsed in a heap, wet, sweaty, and satisfied.

Dex ended up lying in cold sticky cum, but he was too exhausted, too happy to care. He'd just lie there for a bit and get his breath back, let his muscles stop tingling and his heart beat return to normal. Then he'd maybe suggest they abandon the master bedroom and hole up in one of the others until they felt like changing the sheets.

"So," Trick's voice was scratchy and when Dex twisted his neck to find his brother smiling at him, his lips were a deep swollen red, his eyes heavy lidded. "I vote, we park the cars in the garage, unplug all the phones, and pretend we went somewhere."

"And actually just stay here in bed for three days?"

"I like it." Terry crawled out of the pile of bodies and stood at the side of the bed. "Let's shower and go back to bed."

He looked so sublimely hopeful that Dex couldn’t help laughing. "Okay. We've officially become the idiots in the family. We've paid for three different vacation homes for the weekend, but we're staying here instead."

Trick cast him a glorious smile. "Last one in the shower has to change the sheets!"

Dex's competitive spirit was instantly aroused. He surged upright, bounced to the floor and took off running, ignoring the laughter that followed him to the bathroom. "Just throw the comforter on the floor," He yelled over his shoulder. "The rest should be fine!"

The End

Crawl in Bed With NR Walker

Crawling Into Bed With NR Walker And a Good Book 

Important things first, are these sheets silk or cotton? 

Cotton. 1200 thread Egyptian cotton. My bed is a King size and we had the frame hand made from the timber from an old bridge they were demolishing in the area.  The bolt holes are a feature, if not convenient... LOL

Wow! I never would have noticed. What are you wearing? 

Boring cotton pj pants that are striped in pinks and greys and a matching t-shirt style top.  Not sexy by any means, but I’ll take super comfy over impractical and uncomfortably sexy any day.

What are we snacking on in bed while we read tonight? 

Um, no snacking in my bed. If you get crumbs of any kind in my bed, I get all ragey. LOL

*closes mouth and swallows* Right…. No snacks. *grumbles* Should have eaten dinner, I guess.  If I open this nightstand drawer, what will I find?

Notebooks, notepads and pens.  No sex toys unfortunately, just writing stuff. Some notepads are full of scenes, chapters, stories, character descriptions, some are blank and waiting. LOL It’s not that I write in bed (not always, anyway) but it’s just where I keep them. My kids don’t go through our bedside tables, so there’s no risk of notepads being ‘borrowed’ and subsequently read.

*eyes notebooks* So this is where the ideas begin? Do you roll up in the blankets like a burrito, or kick the covers off during the night? 

I’m the burrito. My husband kicks the covers off and I’m always cold – it’s a perfect match. LOL

Can I put my cold feet on your calves to warm them up? 

OMG hell no. I can’t stand anyone’s feet on me. At all. I do put my feet on my hubs when I get into bed LOL

Well, that's fair enough. I don't care for cold feet on me, either. Then again, finding someone whose feet are colder than mine is kind of challenging. What are we reading? 

Well, I’m not reading anything at the moment, but the last thing I read was “One Breath, One Bullet” by S.A. McAuley.  I loved it. The sequel has just come out and it’s next on my TBR list, but I’m stuck in the middle of editing, and trying to write a story that’s proving difficult. I find I can’t read other people’s stories when I’m writing – my characters get muddled with theirs.

My latest release, Elements of Retrofit, is the first in my Thomas Elkin Series.

Blurb:
Generation versus generation, traditional versus contemporary, these men are about to learn a lesson in architecture and love. Can they prove that the old and new can be the perfect design?
A successful New York architect, Thomas Elkin almost has it all. Coming out as gay and ending his marriage before his fortieth birthday, he needed to start living his life. Now, four years later, with his relationship with his son back on track, and after a few short-lived romances, this esteemed traditional draftsman thought he knew everything about architecture, about life.
Cooper Jones, twenty-two years old, is about to take the architect world by storm. Talented, professional, driven, and completely infuriating, Cooper is the definition of Generation Y.
Starting an internship working with Thomas, Cooper is about to knock Tom’s world off its axis. Tom can teach Cooper about the architecture industry, but Cooper is about to teach Tom what it means to live.

Buy links:

http://www.total-e-bound.com/product.asp?strParents=&CAT_ID=&P_ID=2332

Where you can find me:

Blog:  http://nrwalker.wordpress.com/

Facebook:  N.r. Walker

Facebook Author page:  N.R. Walker Author

Twitter:  @NR_Walker

Tumblr:  NRWalkerBooks