Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Work in Progress Wednesday: Chain-Male

The next day dragged interminably. Chris came in at ten, as usual after a late night shift. He couldn't focus on coding MARC records into the computer, so he worked on filling interlibrary loan orders. When he realized he'd typed “Truth or Consequences New Mexico, consequences please” on a mailing label, he gave that up as a bad job and shelved the returned books.

He ate a tasteless sandwich from the campus grill for supper and loitered near the door of the building just to see what Jason drove. He was half-expecting some big black American-made muscle car, a mustang or corvette, but grinned to see Jason get out of a little dark blue vintage beetle. The engine purred in a way that told Chris Jason worked on it regularly, but one headlight was out. He ducked inside before Jason saw him, but not before he heard Jason cussing at the car.

He wasn't sure what Dr. Rea talked about that night. He just watched Jason. Jason took notes. Jason chewed on the end of his ponytail when he was trying to think. Jason turned bright red when his bracelet clanked the desk.

When the rest of the class gathered their things, Chris swallowed hard. He got up and trailed out the door, last to leave.

“Tell them they work you too hard,” Dr. Rea said, “or bring some coffee next time.”
“Sorry, prof. Long day.” Chris shrugged and escaped, his ears and cheeks flaming, to where Jason waited for him in the hall.

“Hey you,” Jason said with a grin, “Ready for some coffee? You look like you could use it.”

“Yeah. Better late than never,”Chris added with a glance at Dr. Rea who was still gathering his books. He followed Jason to the campus grill, nervous at being on a date. He waited, leafing through the history text, as Jason got the coffee.

Jason spread some papers around and opened the book, to give the appearance they were just studying. Chris just watched, holding his coffee.

Finally, he had to ask. He bent over the book and whispered, “So, how did you know? Lucky guess?”

Jason nodded and turned a page. “You didn't get all flustered. And when I tried a leading question, you didn't slug me.”

Chris smiled. “Slugging isn't allowed in the code of conduct anyway. Hasn't been that long ago that I realized it. It's been an okay secret.”

Jason took a drink of the coffee. “You didn't growl at me or anything. Straight guys hate the idea of gays. They wouldn't have been so eager to help me find a book.”

Chris needed to know. “Do you get slugged a lot? I mean... I never tried. I don't know.”

Jason shrugged. “A couple times. I got pretty good gaydar.”

Chris smiled and tasted his own coffee. “You'll have to help me tune mine up.

“It's not hard. Observation, mostly. I noticed you noticing me. By the way, I'm not sure you got my name. I'm Jace. You know, like Joxer's gay brother or Han Solo's kid.” Chris blinked and smiled. Jace face-palmed. “I am such a geek sometimes.”

“Geek is cute on you. I'm Chris.”

“Yeah, name tag.”

Chris glanced down at his shirt and saw he was still wearing his library nametag. Chris Jacobs, Interlibrary loan. “Guess I'm obvious.” He jumped when Jace's bracelet clanked on the table.

“You like this?” Jace pulled back his sleeve.

“I love it. Where'd you get it?”

“Made it. Caught you staring a time or two like you were figuring it out.”

Chris swallowed hard. He wasn't sure he wanted Jace to know so much about him already.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Work in Progress Wednesday: untitled back story

David Inman had always thought of his body as one more tool, useful but only a carrying case for his mind. He had first used it to reward a loyal minion when he was twelve–the same year he’d first killed--only to discover that sex for its own sake meant little. He was well aware, however, that there were many men who coveted his slim fairness.

Men like the one recently seated across from him. Handsome and predatory, in his mid thirties and Middle Eastern looking. David sat in the interrogation room, smoking and staring at him, watching every move of his long elegant fingers, his full, cruelly sensual mouth and his subtle black eyes.

“Smart enough to graduate Harvard at fourteen. Smart enough to hack every major banking network by sixteen. Still dumb enough to smoke. Maybe you aren’t what I’m looking for after all.”

David blew a perfect smoke ring in his direction. “Every genius should have one vice. And they’ve engineered out all the carcinogens, anyway.”

“And you have a multitude. From the brandy you are not old enough to drink to blackmailing the men who enjoyed you before today.” He laid a thick file on the table and set a stack of papers beside it. “The file contains all I know of you. I assure you it’s much more than the police have. And they are already speaking of four hundred years in prison.”

David lit another cigarette from the butt of the first. “Morons,” he said, tossing his head. Shoulder-length blond waves caught the light in a very deliberate way. “As if it could hold me. I’m a minor.”

The predator flashed the date of his watch. “Happy birthday, David. Eighteen as of now. And the paperwork will all have today’s date.” He smirked. “Data piracy, computer theft, information trespassing, and grand larceny.”

David laughed without humor. “Are you my intake officer to tell me all I already know?”

“My name is James Ligatos. I run a specialized rehabilitation program for promising young criminals such as yourself.”

David removed and polished his round wire-framed glasses. “Criminal is such an ugly word. I prefer homo superior. So what, precisely can you rehabilitate,” his voice turned bitter and mocking as he resettled his glasses, “a thieving little four-eyed faggot into?”

A small, secretive smile turned up the corners of Ligatos’s mouth without reaching his eyes. “More than you can imagine. The best mind in a century is meant for far better things than petty thievery and being sold for four cartons of cigarettes or half a bottle of whiskey.” He reached over and stroked the backs of his fingers along David’s cheek “You’re very pretty, very young and already gay. You’ll bring a good price on the inside, for a while. Until you are no longer so pretty.”

“Petty? Seven billion dollars is petty?” David looked him over appraisingly. “I have plundered the monkeymass, putting them to work for me as is my prerogative.”

Ligatos laughed in his face. “Seldom does one meet an elitist so blatant about it.”

David shrugged. “Humility is a method of control created by churchmen and enforced by lesser minds. It does not apply.”

“In twelve hours, you will be expounding your Heinleinian-Nietschzean philosophy to Bruno “the Mangler” Franzetti before he begins pounding on your ass. If you take my training, you will have three years of intensive, doctoral-level study and afterward, you will be well sought after.”

Sunday, December 6, 2009

New Release: Alive on the Inside

Alive on the Inside is LIVE!
by Angelia Sparrow & Naomi Brooks
ISBN-13: 978-1-60272-614-7 (Electronic)
ISBN-13: 978-1-60272-817-2 (Paperback)

Nick Harper has a nice life, a nice job, and a nice girl. Until Labor Day Weekend, when the Phantasmagoria Traveling Wonder Show comes to town.

Seduced by the dark and wickedly erotic charms of both the Phantasmagoria and Torturo, a man known in the freak sideshow as The Pain King, Nick embarks on a journey of self-discovery, love, and pain.

But the show is not what it seems. It changes those who come with it in ways they can never imagine, not even in their worst nightmares.

And Nick's changes are just beginning...

Genres: Gay / Erotic Horror / Dark Fantasy / BDSM / Contains Some Secondary Heterosexual (M/F) And Lesbian (F/F) Content
Heat Level: 3
Advisory: This book contains graphic violence, hardcore bondage and punishment, torture and blood play. May not be suitable for the more sensitive reader.
Length: Extended Novel (79k words / TBD paperback pages)

Excerpt Here

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Work in Progress Wednesday

This will be an ongoing feature.
If you find a snippet you particularly like, please nag me about it. I will finish everything eventually.

This is an untitled steampunk piece, currently in progress for Samhain. Work Safe.

He moved fast, but cautiously. Henry had never been in a pirate attack, but he'd heard about them from other aeronauts. He knew if he hid in one place, they'd find him. It was best to keep moving. He needed a weapon. They'd probably kill him as easily as they had Gideon, but he intended to sell his life as dearly as possible.

He made the armory, a small, understocked room, designed more with brawling passengers than pirate attacks in mind. Every Winchester and Springfield in the place was gone. Even the old Tredegar and Sharps had been taken. He checked the hand weapons. A single Bowie knife lay on the bottom of the cabinet. When he drew it, he saw why. The rusting, broken blade tested dull against his thumb.

It was still better than nothing. He hooked it to his belt and grabbed a whetstone and oil in passing. Knowing his time was too short for safety, he sharpened it as he walked. The upper crew decks were empty. He looked out over the main deck and saw the passengers lined up and prodded a long by the pirates. Each waited his turn in line and dropped whatever he had into the large sacks three of the bandits carried.

A man in a long black coat sprawled in a chair clearly dragged from one of the salons for him. Henry watched a moment too long, taking in the careless dangle of one booted leg over the arm, the gleam of the moonlight on his flying goggles. Smart, dangerous and utterly arrogant, he lounged watching the wealthy folks rid themselves of impediments to the Kingdom of Heaven.

Henry checked on the other side of the deck and saw the bridge and upper level crew, disarmed and under heavy guard. The chambermaids and cooks had been separated out from the men and stood in a tight knot, some clinging and weeping, some with looks of grim determination on their pretty faces. The black crew had been cordoned off as well and stood under heavier guard than the white. Henry shook his head. Guarded as if they were dangerous or had any loyalty to Captain Richardson. Richardson treated his white belowdecks crew as servants and his black crew as fixtures of the ship.

Henry counted forty pirates. He could not possibly take the ship singlehandedly. He would stay alert, watch what happened and try not to get captured. It didn't look like this pirate crew went in for butchery. Out here, they could have slaughtered the entire roster of the Star and dumped their bodies in the badlands of Deseret, never to be seen again.