excerpt?
YAY I AM MARRIED NOW. Here, have a wedding-present before we leave for the Bahamas--I meant to have this done, but it's not going to be done, but you can have a first-draft excerpt from the sequel to the latest James/Michael h/c thing. There's post-h/c porn. Hugs to all!
“I told you I was fine! I am fine.”
“James, I am about two seconds away from bending you over the bed and spanking you until you promise never to go near anything potentially flammable again in your fucking life.”
James stared at him, eyes huge in the fading golden sunlight, and didn’t say anything. Just swallowed, after a second, and then, very slowly, leaned over the bed, and curled long fingers into suddenly twisted sheets, holding on.
Michael took a ragged breath, and lifted one hand, and then really looked at him. At the tension in those usually graceful hands, and the tightly closed eyes. And then just rested the hand, gently, on the curve of one unmoving hip. “James…do you actually want this? Now?”
No answer, except a quiet, quick, little inhale, against the sheets; and Michael shook his head, even though James couldn’t see him from their respective positions. No. James was offering, of course, but wasn’t looking at him, and had stopped talking, and something just…wasn’t right. “Please look at me.”
James turned his head, and blinked, long eyelashes sweeping down like rainclouds, and then licked his lips, a small nervous flash of pink tongue that very nearly broke Michael’s heart. “I…don’t know. I’m sorry.”
Fuck. He thought it again, because he didn’t have any other words. Fuck. “James, no. Don’t—can you come here? Please.”
James sat up, eyes still in shadow, still slightly averted. But, when Michael sat down on the bed next to him, James leaned against him, and let their shoulders touch.
Outside, the sun drifted a little lower, painting the sky in shades of indigo and bronze. In the space around them, on the bed, the dying sunbeams caught tiny floating bits of lint, from the carpet, from the sheets, hovering curiously in the sudden breathless silence.
After a minute, James said, softly, “I thought you wanted to…”
“I did. I do.” He couldn’t think of a way to explain it. It hadn’t been about anger. Just about the fact that James was here and breathing and Michael needed to feel all that living warmth under his touch, against his hands. To push them both until they felt as alive, in that moment, as anyone could possibly ever be.
“But you don’t. Not like this. Not if you think I’m seriously trying to—to hurt you. Or to punish you. You know—you have to know I would never—I love you, James. Always.”
James leaned a little more solidly against him, a little more comfortably, at that. “I know. I love you, too.”
They sat there, both still naked, and James put his head on Michael’s shoulder, all that improbable hair now dried into exuberant curls, and sighed. And the setting sun sent fading rays of ancient light into the hotel room, falling placidly across exposed skin.
“Interesting verb choice, there. Were you thinking that I needed you to punish me?”
“Be serious, please.”
“I am. I’m not opposed to the thought—”
“Not anywhere near believing you.”
“—would you let me talk? I did mean that, but it’ll help if you let me explain.” James sighed again, the whisper of air caressing Michael’s skin, and then actually stopped leaning against him and sat up and made eye contact.
“I appreciate the concern. I do. And I’m glad you were there. But we can’t—we’re both going to get hurt, at some point, on some movie set. Accidents happen. Like today. And I’m not—I mean—” James paused, to grin, but the eyes stayed serious, where they rested on Michael’s own.
“I enjoy you wanting to spank me. Obviously. But it can’t be about something like this. Because what happened today was an accident, and I’m going to go back on set and try it again tomorrow. And I’m not going to ask you not to do anything dangerous, ever, because I know that’s not a promise either of us can keep. So please don’t ask me that, either, because I don’t want to lie to you.”
“I know that, too.” Michael looked away, for just a second. Then back, at earnest blue eyes. Picked up the closest hand, and laced their fingers together, holding on. James squeezed his hand, still looking at him, quietly. “I’m sorry. I just—I was fucking terrified, James. When I saw you—I can’t lose you. I can’t. I keep thinking that it could’ve been worse, and you could’ve—what if you’d—I love you, you know. So damn much.”
“I know. I do know. I know how I’d feel, if it’d been you. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re this calm; I’m not sure I would be.”
“I’m not calm. Trust me.”
“Hmm. We could work out some of your stress, then, maybe?”
“Maybe…”
“Excellent.”
“Only if you want to. Really want to, I mean. Not just because you think I need it. Or you deserve it. Or—”
“But you still want to?”
“Yes?”
At which answer James squeezed his fingers again. And then smiled, slowly, the curve of those lips offering a suggestion all on their own. “I didn’t say I didn’t deserve it. You can. With your hand. Or something else. If you might still be in the mood.”
“You—”
“Not for almost getting hurt. For not wanting to tell you. I should’ve told you. I am sorry about that. Fair enough?”
“Yes.” Almost, hell. He'd been there, at least for the aftermath. He could still feel the tiny gnawing teeth of worry around his heart. But James was fine, he knew that too, and here, and apologizing, and here to apologize.
“So…”
“So… all right, then. Because you should have told me. And I love you. And I think…I think I want you over my lap, this time. I think you deserve that.”
Azure eyes rounded; he heard the slight pause before James took a breath, and wondered whether he’d crossed some sort of line, finally, with that one. Too much? Too intense?
But the familiar smile edged its way back into view, surfacing out of the surprise, shining sand in the wake of a receding tide. “All right. Yes. Sir.”
“Christ, James.”
“Hmm?”
“You have no idea what you, saying that, makes me want to do to you, do you?”
“Oh…I might have some idea. Sir.”
“Come here now.”
James grinned at him, cheerfully unrepentant. “Yes, sir. How do you want to do this, then? I never have.”
“Hmm.” Michael contemplated the bed for a second. The sheets, still welcomingly crinkled from their earlier nap, beckoned. Outside, the sun slipped away, silently, and little silver dustings of stars emerged, curious, from hiding.
“Edge of the bed? So you can—”
“Like this?”
Suddenly he had a warm and naked James stretched out across his lap, freckles twinkling in the starlight, and Michael ran a hand along his back and forgot to answer, distracted by the way James squirmed in response.
“Really no tickling.”
“I can spank you, but I can’t tickle you?”
“Yes. Exactly. Speaking of…”
“Don’t be impatient. Is this okay? Comfortable, I mean?”
“Is comfortable actually the word you want to use? Considering upcoming events.”
“You know what I meant.”
“Yes, I do. And yes, I am. And I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Michael told him, and punctuated the words with movement, and the snap of his hand against pale skin echoed definitively around the room.
“Oh…”
“What?” That had been a surprised oh. And Michael’s still-shaky heart was not a fan of surprised sounds from James, at the moment. “Is this okay? Do you need—”
“No, I’m fine, everything’s fine, relax, please.” James, displaying impressive flexibility, wriggled around to smile at him. “Just…different. Different position. Interesting.”
“Interesting how?”
“More…helpless, I think? Or something. More yours. Less control. Does that make sense?”
“Maybe. Is that all right, for you?” He tried not to hold his breath. The newborn stars winked at them, beyond the window.
“Yes. Very much yes. You can’t tell?”
Instead of answering, Michael slid a hand in between those long legs, and found the hardness there, waiting for him. When he tightened fingers around that aching desire, James moaned softly, and pushed his hips forward, into the touch.
“I thought you wanted less control. Don’t move. Not even if you want to.”
“Hmm. What if I need to—”
“You’ll just have to behave for me.”
At which James breathed in, quietly, under the starlight. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, then. Do you want more? Tell me.”
“Yes, please.”
“More detail. What do you want me to do?”
“Oh…all right. I want you to spank me, please. More. Here, over your lap. Where I can’t move. Because I need to…be yours. Sir.”
“Oh, my god,” Michael said, astonished, because even though he’d asked the question he somehow still hadn’t been prepared for that answer, in that magnificent voice. And James made a noise that was suspiciously close to a laugh, and he couldn’t have that, so he brought the hand down a second time, and then again, until all the noises turned into little gasps of want.
He watched James quiver in place for him, still trying hard not to move even though he was breathing rapidly now, smooth skin slowly turning red and hot under the cool gaze of the moon. And all that arousal was still present, impatient and tantalizing against Michael’s thigh, and on an impulse he shifted the leg, just a fraction of an inch, when his hand collided with burning freckles, and James whispered his name, consonants and vowels sliding out in breathless disarray. Perfect.
He walked fingers across the heat, carefully, testing the reaction; James seemed all right with that, with the lightness of the touch, for the moment.
“I want you to promise me something.”
“Really not a fair time to ask that…yes, probably, though. What am I promising?”
“Tell me that you’ll always tell me. When something—if there’s ever anything like this again. I know you were trying not to worry me. But I want you to worry me. All right?” He paused the hand. Rested his tingling palm on hot skin. James shivered, at the weight.
“I will. I would’ve told you, anyway, eventually. Just, you know, a bit later on—hey! That one was harder.”
“Sorry. Too hard?”
“No.”
“You like that—harder, I mean—don’t you?” He was fairly certain the answer was yes; he watched the silk-slide of hair along the sheets as James nodded, a prompt confirmation that made him grin, but he still wanted to hear it out loud. “Answer me, please.”
James was smiling, too; he could hear it in that spectacular voice, that accent all warm and thick and tangled up with desire. “Yes, I do. I like being able to feel you, after.”
“I like that, too.” Again. The heat settled into his hand, too, like it belonged there; he heard James moan, softly. “Still okay?”
“Yes, sir. I—”
“You what?” Very deliberately, he rested the barest edge of fingertips on pinkened skin, teasing, and got a small whimper of frustration as a reward. James very clearly wanted to lift those hips, to push upward into his hand, and just as clearly was trying desperately not to, because Michael hadn’t said he could move.
Good. He wanted James desperate, for him. “You what, James?”
“I want you to—I need you to do it harder. So that I can feel you. Sir.”
Michael actually bit his lip at that, trying to distract himself, because if James said anything else they might end up being finished a lot sooner than he’d planned. The distraction helped, but not enough, because all that glorious skin was burning under his hand and those words still hung in the air around them, happily echoing in his ears.
“I don’t know…you did make me ask twice, you know…do you think you should get what you want?”
“Oh, fuck,” James said into the bed, genuinely startled, and for some reason Michael found that reaction absolutely hysterical, and had to fight with himself not to start laughing.
“Language, James…”
“Sorry!” At that they both had to laugh.
“Oh, no…oh, I’m sorry, did I completely ruin the moment? It was a very nice moment.”
“Nice?” This made James laugh again, still happily lying naked across his lap; the resulting friction provoked welcome evidence that the moment hadn’t been lost, after all. “And, no…you are still asking me for this, right? And you did say harder?”
“Yes. And yes. Please.”
“Well, then…you know you haven’t seen everything I bought, yet.”
“Oh, really? Did you have something in mind?”
“Yes. Um…hang on a second.”
“Seriously?”
“Oh. I mean…over the bed. Legs apart for me. And stay there until I’m ready for you.”
“I told you I was fine! I am fine.”
“James, I am about two seconds away from bending you over the bed and spanking you until you promise never to go near anything potentially flammable again in your fucking life.”
James stared at him, eyes huge in the fading golden sunlight, and didn’t say anything. Just swallowed, after a second, and then, very slowly, leaned over the bed, and curled long fingers into suddenly twisted sheets, holding on.
Michael took a ragged breath, and lifted one hand, and then really looked at him. At the tension in those usually graceful hands, and the tightly closed eyes. And then just rested the hand, gently, on the curve of one unmoving hip. “James…do you actually want this? Now?”
No answer, except a quiet, quick, little inhale, against the sheets; and Michael shook his head, even though James couldn’t see him from their respective positions. No. James was offering, of course, but wasn’t looking at him, and had stopped talking, and something just…wasn’t right. “Please look at me.”
James turned his head, and blinked, long eyelashes sweeping down like rainclouds, and then licked his lips, a small nervous flash of pink tongue that very nearly broke Michael’s heart. “I…don’t know. I’m sorry.”
Fuck. He thought it again, because he didn’t have any other words. Fuck. “James, no. Don’t—can you come here? Please.”
James sat up, eyes still in shadow, still slightly averted. But, when Michael sat down on the bed next to him, James leaned against him, and let their shoulders touch.
Outside, the sun drifted a little lower, painting the sky in shades of indigo and bronze. In the space around them, on the bed, the dying sunbeams caught tiny floating bits of lint, from the carpet, from the sheets, hovering curiously in the sudden breathless silence.
After a minute, James said, softly, “I thought you wanted to…”
“I did. I do.” He couldn’t think of a way to explain it. It hadn’t been about anger. Just about the fact that James was here and breathing and Michael needed to feel all that living warmth under his touch, against his hands. To push them both until they felt as alive, in that moment, as anyone could possibly ever be.
“But you don’t. Not like this. Not if you think I’m seriously trying to—to hurt you. Or to punish you. You know—you have to know I would never—I love you, James. Always.”
James leaned a little more solidly against him, a little more comfortably, at that. “I know. I love you, too.”
They sat there, both still naked, and James put his head on Michael’s shoulder, all that improbable hair now dried into exuberant curls, and sighed. And the setting sun sent fading rays of ancient light into the hotel room, falling placidly across exposed skin.
“Interesting verb choice, there. Were you thinking that I needed you to punish me?”
“Be serious, please.”
“I am. I’m not opposed to the thought—”
“Not anywhere near believing you.”
“—would you let me talk? I did mean that, but it’ll help if you let me explain.” James sighed again, the whisper of air caressing Michael’s skin, and then actually stopped leaning against him and sat up and made eye contact.
“I appreciate the concern. I do. And I’m glad you were there. But we can’t—we’re both going to get hurt, at some point, on some movie set. Accidents happen. Like today. And I’m not—I mean—” James paused, to grin, but the eyes stayed serious, where they rested on Michael’s own.
“I enjoy you wanting to spank me. Obviously. But it can’t be about something like this. Because what happened today was an accident, and I’m going to go back on set and try it again tomorrow. And I’m not going to ask you not to do anything dangerous, ever, because I know that’s not a promise either of us can keep. So please don’t ask me that, either, because I don’t want to lie to you.”
“I know that, too.” Michael looked away, for just a second. Then back, at earnest blue eyes. Picked up the closest hand, and laced their fingers together, holding on. James squeezed his hand, still looking at him, quietly. “I’m sorry. I just—I was fucking terrified, James. When I saw you—I can’t lose you. I can’t. I keep thinking that it could’ve been worse, and you could’ve—what if you’d—I love you, you know. So damn much.”
“I know. I do know. I know how I’d feel, if it’d been you. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re this calm; I’m not sure I would be.”
“I’m not calm. Trust me.”
“Hmm. We could work out some of your stress, then, maybe?”
“Maybe…”
“Excellent.”
“Only if you want to. Really want to, I mean. Not just because you think I need it. Or you deserve it. Or—”
“But you still want to?”
“Yes?”
At which answer James squeezed his fingers again. And then smiled, slowly, the curve of those lips offering a suggestion all on their own. “I didn’t say I didn’t deserve it. You can. With your hand. Or something else. If you might still be in the mood.”
“You—”
“Not for almost getting hurt. For not wanting to tell you. I should’ve told you. I am sorry about that. Fair enough?”
“Yes.” Almost, hell. He'd been there, at least for the aftermath. He could still feel the tiny gnawing teeth of worry around his heart. But James was fine, he knew that too, and here, and apologizing, and here to apologize.
“So…”
“So… all right, then. Because you should have told me. And I love you. And I think…I think I want you over my lap, this time. I think you deserve that.”
Azure eyes rounded; he heard the slight pause before James took a breath, and wondered whether he’d crossed some sort of line, finally, with that one. Too much? Too intense?
But the familiar smile edged its way back into view, surfacing out of the surprise, shining sand in the wake of a receding tide. “All right. Yes. Sir.”
“Christ, James.”
“Hmm?”
“You have no idea what you, saying that, makes me want to do to you, do you?”
“Oh…I might have some idea. Sir.”
“Come here now.”
James grinned at him, cheerfully unrepentant. “Yes, sir. How do you want to do this, then? I never have.”
“Hmm.” Michael contemplated the bed for a second. The sheets, still welcomingly crinkled from their earlier nap, beckoned. Outside, the sun slipped away, silently, and little silver dustings of stars emerged, curious, from hiding.
“Edge of the bed? So you can—”
“Like this?”
Suddenly he had a warm and naked James stretched out across his lap, freckles twinkling in the starlight, and Michael ran a hand along his back and forgot to answer, distracted by the way James squirmed in response.
“Really no tickling.”
“I can spank you, but I can’t tickle you?”
“Yes. Exactly. Speaking of…”
“Don’t be impatient. Is this okay? Comfortable, I mean?”
“Is comfortable actually the word you want to use? Considering upcoming events.”
“You know what I meant.”
“Yes, I do. And yes, I am. And I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Michael told him, and punctuated the words with movement, and the snap of his hand against pale skin echoed definitively around the room.
“Oh…”
“What?” That had been a surprised oh. And Michael’s still-shaky heart was not a fan of surprised sounds from James, at the moment. “Is this okay? Do you need—”
“No, I’m fine, everything’s fine, relax, please.” James, displaying impressive flexibility, wriggled around to smile at him. “Just…different. Different position. Interesting.”
“Interesting how?”
“More…helpless, I think? Or something. More yours. Less control. Does that make sense?”
“Maybe. Is that all right, for you?” He tried not to hold his breath. The newborn stars winked at them, beyond the window.
“Yes. Very much yes. You can’t tell?”
Instead of answering, Michael slid a hand in between those long legs, and found the hardness there, waiting for him. When he tightened fingers around that aching desire, James moaned softly, and pushed his hips forward, into the touch.
“I thought you wanted less control. Don’t move. Not even if you want to.”
“Hmm. What if I need to—”
“You’ll just have to behave for me.”
At which James breathed in, quietly, under the starlight. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, then. Do you want more? Tell me.”
“Yes, please.”
“More detail. What do you want me to do?”
“Oh…all right. I want you to spank me, please. More. Here, over your lap. Where I can’t move. Because I need to…be yours. Sir.”
“Oh, my god,” Michael said, astonished, because even though he’d asked the question he somehow still hadn’t been prepared for that answer, in that magnificent voice. And James made a noise that was suspiciously close to a laugh, and he couldn’t have that, so he brought the hand down a second time, and then again, until all the noises turned into little gasps of want.
He watched James quiver in place for him, still trying hard not to move even though he was breathing rapidly now, smooth skin slowly turning red and hot under the cool gaze of the moon. And all that arousal was still present, impatient and tantalizing against Michael’s thigh, and on an impulse he shifted the leg, just a fraction of an inch, when his hand collided with burning freckles, and James whispered his name, consonants and vowels sliding out in breathless disarray. Perfect.
He walked fingers across the heat, carefully, testing the reaction; James seemed all right with that, with the lightness of the touch, for the moment.
“I want you to promise me something.”
“Really not a fair time to ask that…yes, probably, though. What am I promising?”
“Tell me that you’ll always tell me. When something—if there’s ever anything like this again. I know you were trying not to worry me. But I want you to worry me. All right?” He paused the hand. Rested his tingling palm on hot skin. James shivered, at the weight.
“I will. I would’ve told you, anyway, eventually. Just, you know, a bit later on—hey! That one was harder.”
“Sorry. Too hard?”
“No.”
“You like that—harder, I mean—don’t you?” He was fairly certain the answer was yes; he watched the silk-slide of hair along the sheets as James nodded, a prompt confirmation that made him grin, but he still wanted to hear it out loud. “Answer me, please.”
James was smiling, too; he could hear it in that spectacular voice, that accent all warm and thick and tangled up with desire. “Yes, I do. I like being able to feel you, after.”
“I like that, too.” Again. The heat settled into his hand, too, like it belonged there; he heard James moan, softly. “Still okay?”
“Yes, sir. I—”
“You what?” Very deliberately, he rested the barest edge of fingertips on pinkened skin, teasing, and got a small whimper of frustration as a reward. James very clearly wanted to lift those hips, to push upward into his hand, and just as clearly was trying desperately not to, because Michael hadn’t said he could move.
Good. He wanted James desperate, for him. “You what, James?”
“I want you to—I need you to do it harder. So that I can feel you. Sir.”
Michael actually bit his lip at that, trying to distract himself, because if James said anything else they might end up being finished a lot sooner than he’d planned. The distraction helped, but not enough, because all that glorious skin was burning under his hand and those words still hung in the air around them, happily echoing in his ears.
“I don’t know…you did make me ask twice, you know…do you think you should get what you want?”
“Oh, fuck,” James said into the bed, genuinely startled, and for some reason Michael found that reaction absolutely hysterical, and had to fight with himself not to start laughing.
“Language, James…”
“Sorry!” At that they both had to laugh.
“Oh, no…oh, I’m sorry, did I completely ruin the moment? It was a very nice moment.”
“Nice?” This made James laugh again, still happily lying naked across his lap; the resulting friction provoked welcome evidence that the moment hadn’t been lost, after all. “And, no…you are still asking me for this, right? And you did say harder?”
“Yes. And yes. Please.”
“Well, then…you know you haven’t seen everything I bought, yet.”
“Oh, really? Did you have something in mind?”
“Yes. Um…hang on a second.”
“Seriously?”
“Oh. I mean…over the bed. Legs apart for me. And stay there until I’m ready for you.”