Flash Fiction Monday – Temptation

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“Get down from there, Sebastian,” I begged. Fear made my throat tight and quaver-y. But he didn’t appear to hear me. He was a dark figure, silhouetted against the sky. The fading sun tinged everything with a strange, surreal glow.

Sebastian wavered, almost losing his balance for a moment before he righted himself. His arms rose higher behind him, looking almost like wings as he walked along the fallen tree, so high up off the ground. Snapped off during a heavy storm, the tree had come to rest on the branches of another tree and made a bridge.

We walked these woods every weekend. Bullied and teased at school. Ignored or picked on at home, neither of us had anywhere to go but these woods. And no one to turn to but each other.

The moment Sebastian had seen the tree-bridge, he’d darted ahead of me and scrambled up to explore. Now, my heart sat in my throat, heavy with fear. Sebastian had been so vague lately. So distant and strange. More reckless than usual.

What if he  … but no, he wouldn’t? Would he?

“Please,” I begged again.

He turned to face me and closed his eyes, looking like someone about to dive from a cliff into the ocean. Only there was no ocean below. Just cold, hard earth and too far to fall in between. I held my breath. He crept forward, his scuffed sneakers reaching the edge of the fallen tree.

I whimpered, helpless terror making my voice mute, but he must have heard me because his eyes opened. Even at that distance I could see the blankness on his face.  He shook his head and seemed to snap out of the daze he’d been in.

“Come down, Sebastian, please,” I croaked.

He gave me a vague, fleeting smile, but turned and walked slowly across the fallen tree and shimmied down the trunk to the ground. I caught him in my arms the moment his feet touched the earth.

I squeezed him hard, too hard probably, but I was so relieved to see him on safe, flat ground. “Don’t fucking do that to me again,” I pleaded. “Please, you’re all I have. Don’t scare me like that.”

He mumbled something against my shoulder. I pulled back and he looked me dazedly, like he wasn’t sure what had happened. The look in his blue eyes was still vague and distant, but he nodded at me. I gripped his hand and led him away, but he turned back and stared at the tree.

“You’re all I have,” I repeated and tugged him further from temptation.

I didn’t know if I was enough to anchor him to this earth anymore. And without Sebastian, I had nothing.


That took a more serious tone than I originally planned, but

Please visit the flash fic group on Facebook and check out the links to the other authors’ flash fics for this week!

I look forward to seeing you next Monday!

 

 

 

 

 

Mittens and Clay

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Clay swirled his brush across the paper, filling in the sky behind the little red house he’d painted.  Below, two stick figures with dark hair held the hands of the smaller figure. The one with bright yellow hair just like Clay’s.  Mittens wound around his ankle as he dipped the brush into the water, then traded the blue paint for black.

His tongue poked out from between his teeth as he carefully drew a few more lines and added ears. “There, I put you in the picture too, Mittens. They promised you’d come home with us.”

The cat jumped onto the table and chirped, “mrrow”.

“Do you think they’ll like the picture, Mittens?” Clay whispered.

This time, the black cat dipped her paw in the mug of water in answer.

He looked at Mittens and gave her a tremulous smile. “Do you think they’ll like us?”


Please visit the flash fic group on Facebook and check out the links to the other authors’ flash fics! This week, Helena made me cry.

I look forward to seeing you next Monday!

Flash Fic Monday – Dive

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Charles watched, heart in his throat, as Emanuel leapt from the cliff.  His form was perfect, his body knifing through the air as he plummeted to the pool of water below. A cry went up from the people around them, and Charles realized his arms were upraised too, his throat hoarse from screaming, although he could hear nothing over the roar of the waterfall.

Before Charles could blink, Emanuel was gone, disappearing beneath the churning water.  Charles’ gut felt full of lead and his cheeks were wet.  He closed his eyes, not sure if it was the roaring water or the pounding of his heart he felt surging through him.

Emanuel had been planning this for months, meticulously researching every aspect of it.  When he announced to Charles that he was finally ready, Charles had calmly walked into the bathroom, closed the door, and heaved up the contents of his stomach.

He wasn’t ready. He could never be ready for something like this.  And yet, there was no dissuading Emanuel.  They hadn’t slept at all the night before, lying in each other’s arms and whispering to each other. Charles spoke until his voice was raw and nearly gone, yet he hadn’t said the one thing he wanted to.

Don’t do it. 

Please, don’t leave me.

He wanted to scream them, but now … it was too late.

Of course, if it hadn’t been this it would have been something else.  The disease had slowly been robbing Emanuel of his life. Charles would have lost him at some point, but he’d selfishly been hoping to have more time together. But Emanuel had refused to let himself wither away like most and had planned this mad journey and jump from the waterfall.  The impact should break his neck. If not, the icy water would do the rest.  Their friends and Emanuel’s family had come to support him, won over by the man’s quiet determination.  But none of them loved Emanuel the way Charles did.  No one would ever love Emanuel as fiercely.

Resolute, Charles opened his eyes, ready to leave the place where he’d unwillingly said goodbye to the man he loved.  It was over.

His eyes dry now, Charles squared his shoulders and took a deep breath.  He sputtered on the inhale as something—no, someone—broke the surface of the churning water.  Unblinking, Charles stared.

Emanuel was nude as he stepped onto the shore, water sheeting off his muscles, his expression serene. Charles had heard the legend of course, but he’d never believed it.  Never dreamed for a minute that the rumors and whispers could be true.

Directly in front of him now, Emanuel stared straight into Charles’ eyes. He couldn’t move, couldn’t even lift his arms to embrace the man he loved as the distance between them disappeared. Shock rendering him mute and motionless. Emanuel’s skin was warm, his body solid.

It was true then.

Only those who were willing and ready to die, were reborn.


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I look forward to seeing you next Monday!

Flash Fiction Monday – Flying

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Hollywood wasn’t good for much of anything, but Michael had to give it some credit. Over the years it had proven quite useful. History and legend had done much to confuse the world about the power of witches, but Hollywood had done even more. According to the movies and TV, witches were either ugly old hags or pretty young girls who wore a lot of black. No one knew the truth.

But they would, soon.

He glanced upward. It was mid-afternoon, but the sky was tinged an odd, sickly color. The sound of flapping wings filled the air and dark, winged creatures surged and drifted on the currents. In their midst, the solid bulk of Michael’s lover, Fermin, filled the air. It seemed to defy gravity and the laws of physics Michael had spent the better part of his life studying. That was how they’d met—Michael and Fermin—and while it hadn’t been love at first sight by any means, it was a solid thirty odd year relationship. And now Michael was terrified of what his research had uncovered.

Michael had delayed as long as possible, trying to stretch out the time as much as possible, but he was pretty sure his research team had a spy in its midst. The thought saddened him and he’d spent too many nice searching his memories for clues, but he still wasn’t sure who it was. It didn’t matter, in the end. His relationship with Fermin and the safety of every gay man was at risk. Because of what Michael had discovered.

Not that Fermin blamed him—despite his gruff exterior he was a softy inside—but Michael had enough guilt for the both of them. He’d never dreamed that the gene associated with homosexuality also controlled the portion of the brain that involved flying. It turned out the only witches out there were gay men. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, lesbians had their own magic, but it didn’t involve flying. But Michael’s interests—personal or professional—had never included women.

Above him, Fermin whirled and soared with the birds, enjoying some final moments of freedom.

Flying wasn’t magic. Hell, witch was probably an entirely inaccurate word for the men who flew, but it was what most of them identified as. Michael’s discovery of the genetic component—and subsequent ties to homosexuality—left them vulnerable. Left his lover vulnerable. Any day now he’d have to turn over the final pieces of his research to the government and who knew what would happen after that for the witches. Internment camps? Torture disguised as research? Military conscription? A shudder worked its way up Michael’s spine.

He was so lost in his thoughts that Fermin’s arms wrapping around him startled him.

“Hey, it’s just me.” The low rumble of Fermin’s voice and the solid bulk of his body was reassuring. Michael sagged back and closed his eyes.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I told you, no more apologies. You had no idea until it was too late. And you had nothing but good intentions when you began your research.”

He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I’m afraid for you. For us. For all of us.” He wasn’t a witch himself. Witches were gay men, but not necessarily the other way around. The gene hadn’t expressed itself in him. But as the lover and long-term partner of one, he belonged to the community. The thought of how they’d view his betrayal sickened him.

“We still have options. Plans are being put into place. You gave us enough warning that we might still come out of this okay.” Michael didn’t see how, but Fermin had always been more optimistic. “Trust me,” Fermin coaxed.

Michael turned and buried his head in the crook of Fermin’s neck. “I trust you,” he whispered.

Fermin’s strong, solid arms wrapped around him and the feeling of peace that Fermin had always brought washed over him. He didn’t need to fly, not when he had Fermin to anchor him.

Whatever the coming weeks and months brought them, he’d have Fermin.


Please visit the flash fic group on Facebook and check out the links to the other authors’ flash fics! Helena has a wonder dark fic this week.

I look forward to seeing you next Monday!

Flash Fiction Monday – Missing Unicorn

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The entire living room seemed to shudder as the door slammed shut.  “A large female? You really had to call me a large female? And I am not missing. I went to visit my sister for a couple of days because you’re an asshat.”

“Camille  …”

“Don’t Camille me.” The curvy, rainbow-haired shifter wagged a finger at Roy.  “You plastered a missing poster of a unicorn all over Manhattan to get back at me because we had a fight.  Not cool, man.”

“It was meant to be a joke,” Roy replied weakly.  At the time—and given the amount of alcohol in his system—it had seemed like a good idea.  A way to make his girlfriend laugh.  Apparently, it had been the wrong choice.

Camille’s sky blue eyes narrowed.  “A joke.  You called me large, dipshit.  That’s never funny.”

Roy sidled closer and warily put a hand on Camille’s hip.  “You know I love your curves, babe. “

“Well, you aren’t going to be loving them tonight!” Camille spun on her heel and stalked toward the bedroom, tossing her mane of brightly colored hair over her shoulder.  It had taken some time to get used to living with a woman who was a pointy-horned horse half the time.  It was hell on their hardwood floors, that was for sure.  Roy was just grateful she’d never attempted to skewer him while angry. Slamming doors he could handle.

Through two closed doors, Roy heard the sound of rushing water and figured Camille would be in the bath for a while.  He sank onto the couch with a frown as he pondered how to apologize for their argument.  Properly this time.

Hours later, Roy felt the tickle of long hair across his back.  He blinked sleepily and rolled over, careful not to dislodge the woman kneeling over him. Soft lips feathered against his.  “You can’t bribe me with taffy every time we fight.”

Roy grinned against his girlfriend’s lips.  He was a candy maker and everyone knew the way to a unicorn’s heart was through sweets.  “Nope. Next time it’ll be cordial cherries.”


Please visit the flash fic group on Facebook and check out the links to the other authors’ flash fics for this week! We managed to lure the elusive Eileen Griffin out with a unicorn prompt so be sure to check out her fic!

I look forward to seeing you next Monday!

Flash Fic Monday – Excitement

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On the path in front of him, Kurt stopped in his tracks and Victor’s feet slid on the dew-damp grass as he tried to do the same.  He cursed as he ran into the man in front of him, his hands curling around the thick biceps to get his balance.

“Damn,” Kurt whispered, his tone almost reverent.

You aren’t kidding, Victor thought.  Just being in such close proximity made his head spin.

“I didn’t know it would be like that. Your photos are going to be amazing.”

Victor chuckled internally and shook his head.  Right. The reason they’d been hacking their way through overgrown brush for three days was the photo shoot he’d been planning for six months.  Not the man he’d been lusting after for nearly as long.

Reluctantly, he let go of Kurt and stepped to the side. He blinked at the sight of the twisted steel forms rising from the trees, partially obscured by the fog.  The rusted metal looked almost sculptural in the heavy, early-morning air.  Victor’s hand went to the camera hanging around his neck.

“I just never dreamed it would be so …” Kurt let out a sigh and Victor nodded. It was incredible.  “How fast did they go?”

“Fast,” Victor replied as he took off the lens cap and brought the viewfinder to his face.  “It was absolutely exhilarating.”

After the collapse of the Western world, nothing even remotely like a rollercoaster remained.  Victor was old enough to remember them from his childhood, but Kurt had been born after.  Even now, although society was beginning to rebuild, engineers were focused on infrastructure, not amusement parks.  Victor’s day job was useful and productive—creative fields just weren’t necessary in this new world they lived in—but Victor had inherited his father’s ancient camera, and with some creative modifications, he made it work.  Now, Victor was trying to catalogue all the long-forgotten relics from the old society.  He didn’t know why, exactly, but something in his blood told him it was important.

Victor had hired Kurt to help him get to the old, closed-down amusement park.  It had been a pleasant—if strenuous—couple of days, and Victor felt a moment of remorse that tomorrow morning, they’d be heading back to the city. He only had one day to shoot; he had to make the most of it.

By the end of that day Victor’s feet hurt, his forearms were scratched from a patch of brambles he’d stumbled into, and even Kurt—rugged guide that he was—looked exhausted.  Now, Victor smiled at him over the crackling campfire they’d made at the base of one of the huge steel monsters.  “I really can’t thank you enough for doing this.”

Kurt shrugged, rubbing at his bearded jaw.  “Hey, this was great. I’ve always been curious to see them.  I never dreamed they’d be so big. I just wish I knew what it was like to ride one.”

Victor glanced up at the rusted metal far, far above them.  “It was pretty breathtaking,” he admitted, although his memories were from so long ago, he sometimes wondered if they were even remotely accurate.  He remembered the adrenaline and his heart slamming in his chest at the wild speed as the ‘coaster whipped around a curve.

“I can imagine.”

Victor jerked in surprise when Kurt’s voice came from far closer than a few moments before.  Kurt stood in front of him, expression strangely intense.  Victor’s heart seemed to echo his childhood memories, pounding far too fast as he got to his feet, compelled by the look in the other man’s eyes.

“Yeah.” Kurt’s voice was soft as he leaned closer.  “I imagine it’s a lot like being around you.”

Victor’s hand trembled as their lips pressed softly together.  This—being intimate with a man—was as looked down on as being an artist was.  Practicality ruled in this new society and a man who couldn’t rebuild the population or the world they lived in wasn’t thought highly of.

But, as their bodies pressed together from toe to forehead, Victor thought he might just be willing to take the risk.

Much like riding a roller coaster, the fear only added to the excitement.


Please visit the flash fic group on Facebook and check out the links to the other authors’ flash fics for this week! I really loved Theo’s and Helena’s this week.

I look forward to seeing you next Monday!

Flash Fiction Monday – Carnival Oddity

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Carnival Oddity 

With a wrenching metallic noise, the carousel horse broke free.  Someone screamed and I reached out blindly, groping for Sammy’s hand.  It was clammy like mine and I felt an absurd sense of relief that I likely wasn’t the only one whose heart beat too fast, fear choking my throat and making my tongue dry.

“What’s happening?” I whispered to her as the horse, carved wooden muscles bunching obscenely, leaped over the nearby park bench. It ran jerkily, stiffly, like it still didn’t have control of itself.  My brain couldn’t seem to grasp what was happening, the sheer wrongness of the scene in front of me overwhelming me. Still frozen in stiff, carved poses, the remainder of the horses continued on in endless circles, the tinny music filling the air around us, perfectly normal except for the gaping hole where the horse had ripped free.

“I don’t know.” Her voice shook.

A second metallic squeal ripped through the air and Sammy and I both shuddered as a second horse came alive.  I whimpered and pulled Sammy to me, needing her closer.  Around us, the crowd jostled and surged, some people pushing closer to see, others trying to flee. Mass chaos was about to break out soon and I glanced around, trying to get my bearings.  Instead, I saw brightly colored cheap stuffed animals jumping down from the midway games, lurching toward us with an awkward, lumbering gait.

“I’m scared, Angel,” Sammy whispered as a third horse broke free with a wrenching noise and strangled whinny.

“Me too,” I grudgingly admitted. I didn’t want Sammy to feel alone though. And who in their right mind wouldn’t be afraid of whatever the hell was going on right now? We’d gone to the park, expecting carnival rides and sugary elephant ears and gotten a nightmare of Stephen King proportions.

A cartoonish laugh echoed through the air and I shuddered.

“Oh God, not a clown. Please, don’t let it be a clown,” I begged under my breath.

I fucking hated clowns.

I glanced to my right as a fourth horse leaped down, the jerky movements becoming more fluid and lifelike. I finally spotted a break in the crowd and a small wooded area that would hide us from view as we worked our way toward the parking lot and, hopefully, safety.

I tightened my grip on Sammy’s hand and dug my heels into the ground.

Run.”


Please visit the flash fic group on Facebook and check out the links to the other authors’ flash fics for this week! I really loved Theo’s this week.

I look forward to seeing you next Monday!

Flash Fiction Monday – Missed Connection

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Missed Connection

Benjamin Kimura sank to the paving stones beneath him as his knees went out from under him.  The clank and rattle of the train were a distant, dim annoyance as he drank in the words Antonia had written.  It rumbled and hissed to a stop as the words swam in front of his eyes.

Why had he never listened before?

Since the moment they met in grad school, Ben had loved Antonio with the kind of single-minded intensity he usually reserved for his beloved books.  So when Antonio slowly, haltingly revealed that he’d been keeping a secret, Ben had seen it as a betrayal. A loss of the man he loved.  A sign that his idyllic life with Antonio had been a farce.

But the book Antonia had published?

Oh, that told a different story.  Because while the names and details had been changed, the soul of the person in the pages was the person Ben had planned to spend the rest of his life with.  The book was a love letter, a reminder of what they’d shared.  If Ben could recognize the love of his life on the pages—despite the changes that took it from being an autobiography to fiction—why couldn’t he see that in real life?  Why couldn’t he see that all of the truly important parts of Antonio were still present in Antonia?

Yes, it was a mind-fuck to go from being a gay man in a relationship with another man to a man in love with a trans* woman, but why did his discomfort have to be a deal breaker?

Why hadn’t Ben seen that Antonio’s revelation was a sign that he—she?–trusted Ben enough to reveal the deepest parts of his—her?—identity?

Fuck, he wasn’t prepared to deal with any of this.  He scrubbed his fingertips against his scalp in frustration, ruffling the thick dark hair that was the legacy of his father.  He froze when he considered his own identity.  He’d grown up in two worlds, blending his father’s Japanese culture with that of his mother—a Caucasian woman from America—all while growing up in London. Ben had fallen in love with a second-generation Italian-Spanish man and his entire world was a hodge-podge of multi-culturalism.

If his parents hadn’t seen beyond the cultural divide, Ben wouldn’t exist.  If Ben had been closed-minded, he’d never have met Antonio in the first place.  So why was he limiting himself? Why was he letting his fears keep him from being with someone he loved?

Ben snapped his tablet cover shut and stuffed it in his rucksack.  Standing, he dusted off the back of his jeans and headed for the exit.  He’d wasted money on a train ticket to Oxford to see his parents—he’d been running to them to escape his confusion—but that wasn’t the end of the world.  Losing Antonio—Antonia—was.

The anxiety in his stomach grew as he walked to the flat they shared.  Lately, it had been filled with strained silence and tense discomfort.

Rather than use his key, he knocked on the door. The person who opened it wasn’t the man he’d fallen in love with.   The long, runners legs Ben had loved to feel tangled against his own were now covered in a gauzy, bohemian print skirt rather than the trousers he was used to seeing.  The soft dark waves he’d loved to run his fingers through were now cut in a stylish, curly bob that looked vaguely flapper-esque and softened the square jaw.

The corner of the mouth he’d kissed a thousand times before—familiar, yet changed by lipstick—trembled.

He stuck out his hand. “Antonia, right?  I’m Ben.”

Her throat bobbed as they shook hands and Ben saw the shimmer of tears in the soft brown eyes he’d fallen in love with.  He continued, not sure if this was the right approach or not, but knowing he had to try.  “I read your book and I’d really like to get to know you better.”

Her voice was husky, softer than he was familiar with, but the words were all that mattered.  “I’d like that.”


I went over the word count this week by a few hundred words, but the story demanded it.

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I look forward to seeing you next Monday!

Flash Fic Monday – The Last One Alive

Lincoln

The Last One Alive

The gravel path was well-packed and surprisingly neat as it cut through the scrubby grass covered in ash and sparkling with frost.  He’d discovered the path a few days before.  The cat had arrived then too and had stubbornly fallen into step beside him despite his best attempts to scare it away.  Lincoln had screamed at it, even kicked at it with his boot, but it had only slowly blinked at him with all-knowing yellow eyes and he gave up.

Truth be told, he was grateful for the companionship.  He hadn’t seen another living being since The Disaster.  That’s what he called it because he didn’t know what it was or how it had happened.  All he knew was that late one night, he’d come out of the seedy sex shop where he worked to find a changed world.  There were no seasons anymore, just an endless dry cold that had dug in and refused to leave.  Cold enough to chill him, but not enough to kill.

Lincoln had been walking ever since, stopping only to rest for a few hours at a time. He was afraid if he stopped for longer he’d lie down, close his eyes, and never open them again. He slept in fits and starts, snatching fragments of sleep when he could. He didn’t know where the rest of the world had gone or why he was still here so he kept walking. He didn’t know what else to do.

He thought he’d been walking for months but he didn’t have much to judge the passing of time by except how long his hair had grown.  It was well past his ears now, nearly brushing his shoulders.  A while back, he’d caught a glimpse of himself in the glass of a storefront he was raiding for food and hadn’t recognized himself. For the briefest second, he’d thought he wasn’t alone.  But he was. Except for the Damned Cat—which was what he called it—he hadn’t seen another living soul.

Lincoln assumed the cold and the ash and the lack of human life were all connected, but he wasn’t sure how or why.  He thought it would be like the movies, that he’d find a ragged group of plucky survivors banded together to begin a new civilization, but nope, he’d been wrong about that.

Turns out, he didn’t know much of anything. So he kept walking.

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, weak and cold, the light teasing him with its promise of warmth it didn’t deliver.  If he’d been the kind of man to believe in God, maybe he’d take it as a sign, but he didn’t believe in a higher power today any more than he had before The Disaster.

“C’mon, Damned Cat,” he said, his voice hoarse and rough with disuse.

With a sigh, Lincoln walked into the weak, watery light, his feline companion at his side, the last man alive.


Please visit the flash fic group on Facebook and check out the links to the other authors’ flash fics for this week!

I look forward to seeing you next Monday!

Monday Flash Fic – The Marrakesh Machine

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The Marrakesh Machine

Eldon’s blunt nails dug into his palms as the Marrakesh Machine rose, lanterns glowing with hues of deep purple, orange, and gold. Fly, fly, fly, he silently urged the machine as he watched from the ground. It rose jerkily—making his stomach wobble with nerves—before the convection currents stabilized. Fifteen years of designing ,modifying, and begging for money to build his invention had gone into this moment. Along with three years of toadying to Lord Withrow Nelson III’s every whim.

Involuntarily, Eldon gave a brief glance at the man who’d funded this project and caught him staring. Lord Nelson was infuriatingly handsome, with brown curls and the most arrestingly angular features Eldon had ever seen. Eldon felt a curious quiver in his stomach that had nothing to do with the flight of his beloved invention and resolutely turned away.

The Marrakesh Machine continued to rise, soaring into the clouds as the sun began to appear over the trees, the pilot barely visible as a dark speck inside the glass carriage. Eldon’s heart soared with it. He’d wanted to be the man to fly his invention but Lord Nelson wouldn’t hear of it. The man’s supercilious attitude vexed him, but he had deep pockets.

“You’ve done it, McCreary. Brilliant work.”

“I owe you, Lord Nelson,” he said gruffly.

The man had spent every idle moment needling Eldon, questioning his design choices. Eldon McCreary was the professor and inventor; he was the expert, not the wealthy young lord. But said lord was the only one who believed in Eldon’s invention, the only one willing to risk money on a wild flight of fancy. In three years they’d often come to verbal blows, and nearly physical ones, but his patron had improved Eldon’s original design. He had a sinking suspicion the machine would never have worked without Lord Nelson’s suggestions.

Lord Nelson stepped closer, dark eyes strangely intent. Eldon knew Lord Nelson was a gentleman of a certain persuasion—according to the whispers in London—but Eldon was not. Or at least he’d never considered the idea until recently. Much as he hated the man, he stirred something in Eldon he didn’t find entirely comfortable. Relationships between men weren’t expressly forbidden, but they were hardly encouraged.

“It seems our partnership has nearly ended,” Lord Nelson said, reaching out to grip Eldon’s waistcoat with his brown leather clad hands and Eldon’s back stiffened.

“Indeed.” Eldon’s stomach felt as though there were convection currents at work in there as well.

“Unless you’d perhaps consider one of a different sort.”

Eldon’s eyebrows rose. “After we debut The Marrakesh Machine?” Today was merely the first successful test flight, they wouldn’t be debuting it to the world for another few weeks. “I have a number of designs in the works. There’s one that will revolutionize the world—”

His words were cut off by Lord Nelson’s mouth against his own, the kiss skillful and demanding. He wished he could say he hadn’t seen it coming, or that he disliked it, but that wasn’t the case. What that meant for the man’s patronage….

“Lord Nelson!” He protested as he pulled back.

The man’s mouth turned up at the corners. “I think under the circumstances you can call me Withrow, or at the very least, Nelson.”

“Nelson,” he managed.

“Now, McCreary.” He’d never heard the lord’s tone sound so soft. “I’ll come by your rooms later to discuss the terms of our new partnership. I think it’ll be every bit as successful as our current one.”

Glancing up at The Marrakesh Machine as it began to make a gentle descent, Eldon felt as though he was still flying, but whether it was from the success of his invention or the touch of the man beside him he wasn’t entirely sure.

A successful partnership indeed.

 


I definitely went over the word count this week and could have written more, but I tried to keep it concise as possible.

Please visit the flash fic group on Facebook and check out the links to the other author’s flash fics for this week! There are some really incredible ones

I look forward to seeing you next Monday!