Free Read - Tentacle Pool

Partly inspired by 'Hylas & The Nymphs' from Greek mythology, painting by JW Waterhouse.

Tentacle Pool

© Melanie Tushmore 2012

The following story is a work of fiction, any resemblance to any persons (or tentacled beings) living or dead is purely coincidental. No part of this work may be copied or reproduced without the author's written permission.

Dedication

 

Happy Birthday, Samantha!

With special thanks to Evie, Piper & MJ

* * *

Ancient Greece, on the Sea of Marmara.

A little after lunch.

The boat splashed through shallow, clear water, its bottom dragging on the sand.

“Everybody out!” commanded Dmitri. “The quicker we get to shore, the quicker we can find food.”

The other sailors leapt over the boat's side, muttering under their breath as they tugged and pulled the boat to the beach.

Aire wasn't a sailor. He was a musician and a fool for letting his father push him into a voyage with his older brother, Dmitri. “Play for the crew,” Father had said. “Entertain them! Even Orpheus went on a voyage, and that was with Jason.” Aire shook his head. Father didn't understand. Aire wasn't built for heavy work; his slim body and delicate hands weren't any use on a ship.

Not for the sort of work Dmitri wanted him to do, anyway. “Who wants to hear music?” he'd scoffed. “Be quiet, and make our dinner!”

Some voyage, Aire thought to himself. So far, all they'd done was circle the mainland twice, thanks to Dmitri's appalling navigation skills, and now they'd drifted off course to Mysia, the deserted island that no one ever came to. Aire was positive that when they got back home Dmitri would have dreamt up some incredibly pompous stories of his imaginary adventures, bribing his crew to keep quiet.

“Aire!” Dmitri snapped, jolting Aire out of his thoughts. “Stop stalling and help us.”

Aire peered over the edge of the boat, into the water. He really didn't want to get his sandals wet.

“Doesn't matter, Dmitri,” Eli grunted, pulling on the boat's side. “We're almost on the shore anyway.”

“Yes, it does matter,” Dmitri muttered.

Eli rolled his eyes, as Aire ducked inside the boat. “Don't worry, lad,” Eli said. “Stay where you are. No sense us all getting wet.”

The small boat was pulled onto powdery white sand. Dry starfish and empty sea shells lay scattered on the beach. The other sailors grumbled and stretched before collecting their belongings from the boat: spears, knives, rope, and cloth. They were going hunting, though Aire seriously doubted their chances of finding anything alive on this island. It was overgrown, all hills and forest. Not only would they have to hike to get anywhere, they'd have to carry their quarry back to the beach.

“Aire, wake up.” Dmitri thrust the water-skins at him. “Go fetch water.”

Aire sighed quietly. It looked like he would be hiking too. He threaded the water-skins onto a smooth, wooden pole, and used it to steady himself as he clambered from the boat. One of the men stuck a foot out to trip him on purpose, and Aire stumbled into Eli.

“Steady, lad.” Eli chuckled, his hands catching a quick grope as he helped Aire up. “Don't want to fall, now.”

They laughed at him, their eyes roving over his ruffled tunic.

Aire smoothed his clothes down. “Thank you, Eli. I'm fine.” He picked up his pole, the water-skins dangling from each end, and laid it across his shoulders.

“Take care now!” they called after him.

Aire ignored them. At least being sent to fetch water, he'd have some peace at last.

Fresh water was more likely to come from higher up, so Aire left the beach and entered the forest, picking his way through trees and green brush. Songbirds called to each other in the branches overhead. The deeper Aire went into the forest, the more flowers he saw; wild blooms of exotic, varying colours, their scents sweet and fragrant. A strange insect landed on an open yellow flower, its wings sparkling in the dappled light from the trees. Aire paused, and leaned closer to look. The insect flew away, but not before Aire had seen that it looked more lizard than winged insect.

In the distance, he heard Dmitri's hunting horn. That was quick, he thought. Maybe there were wild creatures on the island, after all. And here Aire was, on his own in the forest.

He swallowed, hurrying on his way.

Aire was in luck. Having only just begun to climb to the raised ground, he happened to stumble through a tightly woven set of trees, into a small clearing. There was a pool there, settled underneath a bowing laurel tree.

Perfect.

Aire's shoulders simply couldn't have taken any more. The thought of the pole weighing even heavier on his return journey made Aire groan. He sank to his knees at the pool's edge, pushing the pole and water-skins away. He was parched, and the water looked clean.

There were unusual leafy pads sitting on the water's surface, each crowned with a small white bud. Were they lily pads? The largest, in the centre of the pool, would have been of a size to fit a human head. It had a full bloom of off-white, yellow petals on its pad, yet Aire didn't see any insects around. He gazed into the water. He couldn't see any fish either. It was clear, but all he saw were stems from the lily pads that led down through the water. They seemed so thick; dark green and tangled together. They would be a perfect hiding place for small fish, if there were any.

Aire leaned carefully over the edge. The pool was small but it seemed to go very deep. And yet, no life within? Curious. Maybe there were fish toward the bottom, where the water was darker? Aire bent lower still, scenting it with his nose. The water smelt fresh and faintly sweet. He cupped his hands in the water, crisp and cool against his skin, and dared to sip.

Well, it tasted fine. Aire pulled up glistening handfuls of water to his mouth. When he had drank his fill, he gazed again into the pool. The ripples caused by his hands had stilled, and the surface was smooth once more. Aire saw himself staring back, as clearly as if he looked into a mirror. His hair was a mess. His dark curls had been picked and yanked free from the fastening by the forest branches. Aire undid the tie and brushed his hair back using his fingers. He retied the band, although he did consider it a pointless task; his hair would only become more dishevelled on the way back. This was why Dmitri kept his hair short, he supposed.

Aire pulled a lock of hair to his face and sniffed. He smelt of the sea now, like the sailors. Aire didn't mind the sea, not really, but how he missed playing his harp. Especially since Dmitri had tossed his travelling one overboard. And how Aire missed playing for an appreciative audience. He would definitely have a talk with his parents when they got home. Maybe he could convince them to send him to Athens, to study with the followers of Bacchus.

That would certainly be fun.

If only Aire had his harp, he would have sat here by this pool until sunset, playing songs. His fingers rose in his lap, holding the imaginary instrument, and moved against invisible strings. He hummed under his breath, finding a tune. He had been composing his own song before Dmitri had put a stop to it. As soon as Aire got his hands on another harp he'd have to finish the song. Aire remembered the soft, wistful notes and began to sing.

“I wish I'd say unto to my love

“All the words within my heart.

“Until that day, I'll play my harp

“And wait for –”

A ripple stirred the water, then the lily pads jerked, as if tugged sharply from below. Aire's song trailed off. He saw movement, something stirring in the water deep within in the pool. He was half afraid but, foolishly, he peered in. His eyes widened in alarm as he saw the unmistakable shape of coils writhing underwater, rushing to the surface.

Snakes!

He stumbled back, slipping on the moist bank as he tried to run. The lily pads rose up. Aire saw that they were not snakes, the lily stems themselves were the coils; each one an enormous, thick green tentacle, and they surged forward. Aire's scream never made it past his lips. The tentacles came for him, two snapping around his ankles in a fierce grip. He gasped as he was dragged into the pool. The water splashed in glistening shards as he broke the surface.

Aire screwed his eyes shut and held his breath, not daring to imagine the jaws on whatever terrible creature awaited him. Tentacles slipped around his wrists – smooth and strangely warm – while thicker tentacles cradled his body. Aire felt them coiling around him as he was pulled down through the water. He only hoped his death would not be painful. Perhaps he would drown before he was eaten? Water shot through his nose, and Aire swallowed it down. He willed himself not to take in any more, but he needed air. His chest was starting to burn, and his heart stuttered wildly.

He couldn't bear not seeing any longer; what creature had hold of him? Aire opened his eyes. The water bubbled. Dark green coils surrounded him, a forest of tentacles. He was still being dragged downward with alarming speed. He dared to look down, expecting a vicious creature....

As the coils moved and writhed, Aire caught sight of what was beneath him. At the bottom of the pool, the creature waited. It was half man, half...something. Several large tentacles were in place of two legs; as many as an octopus, perhaps more. The largest of the tentacles were dark green, with lighter undersides. Thinner, spindly tentacles spread out from the creature, like feelers. Aire recognised the lily pads along each length. Had those been the creatures tentacles resting on the water's surface? What deity had he offended by sitting at this pool?

Aire struggled in vain as he was dragged down. The tentacles brought him before the creature, bubbles obscuring his features. Aire thrashed and panicked, his lungs burning. Distinctly human hands cupped his face, and Aire felt very human lips press against his, covering his mouth. He stilled in surprise. Even in the water, those lips felt warm and soft. The creature sucked out the water he had swallowed, then breathed a lungful of hot, tingling air into him. Aire shivered, his chest relaxing. The creature pulled back carefully, and a voice spoke to him inside his head.

You won't drown, mortal. What is your name?

Aire blinked under the water. He was stunned, but his mind instantly brought up his name as he wondered how on earth he would say it underwater.

Aire, the creature spoke, still inside his mind. I am Sidian.

Aire ceased his struggles and the water calmed; the last of the bubbles dispersed. Through clear water, Aire stared at his captor, this deity, who in face and upper body looked nearly human. His chest was hairless, the skin there and on his arms was smooth, iridescent. He was slim yet defined, the perfect image of a youthful male. A small lily pad rested on each of his shoulders, white flowers waving in the water. Long, black hair drifted behind him, framing a face of startling beauty. Bright yellow eyes with slitted pupils stared back at him, and blue tinged lips curved in a smile.

What brings you to my pool?

Aire opened his mouth to speak, but a finger pressed across his lips.

You don't need to speak, Aire. I can read your thoughts.

Feeling slightly panicked, Aire thought about what had brought him here: Dmitri's misjudged voyage, their need for fresh water. Oh, how he wished he'd been more careful. He had only wanted to drink from the pool. What did this creature want from him?

Those blue lips smiled. The sunlight from above played over Sidian's face and chest; flashes of blue, violet and crystal white shining on his skin. Aire stared, distracted. The pretty, smooth insides of sea shells came to his mind as he looked at this creature's skin. Beautiful.

Sidian closed his eyes and laughed. Bubbles escaped his nose while slits of skin on his neck opened. His lips pulled back over his teeth and Aire caught a glimpse of two long, hooked fangs.

Oh, Gods, save me!

Sidian stopped laughing. I am a God, mortal. What is it you want saving from?

Aire blinked at him. You mean you won't devour me?

Sidian looked at Aire calmly, raising one elegant brow. No.

Flooded with relief, Aire relaxed in his bonds. The tentacles loosened their hold but still coiled around him. A shiver ran over Aire's skin as he thought, what do you want with me?

Yellow slitted eyes lowered, looking him over. Your song called to me, Aire. Why so melancholy?

The image that instantly filled Aire's mind was that of the ship; of the toiling, the labour, of dull, endless days at sea and the bickering with his brother, Dmitri.

Sidian's smile became knowing. I can save you from that boredom, my pretty. At least, for a little while.

There was warmth in his voice. Aire vaguely thought he should feel worried, but there was something about the way that Sidian's tentacles held him, as if he were a precious object. Aire felt safe, protected. More than that; desired. A shiver of anticipation whipped through him as he looked into Sidian's eyes. There was only one thought in his mind.

Yes.

The tentacles swiftly slipped around his body and under his tunic as they pushed the fabric away. They caressed the sensitive skin of his thighs, urging his trembling legs to part. Aire lay back on his bed of coils as the tentacles touched him all over, like the kiss of a thousand lovers on his skin. The thinner, spindly tentacles wrapped around his hard length, enveloping him in delicious pressure. Aire moaned behind clenched teeth, the sound vibrating through the water. The tentacles clamped onto his length, sucking down tightly, then slowly peeling away, one sucker at a time. He whimpered at each sucker's release, then felt more tentacles curl round his legs, holding him steady. The tentacle's ends slid around his hips, parted his cheeks like nimble fingers, and probed within him, gentle and teasing.

Aire writhed in pleasure, but it wasn't enough. He ground himself against the tentacles, needing more. Sidian's arms circled his waist, pulling Aire against him. A shorter, but no less thick, length of tentacle jutted out from Sidian's body, brushing between Aire's legs. Aire whimpered in longing as he recognised what it was, and hooked his legs around Sidian's waist. He let the hands on his lower back slowly guide him into place, and the length pushed inside. Bubbles streamed from Aire's nose as he grunted. His insides burned, but he wanted more. He tilted his hips to slide further down the thick, slippery shaft. The tentacles around him shuddered, holding Aire in a firm, rippling embrace as Sidian began to thrust into him.

You feel divine, my pretty. So tight.

Aire pressed his lips together, and the noises in his throat echoed through the water. He reached forward, careful not to crush the lily flowers as he held onto Sidian's shoulders, and sank down to meet each powerful thrust. His eyes fluttered closed as pleasure overtook him. His cock bobbed between them in the water, hard and leaking. The tension in his muscles cried out for release. Impaled on Sidian's wonderfully thick cock, he shifted his hips and sought that perfect alignment. Pure molten pleasure burned through his body, and he threw his head back in the water, groaning his release. His body tensed, muscles clenching as his cock pulsed, shooting out streams of pearly white seed, dispersing through the water.

The gorgeous creature rammed into him one last time, arching his back as pleasure contorted his face. Aire felt Sidian's cock pulse inside him and, with it, he felt the most remarkable sensations; his limbs tingled, his eyesight sharpened, and he could hear a low, fluting noise coming from Sidian.

Aire moved his hands over the creature's chest, feeling the vibrations inside. Was it a song? It was beautiful. Aire stroked his hands all over that satiny smooth skin, mapping each muscle and curve. Sidian raised his eyes. The black slits had grown larger with desire, almost oval in their intensity. Aire gazed into them, utterly lost.

A smile curved the creature's lips. He pulled back, carefully so, removing himself from Aire's body. Aire was about to protest and opened his mouth, when hands cupped his face, pulling him down for a fierce kiss. Aire thought he could kiss Sidian forever, but then those soft lips left his own, gently pushing him away. You can visit my pool whenever you wish, my pretty.

Aire blinked in surprise, then Sidian let him go; his arms opened out as the tentacles surrounded Aire, and carried him through the water. Aire reached for Sidian, but all he saw was that perfect face smiling up at him, black hair and tentacles floating outwards.

“Wait!” Aire tried to speak through the water but it was garbled, choking him. He coughed as he broke the surface, propelled upward by the tentacles. He flipped his hair back and breathed in sweet air as the tentacles deposited him upon the bank. Aire tried to grasp onto their lengths, but they were too silky, too smooth. A shiver of desire ran over him as the tentacles slipped through his fingers, retreating into the water.

Aire breathed heavily, dazed, and stared at the now silent pool. The lily pads had gone, the surface was clear and still. Only one small ripple betrayed any tale of movement below. Aire stayed by the bank for long moments, almost wishing that Sidian and his wicked tentacles would come back. Aire had never had such an...intense experience in his life.

He adjusted his tunic, pulling it back into place over still trembling legs. His sandals squelched, thoroughly soaked, but he didn't mind. A slow smile spread over his lips. Dmitri would never believe this.

Aire gathered himself up, standing somewhat shakily. His behind burned, but pleasantly so. Walking carefully, he stumbled back through the forest, intent on returning to the beach. Perhaps voyaging wasn't so bad after all, he mused.

The smell of smoke and roasted meat greeted his nose as he neared the shore. Aire broke through the line of trees onto sand, stumbling across the beach to where the others had made a campfire. They were cooking what looked like a wild pig, turning it over the flames.

Dmitri looked up as Aire approached them. “You took your time,” he snapped. “Did you find water?”

Aire nodded dreamily. “Yes, I did.”

Dmitri looked him up and down. “Well, where are the water-skins?”

“Uh, um....” Aire looked around him, belatedly realising he had left the skins, unfilled, by the water's edge. Eli and the others chuckled.

Dmitri said, “You fool. Now you'll have to return to wherever you left them, and fetch our water.”

Aire opened his mouth to retort, then paused. He felt his lips twitch, and his eyes must have been twinkling. “Yes,” he agreed. “I will go right away.”

Dmitri raised an eyebrow in question.

Aire turned away, before the smile engulfed his face. He called over his shoulder, “I may be a while!”

Fin

www.melanietushmore.co.uk

Tush's Ten with Lavinia Lewis

Fanfare, please!!

I'm very happy to welcome the bloomin' fantastic Lavinia Lewis to my blog!

Lavinia is the author behind the super sexy Shifter's Haven series, which you can check out here at Total-E-Bound. 

Over to you, Lavinia! :-)

Hi everyone! Before I begin I’d like to say a huge thank you to Melanie for ‘having me’.

Five Q's About The Author

1. Who are you, and where do you come from?

For those of you that don’t know me, *waves*, my name is Lavinia Lewis and I’m a M/M romance author from South Wales in the UK. 

That’d be the country where the rain never seems to end. I write full time now, but I’ve done myriad jobs in the past from a croupier in a casino to an interventionist in a job centre.

2. Describe your writing style in three words:

Oh, that’s a hard one. Um okay, how about descriptive, sensual and romantic.

3. What inspires you to write?

Lots of things inspire me, from everyday conversations I hear in the street to pictures I find on the internet when I’m *cough* researching. Films, music, TV programmes. I find inspiration everywhere. And often what I’m reading at the time will influence what I want to write. 

For example I was reading a lot of paranormal romance when I began writing my shifter series and at the moment, I’m hard at work on a detective story so I’m reading a lot of similar themed books. 

But my reason for writing is simply because I must. I’ve been making up stories every since I was a little girl and when my parents bought me a brother typewriter for my eleventh Christmas, I think my fate was pretty much sealed. I’ve been writing ever since, but it was only in the last couple of years that I began to take it more seriously and really believe that it was something I could make a living doing.

4. Do you have a favourite author?

There are lots of authors that are auto-buys for me. Many in the M/M romance genre and lots of mainstream authors too. I spent my teenage years and twenties reading authors like Stephen King and Dean Koontz. 

I love Dan Brown’s novels and Val McDermid is another favourite. Now, I especially love paranormal romance and urban fantasy so authors like Patricia Briggs, Richelle Mead and J. R. Ward rate highly. I’ve read a lot of young adult fiction over the years too. 

Rachel Caine and Cassandra Claire are two favourites in that genre and excellent world builders and of course I couldn’t mention world building without giving a shout out to J. K. Rowling who in my opinion is an absolute expert at it. 

There are so many wonderful M/M romance authors out there that it would be impossible to list them all here, but a few favourites include Heidi Cullinan, Dani Alexander, Syd McGinley, Marie Sexton, Jordan Castillo Price and Chris Owen. 

5. Read any good books lately?

I have to admit, I read far less than I used to since I began writing my own stories. I used to get through a book a day, but now it’s more like one a week. But I have read a lot of great books over recent months, mostly in the M/M genre. 

The PsyCop series by Jordan Castillo Price instantly springs to mind as does Shattered Glass by Dani Alexander. I also loved The Island by Lisa Henry, Cut and Run and The Price of Falling by someone called Melanie Tushmore :P

Five Q's About The Book

'Bollywood Desires' by Lavinia Lewis

Blurb:

How can Brent give in to his desire for the sexy Bollywood actor when a relationship between them could cost Raj his life? 

When bodyguard Brent Hawthorne moves to India to start a new business, he thinks his biggest problems are going to be the language barrier and coping with the intense heat in Mumbai. But when he starts working for one of Bollywood’s top actors, Rajkumar Khan, Brent has to rethink that estimation. 

Raj is not only handsome and sexy but also secretly gay, and sparks fly the instant the pair meets. But Raj is being blackmailed and the unknown sender of the letters is not only threatening his life but also to reveal his secret. 

As Brent battles to find the identity of Raj’s blackmailer, he finds himself growing closer to the sexy Bollywood star. He struggles at first to resist Raj’s advances, fearing any sort of relationship between them could cost the star his life, but Raj is a hard man to resist. Can Brent keep his hands and heart to himself long enough to find the culprit, or will he give in to his Bollywood desires?

* * *

1. How would you describe Bollywood Desires?

Bollywood Desires is essentially a romance between a British bodyguard that moves to India to set up a security company catering to the stars of India’s film industry and the top Bollywood actor that hires him. It’s a light and fun read filled with sexual tension, but light on angst.

2. What's all this about Bollywood, then? Where is the story set?

Bollywood is basically India’s version of Hollywood. The films are always vibrant and full of colour and I’ve yet to watch one that isn’t a musical. They are often overly dramatic, but a lot of fun. 

So the story is set in the home of Bollywood – Mumbai, India.

3. Is this a love story?

I would say yes, it is. But, although it’s first and foremost a romance, it also has elements of mystery and suspense thrown into the mix.

4. Are the characters based on anyone?

One of my favourite Bollywood actors is John Abraham and I had a picture of him stuck to my whiteboard for inspiration when I wrote the book. 

[[ John Abraham, nominated for Filmfare Best Villain award for his role in action movie Dhoom, 2004!! ]]

This is the pic I used and how I imagine Raj’s character.

I didn’t use any pictures for the inspiration of Brent, but I had an idea of how he would look in mind and I have to say the model used on the cover of the book comes very close to how I ‘see’ him.

5. If your book was a Bollywood movie, who would play your characters, and what would your budget be?
   
   
   Well, because I used John Abraham’s image to inspire Raj he’d be perfect to play him in a movie. 
   
   
   Brent’s character would be more difficult to cast and as the character is British, I’d have to go with a British actor so I think I’ll choose the very handsome, sexy and talented Richard Armitage. 
   
   
   Oh, and no expense spared for my boys of course!

* * *

Excerpt:

“All-Star Security, how can I be of service?” Brent rested his elbows on the desk and used his thumb and forefinger to massage his temple. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand Hindi…or Punjabi. Do you speak En—?” Brent stared at the handset open-mouthed before slamming it down in its cradle. He cursed under his breath.

“Another hang-up?” Jessie leant back in her chair and applied bright red polish to the nails of her left hand.

“Fifth time today and it’s only ten in the damn morning. Do you have any idea how much work we’re losing because Jack won’t get his head out of his ass and hire us a secretary who speaks Hindi?"

“We have a secretary who speaks Hindi.” Jessie held up her hand to the light and admired her newly painted nails.

“Yes, and Jameela is great, but she only works three days a week. What about the rest? I’m a bodyguard, not a damn receptionist. I’m tired of this shit, and don’t you have any work to do?”

“Tea break,” Jessie explained.

Brent looked at the clock on the tiny office wall. Jessie had been at work precisely forty minutes, and he hadn’t seen her do a damn thing. And when had he started using the word ‘damn’ so much?

He tugged on the collar of his white linen shirt and groaned out loud. The lousy air-conditioning unit in their small rented office only worked when it felt like it. Mumbai had two temperatures, it seemed. Hot…and ridiculously hot. Brent wasn’t a fan of either.

“Can you remind me again why we moved to this piss-poor excuse for a city in the first place?”

Jessie put down the nail polish and stared at Brent, eyebrows raised. “I’d be delighted,” she deadpanned. “My idiot husband got you drunk one night and convinced you the pampered princes and princesses of Bollywood would pay top dollar for experienced British security personnel. You, like the jackass you are, agreed with him. And here we are. So thanks for that. I owe you one.”

Brent grinned. It was a good thing he’d known Jessie most of his life. If they’d just met he could have been easily offended by her sarcasm. But despite her dry wit, she was absolutely right. Brent had no one to blame but himself. He’d been working as a bodyguard in London when his best friend Jack had come up with the idea to move to Mumbai.

Jack was convinced that Bollywood, India’s version of Hollywood, could do with a few more bodyguards and before Brent had time to think seriously on the idea they were already on the plane. That would teach him not to be so damn impulsive.

“Watch your mouth,” he joked. “And if you value your life I wouldn’t let Jack hear you call him an idiot either.”

Jessie snorted. “It’s nothing he hasn’t heard from me before. Besides, he happens to like my mouth.” She grinned salaciously. “Especially when I use it to—”

“Please, God, don’t give me any details,” Brent interrupted. “I only ate breakfast an hour ago and I’d like to keep it down.”

Jessie chuckled. “Come on, Brent, you love hearing about my sexploits…admit it.”

Brent was about to argue the fact when the phone on her desk started ringing. Jessie smirked and quickly picked up the handset. Witch.

“All-Star Security, how can we help?”

Brent’s eyebrows all but disappeared behind his hairline when Jessie began nodding and speaking to the caller in English. How the…?

“Slow down, sir, and start again. How exactly can we help you? Your client has been receiving death threats? I see, and has he reported the matter to the police? Yes, okay, yes. Oh, well, that does sound like something we can help you with. Yes, sir. I can get one of our top security experts to come out and have a chat to you about some of the services we provide.” Jessie looked at Brent and rolled her eyes. “No, sir—the consultation would be free of charge.”

Brent watched on in complete amazement as Jessie took the booking and finished the call. When she hung up she grinned, rather too smugly for his liking.

“What were you saying about needing another secretary?”

Brent frowned. “Just give me the damn details.”

* * *

LINKS!!!

Buy Bollywood Desires here

Lavinia's website

Lavinia's blog

You can also find Lavinia on Twitter, Facebook and Goodreads as "Lavinia Lewis"

My books can be found on my publisher Total-E-Bound’s website here

Thank you for playing Tush's Ten, Lavinia! :-)

Tush's Ten: Stevie Carroll talks music, graveyards, and Seven for the Devil

It is with great pleasure that I welcome writer Stevie Carroll to my blog to promote her new book of short stories 'A Series of Ordinary Adventures'

(Worth mentioning that Stevie first won my heart with her short story in the 2011 Tea & Crumpet Anthology, titled, 'The Utterly True Story of Guy Alien and the Rise and Fall of His Band, X-Wing')

Over to Stevie! :-)

About The Author

1. Who are you, and where do you come from?

I'm a medical writer by day and author of fantasy, SF and mystery fiction the rest of the time. Originally from Derbyshire, I went to university in Edinburgh, and have been working my way southwards ever since. I've now reached the coast, so at some point I'll probably have to move north again if I don't want to fall into the English channel.

I have a livejournal which may explain things in more detail.

2. Describe your writing style in three words:

Diverse, literary fantastika.

3. What inspires you to write?

I get my inspiration from everywhere. Mostly I see either the setting or one of the characters first, and then start to wonder how everything else fits together. I take a lot of photographs, and many of my story ideas come from those, or I dip back into my collections to ensure the details are accurate.

4. What are your stories about?

People, first and foremost. I'm fascinated by the wide range of backgrounds and characters I see in the population around me, and I try to have my writing reflect that. I also like to include places, and parts of history, that other writers tend to gloss over or miss out altogether.

5. Read any good book(s) lately?

I have a GoodreadsAuthor Page and try to give fair reviews to all the books I finish. Two that have stood out recently were The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick, which did a wonderful job of combining text, art and old photographs, and Daughters of War by Hilary Green, which is the first book in a trilogy about the British women who went out to the Balkans prior to the First World War and nursed the casualties of the conflict out there. Both those books show how a talented author can take detailed historical research and turn it into a ripping adventure yarn.

Portchester Castle, picture taken by Stevie Carroll.

About The Book

'A Series of Ordinary Adventures'

1. How would you describe your book?

It's a collection of seven short stories (including two novellas) about extraordinary and fantastical events involving everyday British people. Six stories are set in England, and based on places I know well, while the other is set mainly on Crete at Knossos, which I visited twice while at school.

There's magickal realism, a ghost story, horror and a smidgin of Greek mythology. Plus some romance.

2. What's all this about graveyards, then? Where is that story set?

One of the novellas, 'Seven for the Devil', involves several graveyards based on some I've visited in Norfolk and Suffolk. It's the story of Michael, a rock'n'roll/psychobilly double bass player, who at the beginning of the story is recovering from an accident and mourning the deaths of his band mates. He's offered the chance to bring them all back, but he finds out that deals with strange men offering the seemingly impossible never quite turn out as expected.

Highgate West Cemetary, picture taken by Stevie Carroll.

3. Is this a love story?

In a way. Michael's had feelings for one of the band's vocalists, Patricia, for a long time, and discovers that she also liked him when it's possibly too late. But it might not be, as you'll see when you read the story.

Some of my other stories are more conventionally romantic, though: 'Charmed by Prince Charming' is all about the first date for Ash and Colin, two actors in a theatre company that puts on Shakespeare in the summer and pantomime in the winter, and 'The Footballer's Mistress' tells of a ghost who falls for the new tenant of one of the flats she's haunting.

4. Are the characters based on anyone?

None of them are based on any individual person: they're all composites, although I'd love to meet certain of them, and would go out of my way to avoid some of the others.

5. If your book was a movie, who would play your characters, and what would your budget be?

That's a tough one. I think I'd prefer a BBC miniseries with unknown actors and a relatively low budget. These are British stories after all ;-)

Highgate West Cemetary, picture taken by Stevie Carroll.

Excerpt from 

'Seven for the Devil'

It took another two rounds before he could even think of raising the subject with Jimmy. Returning from the bar with another pint of the Fire and Brimblywood, by far his favourite of the current guest beers, a bottle of cider for Jimmy, and a double whiskey for himself, Michael thought he caught sight of a dark figure lurking by the quiz machine. When he looked again, however, there was just the usual bunch of pissed-up rugby players squabbling over their answers.

“A funny thing happened to me on the way back from the cemetery today.” He took a large gulp of whiskey, the burn as it went down his throat strangely reassuring.

“Funny ha-ha, or funny peculiar?”

“Funny peculiar. Odd. Creepy.”

“Well, if you hang around in old graveyards...” Jimmy took a long pull from his bottle.

“No, it wasn’t in the graveyard. It was afterwards.” Michael had another gulp of whiskey. “I got a lift back, because I had two flat tyres.” He paused, realising how unlikely his story seemed against the bright fluorescent lights of the Eagle’s main bar.

“You want any help with them?” Jimmy picked at his bottle’s label. “I could drive over in the morning, and fetch you back to mine. Much easier working in the garage than in that rubbish dump you call a garden.”

Michael ignored the jibe. He’d be moving to a better place soon enough, once he decided where he wanted to live.

“The guy that gave me a lift, he looked like one of those old blues guys. He asked me some really off questions.”

“Pervert, was he? You should be more careful, accepting lifts from strangers.”

“Not that sort of creepy. More like ‘I want to buy your soul’ kind of creepy. He asked...” Michael finished his whiskey. “He asked if I’d be prepared to give up my chance of fame to get the guys from the band back. More than that. It felt like he was offering me the chance to be famous, then offering to take it away so I could have the guys back.”

“A charlatan.” Jimmy fixed Michael with a sky-blue stare. “What have I told you about wearing that fancy watch of yours in public? He could see you’ve got money hidden away somewhere, and wanted a piece of it.”

Michael looked down at the table, where a wasp was weaving drunkenly away from a patch of spilled beer. The old man had never once mentioned money. Then again, he’d never outright mentioned wanting Michael’s soul either.

“I see it all the time.” Jimmy leaned across the table and patted Michael’s shoulder. “Fellows like that don’t just prey on little old ladies, you know. He spotted the jewellery, remembered your face from the papers, and thought he’d try his luck. For all you know, he’s been keeping tabs on you for a while.”

“A con artist? A hustler?” He liked that series, and the hidden camera version, where they conned unsuspecting members of the public before showing how the tricks were done.

“That compensation you got was reported in the nationals. Someone was bound to try and fiddle you out of it eventually.”

“So you don’t think...” Michael made a start on his pint. “You don’t think he was the devil?”

“What? Like the old Robert Johnson story? That never happened, you know. It was just spread around by reporters who couldn’t understand how he could play so well.”

“But surely you believe in the devil?”

“Not like that. The devil is the evil that lurks in people’s hearts, preventing them from reaching their true potential for good. Not some bloke driving around East Anglia tempting injured musicians

to throw away their life’s savings.”

* * *

 St Boniface Church, all pictures by Stevie Carroll.

Holy Trinity Church.

Thank you for playing Tush's Ten, Stevie! :-)

Links:

LJ: http://stevie-carroll.livejournal.com/

Listen to me read an excerpt: Candlemark & Gleam

Read the first story in the collection via BookBuzzr

Buy from Candlemark and GleamPublishing

Rude Trees

While out strolling in the woods, I took some pictures of cool, knobbly trees (which ill put on another post) but i also found some trees with .... er, rude bits.

See if you have a mind as filthy as mine.....

Ahem. Legs akimbo?

Tree with knob.

Tree with a vee.

 

 Tree with bumhole.

Thus concludes my slide show of Rude Trees.  :D

Halloween Night by Melanie Tushmore

HALLOWEEN NIGHT

A Crucifox Prequel

Copyright (c) Melanie Tushmore 2011

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced by any means, nor transmitted, nor translated into a machine language, without the written permission of the author.

This story is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events or real people are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, localities or persons, either living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

Disclaimer:

This story features adult content and should not be viewed by anybody under the age of eighteen. 

 

This work contains adult references including the taking of psychedelic drugs that serve only as a part of this story. The author does not advocate the taking of drugs nor any unsafe behaviour whatsoever. Any unsafe behaviour within this story is written for fictional purposes only and should not be viewed as an example nor replicated in any way.

* * *

Saturday, and it was Halloween. Goth Christmas, they'd joked. Obviously they were all going to the Halloween special at Slimelight later. Brandon waited impatiently for his shift at the pub to finish, eyes darting repeatedly to the clock on the wall. It was still daylight and, thankfully, not busy yet. The gothic themed pub was as quiet as the proverbial graveyard.

“How can you not like Scotch eggs?” one of the die hard regulars asked, drawing out yet another tedious discussion topic.

Brandon turned his nose up. “I just don't.”

The man thought this was hilarious, and guffawed, “But you're Scottish!”

“I don't like eggs, man.” Brandon moved away from the bar, under the pretence of tidying up. After he'd cleared away the one glass lurking on a table, he gazed up at the clock again. Hours to go yet. And as if being forced to talk to drunk old bikers wasn't bad enough, the large windows at street level were even worse. The pub sat slap band in the centre of Camden town, and a Saturday afternoon meant that Brandon had to endure seeing the never ending procession of shoppers and revellers while he was stuck at work.

The people watching was hypnotic, if slightly encumbered by the cheap décor of fake cobwebs and rubber spiders. The sad fact was, that décor was there all year round. Occasionally a familiar face would stroll by, either forgetting Brandon was at work or blithely waving at him without stopping.

Not much later, one of his favourite familiars flitted past the windows. His friend and bandmate, Sky, slowed his step as he gazed into the pub, a cigarette between his lips. Brandon smiled. Likely Sky was looking for him. With the pub being so dark inside, it wasn't easy to see in from the street. Brandon waited, enjoying that brief moment of voyeurism before Sky spotted him. It was always a pleasure to look at Sky, he was the dictionary definition of pretty boy goth.

“Oh god,” Brandon's colleague and bar supervisor grumbled. “He ain't coming in here, Brand.”

“Aye, he won't,” Brandon said quietly.

Sky spotted him then. He held the cigarette in his fingers and pointed off to the side, toward the front entrance. To be annoying – and because he loved to play with Sky – Brandon pointed in the other direction, grinning. Sky responded by leaning into the window and opening his mouth. A blotch of steam appeared as he breathed on the glass, which was easily the most erotic sight Brandon had seen for some time. With his finger, Sky drew a crude symbol on the window, then pointed again to the entrance.

Brandon relented. He strode through the pub and slipped out through the heavy front door. Sky rounded the corner and appeared beside him.
“A'right,” Brandon greeted. “Unfortunately, they told me you're still barred so y'can't come in.”

“Really?” Sky snorted a laugh. “Well, in the words of The Anti Nowhere League, 'so fucking what?'” He extended an arm and tapped ash from his cigarette onto the pub's front step, to further his point.

Brandon chuckled. “It's dull as shite anyway, man.”

“I know, that's why I don't miss it.” Sky brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled. “You coming out later?”

“Obviously,” Brandon said, an intentional mimic of something Sky would say.

“Oh, obviously?” Sky said, looking up at Brandon. “So are you tripping with us too? I'm picking up the tabs later.”

“Aye, g'wan then.”

“How many?”

“How strong is it?”

Sky shrugged as he continued to smoke. “All right, I guess. Won't know until we take some.”

“Get me two,” Brandon said. “But I've got an early shift Monday so I can't get too wrecked.”

Sky laughed. “Harsh.”

“I know. Hey, you dressin' up?”

“Obviously,” Sky replied, with a smirk. “It is Halloween.”

“What y'goin' as?”

“Aha.”

Brandon frowned. “Aha?”

“It's a surprise.”

“Oh, right,” Brandon quipped. “So no cuttin' holes in the bed sheets?”

“Huh?”

“For a ghost, y'know?”

Sky frowned. “I don't own white sheets, you knob. You know that.”

Laughing, Brandon nodded. He did know that, although not via the way he would've preferred to be acquainted with Sky's bed. Unfortunately for him, Sky was straight. Or so Brandon had assumed. It was hard to tell when Sky rarely stopped playing guitar long enough to so much as glance at anybody, let alone date.
“A pumpkin, then?” Brandon teased him.

“Shut up. You'll see later. In fact –” A smile tugged at Sky's pretty mouth. “– I'm off to get the finishing touch just now.”

“Thought y'were goin' to get the tabs?”

“Nah, later.” Sky flicked his cigarette onto the pavement and ground it out with his boot. “Right, I'm off.”

Brandon watched him walk away. “Aye, see ya.”

“You want two, yeah?” Sky walked backwards so he could flip two fingers at Brandon.

“Aye.” Brandon raised his hand and flipped two fingers right back. “Two's great.”

“Not four?” Sky flipped him off with both hands.

“No.”

Sky smiled as he turned away, still waving two fingers over his shoulder. Brandon chuckled.

Work was even more dull after Sky's visit. The pub began to pick up as the light faded to grey outside. Brandon was busy pulling pints when a knock at one of the windows caught his attention. It was Sky again, holding up a plastic bag.
Brandon watched with interest as Sky delved a hand inside the bag and brought out a small item. It looked like a bright red exotic flower. Sky waved it around whilst looking pleased with himself, then he was gone. Brandon didn't understand what that was all about but he was definitely looking forward to seeing this surprise outfit.

* * *

As soon as he got home, Brandon sprinted up the stairs and proceeded to hurl his entire wardrobe to the four corners of his room in an effort to decide what to wear. When he dived into the bathroom he was horrified to see that it looked like a bomb site. One of the many drawbacks to sharing with five other blokes; his four band mates and the man they called Spider. There was grease paint and fake blood spattered up the tiled walls, glitter in the tub, and a red lipstick kiss on the mirror. Brandon knew that Ritchie and Jamie had decided to go as zombies tonight, which explained the grease paint and blood, but the glitter and lipstick could have been Jez on any normal night.

Carefully navigating around the mess, he showered, then retreated back to his room. As Brandon sat at his mirror crimping his hair, Jez appeared in the doorway; the young bass player was a vision in shiny PVC, slashed up leopard print and safety pins. “See ya later, Brand.”

Brandon turned his head, with crimpers attached, to glance at Jez. “You not comin' to Slimelight, man?”

“Bugger that,” Jez scoffed. “I'm going to see a band. I might pop by later, if I'm not slaughtered.”

“Aye, a'right.” Brandon turned back to his mirror. “Have a good one.”

“You too.” Jez disappeared, clomping down the stairs in heavy buckled boots. “HAPPY HALLOWEEEEEEN!” His voice echoed through the house before the door slammed.

Brandon went back to his hair, crimping and spraying it to perfection.

“How long do we have to wait for you?” Spider's deep voice bellowed up the stairs.

“Haud yer wheecht,” Brandon muttered under his breath, then louder, “Aye, not long!”
He had make-up down to a fine art but tonight it didn't really matter if he was messy. Eyeliner, metallic silver eye shadow, lashings of mascara and a dab of glitter across prominent cheekbones. He carefully drew on dark red lip liner, smoothing creamy lipstick over the top.

Make-up done, now it was onto the fun part; the clothes. Usually Brandon liked to take his time getting ready, but tonight he wasn't afforded the luxury. He pulled on clinging, iridescent trousers over his long legs and tucked them into knee high PVC boots. An equally outlandish shirt, as delicately thin as cobwebs, was thrown on then covered by a waist cinching corset – pinched from one of his female dates – laced and buckled up the front. With his favourite duster coat, floppy velvet hat and skull topped cane, Brandon was ready.
He descended the stairs with a flourish, entered the living room and burst out laughing at the sight of Spider in a fancy dress nurse's uniform, white tights and all. “Ye look great, man!” he commended.

Spider looked Brandon up and down. “You look no bloody different.”

“Yeah Brandon,” Jamie, their drummer, piped up. He sat on the couch with Ritchie, their second guitarist, both of them covered in zombie make-up and grubby, ripped clothes for effect. “Thought you said you were gonna dress as a trendy?”

“Changed ma mind.” Brandon waved an unconcerned hand. “Are we goin' or what?”

“Going!” Spider said decidedly. “Let's move out.”

As they collected themselves together, Brandon looked around. “Where's Sky?”

“Went to pick up the tabs,” Ritchie explained. “He's meeting us there.”

Brandon grinned and pointed his cane towards the door. “Then let's go!”

The October air was dark and chilled, but the journey to Angel wasn't far. A short night bus ride later and they were striding down the dark alley near the tube station, towards the entrance to Slimelight.
It wasn't even midnight yet, but the club was filling up. It's monolithic, cave-like interior was clammy and warm. Jamie and Ritchie complained their zombie make-up was running as they made their way inside.

“Where are we meeting Sky?” Brandon asked, eager to party.

“Where else?” Ritchie smiled. “The goth floor.”

The ground floor of the club opened out onto the bar, a gloomy chill out area with seats and an old, stained pool table. The dance floor that was dedicated to goth music was through a set of swinging doors that slammed loudly every time someone walked through them, aiding the impression of dramatic entrance.

Some friends of theirs currently occupied the pool table. Spider and Jamie joined in the game, while Brandon caught up on gossip with more familiar faces. The distant strains of Gene Loves Jezebel could be heard, seeping in from behind closed doors.
Clubbers flitted through the bar, androgynous beauties of both sexes on their way to the dance floor. Ritchie bought a round of fluorescent green shots that glowed under the lights. The taste was sweet and sickly but Brandon gulped it down. That would be his dinner tonight.

As the death rock beats of Alien Sex Fiend drifted through the air, a pretty waif suddenly appeared next to them. It was Sky, dressed as a hula girl. Brandon blinked in surprise as he looked Sky up and down. He had on the full costume, albeit a very tacky one from a fancy dress shop; a synthetic grass skirt draped over the habitual black jeans and boots, brightly coloured flower garlands and a plastic shell bra on a pale, bare chest. A vivid red, plastic hibiscus clipped in his dark, wavy hair made Sky look even more effeminate than usual.
“Awright,” he greeted, a twinkle in those heavily eyelinered eyes. “Who's up for a trip then?”

Brandon nodded eagerly, holding out his hand. He usually said yes to whatever Sky suggested anyway. Sky's cool fingers felt for Brandon's hand and gently pressed a little something into it. “Have a good one.” He smiled, then moved between their friends to dish out the tabs.

Brandon tucked his cane under his arm, opened his hand to pick up the tiny tabs of paper there, and popped one into his mouth. He let it sit on his tongue before swallowing it down.
The others took their tabs. Ritchie tore one in half with his teeth, and muttered something about taking it easy tonight. Spider took Ritchie's extra half, as well as two more tabs. Sky had already taken his, and his eyes were growing wider by the minute.
They chatted together in anticipation as they waited for the acid to kick in. When things started to become a little blurry around the edges, Brandon knew it was working. He stared at their surroundings as if the very walls pulsed with music, and if he stared too hard, colours ran together.

“More shots,” Ritchie declared. He, Sky and Brandon edged in at the bar, which was becoming busier. It took longer than usual to get served, as they kept getting distracted, forgetting why they were at the bar in the first place. During a particularly intense discussion about what the colour green tasted like, another presence appeared at their sides.
Brandon didn't appreciate being interrupted while he was talking to Sky, and turned to view the person with a certain disregard. It was another of their acquaintances, someone they weren't that keen on, who demanded attention. Pervy Paul, as he was known, clearly wanted to show off his new outfit, which mostly consisted of ripped fishnet, PVC and buckles. Brandon thought he was trying hard to look like Johnny Slut, but had failed miserably. The added extra of fetish inspired cut-away arse cheeks in the back were just laughable.
Ritchie took one look at Paul dressed up to the nines, raised a quizzical eyebrow, then turned back to the bar to ignore him. Meanwhile Sky looked Paul up and down, then offered the flat comment, “You look like a right tit, mate.”

Brandon couldn't help but smile. Coming from Sky the hula girl, that had to hurt.

“Better than your cheap costume," Paul scoffed in reply.

Sky grinned. “I rock, and you know it.”

“Don't you mean hula?” Brandon chuckled.

“Precisely!” Sky agreed, as if they shared a private joke.

Paul huffed and turned on his heel. As he stormed off, they watched his pair of pale white buttocks wobble away into the club. Brandon snorted a laugh.

“What a tit,” Sky stated, knocking back another shot.

“Aye.” Brandon nodded. He didn't pick up his shot though. His limbs were starting to feel tingly, and too long for his own body.

“Let's go dance,” Sky suggested. He nudged Ritchie with his elbow. “Drink up, mate.”

Brandon watched Ritchie turn to them, leaning on the bar as if he might collapse at any second. The effect of that coupled with the ravaged make-up on his face gave Brandon the impression of a very convincing zombie. Made all the more realistic when Ritchie only offered a groan in response.

As a group, they negotiated their way to the dance floor. Ritchie leaned his limp body against the wall, and attempted to light a cigarette. Sky chatted to two friends dressed like extras from Mad Max and quickly got into a heated debate over something or other. Brandon watched this for a while, then gazed out amongst the dancing throng.
The heavy bass of Bauhaus proclaiming “Bela Lougosi's Dead” vibrated through his body, his very mind. When Brandon realised he was standing right in front of an enormous speaker, he made the decision to move away. Several minutes later, he did so, gliding across the floor and clutching his cane he waved his hand at the clubbers like visiting royalty.

“That's my corset,” one of the gorgeous girls he knew informed him.

The retort that it looked better on him was on the tip of his tongue, but all Brandon managed was a grin. She didn't really mind, not when he made up for it with an intense, heated kiss. She even let him kiss her best friend. Brandon didn't think it was right to mention that he'd already slept with said best friend. Surrounded by beautiful women, he was more than happy.
When a pair of beautiful boys dressed as women joined them, he was even happier. In their exquisitely decadent outfits, these boys looked even hotter than the girls. The usual club dramatics followed. They danced, posed, and chatted about nonsense in shaky voices and quick, buzzed words.
Brandon flirted with everyone that came near him, even disappearing into the toilets for whatever was on offer with whoever he fancied. The warm, pliable lips of another young man felt just as good as any other's, and nothing could beat a blow job whilst tripping your head off. The who part didn't matter to him, as it was all meaningless fun.

However, one of the girls became offended by his behaviour, and caused a scene. Brandon knew he was in no state to deal with a disgruntled woman; the acid had made his reactions too slow. When he couldn't respond to her accusations, she snatched his cane, then bumped him on the head with it. Brandon's surprise was eventually followed by pain as he made his escape, and staggered away. His feet felt like they were sticking to the floor and he thought people were starting to stare at him with accusing eyes. He got lost, and found himself wandering through the club and it's various rooms.

The sea of bodies blurred together. Occasionally a face he recognised popped up and said something he couldn't comprehend, their words a foreign jumble. He thought he saw Ritchie and Jamie amble their way past, but he couldn't be sure.

At one point, he looked out onto the dance floor and saw Sky dancing the hula to the industrial stomp of Skinny Puppy. Brandon stared, envisioning flowers and golden sands all around Sky, like an exotic paradise. Then he blinked to get the image out of his head.

Brandon wandered, lost, and his head thumped. Or was that the music? He was sure people glared at him now. The panic set in, and he cowered in a corner. The Sisters of Mercy filled his ears. He was lost, stuck fast, unable to move. He gazed down at the floor, watching people's feet waltz by as snatches of conversation buzzed around him like so many wasps.
Then, a familiar pair of boots appeared, and above them a tatty grass skirt over black clad legs. “I'm taking charge of your trip.”

Brandon looked up with sheer relief at his saviour, the diminutive knight in fancy dress. Sky didn't say anything, he didn't have to. Words communicated through their saucer wide eyes and Sky smiled, reassuring. “Follow me,” he said.

Brandon found himself on his feet. He was led through the dancing bodies, following the beacon of colour in front of him, as Sky guided him to the bar.

Back at the pool table, Brandon felt the weight of the world lift off his shoulders. Ritchie and Jamie played a game, snickering as they continually missed all their shots. Spider stood nearby with more of their friends, tutting at their efforts and offering advice. Faintly, Brandon could hear New Model Army playing. Sky removed one of his garlands, and placed it around Brandon's neck. He looked knowingly into Brandon's eyes. “Everything's all right now.”

The words he wanted to say were there, floating in his mind, yet all Brandon could manage was a smile. The thought stayed with him though.

Everything's all right with you.

* * *

Morning. The trick to leaving Slimelight on a high was to beat a hasty retreat while the going was good. The club closed at seven, but Sky began to round them up at six. He herded them all out of the door into the bright, unforgiving daylight. Brandon, Spider, Jamie, and the drunk girl who was attached to Jamie's hip. Apparently Ritchie had got lucky, and Jez had never shown up.

Once at home, and in familiar surroundings, Brandon felt more relaxed, if a little tingly. “My head hurts.” He frowned, feeling the lump that had grown somewhere under his mountainous hair.

Jamie snickered. “Yeah, that bird smacked you on the 'ead with your own cane.”

Spider reclined on a chair in the corner, the chair that no one else wanted to sit in. “Who've you upset this time, Brandon?” he asked.

“I can't remember.”

“The Scotch Pimpernel strikes again,” Spider quipped, as the others fell about laughing.

“Aye, hilarious.”

Sky put on a Killing Joke record before flitting away to the kitchen, muttering something about making tea. Jamie reached for the remote control and switched the TV on for Sunday morning cartoons. The loud, animated capering clashed with the chilled out ambience of the music, making Brandon wince.

“Jamie!” Spider barked. “Put that on mute.”

After some minor complaints, Jamie relented. He soon forgot the TV anyway, and was distracted by his date. The two of them kissed sloppily on the couch next to Brandon, as he tried his best not to look at them. Spider produced a small lump of hash and started skinning up. Brandon focussed on him instead, letting his mind wander.

When Sky reappeared, he'd shed the leather jacket he'd thrown on since leaving the club, and stood in the doorway twisting a lock of dark hair around his finger.

“Where's my tea?” Spider grumbled.

Sky looked up, eyes still saucer wide, and seemingly confused. Then he blinked, and grinned. “Oh yeah.” He flitted away again, grass skirt trailing behind him. Several long minutes later, he returned with the cups of tea. “Who's staying up?” Sky asked. He flashed a glance at Jamie, who was busy playing tonsil tennis with his girl. “Well, obviously not you two. Who else?”

“Me,” Spider said.

Brandon nodded, and mumbled, “I shouldny take anyhin' though. I'll just have a coffee.”

“You want a coffee instead?” Sky snatched up the mug Brandon was about to sip from. “I'll make you a coffee.”

“Aye, thanks.”

Sky returned just as Jamie and his date hauled themselves up. They left the room, with Jamie pulling a leery wink at them over his shoulder. Placing Brandon's new mug down on the table, Sky marched over to the TV to change the channel. Spider sparked up his joint and passed it around. Brandon was distracted by everything, and didn't pay much attention to which mug he picked up.

Once Sky had stopped fussing about, he sat down next to Brandon.

“Why are you still in your hula outfit?” Spider asked.

Sky looked down at himself, as if considering. When he looked back up he asked, “Why are you still in your outfit, nurse?”

Spider smirked. “It's comfortable.”

“What, those white tights?”

“Yeah, they cup my balls nicely.”

Brandon snorted a laugh into his coffee as Sky pulled a face. “I don't wanna know!”

“Gotta be more comfortable than that plastic bra you're wearing.”

“You wanna try it?” Sky smiled as he reached under his hair to pull the strings. Brandon watched the impromptu striptease as Sky took off his shell bra and the remaining garlands. It seemed a waste to look away. Sky swung the bra by its string and launched it at Spider, who caught it easily in one hand.
“This wouldn't even go around one of my nipples,” Spider said, dangling it from his fingers as he examined the item. “What was this, a child's costume?”

“Fuck off.” Sky laughed, getting up from the couch. He left the room briefly, and reappeared wearing an old black t-shirt. “Is this better, nurse? You can keep the bra, by the way. My gift to you.”

“I'll treasure it.” Spider laid the shell bra on the back of his head rest, patted it, then carried on smoking.
Sky picked up his acoustic guitar, and settled onto the couch, strumming along to the record. Brandon sipped his coffee. Spider smoked himself to sleep, despite claims of not being tired. He passed out in his chair, and began to snore lightly. Sky stopped playing guitar in order to drape the abandoned shell bra over Spider's face like a mask.

When the Killing Joke record finished, Sky asked Brandon what he wanted to listen to. Brandon realised he'd been drifting, and said he didn't mind. Sky put on The Virgin Prunes, and resumed his position on the couch.
Brandon watched Sky lounge back with his feet propped on the coffee table, crossed at the ankles. He still had the grass skirt on over his jeans. As Brandon gazed at Sky's deft fingers plucking the guitar strings, he thought he saw the strings melt and drip down, but then he realised the long strings pooled around Sky's legs were in fact his skirt. That was strange, he thought. Brandon looked up at Sky, who was frowning at the TV, lips pursed in thought. “Um, Sky?”

Sky looked at him.

“Um, I feel a wee bit...strange.”

“Yeah? I feel like I'm sobering up.” Sky frowned more. His gaze focussed on their coffee mugs for a while. “Oh. Brandon, I think you drank my coffee.”

“Eh?”

Sky started to laugh. “You drank my coffee, you knob! I put another two hits of acid in there.”

“What?” Brandon panicked.

“Chill out, you'll be fine.” Sky seemed unconcerned. “Dunno what I'm gonna do though.”

“I've gotta work tomorrow, man!”

“You'll sleep it off.”

“Ach, shite.”

“Chill,” Sky ordered.

Brandon attempted to chill. He shifted around on the couch, suddenly uncomfortable and jittery.
Sky affected a yawn.
“I could go to sleep?” Brandon wondered aloud.

“Nah, you'll have freaky dreams,” Sky said. “Maybe if you smoked some more? Although one of us will have to grope Spider to find the hash.”

The mental image of doing so made Brandon shudder. “No way!”

Sky chuckled quietly. “Just relax then.”

“I can't!”

“What are you stressing over?”

Brandon swallowed, and the motion felt ten times bigger than normal. “You don't want to stay up baby sittin' me.”

“I don't mind.”

“Won't it be annoyin'?”

“You're annoying me by worrying about it.”

“Um...er....” Brandon fished around for what to say. He felt he would've had trouble with this conversation however wasted he was. “But...just the two of us?”

“Yeah, and?”

“Didn't you feel like pullin' anyone?” Before he'd even considered whether it was a good idea to mention it, the words had tumbled out of Brandon's mouth. He almost winced, but tried to keep his face neutral.
Sky's fingers faltered on the strings for barely a second before picking up their rhythm again. He shot a glance at Brandon. “No. Why, didn't you?”

Not in this state, Brandon thought. He didn't feel a great compulsion to bring anyone back to their home anyway. He enjoyed being in Sky's company, especially without anyone else around. Brandon worried that now he'd mentioned it and turned it into a big deal, he'd carelessly crushed it – whatever it was – before it had even started.

And he still hadn't answered Sky's question.
Brandon sat there panicking, trying to think of selective words that wouldn't give the wrong impression. The longer he took, the more he panicked. His own thoughts felt huge and amplified, loud enough for Sky to hear them. The silence between them was deafening.

Sky's fingers stilled, and the guitar went quiet. He looked at Brandon, eyes searching his face. Brandon stared back, wishing for his sober self and the capacity to deal with the dawning look that appeared in the eyes in front of him.

Sky blinked, and looked away. He placed his guitar on the floor, then got to is feet. “I'm gonna put the kettle on.”

Jerked back to normality, Brandon nodded. “A'right.”

As Sky left the room, Brandon heard the front door open, and voices materialise. The next moment their erstwhile bassist, Jez, and a few of his glam mates spilled into the lounge.
Sky stalked back in when Jez took the record off, and tried to put on a Wrathchild album. They proceeded to argue about music – a regular occurrence – but Brandon felt like he couldn't deal with these things today.
Somewhere in his mental wanderings, he made the decision to make himself sick, which would hopefully sober him up. Things didn't go according to plan. Brandon found himself in the upstairs bathroom, hugging the toilet, wanting to be sick, but unsure if he could cope with it. In the background he heard random sounds of noisy sex, which had to be coming from Jamie's room.

Sky and Jez soon crammed into the bathroom with him.
“This has to be the worst idea you've ever had,” Sky told him.

“Oh, I dunno,” Jez teased. “What about his suggestion for go-go dancers for the band?”

Sky snorted. “I've chosen to disregard that.”

Brandon groaned into the toilet. He couldn't make himself do it, yet he felt he should. Vaguely, he was aware of someone's hands in his hair, gathering the crimped mass back, holding it safely away. Out of the corner of his eye he could see two pairs of legs, one pair clad in shiny PVC, the other in black jeans with the grass skirt still on top.
A hand patted his back. “Go on, Brand,” Jez encouraged. “Just think of a steaming, hot haggis. Then imagine Spider rubbing his hairy self down with it.”

Sky laughed at that, as Brandon groaned again. Eventually, he did manage to throw up. As he watched the contents of his stomach – which was mostly just brown liquid – wash down the toilet, he heard Sky complain about the waste of his LSD.

It took Brandon a while to get himself together. Sky and Jez looked after him in turns. When he felt better and ready for his bed, it was Jez looking after him. With a skinny arm around his waist, he guided Brandon out into the hall. On the floor, Brandon noted the abandoned grass skirt with a touch of disappointment.

“Where's Sky?”

“Think he's gone to bed, mate.”

Oh.

“Come on.” Jez deposited Brandon into his bed. “In you get. Night, night!”

Brandon grunted as he closed his eyes, and willed the streaming colours to go away. He must have dozed, or at least drifted, because something roused him to wakefulness not long after. A sharp pain cut into his head. Groggily, he reached a hand into his hair and pulled out the offending item, then sleep claimed him fully.

* * *

When Brandon woke later in the evening, his head felt thick, and thumped with hangover. The first thing his sore eyes focussed on was the vivid red of the plastic hibiscus cradled in his hand. He twirled the flower in his fingers as his muddled brain slowly replayed the events of last night. Brandon smiled.
When he stood up, he ignored the head rush that greeted him. He staggered over to his mirror, clipping the flower to its edge. Before he could dwell on it for too long, his stomach rumbled, demanding attention. He realised he felt completely empty.

Sounds from downstairs reached his ears at the same time his nose picked up the tell tale smells of something cooking. Drawn by hunger, Brandon vacated his room, thundered down the stairs, and to the kitchen. Sky was there, crouched in front of the oven's open door with Jamie behind him, leaning against the counter. They both looked up as Brandon hovered in the doorway.

“Ahh.” Jamie chuckled. “It has risen!” He took a bite out of some sort of confectionery, partially unwrapped and dribbling in his hand.

Brandon frowned in an attempt to focus his eyes. “What's that?”

“Choc ice,” Jamie said, with his mouth full.

“Ugh.” Brandon made a face. He didn't want ice cream. He looked elsewhere, eyes darting about for clues as to what was on offer. On the counter top, he could see an opened packet of bread, the almost finished bottle of Worcester sauce, the cheese grater, and a plate of grated cheddar cheese.

“What y'makin'?” he asked Sky hopefully. As if on cue, his stomach growled.

A smirk appeared on Sky's lips. “Cheese on toast. I suppose you want some?”

“Aye, too right,” Brandon answered, and his stomach eagerly agreed.

“Find a plate then,” Sky instructed.

Brandon strode into the kitchen, toward the sink, and crashed about with the pile of unwashed dishes until he found one that wasn't too disgusting. He wiped it off with his hand, then passed it to Sky.

“Oi, hang on,” Jamie complained. “How come he's getting some, why don't I get any?”

Sky threw Jamie a glare over his shoulder. “Jamie, I just watched you eat two bowls of cornflakes, followed by that choc ice.”

“Yeah, but I'm still hungry.”

“And why is that my problem?” Sky turned his attention back to the oven.

“Oh, go on, Sky,” Jamie whined. “I'm hungry.”

“All right, shut up a minute.” Sky held the plate ready and pulled out two piping hot slices of cheese on toast, cursing when he burnt his fingers. “Fuck, that's hot.” He brought his fingers to his mouth and absently licked them as he offered the plate.

Brandon was momentarily distracted, staring at Sky's lips and the tip of a pink tongue that licked the grease from his fingers. All it took was that split second of visual to send his mind wandering.
Sky stopped licking and snapped, “Earth to Brandon!” He thrust the plate forward. “Do you want this or not?”

“Oh, sorry,” he mumbled, accepting the plate.

Sky rolled his eyes, then turned away to prepare another round of toast. Brandon watched him, quietly mesmerised by his movement and the meticulous way he lined up the bread. Sky always had a slight pout on his lips when he concentrated on something, no matter what it was. It was a very subtle pout. Brandon wondered if Sky was even aware that he did it.

“Are you still tripping, Brand?” Jamie asked.

Brandon blinked to right himself, and glanced at Jamie. “Eh?”

“You're just standing there like a dick, letting your toast get cold.”

“Um....” Brandon looked at Sky, who had paused to direct a frown at him. A frown that said: what the hell's wrong with you? “Um, no,” Brandon said. “I'm fine. Cheers for this.” He gestured to Sky with his plate.

Sky lost the frown and smiled, just a little. He went back to arranging his cheese and bread. Jamie offered instructions from behind him like some back seat chef. As they started to bicker over the amounts of cheese needed, Brandon decided to leave them to it.
He could talk to Sky some other time.

* * *

Fin

Read more about Brandon and Sky in the upcoming Crucifox Series

by Melanie Tushmore

Crucifox #1

Available from Storm Moon Press

January 2013
 

For updates visit  

melanietushmore.co.uk