Farewell from the Bookshelf!

Please note that GLBT Bookshelf -- the community wiki which was the parent to this fiction blog -- went offline on May 31, 2016, after seven years' service to members.

All Gay Romance will remain online till the end of 2016 in order to give contributors every opportunity to recover materials uploaded here.

Many thanks to all who contributed over the years, and good luck to everyone in your future works!


Excerpt: TLC 101

Just for All Gay Romance Stories, a new excerpt from Janey Chapel's TLC 101:

Kip had thought if he could get Greg over the grumps and into self-pity, he’d be more docile. Yeah, well, no. Scratch that. Sorry-For-Himself Greg wasn’t any easier to deal with than Bite-Your-Head-Off Greg, and it wasn’t as easy to be firm with him. Angry Greg could be pushed around, shouted at; Kip could give as good as he got. Pitiful Greg was just sort of...pitiful.

And sexy.

Really, really sexy lying there in the light of Kip’s laptop and the 40-watt on the end table, in a pair of boxer shorts and a bright white cast. He barely fit on Kip’s futon. He’d put the leg with the cast up on a pillow, with a towel under it to keep the pillow from getting cast dust and damp on it. Kip never would have thought to do that.

Kip took a deep breath. It wasn’t Greg’s fault he was irresistible like that. He was sure Greg wasn’t lying that way on purpose, with his legs spread and one hand above his head, propped against the pillows. He looked like he was ready for someone to feed him a grape. He couldn’t be doing it on purpose, could he? Kip got less sure when Greg arched his back.

“Come on, Greg, it’ll be better tomorrow,” Kip told him. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

“Can’t,” he said. “It itches.”

Man. Mules had nothing on him when it came to stubborn.

“Okay, okay, chill,” Kip said, putting his hand up, but catching it before it made contact with Greg’s bare skin. That, he didn’t need. “Let me think.”

Greg scoffed under his breath and wriggled on the bed, setting off a chain reaction of muscular ripples that made it really hard for Kip to concentrate. “I’m not in the mood for any of your motivational bullshit, Rigsbee.”

Kip shrugged. “Do you want to feel better or not?”

Greg grumbled under his breath, but finally muttered, “Yeah.”

“Okay, then. Let’s try some breathing exercises.”

“Can we braid each other’s hair, too?”

“Stop being a dick and pay attention,” Kip said, testing his coaching voice. He didn’t use it much, but sometimes nothing else penetrated thick skulls.

Greg squirmed again on the bed, trying to get comfortable. Kip could see the muscles in his stomach pull when he slid down farther in the bed. The leg without the cast on it just happened to fall against Kip’s hip when he moved. Then Greg’s arm came down, and he just happened to end up with his fingertips riding against Kip’s knee. If he wasn’t doing it on purpose, Kip was going to look really stupid.

If he was doing it on purpose, Kip was going to take some lessons from a master. “Close your eyes.”

Greg looked at him hard for a minute, then closed his eyes.

Without his eyes to pull focus, Kip could see the skin around his mouth was tight, his jaw clenched. He wondered if ‘itch’ was Greg’s word for ‘hurts like a mofo.’ A broken ankle was no picnic. With his eyes closed and his mouth shut, Greg didn’t seem so fierce. He looked beat-up and worn out. Kip decided to ignore the pup-tent under construction in Greg’s boxers for the time being. If Greg could pretend it wasn’t there, so could Kip.

“Take a deep breath,” Kip said, and wonder of wonders, Greg did it without fussing about it. Lots of lung capacity in a chest that size. “Now let it out, slowly.”

Damn, he looked good. The bruises were on the other side of his face, so there was just that clean profile to look at, which Kip felt utterly free to indulge in since Greg’s eyes were closed. “Again.”

Kip watched Greg follow his directions and breathed right along with him. “Deep breath in, now let it out,” Kip said, dropping his voice to a murmur. “Deep breath in, now let it out.” Greg started to relax in minute increments. First his shoulders dropped a little. Then the fingertips at his knee twitched and opened. The pup-tent was almost fully erect, and the lines around his mouth were gone. Part of Kip hoped Greg was falling asleep. Part of him didn’t.

Three guesses for which part, and the first two don’t count.

“Greg?” he whispered.

“Hmmmm?” was all he got.

Kip started to move, but Greg’s hand clamped down on his thigh before he even got his balance shifted.

“Don’t,” Greg mumbled. He tightened his hand, holding Kip to the bed. “More.”


“More breathing?” Kip said.

Greg made a low sound in his throat.

Kip waited for a minute, his heart thumping in his chest.

“Breathe, Greg, come on, nice and deep.” Greg breathed just like Kip told him to, but he was getting restless. His hips had started to move, and he was breathing faster, deeper, without any coaching.

Kip stared down at him for a minute, and then he did it: he reached out.

“Or more of this...”

And Kip put his hand on the center of Greg’s boxer shorts, straight through the placket, right over the heat at the heart of him. Greg flattened himself down on the bed with a groan, his hand flexing hard on Kip’s leg, his hips lifting into Kip’s palm.

“That. More of that,” he bit out.

Under Kip’s hand, Greg felt hot, and so alive it was a wonder he didn’t set off sparks. Kip maneuvered himself on the bed to a more comfortable position. Greg flexed his hand on Kip’s thigh but didn’t stop him. The shift in position gave Kip the added benefit of a little bit more room for his own dick to breathe. Not enough, but better than before. If he’d been doing this for himself, he’d have used his left hand, but right-handed was the option open and so that was the one he took; never let it be said he couldn’t go with the flow. Greg’s free hand twisted in the sheet. Kip no longer had to encourage him to breathe; he was breathing just fine -- hard and fast -- in time to his hips, which were doing all the work, pushing his dick up into Kip’s hand.

Oh, man, was that good. Good for Kip, and, if those noises were anything to go by, damn good for Greg. The endorphin rush: Nature’s painkiller. Hey, it was as good an excuse as any, if an excuse turned out to be needed. Kip always tried to keep an extra in his back pocket, just in case.

© 2009 Janey Chapel

No comments:

Post a Comment

Gay Boys - Abstract by Jade