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!


From Aphelion by Mel Keegan

A mere snippet from NARC #5: APHELION ... for those readers who think the NARC books are all about gunships, starships, fighting the Angel war, blazing away with guns in both fists. Not true! Sure, this plot is so thick you could stand a spoon up in it, but that ain't all, guys. Not by a looooong shot. So...

The empath yawned deeply. The wine was hitting his bloodstream and he relaxed visibly. “I’ll take a glass of whatever you got there. And yeah, I’ll take Cass up on it. His attorneys will get the legalities straight. There’ll be offices in Thule, Chell, Eldorado, wherever. Fundraising. Staff. It’ll take years to get the oars in the water, and if I’m right, I’ll have the pure blocker by the time it’s set up. The Marcus Brand Foundation will be about rehabilitation for users, and ... Bram Sorenson can go fuck a skunk.” He buried his nose in the glass Stone had just handed him.

At last Jarrat chuckled, and the humor was genuine. Harry seemed to inhale the wine without even tasting it. He put his head back, closed his eyes, and in minutes he would be asleep. Jarrat set a hand on Stone’s arm, and they wandered to the west side of the house. They would be under cover of the wide verandah there, and could watch the storm break out over the Neptune Gulf. By midnight, no part of Venice would not feel it.

The air was cooling as the sky darkened. Twilight wreathed the coastline, mauve, purple, shot through with lightning. Stone slung one arm across Jarrat’s shoulders, and his lips traced a moist path from his nape to his mouth. Jarrat turned toward him, hunting for a kiss, but Stone was moving. On a whim, he gathered the wine and glasses and dodged from tree to tree, out to the summerhouse on the other side of the garden. Jarrat felt the skip of his pulse as he followed. The rain drummed loudly on the bamboo roof but the rhododendrons and magnolias shut out the wind, and the prying eyes of the beach fishermen who were still tending their lines.

The wine was crisp, cold. Jarrat held it on his tongue as he caught Stone’s head and seized his lips. Stone murmured as he swallowed and his body was warm when he pressed Jarrat back into the timber support under the roof. The empathic shields dropped out by degrees. Desire had stirred in Jarrat as he watched Stone’s broad back before him, as Stone made his way to the summerhouse, and here, now, there was no reason to deny it.

As the shields fell, the lust that had been a constant companion for so long ignited in a long, steady burn. Jarrat did not care to remember a time when he and Stone did not feel this, sharing everything from primal lust to a love so simple, it was profound.

Stone’s skin was cool, but the pulse in his neck was fast, hard. Jarrat’s lips were against it, almost tasting the beat of his life. He relaxed back into the timber and closed his eyes as Stone’s hands slid into his shirt. They palmed his breast and swept downward, leaving swathes of tingling skin. He heard the snakelike slither of leather as his belt was cast aside, and the storm air prickled across his loins. Stone’s breath banished the chill there.

He cradled his partner’s skull, fingers threaded into the dark hair, clenched into the coarse silk of it, but Stone needed no urging. Jarrat’s voice caught in his throat as he was swallowed, root to crown, and reality skewed, spun away into half-heard sounds, half-formed thoughts. Stone was in a teasing mood, and soon enough Jarrat was murmuring hoarse curses.

The next he knew, he was on the bench under the frangipani while rain thundered on the bamboo overhead. He was naked, and Stone was dropping his own clothes in a careless pile. Beautiful, Jarrat thought, watching him with the eyes of a lover. Stone was no less than magnificent. He could have been forgiven for arrogance, but Jarrat saw, felt, none of that.

He moved aside to make space on the bench, and found his shoulders against timbers that were still sun-warm while the air was rapidly chilling. He knew exactly what Stone wanted, and settled with his back against the joist. With a soft oath, Stone straddled his lap, lifted up and settled down on him. His hands molded around Jarrat’s face, thumbs tracing the contours of cheekbones, his mouth. When he put his head down to kiss, Jarrat tasted himself there.

(Illustrated by Jade. See new new Jarrat and Stone digital models here, that's a wow factor!)

Excerpted from NARC #5: Aphelion by Mel Keegan

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