Wishing on a Blue Star (17 page)

Leaning into her, Weylyn brushed a kiss to her cheek. “Good. ‘Cause if you didn’t, I would.”

Melina let go of his hand and stepped back toward the shadows. “I’ve got to go. Grant has little time left. Goodbye, Weylyn.”

“‘See ya, Mel.” He lifted a hand in farewell as the Alpha disappeared into the mist.

Weylyn walked the last block to his portal alone, steeped in his memories of his friend, sadness permeating his soul. He stepped into the portal almost absently, emerging into Drake’s home. Night had fallen in the Darkworld while he’d been gone. He looked around the bedroom to find Drake coming out of the bathroom, half dressed.

“I was just about to come looking for you,” the wizard said. His gaze flickered over Weylyn, and his lips tightened angrily. “Don’t tell me not to read your thoughts, Wey. I can’t help myself. You’re practically broadcasting them.”

Weylyn smiled weakly and sat down on the end of the bed. “I know. And they aren’t the most pleasant of thoughts, either.”

Drake sat down beside him and placed a hand on his thigh. “I can find Trainor for you.”

Grief struck Weylyn like a knife in the heart. “It won’t bring him back, Drake. And really, Mel needs to do that. She needs the closure of making Trainor pay.” He shrugged carelessly. “That part isn’t my fight.”

“I’ll send her some information anonymously. She’ll catch Trainor,” Drake said grimly. “As for your fight, they’re just demons, Wey. Dirty little demons in your head that plague you with ‘what if.’ What if you’d been a better friend? What if you’d never given Grant that speech about doing the right thing? What if you’d kicked Trainor’s ass yourself years ago when you first saw his predisposition for becoming a bully?”

“Well, what if?” Weylyn burst out, his anger and frustration fueled by pain. “Maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe Grant would be alive!”

Drake shook his blond head emphatically. “No, Wey. Things happen for a reason. You can’t blame yourself any more than Melina can.  What you told her is true. No one is responsible for this except Trainor. Let her go after him. You need to grieve and let your friend go. The Afterworld isn’t so bad after all. Haven’t you played there before?”

The wizard’s joke about Weylyn’s band having played in the realm of the Afterworld made him smile a little. In fact, his heart warmed a bit as he realized the joke would have made Grant laugh.  With a deep sigh, he pulled off his jacket although he still felt chilled from the Shadoworld.

“Everywhere but there, it seems,” he admitted, with a little smile. “Now that Grant’s headed there, I’ll have to see about booking a gig there.”

Drake cupped his face and kissed him softly. “It’s okay to mourn your loss,” he whispered.

With those soft words from one of his oldest and dearest friends, Weylyn turned loose his grief. Tears tracked down his face and he leaned on Drake, holding the wizard in a bone-crushing embrace as he cried silently. His grief, rage, and helplessness all flowed forth with his tears.

A long while later, he raised his head, knowing his eyes were red-rimmed and his skin blotchy from crying. He also knew Drake wouldn’t care. The wizard loved him anyway, just as he loved Drake. Even after the two of them found their mates, they would still have a special bond. They’d been through much together, and they knew their friendship would stand the test of time and mates. And Weylyn knew that Drake would always read his mind, whether he wanted him to or not.

Drake chuckled and rubbed Weylyn’s shoulder in a light caress. “Of course, I’ll always read your mind. What use is it being a wizard if you can’t use your power to read your lover’s mind?”

“Read this,” Weylyn growled and placed Drake’s hand on the erection that bloomed behind the buttons of his jeans.

Before they could do more than begin a hot, open-mouthed kiss, Weylyn’s cell phone beeped. He pushed away from Drake and pulled it out of his jacket pocket.

“There’s a voicemail,” he said and pressed the button to call for messages, then put the phone on speaker.

“You have…one message. First message…” the phone barked.

With a crackle, Grant’s voice came over the line and Weylyn stiffened.

“Wey! Hey! Dude, you’ll never guess! I found a Fallen Angel you haven’t fucked! Seriously, man. He’s hot, and he has no idea who you are. Unless he’s lying to me. But I didn’t think Fallen Angels could lie. Can they? I’ll have to ask him. Anyway, I just wanted you to know I’m okay. I’m here now and everything is alright. Don’t be sad. It’s not a good look on you, dude. And I’d miss your smile if you were sad. So hey, I gotta run, but give Drake a big slobber kiss for me. I’m sorry I never got to fuck him, but then again,
I
have an angel
you
haven’t fucked, so I guess that makes us square. Take care, Weylyn. I’ll see you here someday.”

The call ended, and Weylyn saved the message and closed his phone. He looked at Drake and tried to keep his face composed. Unfortunately, he couldn’t. He felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You know, Grant would probably get the biggest kick out of me fucking you to celebrate his elevation to the Afterworld,” Weylyn murmured, his hands reaching for the buckle of Drake’s belt.

Drake leaned back on his elbows, giving Weylyn a clear shot at his belt and zipper. Weylyn could already see the outline of the wizard’s swelling cock beneath the denim.

“Then I guess we should assuage your grief in a manner your friend would approve of, don’t you think?” Drake said slyly, wiggling his brows suggestively.

Weylyn opened Drake’s belt, pulled down the zipper of his jeans, and wrapped his fist around the wizard’s thick erection.

“I think I need to make up for the fact that he found an angel I hadn’t fucked. And here I thought I’d had them all,” he joked.

Drake laughed softly. “You have me and lots of memories of Grant. Don’t be sad, Wey. All life comes to an end someday. You heard it for yourself. He’s okay. Now, fulfill his last wish and give me a big slobbery kiss.”

Weylyn leaned over his lover and took his mouth fiercely, relishing the mashing of their lips and teeth and tongues together. Life did indeed end for everyone at some point. Grant had gone into the Light and come out in the Afterworld. Weylyn would miss him, but at the same time, he held his memories of his friend close to his heart and knew that where he now resided was a better place. Especially since Grant had found his own angel and his own peace.

Sinking down onto Drake’s hard body, Weylyn let his grief go, and as Drake caressed him, he mentally said his goodbyes to Grant. Doing the right thing might not always have the outcome that seemed fairest, but Weylyn decided it was the only thing a man with a conscience could do. Taking the consequences of your actions in stride and embracing what life—and the Afterlife—had in store for you showed the measure of the man. And by the Gods, Grant had done that in spades.

Weylyn’s pain subsided to a dull ache in a corner of his heart as Drake stripped his clothes from him. He stretched out on the bed and celebrated Grant’s life in the way his friend had wanted…by living life to its fullest, embracing pleasure, and walking in the light.

Technical Terms

A post from Patric to Ethan Day’s Yahoo Group

Yeah.  I’m PUTTING realism in my writing because I am often....  nonplussed by the truly bizarre notions I see perpetrated as fiction. :)

No offense intended to anyone without genuine GM parts, but hey...  A twink is a young, generally smooth male without a huge muscle mass.

He is NOT a “bad guy”.  Just saying.

Ass burn:  I’ve seen it mentioned constantly, and it’s always in reference to first entry, and is always overwhelmed by the pleasure of the activity.  But you know what?  Any guy who is NOT a hole virgin can take it up the bum without burning, if they take their time, and there is enough lube.  Burn pretty much only happens when the grease runs dry, or there wasnt any to begin with.  On a purely technical level, it’s the result of inflamed tissue because the mucous lining was rubbed away.  And as long as the irritation stops, it stops burning fairly quickly.

Another thing is finger prep.  Ok.  Good plan, and certainly considerate, but it’s always written as if it were a necessity.  In fact, I’ve only read ONE book where the character says it’s not necessary for him.  (Red Tainted Silence)  And that’s true.  If you’ve played more than a few times, its remarkably easy to take anything without a lot of prior fuss.  Obviously, this excludes those guys who are naturally reticent, totally inexperienced, havent been laid in donkeys years, etc.  :)

And, older guys simply arent as... stringent... in that department anyway.  Simple fact of life.  So if the December in your May-December romance is squeaking at a measly ol’ dick up his butt, it’s nonsense.  (And dont even get me started on stretching or fisting.  Yikes.)

What else do you want to know?  You know what they say, “Those who cant do, teach.”

Saturday, December 26, 2009

Holiday cheer doesnt always come in a cup.

Where else but at a holiday gathering can babies learn about gravity the hard way, the dog can lap up spilled wine faster than paper towels, strangers can laugh and tease like they’ve been best friends forever, and close family can be so unfathomable (all at the same time I might add) and none if it is the least bit unusual?

Christmas Eve, the day after chemo, was an outright Happy Day as expected. I find myself rather glad I haven’t lost those “Days After” altogether. This one in particular allowed me to play catch up, and as I do every year it seems, I spent most of the day (and night) “elfing” to arrive bleary eyed and sleepy to Christmas Day. Also a Happy Day, though it took the magic of a White (pill) Christmas to do it. Good enough for me!

(And it should be noted for those who follow such things, that at this point in the chemo process things are generally going well, though as always there will be room for consideration at the end of the run. Certainly enough for John to look ahead at the future, which will no doubt be a topic for later posts. Fingers crossed!)

Anyway, the usual day’s commotion was fun, despite the aforementioned wine and baby things (though luckily the incidents were unrelated) and my sister came up with the ultimate gift: An autographed copy of Julie Bell and Boris Vallejo’s book of collected works. I have his, and later after they got married, their calendars as far back as 1972. Though from then to ‘85 or so there are several missing years.

I’ve been following his work though his “periods” of pure fantasy, to a brief stint where his subjects were all body builder poses sort of stuck into situations, (and what a queerly apt analogy those painting were for “writing a situation instead of a story.”) and through to where he (apparently) married one of his students named Julie Bell and got himself back on track by painting jointly.

In a very peculiar way, she seemed to be the missing part of himself, and their joint works are even more visually stunning than his alone. She does metal like he does flesh, and the imagery always leaves me awed and fascinated when they work together.

Curiously, the autograph reads “Keep writing, Patric.” and their signatures. I have no idea in the world how Sis managed that one, and when I asked if they knew *what* I write, she got a bit cagey so I’ll have to ask again later on when distance once again gives her a comfort zone between how I used to be and how I am now.

Gods love her, the poor dear is having a bit of trouble getting her head around the whole cancer thing, though she’s a trooper and puts on a good face.

It dooesn’t help any of us to remember that we lost our Mom literally between Christmas and New Year’s Day which makes my oldest niece’s departing comment all the more poignant; “Now we just have to make it through New Year’s Day and we’ll be good for the rest of the year.”

I think that was the only major undercurrent to the holiday, and it’s one I really couldn’t stem. I’m too easy to read to keep the knowledge from anyone that the day was getting rough, and if I wander off to take a nap, that left imaginations to run wild. But despite that, we ate our way through most of a grocery story, let the big people empty the wine bottles, (not me, I was loopy enough as it was!) bagged mountains of trash, and had a great time.

Like the ghosts of Christmases past, getting there might be anticipatory and exciting, but the best part of all is when it’s over, the dishes are washed and the little ones are fast asleep, leaving the rest of us pleasantly enmeshed in each others company and filing away memories to sustain us through the coming year or years when we will once again all end up at the same place, and do it all over again.

Looking forward to that future....

Patric

P.S. Boris, Julie... Thank you, from the bottom of my heart!

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Yikes!

Once again I am remiss in my duties, and whole weeks have gone by since I posted anything new. My apologies.

The problem is two-fold, really. On one hand, when things are going well, I’m busy catching up on the world in general. On the other hand, when things aren’t so good, I’m kinda too tired to do anything at all. The end result is that this poor little blog (not to mention the other blog and my website) don’t get updated. Grr...

Oh, and as a point of reference, I prefer cheddar with my
whine
, thank you!

That said, I’ll have to take a stab at a better update later on. Too bloody tired to think.

Maybe tomorrow. :)

Monday, January 11, 2010

Turning Tricks, Silly Rabbit.

EDIT 01-12-10: