Cinders Posted To Literotica

Okay, shorty post number 2!

I cleaned up and posted Cinders as one long story to Literotica, and it went up today.  If you enjoyed it and want to read it again, if you like to vote or leave comments, or maybe if you missed it when I posted it here and want to check it out for the first time, you can find it here: http://www.literotica.com/s/cinders-1

What's Cinders about?  Hum, well, I wanted to twist up a fairytale and redo it in my own way, so I took Cinderella,



made her into a Chinese American boy, put him on the streets of San Francisco,

 

gave him a terrible backstory and a boyfriend, then magically swept him off to fifteenth century France (or thereabouts)

 

 

and made him slave for his wicked stepmother and stepsisters in an oddly cartoonish/Cubist/nightmarish world, with only the help of a mouse for a sidekick and, eventually, his very fabulous fairy godmother,

 



 

and then he finally figures out how to get to the ball and break the spell holding him in the fairytale by the stroke of midnight, and returns home to San Fran and his worried lover.  There's even a missing shoe worked in there.

 

 

So!  Something to think about on this lovely Sunday.  Have a great end to your weekend, darlins:)

 

Cinders Post #12

Notes:  Let the Dirty Thirty begin!  I have a good feeling about this year.  I've got some big projects in the works, one mainstream-ish, several for my erotica lovers and now, a black hole where I should be writing a story on this blog.  Hmmm...what shall I do?  That's a questions for tomorrow.  Happy Birthday to me, and huge thanks to all of the people who read and write and make me feel so good about choosing to pursue writing with their kind words and encouragement.  I couldn't do this without you.

Title: Cinders

Part Twelve:  And They All Lived...


***

Notes: Let the Dirty Thirty begin! I have a good feeling about this year. I've got some big projects in the works, one mainstream-ish, several for my erotica lovers and now, a black hole where I should be writing a story on this blog. Hmmm...what shall I do? That's a questions for tomorrow. Happy Birthday to me, and huge thanks to all of the people who read and write and make me feel so good about choosing to pursue writing with their kind words and encouragement. I couldn't do this without you.

Title: Cinders

Part Twelve: And They All Lived...


***

Asher runs through the door at top speed, stumbles on the stairs and falls onto the walkway. He hits shoulder first, and the grind of the concrete through the thin cloth of his t-shirt really sucks, but at least he misses going face first. He lays there for a second, eyes closed and breathing heavily, before he tentatively opens up and looks around. There sky is dark purple fading to orange, and the streetlights closest to him go off as he watches. Streetlights. Electricity. That means…

“Holy shit.” Asher levers himself to his hands and knees and looks around, astonished. He’s in the front yard of the mystery house, a few feet away from the wrought iron fence. The door behind him is still open, a black hole that gives nothing away, and yet here he is. In skinny jeans, a t-shirt, jacket and wearing just one sneaker. Real clothes. “Holy shit!” He’s back. The gate was the doorway he needed. He’s back, he can go home…

Getting up isn’t at all a conscious thing. The gate opens with a bang but Asher doesn’t even hear it, instead he’s tearing of down the street like his ass is on fire, running and not caring that he’s barefoot and probably fucking himself up royally. He’s not that far from home, he can be there fast. Familiar landmarks spring up, familiar people too, and a few of them send catcalls his way, which he ignores. Fuck ‘em. Asher has places to be. He’s running his heart out and he’s lucky, he doesn’t step on glass or metal or anything, just makes it back to his apartment building in record time, puts his hand on the door and then—

He sees himself. A picture of himself is posted here, on the glass. MISSING is printed out bold in caps over his head, with a plea for any information and Ty’s number listed below it. Which makes him wonder…how long has he been gone? Time passes differently in situations like this, right? You think you’re taking a nap and you wake up a hundred years later, or you spend a day in fairyland and it’s been a year. Well. Asher is sure that this wouldn’t be on the door if he’s been gone for a year; not even Ty could be that optimistic, but clearly it’s been long enough to worry him. That’s the last thing Asher ever wanted.

He takes a few deep breaths, then grabs the poster and tears it off, throws it onto the ground. He’s back now. Asher takes the stairs two at a time, because they’re faster than the ancient elevator, and heads into their hall. Their apartment is at the end. He can see light from beneath the door, which is unusual because Ty is never up early enough to see the sunrise. Asher shuts his eyes for a moment, strangely nervous, then tries the door. It opens, and he steps inside.

The light in the kitchen is on but the living room is still dark. Asher can just make out Ty’s outline, large and awkward folded onto the couch, partially covered by a blanket. He wants to go to him, but it feels like his feet are glued in place now. He sees the blanket shift and clears his throat. “Ty.”

Ty mumbles something and lifts his head. “Ash?” When he gets his face free of the cover and really looks, the sleepiness vanishes and he sits up, staring like he’s seeing a ghost. “Ash?” he repeats, and the uncertainty in his voice is heartbreaking.

“Yeah,”Asher replies, and that’s all he has time for before Ty is on him, springing up like a frightened gazelle and closing the distance between them in record time thanks to his freakishly long legs. He doesn’t pause, just pulls Asher immediately into his arms, and it’s all Asher can do to stay on his feet when those arms wrap around him. Ty smells like himself, something warm and young and welcome, and he feels even better. He feels real, not imagined, not made up on the spot to imitate the original. Like his scent…Asher can’t describe it, but he knows it, viscerally. This is reality, and it’s so much better than anything else some fairy world could conjure up.

“Ash,” Ty says again, holding him even tighter, and Asher can’t really breathe right now but he also can’t really care. He pulls back just enough to lift his face and captures Ty’s mouth in a kiss. Ty has morning breath, which is perfect in its imperfectness, and there’s the chipped incisor and there’s that sound he makes in his throat, that needy sound that Asher loves so much. They lose themselves in it for a while before Ty finally pulls back. His expression is completely wrecked. “Where have you been?”

“Um…” Here comes the fun part. Asher prevaricates long enough to shut the door and kick off his one shoe, wincing as he does so. Ty looks down at his bare feet and frowns, but he’s not put off the scent. “Can we sit down?”

“No,” Ty says. His hair is a rat’s nest, brown strands sticking up in every direction, and his eyes are red-rimmed and tired. He looks like he needs to sleep for a week, but Asher knows that suggestion would just get him punched on the shoulder. Hard. “Tell me where you’ve been.” He glances down again. “Without finding another shoe that whole time, jesus.”

Asher sighs. “How long was I gone?”

Ty looks at him incredulously. “Three days!” The anger Asher is fearing doesn’t show up; instead he sees worry. “How long did you think you were gone?”

Three weeks. “Longer,” Asher says honestly. He can’t tell Ty what really happened, or at least what Asher thinks really happened; who would believe he was caught in a fairy tale? He goes with a partial truth. “I don’t really know what happened to me. I walked until I found this house, and I went inside and…things got weird, man. It was like being in a completely different world. I didn’t know where I was and I couldn’t get out, and all I could think about was getting back to you.” Now the emotion is on his part, pure fear just barely dulled. “I thought I might never see you again.”

“Fuck, who found you, did they give you drugs? God, sit down.” Asher lets Ty tug him over to the couch, and it feels like the most comfortable thing in the world. Ty is still holding onto his arms and Asher likes it. In fact, he wants more, and leans forward to rest against Ty’s chest. They aren’t normally cuddlers, and Ty is taken aback at first, but then he’s holding on for his life again, hard and possessive, and Asher loves it. “Tell me what happened. Do you need to go to a hospital?”

“No,”Asher says. “I just…it felt like a long time for me, man. More than three days. I missed the hell out of you. I didn’t stay away because I wanted to, Ty. You know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“I know,”Ty says instantly, and his response soothes Asher. “You’d never just leave me like that. I put up missing posters—did you see the one downstairs? I talked to the cops too but they didn’t take me seriously. I went out every night and asked the girls if they’d seen you, and no one could tell me anything. I was so fucking scared.”

“Me too.” Asher inhales deep. “I’d never leave you period, Ty. Not unless you want me to go. I don’t want to…I mean, you’ve got stuff you want to accomplish and I don’t want to hold you back, but you have to know that I’m yours, man. Completely.”

“You’re my what?” Ty asks uncertainly.

“Fuck, you’re really gonna make me say it?” Asher rolls his eyes up to the ceiling but goes on. “I’m your boyfriend, your boy toy, your roommate, whatever. I’m as much as you want me to be. I’ll take what I can get.”

When Ty smiles, really smiles, it’s with his whole face. He doesn’t do it very often, but when he does he looks joyous, and Asher has to smile back. “I want you as my boyfriend,” he says firmly. He leans in for another kiss and Asher responds hotly, suddenly hornier than he’s been in days and finally able to sate himself the way he wants. He leans into the kiss, more aggressive than he usually is, works his fingers into Ty’s perfectly grabbable hair and angles his face just right, comes up onto his knees and pushes forward until Ty is on his back and Asher is on top. They’re grinding together just right and breathing each other, eating each other and living each other. Ty is moaning already, seeking out friction and heat, and Asher knows what he wants.

“Ty,” he murmurs as he breaks their kiss for a moment, “let me fuck you.” It’s kind of a big thing to ask for. They’ve only done it this way once, when Asher took his virginity because he didn’t want Ty’s first time to be with a john. He would do it for them if the money was there, but far more often Ty had given blowjobs, or done the fucking. Plenty of guys wanted to be fucked by a strong young thing like him. Far more of them had wanted to do Asher, and that had been fine, but Asher wanted Ty now. He wanted something that was just theirs, something special. He had expected it to take some convincing. He’s surprised.

“Yes,” Ty moans emphatically, arching his hips up. “God yes, please fuck me, I want that with you.”

Well, shit. Okay. “Bedroom,” Asher insists, standing up and tugging Ty with him. He turns to go and trips over something on the floor. “What the…”

“It’s your other shoe,” Ty says a little sheepishly. “I, um, I kept it kind of close. Just because.”

“Freak,”Asher says affectionately, drawing him in for another kiss. They stumble back into the bedroom, both of them losing clothes and laughing and eventually falling into bed. Asher’s still on top, Ty is hot and pliant beneath him, and they’re both hard enough to drill through steel. “You need anything?” Asher asks before he gets going.

“I’m good,” Ty says. “Got lube, got condoms, I just need your dick in my ass.”

Asher’s dick isn’t going to last if Ty keeps that up. “Think you need something else, first.” He rolls Ty onto his stomach and lifts his hips, and Ty groans at the first touch of Asher’s tongue to that tight ring.

“Wanted this forever, since the first time,” he babbles into the pillow, breathing fast and shallow as Asher licks around his rim. “Wanted you in me but I couldn’t, I couldn’t ask, because you—oh, fuck—” Asher pushes the tip of his tongue inside, slowly stretching his boyfriend and loving how that makes him go all shuddery and quiet. Ty doesn’t say anything else, just whimpers and gasps as Asher opens him up slow, gradually adding fingers slicked with lube. It’s been a long time since Ty has done this and he’s really tight, but this time he’s eager instead of nervous, and Asher knows that Ty wants this.

Eventually he pulls back and rolls on a condom, coats it with more lube just to be safe, and then his hands are on Ty’s hips, guiding him back onto Asher’s cock. He planned to take this slow and steady but as soon as he gets the head in Ty is thrusting back hard, and Asher has to bite his tongue so that it bleeds to keep from coming right there.

“M’okay,”Ty says, his voice tight and desperate. “Just do it, please, Ash.” He’s so tight this has got to be hurting, but the best way to make it better is to go on. Asher does, pulling back a little and pressing in again, his hands splayed wide across Ty’s lower back. He uses short, gentle thrusts until Ty relaxes some, then pulls back further, one hand sliding around to touch Ty as he does. Ty’s cock is hard and dripping, and Asher uses that slick to make stroking him easier as he fucks into him. Except it’s not just fucking, it’s more than that somehow, there’s nothing normal about the way Ty feels around him.

He bends down and licks a stripe across Ty’s shoulder blade just because he can, because he wants to taste more of him, then kisses the nape of his neck. Asher leaves his mouth there as he thrusts harder, smelling and tasting and touching as much of Ty as he can. He’s hot and sweaty and perfect and he’s all Asher’s, and Asher doesn’t even realize he’s saying anything until Ty is coming, squeezing so tight around his cock that it almost hurts and the last thing Asher hears before he comes himself and his ears go cottony is his own voice, saying, “Love you, I love you, I love you…”

They collapse onto the bed, rolling sideways to avoid the wet spot. Asher slowly slips free of Ty, trying to catch his breath and make sense of everything that’s happening. He’s got so much to do, more to explain and to say and to promise, and he’s gotta make a plan because he can’t keep working on the streets. The idea of going out and doing this with someone else makes him sick. He’ll figure it out, they’ll figure it all out, but right now he has Ty and they’re finally together the way they should be, and for the first time in three weeks Asher feels like he can really breathe. He reaches down and pulls the condom off, twists and tosses it into the trashcan and then is back, wrapped around Ty before he’s out of his post-orgasm stupor.

They lay quietly together for a while before Ty asks, “Do you mean it?”

“Yes.” Asher has never meant anything more in his whole life.

“Good. I love you, too.”

Asher presses his smile into Ty’s shoulder. “Good.”

Tiny black eyes watch the tableau unfold, and whiskers twitch as the air is saturated with thick, heavy scents. Round ears perk up and listen the whole way through, until the young men fall asleep. Then tiny paws set foot on the carpet, leaving the sanctuary of the jacket behind. A little mouse runs through the living room, squeezes under the crack at the front door, and heads back towards a house that will be gone by tomorrow.

And they lived happily ever after.

Cinders Post #11

Notes:  Next to last post, right here.  Oh yeah, baby.  You will have the end before the 16th, if I can manage it.  Which I'd better, scheduling for submissions taken into account.  And then...who knows what will come next?

Title: Cinders

Part Eleven: For Whom The Bells Tolls



***

The narrative is approaching its climax.  This is a tense time for the story threads, woven in and out of their hero, tugging but not outright pulling him along.  He’s got to pick a direction, and depending on what he decides to do, the story may end in triumph or tears.  This is where early efforts at being non-traditional when it comes to the roles laid out in the fairy tale might just rear up and bite.  This time, our hero can’t rely on being pursued back to his home by his handsome prince.  He’s got to make all the right connections himself, he’s got to follow through and then he’s got to have that personal climax that allows this story to tie itself off, satisfied, and seek out a new situation.

Taking a boy like this was a risk, but a story can’t evolve it if never takes risks.  Stories that don’t evolve fade into nothingness, no more myth or legend to support them, no belief to feed off of.  They may be parasites of the human condition, but at least they serve a valuable purpose.  Humanity has to believe in something, and fairy tales are better than some of the narratives out there.

It registers the pounding hooves of its hero’s transformED horse, and waits to see where they go.

****

Luckily the mouse-horse seems to know where it’s headed, because it’s all Asher can do to keep his ass in the saddle.  Fuck how the West was won, Asher way prefers his steel horse to the real version.  It bounces weirdly, it smells and it also…well…fine, so he might be just a little scared to be up so high on something that lives and breathes and could throw Asher off at any second and trample him into the ground.  Asher hopes that weeks of bread crumbs bought him some goodwill with the little dude.  Big dude.  Whatever.

They ride at a breakneck pace through a forest, then into more fields on the other side, fields that steadily give way to buildings on either side of the road.  It all looks pretty normal, except where it’s dark now and there are no street lights, only candles in the windows.  Eventually they hit an upward slope and the horse slows down to a canter, then a trot.  The trot really fucks with Asher’s balance, and by the time he figures out how to post they’re at the top of the hill, and spread out in front of him is a castle encircled by an immense stone wall.  It’s like…like something out of a fairy tale, Asher thinks with awe before his sarcasm catches up.  ‘Cause, yeah.  What else would it be like?

There are…he doesn’t know the words for all of these things, but Asher’s seen pictures of Notre Dame and Neuschwanstein and he can see aspects that remind him of both of those, high pointing towers and swooping arches and flying buttresses, and it would be pretty cool if there were gargoyles too, but he can’t make any out.  The white castle walls look almost blue in the moonlight, and are well lit with torches.  The horse starts to move and Asher lets him, still a little stunned by the view, and more than a little nervous now that he can breathe without his lungs bouncing into his chest.  Somewhere in that place is Ty.  Asher just has to make it to him.

“If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?” Ty asked idly one morning, a late morning with no classes for him and a long night to recover from for Asher.  They were sitting together on the couch, drinking instant coffee and eating potato chips.  There was a commercial on TV featuring a sandy white beach and girls in bikinis windsurfing. 

“I mean, like, anywhere,” Ty continued, going on to answer his own question.  “You don’t have to limit it to Earth.  When I was a kid, I always wanted to visit Hobbiton.”  He flushed slightly.  “Which I know sounds kind of dumb, but it was supposed to be a happy place, right?  With animals and farms and people living under hills and not really worrying about big stuff.  I always worried about big stuff as a kid.”

Asher thought for a moment, weighing his options, before picking up one of Ty’s giant feet and putting it in his lap.  “You’ve got the right kind of feet for Hobbiton.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hairy.”

“Dude, shut up,” Ty laughed, digging both of his feet under Asher’s ass.

“No really, I bet you could walk around without shoes and you’d develop awesome calluses and then you could be one of those guys who walks over hot coals and doesn’t feel a thing.  That’s some shit people would pay to see, man.”

“Seriously, though.”  Ty flexed his feet a little, sending a shiver up Asher’s spine.  “Where would you be?”

Asher lifted a hand and pointed towards the screen.  “There,” he said, but what he really meant was, “Here.”  Ty seemed to get it, giving Asher a smug half-smile until Asher was forced to wipe it off Ty’s face with one of the couch cushions.

He rides in through the main gate, and the closer he gets to the actual castle the more well-dressed people he has to dodge, mostly women strolling as fast as they can to the ball when hampered by tiny, fashionable shoes.  Carriages were stopped back at the gate, but Asher makes it almost to the front steps of the place before he’s asked to dismount.  He does so awkwardly, feeling self-conscious as his slippers hit the ground, but the groom takes his horse with a little bow.  Apparently meeting the dress code is all it takes to get in through the front door, because Asher’s not asked to prove that he’s supposed to be here, no need to display an invitation.  He fingers the wax seal he’s carrying in his jacket, walks in through the high marble doorway and enters an internal courtyard filled with people wearing every color of the rainbow, flitting about like exotic birds of prey.  Every person here is on a mission. 

Asher really does fit right in.

Fitting in isn’t good, though, Asher has to stand out.  First he’s got to find Ty, though.  He hops up onto a decorative but useless little wall, ignoring the scandalized looks as he scans the crowd.  Nothing promising.  Ty is tall in the present day; among these people he’s gotta be a veritable giant, and there are no humongous dudes in this crowd.  Maybe inside.  Asher jumps down—

A hand on his arm turns him.  Asher’s pulled around and suddenly is face to face with Pinky.  She looks puzzled.  Puzzled is good.  If Asher were looking at Envy or his evil stepmother right now, “puzzled” would not be the look.  They’d be more likely to be incensed, maybe murderous. 

“Have we met?” Pinky asks coquettishly.  “You seem very familiar, sir.”

Don’t recognize me when I’m not covered in mud and wearing burlap, huh, bitch.  Asher makes an effort to deepen his voice.  “No.”

Pinky smiles, not at all put off by his brevity.  “Then it’s high time we make each other’s acquaintance!  Are you a member of the prince’s entourage?  I don’t recognize your regalia.”

“Actually…”  Asher considers it for a second.  He steps closer and lowers his voice and prepares to bury them both in bullshit.  “I’m here on a mission.  I work for His Majesty’s secret service, and we have intelligence stating that an assassin has been sent to kill the prince.  It’s a man wearing a—” He mentally casts about for a moment, “a rose in his…um, cravat.”  That’s a real thing, isn’t it?  “Whoever apprehends this gentleman will have the personal gratitude of the prince.  The very, very personal gratitude of the prince.”  Pinky’s eyes light up, and Asher has to suppress a snicker.  “But please, don’t do anything to endanger yourself,” he adds.  Because I don’t deserve to be that freaking happy in this life.

“Oh,” Pinky breathes happily, “I shan’t!  I, I’m sure I can help without putting myself in any danger.”

“I’m sure you can.”  Asher squeezes her hand a little too hard and then pries it off his arm.  He watches her flounce off eagerly, and seeing the back of her is a beautiful thing.  Then he heads up the steps into the main castle.

He enters the equivalent of whatever a courtyard with a ceiling is, a great stone hall with long folds of cloth covering the walls, swaths of blue and red, the prince’s colors.  The crowd is even denser in here, but dense can’t hide height, and Asher can finally see Ty now.  He’s standing on the other side of the room and surrounded by his posse, which has taken on the role of screening the crowd that’s trying to mob the poor dude.  And it’s a big crowd.

A really, really big crowd.  Asher tries to press through it, but the velvet and taffeta is almost suffocating in close quarters.  And there are bustles.  Who the fuck invented those?  Why did someone feel the need to make asses bigger than they already are?  It’s like giving shoulder pads to people who aren’t playing some sort of impact sport.  Asher tries and tries again, going at one route or another for more than ten minutes, but it’s pretty much impossible to do this politely.  Hell, with the corsets these girls are wearing it might even be impossible to do it impolitely, his elbows will probably just bounce off the whalebone.  He grits his teeth and prepares to do his best to bull his way through. 

A shrill scream of triumph echoes off the stone, and Asher turns just in time to see a huge puff of pink sail through the air and triumphantly tackle a nearby man.  “I have him!” Pinky shrieks.  “I found him!  Your Highness, you’re safe now!  I have him!”

Eyes naturally gravitate towards the display.  Asher takes advantage of the lull to slide through the courtiers, ducking and dodging and finally making it to the thin red and blue line.  He comes face to face with the same man who delivered the invitation to his former prison, who looks at him with surprise and some suspicion.  “I don’t know you.”

“You wouldn’t,” Asher says, deciding to play it straight.  From what he saw, this man has no love for any of Asher’s transplanted family.  “My mother and sisters usually keep me in the kitchens.  It was sheer chance that I made it this far tonight.”

“Oh.  Them.”  Distaste twists his face.  “Are you as desperate as they are to meet the prince?”

Yes, yes, I’m so desperate I could die if you don’t let me talk to Ty right the fuck now.  “I would like to meet him,” Asher says, “but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.  If you think I would…”  You better not think I would, let me in, let me in, let me in before I lose my fucking mind…

“He is supposed to be socializing tonight,” the man muses.  He looks over Asher’s shoulder and his eyes widen a little.  “What in God’s name is your stepsister doing?”  The noise is coming closer.  Apparently Pinky is a lot better at elbowing her way through these kinds of crowds than Asher, even when she’s towing a semi-conscious guest behind her.

“She’s insane,” Asher says with complete certainty.  “I’d lock her up if I were you.”  He brushes past the man and a second later he’s face to face with—

Ty.  God, it’s Ty.  Not Ty the cartoon character like so many of the other people here are, not an unnaturally bright creature from some fever dream.  It’s Ty in a weirdly poufy costume, wearing awkward shoes and an awkward expression as he talks awkwardly to an obsequious socialite, but he looks real.  Asher doesn’t see any of that, though, all he sees now is the face that he loves.  His mouth dries up and he doesn’t remember how to speak, but it’s okay, because Ty seems to be in the same situation.  He does that thing where his mouth opens and closes over and over again, and his big brown eyes go wide.  He brushes away the hand curling over his shoulder and steps a little closer.

 “Hello,” he says at last.  His voice is…it’s just what it should be.  Gorgeous, throaty, a little tentative.  Sexy as hell.

“Hi,” Asher says.  He balls up his fists to keep from reaching out and touching Ty.  He doesn’t want to spook him.  Ty seems to know him in some way, not the immediate recognition Asher was looking for but something is better than nothing.  He just needs some more time.

“I’m Prince Tyler.”

Asher smiles.  “I know who you are.”

Ty blushes.  “Of course.”  He tilts his head a little.  “Have we met?”

Yes, we have, you know me.  “I have a familiar face.”

“No, you’re like no one I’ve ever seen here before.  I would remember knowing you.”

You will.  “Can we talk?  Somewhere else?”

“Of course.”  There’s a wooden door behind them, partitioned off by Ty’s entourage.  They head to it, their escape covered by Pinky’s cacophony.  The door takes them into a hall which emerged on a private balcony.  The noise is distant now, a murmur of voices that seems far away.  The moon is out, illuminating both of them, and Asher can’t look enough.  Ty appears equally captivated.

“What is your name?” Ty asks.

“Asher McKellan.”  Asher waits for any additional sign of recognition, but there isn’t one.

“Where do you come from?  Why have I not met you before?”

“It’s a long story,” he says after a second, not really wanting to explain the whole ‘servant’ thing.

“Are you a member of my kingdom?”

“I’m definitely your loyal subject,” Asher replies earnestly.  Ty looks down for a moment, shy, and it’s so endearing Asher feels like he might explode with the need to touch him.

“This is very strange,” Ty says after a beat.  “I feel as though we’re connected, as though we’ve known each other for a long time.  How can I feel such trust for you without knowing you better?”

Now isn’t the time to talk about alternate dimensions.  Later, when Ty’s memory is back.  “You should go with your instincts, Ty.”  He almost bit his tongue using the nickname.  “I mean, Tyler.  Or Highness, whatever you want.”

“I would rather you not call me Highness, it seems foreign coming from your lips.”

“Would you like something familiar instead?”

“What do you have in mind?” Ty asks raptly.

“A kiss.”  Aren’t kisses supposed to break spells in these things?  “One little kiss.”

His mouth drops open again, and Asher can tell he’s blushing.  “You are very forward, Asher McKellan.” 

Asher notes that that’s not a no.  “I can be, but only when I know what I want.”  He moves a little closer.  “Please.  One kiss.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all,” Asher promises.  Unless you want more.

“I think I can grant you a kiss,” Ty says, his voice deeper now, his body drawing in.  They close the distance, and before Ty has the time to reconsider, Asher puts his hands on his hips and kisses him.  His lips are warm and soft, and after a surprised moment they open.  Asher tastes Ty’s mouth, and it’s sweet and hot and…

Wrong.  It’s wrong.  The taste is off, and when his tongue explores Ty’s teeth, they’re all perfect.  Asher actually feels a familiar chip form on the incisor while he’s pressed to it.  He draws back, leaving Ty breathless and beautiful and shaking.  Except it isn’t Ty.  He knows now, and he has to leave fast, before he traps himself in this beautiful lie.

“That was perfect,” Ty says softly, and Asher nods his head even as he’s readying himself to run.  It was perfect, and that’s a sure sign it isn’t right.  Real life isn’t perfect.  “Asher McKellan…I wish to know you better.  Will you stay with me?”

“I—Highness, I—”

“A moment ago I was Ty,” the copy says sadly, and Asher can’t bring himself to be mean to any incarnation of the man he loves.

“Ty, there’s something I have to do.  Once I’m done with that, I’ll come straight to you.”

“Can I not send a servant to attend to it for you?”

“It’s something only I can do,” Asher tells him.  “Please.  It won’t take long.”

“You swear to come back to me?”

“You’re all I want,” Asher promises him, the words ringing hollow even if they are true.

“I believe you.”  The prince points towards the slender metal staircase at the end of the balcony.  “Take that down.  Turn left once you hit the grounds and you’ll end up by the stables.”  He smiles shyly.  “I will leave the door open for you.”

“Thank you.”  Asher turns and walks away quickly, needing to be gone from this almost-Ty, close enough to remind Asher of exactly what he’s been missing this whole time.  He feels empty, hopeless.  He doesn’t know what to do; he only knows he can’t stay here.  He can’t go back.  He walks despondently to the stables and finds his horse.

“Where did I go wrong?” he asks it.  “What did I miss?” He hears a bell begin to toll and figures it must be midnight.  His horse suddenly hits him in the chest with its bony jaw.  “Ow!  What?”  The second bell tolls, and the horse hits him again, and suddenly Asher remembers that kisses aren’t the only things that can breaks spells in fairy tales.  The stroke of midnight…he needs to be out of the castle before the change.  Because something’s gonna change.  “Shit!”

It takes two more bells to scramble into the saddle, and another two to get out of the stables.  Asher leans forward and gives the horse its head, lets it race towards the castle gate.  Guests dodge frantically as Asher speeds towards the spot that might be, just maybe, the portal that he needs.  Nine bells.  Ten.  Eleven, and they’re so close he can almost taste it through the tears on his face.  On the twelfth bell, they charge through the gate.

And the world…changes.

Cinders Post #10

Notes: OMG, that was a hell of a week.  Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to do promo for my novel, I want it to be a success.  But daaaaamn.  Stressful.  And I totally owed you guys this part and it took forever to buckle down and do it, but here it is, so forgive me and enjoy.  This ended up being a pretty fast chapter, honestly.  Lots of fun dialogue:)  We're getting so close, guys!  Maybe two more parts?

PS--if you read either of my new releases, please let me know what you thought of it/them!

Title: Cinders

Part Ten: Prep Me




***

Asher sits up.  That’s harder than it looks, after being knocked onto the ground by some magical goddamn force field that won’t let him leave the mansion grounds, but he manages it.  He can’t take his eyes off of his…his… “What the fuck are you?”

The absurdly colorful man rolls his eyes again.  “Honestly?  I mean, you have read this story, right?  Seen the movie?  The Disney movie, I’m guessing, because that’s the only time I come off looking so freaking ridiculous.  I way prefer it when I get this gig as a disembodied voice, but I’m guessing that you’re not incredibly religious, and so the God loudspeaker didn’t even occur to you.”  He looks down at himself with a grimace.  “Seriously, has the only person who’s ever been nice to you been a total flaming queen?  Because that’s what you’re projecting here, Prince Charming.”

“I’m not Charming,” Asher retorts automatically.

“No shit, Sherlock.  But your handsome prince is, and right now he’s getting an eyeful of a bunch of gaudy, bitchy little peacocks who want nothing more than to snap him up like it’s last call and he’s the only drink for miles.  C’mon.”  He holds a hand out to Asher, who notices that the…whoever it is’…nails are covered in rainbow polish.  Asher takes the hand, though, and a second later he’s on his feet.  This little dude is stronger than he looks.

“Really,” Asher says as he shakes some feeling back into his hand.  “What are you?”

“Your fairy godmother, of course.”  The little dude doesn’t look very happy to be that, either.  “And would it have killed you to have given me pants?  This dress does nothing for my ass.”

“Hey, none of this was my idea,” Asher protests.

His fairy godmother looks at him with an expression of exasperated condescension.  “It’s all your idea, Ash.  Everything you see is shaped by your own experiences.  I’m guessing you watched a lot of those A&E Jane Austen adaptations as a kid or something, because you’ve done a way more realistic job on the farm parts of this than I would have given you credit for.  Work, now that you understand.  But the people?”  He spread his hands out to indicate himself.  “I mean, seriously!  Look at this!  Where did you even get this?  Why do you have to make people who are trying to help you into objects of ridicule?”

“I don’t do that,” Asher says, stung.

“You so do, honey.  Just like you make the women in this reality as unapproachable as possible, because you don’t want to be reminded of the things you used to have.  Just like you make the men nonexistent, here one moment and gone the next, nothing you care to think about.  Like your daddy.  Like your johns.”

“You can shut the fuck up at any time, thanks,” Asher snipes.  It isn’t true, it can’t be.  Because that would mean… “Are you saying that I could have gotten out of here at any time, just by imagining people being nicer to me?”

His fairy godmother grimaces slightly.  “Okay, so it’s not all you.  I mean, yeah, setting, characterization, a lot of that comes down to you—nice job on the birds by the way, you lazy bugger—but the basic plot…well, that’s been around for a long, long time.  Not much you can do about that except try to live through it.  Try to finish the story.”

“I don’t want to finish the fucking story, I want to go home!” Asher shouts, losing the little bit of control he’s barely regained.  “I want out of these stupid clothes and away from this stupid place and I want to be back with Ty, damn it!  He probably thinks I left him or I’m dead, or—” He couldn’t go on.  The number of ways Ty could take an absence like this are plentiful, and none of them are good.  The only thing Asher knows for certain is that Ty cares.  Ty cares, he’s the only one who cares, and he’s the only thing that Asher wants.

“Then I guess you’d better get to him, huh,” his fairy godmother says quietly, now looking so compassionate that Asher can hardly bear to meet his eyes.  “The story isn’t just gonna let you go, Ash.  It doesn’t work like that.  There’s a narrative imperative to satisfy.  Once that’s done, well, you’ll get your light at the end of the tunnel.”

“Are you telling me Ty is actually here, trapped in this story with me?”  Asher pulls out the ribbon and looks down at the wax seal.  Ty…  “Is he really the prince?”

“I don’t know,” his fairy godmother admits.  “The story is a little different every time.  Generally it’s just one character who gets drawn in, but there have been multiples in the past.  It’s not frequent, but it does happen.  But you won’t know,” he continues more loudly, “if you don’t get your ass to that ball.”

“I can’t leave,” Asher mumbles.  “She said I can’t leave without an invitation.”

“Honey, I’m your invitation this time,” his fairy godmother assures him with a saucy grin.  “But you can’t go looking like that.  You wouldn’t get within a hundred feet of the palace door.”

“Oh, Jesus.  Not a makeover.”

“Ash, you smell like pig shit and you look like you got flung into a pile of gravel at twenty miles an hour.  A makeover is the least of what you need.  I’d give you the time to enjoy a real bath, but,” he glances down at his wrist, which is oddly delicate and bare, “time’s a-wastin’.”  He snaps his fingers.

All of a sudden Asher is…fresh.  Not just clean, but really fresh, fresh like he just stepped out of a shower before getting ready to bang Ty fresh, fresh like he hasn’t felt since before he got trapped in this damn fairy tale.  He reaches a hand down automatically and cups himself.  Which is easy ‘cause he’s stark naked right now.  “How exactly did you clean me up?” he asks suspiciously.

His fairy godmother arches one ridiculous yellow eyebrow.  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yeah, I would, you perv.  And how about some clothes?”  Asher isn’t ashamed of his own nudity, but it’s kind of chilly tonight and he can feel his balls start to get shy.

“I’m just trying to decide if you’re more of a winter of an autumn.”  His fairy godmother taps one finger on the point of his chin and purses his pouty lips.  Asher growls, literally growls, then suddenly panics when he remembers something.

“Shit!  Where did you put my clothes?”  He scans the ground frantically. 

“Why?  They were barely more than rags—”

“I had a mouse in there, asshole!  What, did you vaporize him or something?”

His fairy godmother laughs.  “I knew about your little friend.  He’s at your feet, genius.”

Sure enough, Asher looks straight down and there’s the mouse, staring up at him and twitching his ears.  “Thank fuck,” he mutters, crouching down and looking the little guy over.  He seems fine.  Totally mousey, nothing special beyond the fact that he’s not running away.  “Hey, buddy.”

“You’re such a softie.”

“Screw you,” Asher says.  He trembles, a little shiver that rustles the gravel at his feet.  “And clothes, dude.  Anytime.”

“Fine.”  His fairy godmother waves his hands.  An instant later Asher’s nakedness is covered with silk, tight and clinging in some places, loose in others.  Asher looks down at himself and groans. 

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“It’s the fashion!” his godmother exclaims.  “Tight through the calves and poofy around the thighs is the fashion!”  And that’s what this outfit is, all in black, the doublet edged with silver along his throat and wrists.  He’s got silver shoes on, too, soft little slippers that feel so odd against feet inured to hardness and pain by this point.  And they sparkle.

“I look like a moron!”

“You look expensive,” his fairy godmother assures Asher, “you look attractive.  Your prince won’t be able to resist you when he sees you.”

“Really?”  Asher swallows hard.  Because that’s the crux of it, isn’t it.  That’s the heart of it.  He wants Ty.  Seeing Ty with other people drives him crazy, makes him insane, and he can’t take it.  He just can’t.  He has to have Ty, be with Ty, be for Ty.  That’s what Asher wants, more than anything, more than his hazy dreams and silly jealousies.  Just Ty.

“You should probably tell him that,” his fairy godmother says quietly.  Asher swallows back his instant denial and just looks at the other man, his heart in his eyes.  He’s almost panting with the need to go, to be there, to be with Ty.  Much more and he thinks it might kill him, might stop his heart, and then he’ll never get home and he’ll leave Ty wondering forever.  Spots crawl across his vision and Asher closes his eyes and swallows, hard.

“Please,” he whispers.  “Please…I have to…”

“You have to go, honey.  I know.”  His fairy godmother rubs his hands together briskly.  “And you need a way to get there!  Fortunately, this is one part of that damn animation that I can actually do.”  He makes a shooing motion with his hands.  “You might want to step back.”

Asher frowns but moves a couple feet.  “What are you going to—”

It happens that fast, one minute there’s nothing but a twitchy mouse and the next it’s a twitchy goddamn stallion, wearing a saddle and bridle and looking confused as hell about that.  Asher recoils instinctively.  “Fuck!”

“Let’s not, hmm?” his godmother says as he comes around the horse and takes the reins.  “There, there…hush,” he says gently, patting its nose, and the horse calms.  “I know it’s a little disconcerting, love.  So high, so big.  You’ll get used to it.  There, there.”  When the horse has relaxed, he turns back to Asher.  “Ready to go?”

“I don’t know how to ride,” Asher mumbles, staring at the horse.  The big, tall, capable-of-crushing-him horse.

“It’s a breeze, honey.  He won’t buck you, this little fella likes you.  Just hold on and don’t squeeze too hard with your heels, and for god’s sake, don’t saw at his poor mouth with the reins.”

“I don’t know where to go.”

“He does.”

“I…”  Asher turns wide eyes on his fairy godmother.  “How do I even get in, once I’m there?  What do I do?”

“You’re a smart boy.  You’ll figure it out,” his godmother assures him.  “Come on now, time waits for no man.”  He motions Asher over to the side of the horse.  “Hold onto the front of the saddle and put your left foot in the stirrup.”  Asher does so, gingerly, stretching more than is comfortable to reach the thin strip of metal that’s supposed to hold his foot.  Two pert hands cup his bottom and suddenly he’s airborne, and comes down on the leather saddle with a whump a second later.

He scowls down at his fairy godmother, who smiles innocently.  “What!  You needed some help!”  He reached up and pats Asher’s hand.  “Go get your man, honey.  Go end this story the way you need it to.”

“Thank you,” Asher says, more than a little uncertain but eager too.  He looks at the gravel road.  “Is it safe now?  Can I get through?”

His fairy godmother walks a ways out in front of him, then turns and grins.  “Asher Davis McKellan, I invite you through.”  The horse takes a few steps forward of its own volition, and Asher stays on.  A few more and he’s still on.  He grins at the sudden heady rush of freedom that rushes through his body.  It leaves him energized, almost high.  He laughs, for the first time in what feels like forever.

“Go on now,” his godmother encourages, and it’s enough to get him racing down the path, so fast the wind brings tears to his eyes, so fast he can hardly breathe from the thrill.  He’s going to find Ty.

He’s going.

He’s finally going.