Tuesday, July 18, 2017


With skilled hands and brightened heart
He released the night
To bear war to conquer lands

Strong muscles his farewell gift
He released the night
To raze towers to undo ships

With a “you come back, warrior” whispered
He released the night
To break apart to annihilate

#poetry #darness #night #poem #war #raze #annihilate 

Thursday, July 13, 2017


It all happened late at night
When sleep wouldn’t come
But darkness seemed a good escape

It all happened late at night
When your touch was far
But your presence loomed aflame

It all happened late at night
When I was but a memory

A song never sung— forgotten

By Gabbo de la Parra

#poetry #love #darkness #poem #night #desire #agony 

Monday, June 26, 2017


The gray cat started to follow Randolph as he exited the narrow alley after killing the last of his enemies. At first, he thought the cat was following him due to the few drops of blood on his shoe.

Silent and steady, the feline presence didn’t feel completely off, just different, unexpected. Randolph had never been a pet person, but he wasn’t opposed to them; the opportunity had simply never aroused.

Now, the small shadow following him seemed like a good omen— even if almost concealed within his own shadow as he moved through deserted streets toward the shabby place he had rented as his base of operations.

By the time Randolph reached his current accommodations, someone must have decided to take a piss in the crime scene he’d created (after drinking the day’s labor in one of the taverns nearby) and sounded the alarm. Perhaps, Peeing Peter would not be the first in the scene and the previous visitor would have taken the dead man’s wallet, leaving the coppers with the impression that it had been a mugging gone wrong.

It didn’t matter; Randolph’s ties to the man were so remote they were almost inexistent, not just to the naked eye but also to logic. First, no one knew him in this city where the smell of the ocean and fish factories never ceased their assault on your nose. Second, he had rented the place under a false name and wore a truly Viking fake beard.

Perhaps the cat had sensed the darkness inside him; perhaps they were kindred spirits. Randolph climbed the four steps to the front door and about-faced. The cat sat there on the sidewalk staring at him. A single streetlight didn’t give much illumination, so the animal’s pupils were black pools zeroing in on him.

Randolph put the key in the lock and opened the door; he had done it just extending his arms and finding the lock unconsciously— out of habit. The smelly city had been his station for almost a year, studying his victim until it was the right time to take him out. He kept a hand on the door as he put a foot on the threshold, his eyes locked with the cat’s. “So? Are you coming or not?” he asked the silent figure.

The gray cat sauntered to the steps, taking each at his own special pace, and entered into the townhouse’s dark foyer. Once inside, turned around with his tail high and meowed.

“I know. Me too,” answered Randolph as he closed the door behind him.

Friday, June 16, 2017


The problem with mixing things that were not conceived together is all the confusions they could originate.

The colors on the RAINBOW FLAG associated with the LGBT+ community were conceived as reflections of the joy of being human, in essence including all human beings regardless of skin color, religious beliefs, or political affiliations.

Why do we need to bring skin colors into this situation? Our community is already hated across the board by those who consider us abominations, looneys, and every other epithet you can think of. Do we really need to bring this illogical division right now, when the world is going to hell in a handbasket and the only people that seemed cohesively united were us?

First of all, when you add something that already has a meaning as it stands, your addition should enhance it, not bring discord. The moment you see it complicating things, you should stop. But that is not what’s happening here. Those who came with the idea of adding stripes representing two skin colors (immediately dismissing the other skin colors they are not including) rather argue and fight and be offended than backtrack and say “You know what? Perhaps this is not the time for this.”

Why bother? I have an idea and it’s mine and I’m gonna force it on you because I can. That’s exactly why we have the head of state we have now because no one took a step back and had the courage to say, “Oops this is not going to work.”

Let’s talk about the meanings of colors for a minute. Each culture has a different meaning for all the colors. In many places, brides were white implying purity. In many others, brides were red for good luck. So if you were raised where brides wear white, and all of the sudden you see a bride wearing red, you will question the meaning of that until you learn what it signifies for that bride and her culture. That’s just an example, and I could give you a thousand more. Very few things are truly standard globally, and the meaning of colors is surely not one of them.

Now, the RAINBOW FLAG embraces humanity and its emotions, not skin colors. If you add two colors, those colors will not mean skin tones at first glance because that’s not how the flag was conceived. Those proposing the new stripes will simply be adding the emotions associated with those colors. If you see the color black, your first thought is not going to be a skin color (no flag in the world uses black to represent skin color). And the emotions that black brings as a color are not necessarily the most positives, so that could be a handicap from the get-go. Same thing happens with brown, and I’m going to let you do your own associations.

I will not even try to express the disappointment I feel, seeing our community fighting over something that shouldn’t have even started. LGBT+ people of all skin tones suffer. Starting a fight over who suffers more is incongruent with what we’re fighting for as a group. We, as a community, have more mixed couples and families than any other like-minded group, and yet we’re disrupting the united front we should be forming because of skin tones.

Some proponents say, “But it doesn’t take anything from the flag.” That is not a reason to make additions to what is already established. As humans we are selfish, but many times we learn to share. This doesn’t seem to be the case.

This moment smells like a case of IF YOU ARE NOT WITH ME, YOU ARE AGAINST ME.

And that is very CHEETO smell.

#rainbowflag #colors #controversy #moveforward #stophating #loveislove #LGBT #newstripes #pride #embrace #lovehasnocolor #enough #stop #behuman #forgetyourcolor #betteryourself #bekind #respect #loveyourself #loveothers #prayfortheworld #goodvibes #humans #love #kindness #forgiveness #understanding #peace #wisdom #knowledge #history #humanity #breakyourchains

Friday, June 9, 2017


The Seer of Paoha Island is such a great character, and I had so much fun writing about *insert nonspecific gender pronoun here*— a separate story might happen. Well, technically it will happen since I was smacked with a title and everything: TO DIVINE LOVE.

Now, the thing with the Seer of Paoha Island is that *insert nonspecific gender pronoun here* assumes whatever form: it could be any gender, any age, any race. Nevertheless, in CLOCKWORK VENDETTA *insert nonspecific gender pronoun here* came out with the form in the picture. A young hunky ginger, and that form is ready to fall in love. Probably a short story to kill time between books, who knows!

TO DIVINE LOVE has been registered in #TheBookOfTitles, so it is a latent promise.

#fiction #mmromance #gay #shortstories #magic #paranormal #fantasy #iamwriting #menofgabbo #seer #ginger #instafab #genderswap 

Saturday, June 3, 2017


How many rings are used in a three-way handfasting ceremony?

a) four
b) three
c) nine
d) six

I’m not saying we’re going to have one of those (I’m not saying we’re not either), but it is always good to know in case someone asks.

If you have read my books, you should know.

You’ll need to wait until one of those ceremonies happens (it might not) to find out if you haven’t.


Saturday, May 20, 2017


La idea de traducir al castellano WAND-LOSING & OTHER THINGS YOU SHOULDN’T BE DOING me ha estado rondando desde hace rato. El problema (como podrán observar desde el principio) es el pedazo de título que tiene la historia.

Yo soy el primero en soltar barbaridades cuando veo traducciones de títulos poco inspiradas como LOS JUEGOS DEL HAMBRE o LAS CINCUENTA SOMBRAS DE GREY, pues los títulos de estos libros literalmente significan mucho más de lo que la simplista traducción al castellano implica.

Así que ya ven que para mí no es fácil, soltar una traducción titular como PERDIENDO VARITAS Y OTRAS COSAS QUE TU NO DEBES HACER porque legalmente suena un poco pendeja, aparte de que es aún más larga que la propia en inglés (bueno solo una palabra extra, pero ya era una verborrea para empezar).

Por lo tanto, he barajeado un par de ideas, y me gustaría que ustedes den su opinión, no sólo sobre las opciones que presento, sino las que se les ocurran, porque yo siempre ando abierto a las posibilidades.

Visiten mi cuenta de Instagram para que vean las opciones. 

Ahora, volviendo al caso de la traducción… cuando yo escribo en inglés trato de usar un inglés universal más allá de regionalismos (a menos que el personaje sea de un lugar específico, como por ejemplo el sur de los Estados Unidos de América), pero la cosa se complica cuando pensamos en castellano.

Solo el “fuck me” lo decimos de un montón de maneras diferentes. ¿Entonces de qué versión del castellano me agarro? Si pongo “follame” me tocar tirarme todo desde la península. Si pongo “cógeme” (que para mí sería la opción menos regionalista) habrá quien se confunda pensado que significa otra cosa… Se me ocurre que podría usar un eufemismo como “párteme” o “rómpeme” pero eso no siempre es factible con algunos protagonistas porque sencillamente suena ridículo o contrario a la esencia de la persona. 

Ya veremos.

#WLOTYSBD #títulos #ficción #traducción #español #gay #bilingüe #hombres #men #fiction #castellano #escritoresdeinstagram #iamwriting #escribiendo #authorsofinstagram #gabbodelaparra #opciones #options 

Monday, May 1, 2017


May 1st is a magical day. Known as May Day, but also as Beltane, it's the day when pagans celebrate the return of the sun after its winter imprisonment.

Here's a little bit of Magic Mischief from SEPTIMA LUNA.

“You can say the words in any language, as long as you visualize the doors opening and what army you want out.”

“What if I say banana and imagine the door, ma’am?”

“It doesn’t work that way because banana doesn’t mean door in any language.”
The infuriated emoticon in her mental text was about to explode. Angel could see the vein throbbing on her temple.

“And what army do I want again, ma’am?”

Angel noticed her effort not to stamp her foot and slap him. He was on his knees (after all), making a diagram to produce the doors of the gate on the temple’s ground with a broken piece of clay from what he assumed was an ancient pot at the appropriate distance to receive the hit.

“You want the Spartan Army that defeated Xerxes.”

“Oh my, like the movie?”

She almost growled, “Angel, after Leonidas was killed, the elders used a gate to summon an army. I need you to focus on the elders’ requested spiritual army.”

Many spotlights had been rearranged to illuminate the area where Angel worked, obliterating the full moon above them. It made him sweat like the proverbial pig, even if he knew for a fact that real pigs didn’t sweat a lot, and that’s why they wallow in the fucking mud so happily.

But a go-go boy was used to being in the limelight, so in a Septima Luna’s-fifteen-minute-break moment of inspiration, he took off his shirt and flung it triumphantly toward one of the armed trolls on his periphery. It landed on his helmet (like an ill-fitting mantilla), and Angel saw the other guards’ trembling shoulders trying to hold their laughter at their comrade’s expense.

Angel scratched his head, pasting the most puzzled face he could command. “Ma’am?”

“What now?”

“If this open sesame thing works, what am I doing with the army again?”

“You’re getting on my last nerve.” She made a signal, and the guards flanking Malachi kicked him on the back of his knees and Malachi crumbled. The butt of a machine gun found his head. “If you have a shred of intelligence within you, you’ll stop your nonsense right this second.”

Angel sprang and poked Tau's sternum with his forefinger. “Listen carefully, you sodding bitch. They touch him again, and the only coordinates that fucking army is going to find is inside your bleached ass. Let him go.” He marched toward Malachi and pushed the helmet-covered faces of the two guards with his hands, making them stagger in their surprise.

By the time every guard reacted and all weapons aimed at them, Tau yelled, “Don’t.”

Malachi wobbled, helped by Angel, toward where the doors had been drawn. “He stays by my side, and you control your gorillas,” he hissed when she was within hearing distance. “Or I’ll use your own weapons against you.”

The pallor on her face showed she had understood loud and clear. She nodded, her eyes narrowed and menacing.

“Are you all right, sweetie?” Angel let Malachi crouch beside him.

“Where is your heavy accent?”

“Gone with the bitch, darlin’.”

Malachi’s chuckle squeezed Angel’s heart. His resolution to destroy Juggernaut grew firmer. He would use their own army to destroy their headquarters and every single motherfucker inside it. The twenty thousand possessed soldiers would make the place confetti in seconds, and then he simply sent back the spiritual army to limbo or released them of their duty, whatever stroked his fancy by the time it was done.

“You.” Angel pointed at Tau, his eyes narrowed too. “Move away. Your face irritates me.”
She glared at him and stepped backward until she was stopped by Martan holding her upper arms and keeping her plastered against his massive chest. She resisted for a second, then stood motionless but never defeated; her furious scowl screamed it.

Using up the abandoned piece of clay, Angel united the bottom lines of the traced opening. He put a hand on each door and concentrated.

“Open, gate of wonders, and bring me the ghost army the elders of Sparta summoned to avenge the death of Leonidas at Thermopylae. The soul of revered Antinous Ephebus, beloved of Publius Aelius Traianus Hadrianus Augustus commands it.”

Angel chanted this for a while, deciding to hold Malachi’s hand and visualizing immense doors (like a cathedral’s) slowly moving open to spill their secrets, over and over again.

A rumor similar to a billion exhausted sighs resonated around them. The clay-outlining emanated a golden glow, its light becoming brighter and brighter by the second, and the ground shook. More than side to side, it trembled in an up and down undulating exhalation.

Until that moment, something inside Angel had hoped this hinky situation was just a bunch of malarkey. That everything was nothing but the opium dreams of mad people. Now, as the earth spread, spewing a vomit green glare, Angel steeled his heart to conquer his destiny (definitively not the time to poop his pants), because the screeches coming from the gate were bloodcurdling.

It was Julius Caesar who said “no one is so brave that he isn’t disturbed by something unexpected”, and this shit surely was bewildering.

The first ghostly figure emerged amidst the puke-like radiance, nothing was discernible but a head and shoulders— the rest of the body was an elongated amoeba.  Angel shouted, “The soul of revered Antinous Ephebus, beloved of Publius Aelius Traianus Hadrianus Augustus, commands you.”

With a short bow, the apparition acknowledged him and floated toward him, giving berth to the next surfacing soul. The yelp of the first stricken guard made Angel lose some of his concentration, and as more guards fell to the rattling ground, he heard it above the shrieks from the opening.

In similar but green SWAT outfits, men zip lined from almost silent hovercrafts. Malachi gurgled, hit by something and let go of Angel’s grasp, his hands searching his neck. Angel forgot about the spirits and the door and the destruction of Juggernaut, Malachi could not leave him there like that.

“Kai!” Angel beat Malachi’s chest with closed fists. “No, no, no.”

Someone grabbed Angel by the waist; he thrashed and kicked, screaming to return to Malachi. Was that blood on Malachi’s mouth? No, this couldn’t be happening. He would go insane.

As he was pulled to a hovercraft, he saw the green SWATS overpowering the black SWATS. The first luminous apparition did something that Angel could only associate with a shrug and returned to the glowing hole, pushing the other entities down as if they were impertinent children trying to escape a radiantly fenced play yard. The gate morosely closed, its creepy lights and noises becoming mute. 

The Neolithic stone complex turned into an amorphous shadow below him. He could not find a trace of Martan or the countess; he could only distinguish Malachi’s unmoving body at an odd angle in the middle of the chaos, shrinking until it was nothing but the luminous drop of a bad memory.

“It will be fine.” The man holding him said in what Angel supposed was a soothing voice; as comforting as a voice coming through a tricked-out motorcycle helmet could be.

Still, the voice seemed familiar, but Angel didn’t care.

As Angel was tucked into the back of a hovercraft, all he wanted was for this to be his day to leave the land of the living and be back on Mnajdra, dying beside Malachi.

*Get your free copy of SEPTIMA LUNA here https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/399776

Friday, April 21, 2017


For those familiar with Magical Realism, the title of this post would ring a bell since it echoes LOVE IN THE TIME OF CHOLERA by Garcia Marquez, and I’m gonna spoil the end for you, it does have a happily ever after, even if the road there was beyond rocky (it was frankly torturous).

Now, a friend of mine used that expression when we were commenting about the recent breakup of two porn stars. It’s truly sad that every time two (or more) people involved in porn start a public relationship a not malicious but severely real countdown begins.

I like porn, but it is also part of my research as an erotic romance writer, and, in all my years following and enjoying that craft, I have not seen a porn couple or throuple last more than two straight years.

“Straight” as in continuous not heterosexual.

I know gay men are complicated, heck humans are complicated, yet sadly, we seem to be more incapable of commitment that other people. Nevertheless, my extensive research into the human nature and love conditions has shown me that usually, jealousy is a big component of breakups. And in all fairness and realness, jealousy is the grotesque child of insecurity.

Call it whatever you want, but you cannot be jealous unless you are insecure. When you are sure of who you are and who the person beside you is, there is no reason for jealousy. And jealousy is also a cousin of control issues, even if you want to try to make it feel more like a distant long lost relative— they are very effing close.

A very smart lady told me once, long before same-sex marriage was even on the map anywhere in the globe, that gay men made a life together because they wanted it since there were no papers or children to tie them up. Her words were not just wise but inspiring. And that is one of the reasons I believe jealousy is insecurity because nothing ties another man to me more than his own decision to be beside me; it doesn’t matter if that decision is based on love or something else. Heck, love has levels, and you never love the same way (or with the same intensity) twice; simply because not two human beings are the same, ergo you cannot repeat love.

But coming back to porn couples which are the real topic of this post, here insecurity and jealousy have hate sex to create a messed up hybrid that always becomes a murderer. In many cases, Dude One is already doing porn when he meets Dude Two and they “fall in love” with the almost immediate consequence of Dude Two starting to do porn too. Nothing wrong with that, if Dude Two has the balls and confidence to play that field because it is not easy in the same way an open relationship is not for everyone; it takes a very healthy dose of cojones and confidence (totally making this a title for a book Cojones & Confidence) to be in an open relationship, so it’s even heavier to be with a person who not only fucks other people but do so for the entertainment of millions of strangers.

To say that jealousy is natural is to deny humans’ ability to be reasonable. Do you think the husband of any actress cheers when his wife kisses another man on screen? I don’t think he cheers, but I am pretty sure he does not feel jealousy (or shouldn’t at least) because it is her job, especially if she had it before they met.

Obviously doing porn is the far, very nasty extreme of that situation, but it completely applies. You shouldn’t be jealous of a situation that existed before you arrived, and if you accepted it at the beginning why change your mind mid journey and make a fucking mess?

True, many people enter a relationship with the (sometimes not conscious) plan to change the other person. This in itself is, if you want to use business terms, “cause for immediate dismissal.” The whole concept of entering a relationship with an agenda, beyond that of make yourself and the other person happy, should instantly handicap your eligibility for a relationship. It’s not fair for the other person or yourself because when you cannot accomplish that “transformative” goal you become a bitter, nagging, horrible piece of whining crap. No one needs that kind of shite in their lives.

But again, in the world of porn, this situation is even more evident and sad. Porn is a micro cosmos in the same way Hollywood stardom is, and many people get invested in these relationships because they give us something that is fantasy and (in many cases) hope. Many fans would see it as a beacon of possibilities: if these men who earn their living fucking on camera can make it, how I (who do it in the confines of my bedroom) cannot?

We see ourselves in the successful relationships of these handsome men, and when they don’t work it affects us both consciously and unconsciously because every time your idols fail a part of you also fails.

Not all humans have the strength to sort fantasy from reality; you just need to see the rants and hate on Social Media when public figures breakup or do something people at large consider untoward. We don’t know these public figures; heck probably you have never been in the same breathing space of these people, but you defend or hate them passionately because they are a reflection of what you hope to be. That is not a bad thing, but it becomes a stupid thing when you turn your whole life upside-down for something that (in the end) doesn’t have anything to do with you or your reality.

But that passion turns back to jealousy, insecurity, and control issues. We adore these people, but we are also jealous of them, and they make us feel insecure, and we hope we could control them. Not a healthy mix if you ask me.

It is not even know how to compartmentalize; it is to accept that we should not be invested in something we cannot change or control. We cannot change other people, whether celebrities or love ones. We cannot (and should not) control others— unnatural is one of the many words to describe that unfortunate scenario.

When you truly love, you accept. You also need to know how much you can accept for your own sake because the idea is not to become a yes man and take whatever crap the other person wants to give you; a relationship is something that goes both (and sometimes three) ways.

Before you can accept and respect another human being, you must be able to accept and respect yourself. When you become capable of that, you won’t be insecure, jealous, or controlling.

Let’s hope all porn stars get their happily ever after because they are human beings just like you and me.


#love #porn #socialmedia #hate #reality #fantasy #control #jealousy #humans

Wednesday, April 12, 2017


Apparently, since The Alpha’s Gifts, the Triads have been having conversations (I honestly don’t want to use the word debates here) amongst them and decided to change the schedule of the upcoming books. So far, I don’t know the final lineup, only that CLOCKWORK VENDETTA is the one to open the year… and they have me seriously working on it… *wink wink*

#fiction #ebook #gay #threesome #yearofthetriads  #steampunk #mmromance #menofgabbo #iamwriting #gabbodelaparra

Friday, March 31, 2017


During a critical moment in WAND-LOSING & OTHER THINGS YOU SHOULDN'T BE DOING, Rezzu goes to his sister for answers. Here's what happens.

“I have no answer for that.” Keda Enoa Ki Muselet, future queen of Mireeh and Rezzu’s sister, shook her head. “If you hadn’t run, you wouldn’t have all these questions eating you.”

“So, you’d have stayed to face the man after he had his finger up your ass when you came in his hand?”

Keda Enoa seemed to consider this, tapping her forefinger over her chin. A trait she had picked up from their father, Kekoa Muselet.

Rezzu rolled his eyes. “Are you serious? You have to think about it?”

“Well, for starters, I wouldn’t have put myself in that situation.”

His sister was insufferable sometimes, but she had a point there. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t have shaken her if she were physically in front of him.

“Besides, you are an adult. It’s not like you can’t have sex with a willing man. What’s so special about this governor?”

“I-I am not supposed to do something like that. I-I haven’t…”

Her eyes went wild. “Brother, you are not a virgin, are you?” Her puzzled face was unbearable. “I thought you were knocking boots with that technician on the Logandi!” She was flailing her arms as she walked about her chambers, moving in and out of the screen. “I’m NOT a virgin. How can it be possible that you’re one?!”


“What?” She stopped her frantic pacing and turned to the screen, catching his astonishment. “Oh, hush. Father said it was natural. How do you know if you like something if you don’t experience it, huh?” She moved closer, flattening her hands on the console, her face occupying almost the entire screen. “Kalhya is so fucking dreamy. Tell me you fucked him, brother. Tell me you did!”

“We… never… actually…”

“Oh, Sweet Meha, what a waste! If I had a cock I’d be putting it in every hole available. WHY AM I NOT A MAN!!!??”

“Would you calm down? This isn’t about you.”

Keda Enoa sobered up. “You are right. What you need to do is stop being a wuss and act normal. It wasn’t a big deal, you two just went with the flow. If I’d seen three hot guys doing it, I’d have totally gotten carried away too.”

“The Alettans think we are here to invade them.” Rezzu wasn’t a wuss. The whole thing had been just a political mistake. He needed a way to clear the air, and his sister wasn’t helping. She was the political strategist, not him.

“But that’s not the case, so what’s your point?”

Rezzu dithered and did not answer.

“OH NO, you like-like him. You like this governor, and that’s why you’re so freaked out!” She jumped and giggled, clapping her hands. “I knew it was something else. You have faced all kinds of dangerous stuff without batting an eye, and this is what’s gonna make you go all wimpy? I knew it. I knew it.”

“Would you stop being obnoxious for a whole standard minute and help me here with what’s really important?”

“And that is…?”

“How do I go about telling him the truth of our mission on his planet?”

In a blink, she was the wise older sister and future queen he needed. “The only way it should be done— complete and without adornments.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re most certainly welcome, Captain,” Keda Enoa uttered, almost aloof. Then with a wicked grin, she giggled. “Now I have to go and tell Father you like-like a boy!” In a flutter of teal and pink, she left the screen empty.

Rezzu pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “I’m not gonna kill her. I am not going to kill her.” He was not a regicide; although, technically, she wasn’t queen yet.

The Colviri normally lived for more than two thousand standard years. At twenty-six and twenty-five, they were just mere children, even if their bodies and minds were of adults. Rezzu should cut his sister some slack; he had more pressing matters to attend to.

*Get your free copy here: http://www.mmromancegroup.com/wand-losing-other-things-you-shouldnt-be-doing-by-gabbo-de-la-parra/

Wednesday, March 22, 2017


A secondary (and yet important) character in SCHADENFREUDE, Phillip N. Eckhard, better known as Eck, is there to entice and inform you in equal measure since he's the hottest newscaster of Meridian.

Here's how he encountered Droser Sundew (one of the main characters of SCHADENFREUDE) for the first time.

The meeting never happened. The guy wasn’t where he was supposed to be, probably spooked by all the commotion at the plaza. Droser neared his building in the east side of Pontus almost two hours later thanks to the pandemonium throughout the city. The last thing Droser expected to encounter was Phillip N. Eckhart interviewing people on his stoop with two recording devices floating around him and covering his every move. The street lights seemed spotlights trained on Eck and his acolytes.

Droser had to do a double-take, not just because, even surrounded by people debating between stress, frustration, and attraction, Eck’s aura remained that of a grounded and self-assured person, but because it had that golden serpent like the auras of Star, Bunny, and the bank teller. Whatever it meant, these four seemingly completely different people shared something in common.

Were they all mutations? Nah, Antha had said there was something preternatural in Star. Were they all related somehow?

Boundaries’ fearmongers approached from the left sidewalk in their white robes and green cords, waving their blood-red signs and chanting some religious nonsense. Their auras trembled with conviction and despair, and they weren’t wrong, the thing they feared the most was a reality. Still, this group had something Droser hadn’t seen before. They all had the same inscription on their cardboard signs: REPENT FOR THE END IS AT HAND. Droser couldn’t shake the feeling he had read that somewhere before. They also had ashes covering their faces. Talk about outré displays.

Anyone would think that when these two groups converged it would become a wailing festival, but Droser saw how the tides veered in a different direction for Eck’s admirers. Soon anger shone dangerously, and they started to boo the white robes. The recording devices moved to record both groups, and Droser sidestepped to avoid the inevitable confrontation. Part of him wanted to witness the morons pummeling each other, but he wanted more to call Orfeo again until the stubborn asshole answered. He needed privacy for that.

Surreptitiously, Droser reached the lobby’s entrance, but against his instincts he turned to look at the unfolding melee (it was too much of a temptation), and caught Eck’s eyes as someone, taking advantage of the chaos, ripped his cotton candy pink shirt apart, pulling him into the fracas. Signs swung, punches flew, and Eck’s eyes begged for help. Droser was ready to leave him to his fate, and he remembered the golden serpent in the reporter’s aura. Maybe it meant something worth knowing, and this was his chance to investigate.

Droser lunged forward, giving silent thanks to his Fae ancestor since the Bardagamaður (one of the few perks of that sprinkle of Supra in him) slowed the movements of the people fighting around him. He maneuvered around the jabs and kicks, grabbing Eck’s thick upper arm and pulling him out of the commotion.

“Secure the doors, none of those people live in this building,” Droser ordered the building’s computer as Eck and he looked at the riot from behind reinforced glass. They saw how the two hovering recorders were used to smash faces. More people were joining both bands, and police sirens could be heard in the distance.

“At once, Mister Sundew,” the computer agreed serenely.

“Thank you. It would have not been good to start punching viewers,” Eck said, heaving.

“Are you kidding me?”

What a pompous jackass. Droser narrowed his eyes as another surprise emerged from Eck’s aura. The man was saying something, and his aura projected a completely different thing. Deep inside, Eck was concerned for the safety of those outside— not for what they would have thought of him if he had violently defended himself

Your aura revealed your state of mind, and very few people were able to contradict with their mouths what their auras showed brightly. Droser got distracted by the tribal sun circling Eck’s right nipple. His eyes moved lower, and there were words tattooed, like the stanza of a poem or the chorus of a song (because it had a certain rhythm to it), but it wasn’t English. On the left flank, the face of a lion stared back at him menacingly, his mane flowing toward the center Eck’s defined abs.

“Ahem.” Eck cleared his throat. “As much as I appreciate you ogling me with such enthusiasm, it would be nice if we could go to your apartment so I could borrow a shirt or something.”

“There was no enthusiasm,” Droser uttered harshly.

Eck arched an eyebrow. “If you say so.” He didn’t physically shrug, but his voice was a blatant shrug.

“I can still throw you outside to join your viewers.”

“That would be most disappointing.” Eck winked.

“Save your charm for someone who might actually enjoy it. C’mon.”

They walked toward the bay of elevators. They entered, and, as the door slid close, Droser kept his eyes pointedly forward after he put his thumb on the recognition pad, and the metal cage sped upward. He could feel Eck’s eyes on him, though.

“You’re cute.”

“You haven’t seen my shotguns.”

“Is that a proposition?”

The mirth in Eck’s voice was sunny and preposterous. Droser remained looking forward. “You’re not my type.”

“I am everybody’s type.”

“And I’m not everybody.”

“Touché.” Eck chuckled.

Since Droser wanted Eck to cooperate when he started questioning him, he came up with a peace offering, even though Droser could always drug Eck’s ass with a cool truth serum he had stashed in his interrogation kit. “What are those tattooed words?” Droser asked, as the doors opened on the seventieth floor and they exited the elevator, turning right to his apartment.

“It’s the first stanza of Baudelaire’s ‘The Cat’,” Eck offered proudly.

“You have it in French.”

“Of course, all the known translations are rubbish. Besides Je parle parfaitement le français.”

“The only thing I can shoot in French is Voulez-vous coucher avec moi? And everybody knows that.”

Instead of going with the opening Droser had stupidly given, Eck placidly said, “But you are not everybody.”

“You’ve got that one right.” Droser laughed in spite of his reticence to encourage Eck. He thumbed the apartment’s recognition pad.

The door opened, and the house computer greeted him happily, “Welcome back, Droser.” It took a heartbeat to do facial recognition. “Welcome, Mister Eckhart.”

Eck stared at Droser askance— then smirked.

“What? You are on the media all the time. The computer would have recognized Madonna too. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Eck guffawed. “Shit. If Madonna ever comes to your house please give me a call. I’ll be here in a jiffy.”



“I need to make a call.” Droser waved Eck away. “First door to your left. I don’t think I have anything that will actually fit you, but maybe a vest could cover your nipples at least.” He rolled his eyes.

“I’m sure I’ll find something.” Eck smiled and walked toward the bedroom.

His round ass looked good in his navy blue dress pants, but for Droser it was too perky, too in-your-face. There was only one ass worth of occupying his thoughts. He needed to call Orfeo. He activated his communicator and made the request.

Miraculously, Orfeo answered. “Are you all right?” He sounded truly concerned but didn’t activate the image function, and there was loud music in the background. Although, it was not happy music; it was Madonna’s (how déjà vu -ish) First Life “Love Tried to Welcome Me” song.

“I’m good, but that in the background is depression music.”

“Oh shut up. Nick Cave’s ‘O Children’ would have been worse.”

“You do know your depression classics,” Droser chuckled, “and perhaps I have the keys to the gulag. ’Cause your gun is not little, but it’s lovely.”

Droser had to admit he sounded a lot like Eck. That wasn’t a good thing, but something inside him just went cheesy around Orfeo.

“I’m going to hang up if you don’t stop the corniness.”

“You never gave me the chance to say good-bye.”

“Say it then.” Orfeo lost all signs of the original concern in his voice.

“I need to say more than good-bye.”

“What for? The city is going to hell in a basket after the frigging Supras broadcasted Star. People will lose faith in the boundaries and the motherfuckers will attack. We’re leaving before that happens. That growing thing between us doesn’t have a place anymore. Not after what you did and what’s coming.”

“If you’d just give me a chance to prove I’m not a total asshole.”

“Only half?”

“I’m pretty sure you could live with half an asshole beside you.”

“We met at the wrong time, Droser.”

“Everything happens for a reason.”

“That’s what Star says.”

“Then believe her.”

“I’m not going to force it. Say it.”

“Say what?”



“Take care of yourself, Droser. You can be a complete asshole now. So long.” Orfeo disconnected the communication, leaving the dark screen mute.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Droser turned around and found Eck staring at him with an uneasy grimace.

“Seems like whatever that was didn’t work out,” Eck said softly.

“It didn’t.”

“Well.” Eck shrugged. “How do I look?”

Some Eck Facts

Born in the Petrarch borough, Eck received his Master’s degree in Communication at the University of Meridian in 2121. A year later he became the first human journalist allowed to do a report on Assignment Day (this is the day in the Vampire Area when roles within the community are distributed and it’s done when humans reach the age of 14). After that story, his career has been steadily upward.
Now he has a show entitled “In Twenty Questions or Less,” where he tackles Meridian and national issues, reporting many times directly from Suprabeing controlled areas. Charismatic and energetic, he supports quite a few charities as a silent contributor. 

Wednesday, March 15, 2017


"Dad, why are there no pets in your stories?" Bella asks. 

"Hmmm... never really thought about that before..." 

"Well, I think it is time you have a cat character. I wouldn't mind being your inspiration... Especially for that one with all the guns and explosions..." Bella looks at her left front paw, exposing a nasty, daddy-scratching claw. 

"So, you want to be in ARZANALE?" 

"One of the big guys looks kind of Russian. It would be a nice cliché if he has a Russian Blue kitty..." Bella arches the muscle over her eye ('cause cats don't have eyebrows...), and her whiskers twitch condescendingly. 

"He's Belgian!" 

Bella rolls her eyes. "Europe— same difference." She shrugs. 

"I'll think about it..." 

"You can use Chance in the one with the blimps..." Bella nods toward Chance, who's quietly pondering the mysteries of the universe, eyes closed, portraying a very convincing statue. 

"Clockwork Vendetta?" 

"That's the one. They could use a fluffy thing like him to soften all that lion testosterone." 

"Shouldn't you be in that one? They have feline gods' temples." 

"Nah. I'll be lost amid all those claws and manes and roars. I'd rather be where I'm more visible. Shame you're not writing anything with witches. I'd totally crush it as a familiar." Bella narrows her eyes as if I am unable to get an undisguised hint. 

"But you are my familiar!" 

"Dad," Bella looks at me like I need to be petted, "being your familiar is not my day job. It's a hustle..." 

#Bella #cat #kitty #daddysgirl #dog #Maltese #familiar #dayjob #hustle #fictionalcharacter #gabbodelaparra

Sunday, March 5, 2017


What do you get when you put together fifteen guys from different universes and genres?

Lots of fun!

Spring is approaching fast, and, although there is no definitive date for BRIDEGROOM FROM HEAVEN’s relaunch— the hour is near.

I put together this little image because that’s how the guys are in my head, all together and having fun until I call them to work on their respective stories. Sometimes I don’t know what the other twelve are doing while I work with three, and I honestly hope there is no hanky-panky amongst them ‘cause they are supposed to behave.

Now, the thing is, to me they are actors playing a role, and, perhaps, when they are out of “character” they mingle deeply with the other guys. Maybe a lot of butt pinching and squeezing is happening in that picture, and we are unaware of all the mischievous fingers and hands doing only Universe knows back there.

I’m going to leave you marinating that idea until the first story (or another random blog post) comes out.

And just to add a couple of naughty ingredients to that marinade, which characters of different stories do you thing are more likely to hook up?


Saturday, February 11, 2017


I had the most awesome conversation with this participant after notifying him about the win. He chose to be included in the book simply as Malthus, Bosco's best friend. His story is very interesting, and it has a lot to do with situations happening in our world today, even if Clockwork Vendetta happens in an alternative universe.

So far, you know the story of our three heroes revolves around mob families keeping peace through marriage contracts, and homosexuality is not an issue (because the morals of their universe are not based on religion but on Humanism). But this Mafia surged because its members are more than humans; they are lion shifters, divided into three prides. Bosco, Heer, and Duncan are the heir apparent of each pride.

Still, it’s in our nature to fear what is different, and, often times, we destroy what we don’t comprehend. Here’s where Malthus’s character comes to challenge the status quo. He’s the first male shifter in a hundred years to change into a lioness.

This duality of genders is what makes Malthus a complicated subject for many members of Bosco’s pride. Nevertheless, his friendship with the heir apparent of the pride gives him a de facto protection that by the end of the book will become well-earned respect in all three prides.

There’s such beauty in the simplicity of Malthus’s words to Bosco: something familiar and welcoming can become destructive when damaged. His words send chills down my spine the first time I read them because I understood their power and how current they are. And I have the perfect setting to use them within the book already.

Congratulation, Malthus!!!

#CLOCKWORKVENDETTA #becomeacharacter #contest #winner #fiction #mmromance #threesome #triad #gay #menofgabbo #steampunk #bookstagrammers #ebooks #2017 #yearofthetriads #authorsofinstagram #writersmotivation #gabbodelaparra

Monday, February 6, 2017


(extract from The Pompeiian Horse)


Six young men came into The Zoo’s courtyard completely naked. They had hair on all the right places, so Horse was sure they were of age, just looked young. Scando was a rat, but not a pervert. Besides, if he got caught with underage whores, he could lose his business. The “larges” were equally nude, and Ox and Tiger were already semi-hard. Horse shook his head.

Scando stood with two baskets in the middle of the space, one in each hand. “All right, my ‘smalls,’ pick a ribbon to see which of the ‘larges’ will be your tutor.” They guys moved forward and started to choose ribbons, all of different colors. Once they finished, Scando put that basket on the floor. “Until your tutors give you a name, we’ll call you by the color you’ve chosen and you need to wear them around your head. If I catch you without your ribbons you’ll be punished. Understand?”

The six “smalls” nodded in agreement and tied the ribbons over their foreheads. The darker of the two dark-skinned boys (he had gotten the pink ribbon) seemed to want to ask something, but one look from Scando appropriately discouraged him.

“Come on and get your boys, my brutes.” Scando pushed the remaining basket forward, a nasty grin on his face.

Lion elbowed his way to get a ribbon first. “Pink,” he said, arching an eyebrow and looking at his charge. “Kind of skinny but nice, plump lips. You’ll do fine.”

Pink smiled a bit too eagerly.

“He’s not for your pleasure but to train him.” Scando waggled a finger at Lion. “Don’t abuse this opportunity.”

Rhino was the next. “Brown!” He waved his ribbon. The other dark-skinned kid was his charge.
Tiger got green. Elephant got black. Ox got red. That left Horse with the blue ribbon. His charge was the only one with truly long hair, and he appeared to be the shiest of the lot. Each charge moved toward their tutors. Blue gave Horse a little smile, his eyes downcast.

“Hello. I’m Horse.”

“I know,” whispered Blue, his voice breaking.

“Now,” Scando called their attention, “we’re gonna do mouth skills first. Here, in the courtyard, all together because the weather is nice and sometimes a customer might want to have more than one of you with him. So, you need to be used to doing things in front of others.” He looked at each pair. “I don’t let customers share one ‘small,’ so no group will gang up on any of you individually.”

“Lucky them. Tiger doesn’t have that same fortune,” hissed Ox.

“Shut it. It’s not my fault those morons wanted to recreate the siege of Emerita Augusta,” growled Tiger under his breath.

Still,” Scando continued, “there could be group gatherings, so you need to be ready for that. Whores can’t be shy.” He gave a pointed look at Blue.

Blue swallowed audibly, his auburn hair sparkled red as he nodded. Horse wanted to punch Scando for singling the kid out on his first day. It wasn’t fair.

One of the house slaves distributed cushions; others brought six high backed chairs. The ‘larges’ sat, their charges kneeling at their feet.

“All of you had done things with men before or you wouldn’t be here otherwise. Harden those cocks and let’s see those mouths working.”

Blue, coincidently, happened to have blue eyes, although a lot lighter than the ribbon around his head. He looked at Horse from lowered lashes, his eyes shining as if he was about to cry. “I am so honored to be at your feet.”

“What? Why?” Horse leaned forward. “You don’t have to say things like that. I’m not a customer. I’m not even comfortable doing this, but, for the time being, it’s our lot in life.”

“It’s not flattery. You’re a hero of this city. What you did for that widow and her family after you were free is something the people of Pompeii could never forget.”

“Gods, kid, don’t say such things. There’s nothing heroic in what I did. It was just the right thing to do at the moment.”

“No other person would have forgone the freedom they’ve just earned to save a low family from slavery. What you did was so selfless, poets will sing your praises long after this city is forgotten.” Blue put his hand on Horse’s cock. “Apollo has granted me a wish. Let me show you the appreciation I feel in my heart for your sacrifice.”

Horse trembled as the hand caressed his cock. The previous words should have drowned all desire, but it was the touch of a man, yes young, but a man nonetheless. He closed his eyes and allowed the sensations to envelop him as the hand pumped his hardness. Soon a tongue left a wet trail over his shaft.

“Pink! You don’t have to be so enthusiastic. You look like you’re enjoying yourself too much!” Scando yelled, breaking part of the spell and making Horse open his eyes.

What he found in front of him (the hollow cheeks, the adoring sky-blue eyes) was disturbing.

And this was just the beginning of the training.


Blue was the only Pompeii native of the six “smalls,” but as the days progressed he saw admiration in the eyes of four boys. Pink, on the other hand, scowled every time their eyes met.

“Tiger, what is the name you’re giving to your ‘small’?” asked Scando once the training had been completed.

“Squirrel,” Tiger said, winking at his charge, who made a funny gesture, pulling his hands to his mouth in the guise of his namesake as if gnawing on something.

The group laughed, even Scando. Squirrel could pass for Blue’s brother, although he had shorter hair and his muscles were all veiny and developed. The only thing marking him as a youngling was his boyish face.

“Rhino, yours?”

“Dormouse,” Rhino exclaimed, grabbed his “small” and lifted him by the armpits like someone showing a prize. The boy, formally known as Brown, took a bow with a flourish as he was settled back on the floor. What Horse had mistaken for naturally dark skin was the result of many months working at a farm from where he’d escaped with only a very deep tan as reward from the experience.

“Elephant?” asked Scando.

“Have you seen these fair eyes and black hair? Since he can’t be a panther, I name him Cat!” Elephant took the kid by the shoulders with his long arm and smashed him to his side, shaking him jovially.

Cat licked the back of his hand and swept it over his hair as any domesticated feline would and sexily said, “Meow.”

Laughter was riotous this time. Even the slaves, watching the quasi-ceremony, cackled.

“What name do you give Red, my Ox?”

“Well, after much deliberation, seeing his physical qualities and sneaky behavior. You know, that red hair and those big ears,” Ox made a dramatic pause, undisturbed by the groans of the other “larges”, “I’ve only seen an animal like that back in Africa—.”

“Gods! Give up already!” Tiger shouted. “There’re not red animals! Are you crazy?”

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted.”

“This is not one of your stories,” Scando offered menacingly. “We don’t have all day either.”

“All right, All right. I name him Fox. It’s Fox.” Ox waved his hands in exasperation. “You know Fox rhymes with Ox.”

Scando arched an eyebrow. “I can change that name if I feel he’s gonna be attached to you.”

“Oh, please, master, I really like it,” Fox said calmly. “I’m not attached to Ox here,” he punched the big Numidian’s shoulder, “and I learned my lessons very well. I’ll be a good asset.”

“Fine,” Scando conceded. “You stay Fox, but you better behave. I’ve noticed you’re truly sneaky.”

“Thank you, master.” Fox’s smile was so big it brightened his entire face. The kid was clearly up to something.

Horse chuckled inwardly. Blue, who barely reached Horse’s shoulder, seemed to hear him, and their eyes met. He gave Horse one of those shy smiles.

“Lion what about you?”

“This one is good with his mouth and seems unable to keep it shut, so Parrot it is.”

“True,” said Ox. “Once those African birds have learned to speak you can’t make them shut it.”

Parrot only smirked as if he knew something the other people in the courtyard didn’t. Horse didn’t want to be biased just because the kid had been trained by Lion, his enemy, but there was something darkly odd about him.

All “smalls” seemed to know their names beforehand, but Horse had chosen to keep his decision from Blue until this moment. He wanted to surprise him.

“Well, Horse is your turn. What’s it gonna be?”

Horse looked around the courtyard, and then beaming, settled his eyes on his charge. “Lamb.”

Lamb stared at Horse frozen for several heartbeats. Suddenly, he sprang and wrapped his limbs around Horse, squeezing him and murmuring, “Thank you.”

Surprised by the action, Horse locked eyes with Scando, expecting a discouraging scowl (or worse). But even more unexpected than Lamb’s reaction was Scando’s almost approving grin.

Thursday, February 2, 2017


Here is the novel’s synopsis

Heer Pyfus, Bosco Rogers, and Duncan Bracco will undo all preconceptions about what it is to rule the industrial mafia as mob families try to keep the peace, uniting through wedding contracts but not by love. Bosco must choose between Heer and Duncan, but things are not always black and white. Secret alliances will emerge and dreams will shatter.

An unsuspected enemy from the other end of the world comes to make their lives more difficult, and they shall fight, not only to survive but to let the organized crime honchos know that love is greater than vengeance.


To participate complete the following phrase “A wounded lion is like…”

The best answer will become sidekick, counselor, or BFF to one of the three main characters of #CLOCKWORKVENDETTA, based on your physical attributes and personal preferences. It’s up to you how kickass or intellectual you will be, and you could even use your own or a made up name; the important thing here is— you will be immortalized in a book! Not many people can say a book character was created after them! *All genders welcome!

You have until next Thursday, February 9th. The winner will be revealed Sunday, February 12th.

#becomeacharacter #contest #fiction #mmromance #threesome #triad #gay #menofgabbo #steampunk #bookstagrammers #ebooks #2017 #yearofthetriads #gabbodelaparra

Wednesday, January 18, 2017


According to legend, the idea for this story came to me in May of 2012. Lots of ideas for stories come to me every day, and I usually write them down for later exploration. I completely forgot about these guys until a few days ago; something nudged me like “dude, there’s another triad story waiting to be told. This is their year, you can’t leave them out!”

So, here we go!

A near future story, these guys live in the mythical city of Aurora, Novel California (same fictional universe of IMMATERIAL and CENOTAPH), and they meet in a competition similar to  THE ULTIMATE FIGHTER, the reality show.

In OCTAGON, the name of the competition is FULL COMBAT ANNIHILATION or FUC-OAN (exactly as it sounded in your head, baby) as it is known colloquially. Razen and Pietro are the team coaches, and Illi is part of Pietro’s team. Razen and Pietro share a past, and (as sworn enemies) it makes them want to beat each other, not just in the competition but very physically.

It’s up to Illi to resolve that conflict in a different kind of physical way…

Tuesday, January 10, 2017


Even though BRIDEGROOM FROM HEAVEN is the first threesome of 2017, the other day a fellow member of the MM Romance Group posted some pictures of very interesting intimate jewelry for men, and I knew I needed to give the boys of CLOCKWORK VENDETTA a sample of those naughty, naughty goods.

This tidbit might or might not end up in the actual book, but it is a seriously nice exercise about their dynamic.


Bosco took off his morning jacket and folded it, leaving the expensive garment on one of the high-backed chairs scattered about the drawing room. He let Heer and Duncan appreciate how shirt and waistcoat clung to his torso as he silently paced before them.

They tried to act casually while sipping their drinks, the blond with an elbow resting on the mantle and the dark-haired heir leaning on the back of the rococo sofa.

“I have something for you two,” Bosco pronounced after the silence had become so prolonged the other two had started to fidget. “But it is in my chambers.”

Heer and Duncan looked at each other. All three were men of age, and Bosco would choose one of them as his fiancé and husband after the contracts had been drawn; still, it was beyond propriety to have both in his bedroom at the same time.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Bosco gave each one a piercing look, “but we are lions and not some nelly gentlemen of the ton.” Then he added just to see the others squirm, “My house, my rules.”

The other two nodded. Their lack of conviction was plainly visible. Even if they were lion shifters, the rules of polite society had been instilled in them since birth; it wasn’t easy to deviate from what was ingrained within, especially when it had been done to keep the beast inside you in check.

Bosco knew this, but he wanted to mess with the other two a little. The prides’ heirs were taller and actually broader than him; nevertheless, he controlled the situation since he was forced to choose one of them. At the end, nothing said he could not have fun with both before he declared his choice. “Please follow me.” He moved away from them to retrieve and don his burgundy jacket. “Let it be noted that none of you offered me a drink,” he threw over his shoulder as he started to walk out of the lavishly decorated room. He didn’t look back or stop until he was facing the door to his sleeping quarters— seven flights of stairs later.


Cub thinks he’s in charge. I’ll show him who’s in charge.

Duncan stood beside Heer as Bosco turned on his heels and offered grandly, “Welcome to the entrance to my inner sanctum.” Composed and without a hair out of place (if one considered decent that chunk of white hair among his chestnut hair that always seemed to cover his right eye), he spread his arms to encompass the ample space. Several shades of blue marked the antechamber, from midnight to royal, enticing and masculine— just like the cub facing them.

Duncan decided he had been quiet for too long, and it was time for information. “What’s your plan, Bosco?”

The heir of the Spaniard clan gave him a quasi-paternal look. “All in due time, Duncan,” he winked, “impatience is not going to get you anywhere with me.”

“Is that a threat?” Duncan suppressed his urge to growl.

“I think it’s a clue, Duncan,” Heer said under his breath.

Bosco agreed with a silent nod, accompanied by an infuriating smirk. He moved toward an ornate chest of drawers and extracted two small boxes. He held one in each hand. “Your gifts.” He remained where he was.

“Are both the same?” Heer asked.

“No. I’m just going to let Fate decide who gets which.” Bosco winked at Heer.

Duncan seriously hated when Bosco openly flirted with Heer; it wasn’t fair.

Heer elbowed Duncan. “Get yours first.”

Duncan pulled his morning jacket down and straightened his shoulders. Ten steps, and he was in front of Bosco. His nostrils flared, Bosco’s aroma always disturbed him. The boxes were the size of Bosco’s palm; he didn’t have small hands, but Duncan shouldn’t think about that at the moment.

Those sky blue eyes felt heavy trained on Duncan. He didn’t mind the fact that the sensation was equal to Bosco meticulously divesting him of his clothes; it was the fact that Bosco was doing it fully aware of the presence of Heer in the room with them. Duncan snatched the left box. He tried to get the other one for Heer.

“Ah-ah,” Bosco shook his head slowly, “allow him to grab his own fate.”

“What fate? There’s one box left. That’s hardly a choice.” the growl escaped from Duncan this time.

“You know,” Bosco tilted his head now, “one thing is fiery and another prickly. I don’t like prickly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fed up was an understatement for Duncan’s state.

“Duncan,” Heer settled a hand on Duncan’s shoulder, “Bosco is not the enemy here.”

“Wise words, Heer.” Bosco offered the remaining box to him. “I want us all to be friends, and if not friends, at least friendly.” He focused those drilling eyes of his back on Duncan. “If you cannot play well with others, how to do expect to rule the prides?”

“So this is nothing but a game to you?” Duncan hissed as he pocketed the box in his dark green morning jacket.

“I seriously hope you’re able to twist other things as well as you do my words,” Bosco said, narrowing his eyes— his tone menacing and yet strangely inviting.

Heer gave Duncan a beseeching look. Duncan scowled but nodded. “I’ll play nice,” he muttered between his teeth.

“Excellent.” Bosco used the same deep, almost husky intonation. “Now, there are two doors,” he pointed left and right, “take your boxes and come back wearing nothing but your gifts. Let’s see who wears his better.”

“What?” Heer beat Duncan to the question. “What do you mean nothing but the gifts? What could be covered with whatever is in this tiny box?”

“You will find out as soon as you go to the rooms and open them.” The smirk returned to Bosco’s face.

Duncan wanted to strangle him. Bosco was playing them as if they were untrained cubs with baby fangs. Duncan was ready to end it all in a furious swat of steel claws.

“This is highly inappropriate,” Heer insisted— his agitation barely restrained.

“My house, my rules.” Bosco removed the chunk of white hair laid over his right eye. “You’re free to go if you don’t want to follow those rules.”

Uncharacteristically, Heer arched an eyebrow and (using a surprisingly condescending tone) said, “Oh, I know how to follow rules and play games, Bosco. I just hope you’re not a sore loser.” After a brisk nod, he about-faced and strode toward the left door.

Duncan also nodded briskly and followed suit. Heer’s reaction had left him speechless. He also thought he heard Bosco chuckle as he closed the right door behind him.


Bloody claws and dripping fangs. The fuck is this?

Heer had only seen dancers in gentlemen’s clubs wearing this kind of jewelry. If he wasn’t mistaken, the diminutive beads were made of tiger’s eye, and the delicate chain keeping all in place appeared to be gold. Was Bosco seriously expecting them to parade for him in nothing but this bunch of beads?!

Duncan would undoubtedly be roaring curses in several languages in the other room. And yet they didn’t have a choice if they wanted to keep the peace between the three prides of New Englalonde. Bosco needed to choose one of them, and, until that happened, they would endure all the games the current regent’s son could contrive.

The room wasn’t spacious, probably a valet’s quarter, but suspiciously on the monastic side. Heer sat on the narrow bed and started to discard his boots when he noticed the clockwork automaton standing beside the closed door. It wasn’t bareboned like most house automatons; this had a handsomely crafted face and seemed to have defined muscles under its simple clothes. Perhaps this was the valet, but why have a bed here then?

Leaving the bed, Heer approached the copper creation. He found the winding crown on the automaton’s neck. He turned it at least ten times, and the “valet” opened his eyes, searching for whoever had activated it.

“How may I assist you?” The voice was metallic but clear and surprisingly manly.

Heer had a human valet. In his residence, automatons were for other household duties. This might prove interesting, and temporarily distracting for whatever nonsense Bosco had in store for them. “I need to get undress,” he stated simply.

The automaton gave two steps and proceeded to help Heer out of his gray morning coat. And, so, one by one, Heer discarded the layers of propriety uniting him to the realm of common humans with the help of the mechanical valet. Once naked, he took the small box from the bed; the insulting contents mockingly glaring at him.

Heer studied the now still automaton for a moment, before asking, “Can you help me with this?” He dangled the string of beads, which for the unsuspecting eye might look like a rosary, but had a completely opposite purpose.

Well, “contemplation” will definitely be involved.

“I apologize, sir. I am not acquainted with that contraption.”

“Apology accepted.” Heer almost chuckled. This could be a good thing. The automaton’s lack of knowledge about this particular item might imply that Bosco hadn't given such gifts to other “guests.”

Heer’s long hair spilled over his shoulders as he bent, trying to figure out how to position the several connected strings to accomplish the desired outcome. Luckily for him, the “contraption” as the automaton had aptly called it wasn’t completely foreign to Heer. He knew a segment ought to be between his ass-cheeks, another around his hips, and, somehow, a group of beads would showcase the base of his cock almost like a bizarre bracelet emerging from under his balls sac.

Another seemingly unnecessary thing within the small room was a full-length mirror. Heer stood before it and admitted the unexpected gift was titillating. Certainly, nothing was left to the imagination, but the adornment purposely enhanced the family jewels.

His balls contracted, and his cock started to harden as Heer thought of Duncan wearing something similar.

Bosco knew his game. They were males, and arousal was second nature to them. That son of an astrolabe must be snickering while playing with his cock, waiting for them to come out in nothing but his “gifts.”


The automaton’s voice startled Heer. He had almost forgotten the clockwork valet was in the room. “Yes?”

“Do you need help with anything else?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Very well, sir. I’m at your command if you need me.”

Heer studied his reflection in the mirror. The semi-precious stones adorning his crotch were exquisite and impishly inappropriate. He debated between presenting himself at full mast since Bosco obviously wanted a show and putting his clothes back on to leave the manor, starting a senseless war in his wake.

Duty won, but the promise of a naked Duncan and even the more questionable tease of a naked Bosco weighed heavily on that outcome.

And the two beads poking my back door are obviously having their saying too.

The gifts were indeed different, but Bosco had put them in identical boxes. It would also be a surprise for him which heir got what. He wasn’t a selfish man; he was also wearing something for them.

For a moment, Bosco wondered about the reception the other two would give to his gift, then the right door opened. Duncan emerged in all his pale and muscularly delicious naked glory.

So, he got the malachite balls shocker.

And that wasn’t the only thing he wore. Bigger than a blimp, Duncan’s scowl could have intimidated any other lion, even alphas, but not Bosco. Not just because he had the upper hand here but because his power was greater than the power of the two heirs combined. Something Bosco usually kept to himself; lions were stupid and instinctually challenged anyone worthy of a brutal fight.

And speaking of worthy things, the shocker was doing its job. Duncan’s semi-hard cock looked big and tasty, and the oval malachite between shaft and balls looked splendid. Clenching secret muscles, Duncan made the object of Bosco’s attention bounce in place. Bosco’s eyes moved upward to Duncan’s face. The scowl remained, but the heir of the West Pride huffed, “Like what you see?”

Bosco grabbed his crotch and squeezed his own considerable manhood still hidden beneath his trousers. “What do you think?”

Before Duncan could retort, the left door opened. Heer and his cock came out tall and hard, the tiger’s eye beads gleaming in the afternoon sun pouring through the French windows. While Duncan’s body was pale with solar tresses, almost genial even with his usual brusque manner, Heer's in contrast,  was dark and enticing. Heer’s bronzed skin and raven waves were exotic, and (if Bosco allowed his imagination to fly) seriously close to sinister. Still, the heir of the East Pride sported a usually conciliatory demeanor— that until mere moments ago when exiting to change and he threw a challenge in Bosco’s face.

This promised to be exciting beyond Bosco’s expectations because he didn’t miss the flying sparks as Duncan and Heer exchanged glances.

Bosco undid his boots and went to his feet, starting to remove his garments. Neither men moved to help him, nor Bosco expected them to. They knew he would ask for help if he needed it, and he was messing with them enough already to make them act as valets too. They didn’t disguise their appreciation as each piece of clothing found the floor.

When his drawers were the only thing barely covering him or his full erection, Bosco crooked both index fingers, silently calling both men to him.

Duncan did his eye-narrowing-scowling combo but stepped forward first. As soon as he was within striking distance, Bosco grabbed him by the neck and pulled him in for a furious kiss. Duncan resisted for two heartbeats before responding with equal force. Amid their battle, Bosco sensed Heer and pulled him closer with is free hand, then encircling his waist and smashing their three bodies together.

Bosco moved from Duncan’s mouth to Heer’s and back again. He felt fingers on his hips, pulling his small clothes down, and as his cock bobbed free, both heirs got on their knees.

“I’ve never seen a cock-ring there before.” Surprise and wonder melted easily in Heer’s throaty voice.

“Ought to be very pleasing for the receiver…” There was also amazement in Duncan’s tone even if he'd tried to disguise it with a hit of sarcasm.

“It is also a gift for both of you if you want it,” Bosco offered, stroking their manes and slowing pushing them toward the gold ring encircling his cock-head instead of the base of his balls.

Neither men answered, just closed their eyes and nuzzled their newly discovered gold toy. They worked in splendid synchronicity, licking and kissing along the solid shaft, and, yet, they seemed to avoid actual contact between them.

Bosco had hinted his desire to fuck them, and they had remained silent. Perhaps, he had been too bold, expecting them to accept such intimacy in their first sexual encounter. One thing was the knowledge of his control, and another to abuse that power. Both heirs had kept their eyes closed, and Bosco grabbed their jaws to make them stop and look upward. He pulled them to their feet as soon as he had their attention. 

It was his turn to descend, and he did, bestowing kisses in both chests and abdomens, deeply inhaling fragrant bushes, licking and pumping granite shafts.

Surprisingly, Heer was more vocal and active than Duncan, groaning loudly and threading his fingers through Bosco’s hair. Nevertheless, Duncan’s hips showed his enthusiasm as Bosco kneaded hairy balls, adorned with the thin silver shocker crisscrossing them, and slowly rubbed the string of five beads (hanging from the shocker) over Duncan’s hole. Heer’s hole was not forgotten as Bosco used the beads between those hard ass-cheeks to apply pressure on the secret entrance.

It was time for Bosco to truly sample the goods, and he took Duncan first in his mouth. Thick and warm, cock-head and shaft filled him until the closed his throat around his prize and licked the oval malachite with the tip of his tongue, allowing some spit to run down hefty balls. His skill was rewarded with a panted, “take my fucking nine lives!”

The expression made Bosco open his eyes, which he had closed enraptured as he was in width and aroma. He didn’t look at Duncan but at Heer, and what he saw instigated his next action. He freed the massive manhood in his mouth and pulled Heer down.

Once they were side by side, Bosco guided Duncan's dripping cock-head toward Heer’s full lips. He saw the hesitation, the slight recoil, but he knew why, so his voice came out firm and certain, “Never fear what's already yours.”