Showing posts with label SEPTIMA LUNA. Show all posts
Showing posts with label SEPTIMA LUNA. Show all posts

Thursday, January 28, 2021

ARZANALE

 


CHAPTER ONE

INTERCOURSE, PENNSYLVANIA

Kovak woke up with a start. His inner alarm hadn’t gone off at the wrong time. He knew where he was.

One of the bodies beside Kovak shifted and moaned in a way usually reserved for intimate moments.

Ugh.

Kovak looked at the LCD calendar on the opposite wall— an odd day of the month; Snyder’s turn to spend time alone with Hugo.

Kovak groaned and removed the covers to leave the bed so the other two could be alone. On his feet, he stretched, trying not to pay too much attention to the rustling noises behind him and the increasing nonsense growing in his chest.

Sharing the man he loved was atonement for Kovak’s past sins. Hugo accepted him back in his life when the relationship with Snyder was in its incipient stages, and, instead of giving the other man the boot, Hugo decided to give them both a chance to make him fall in love. One thousand and ninety-five days later, all three were sharing a house and sleeping in the same bed, but not exactly having three-ways every night.

Snyder chuckled as Kovak bent to pick up his underwear from the floor.

Kovak hadn’t bothered to put them on again after he and Hugo had sex before Snyder came home from an assignment last night.

“I’d say those glutes are getting bigger and rockier with each passing day, partner,” Snyder commented. “I can see you’re following the routine I found for you.”

Snyder’s voice was husky in its morning rustiness. It tickled something inside Kovak.

Pulling the black briefs up and casually turning to face the other two men, Kovak arched an eyebrow and smirked. “That routine wasn’t for my ass, you yahoo. But thanks, Hugo’s having a lot of fun with this rockier and bigger version of my glutes.”

Snyder saluted Kovak with his right hand then elbowed Hugo. “You’re welcome.”

Hugo rolled his eyes, elbowing Snyder back. Both were still spread over the bed, their bodies only half-covered by bedsheets now. “If you like his ass, just tell him you like his ass. There’s no reason to be beating around the bush among us.” Hugo’s eyes moved from Snyder (who was grinning like a moron) to settle on Kovak. “Martan, you don’t have to go.”

Hugo only called Kovak by his given name when he truly wanted him to do something— a private signal between them.

The few times they had tried to be all three together had been like Snyder and Kovak were brothers sharing a conquest— mostly avoiding touching each other and barely making eye contact. If Hugo wanted Kovak to stay, he would, just not as a participant but on the couch, watching the show and appropriately masturbating.

Like a damn voyeur.

Kovak nodded in agreement, removing his underwear. He noticed the quick but clearly deflated look both men had when he started moving toward the couch beneath the flashing LCD calendar. It was the first day of May, and they were officially off duty for seven days. He didn’t have to hurry to be anywhere else. Most people wouldn’t think a couch belonged in a bedroom, but it sure came handy now and then.

Hugo pushed himself upward and rested his back on the bed’s upholstered headboard. The bed had come with the house, and Snyder had brought that headboard from some undisclosed location. By its materials, it'd definitely been a tropical place.

“We didn’t kick you off the bed, Kovak,” Hugo sighed.

“I know,” Kovak agreed, lazily stroking his cock. “But things had been organized in a certain way for a reason.”

“Reasons and procedures can change,” Snyder added.

“True. Not today, though.” Kovak winked but didn't try to smile.

Kovak couldn’t say he didn’t like Snyder. The man was top of his trade, had a rocking body, and a winning personality. Nevertheless, they were opposite ends of the same spectrum. If they had met in normal circumstances (without Hugo being the main reason for their paths to have crossed), they’d have probably been good comrades in arms, perhaps even friends, but never lovers.

Snyder groaned. He looked from Kovak to Hugo and shook his head, yanking the sheets from Hugo’s lap. Hugo was hard and ready in all his morning-wood glory.

Kovak’s own cock gained more consistency as Snyder caressed the nice piece at hand. Hugo’s skin always reminded Kovak of the cinnamon trees he’d seen in Zanzibar— dark and strong, fragrant and beautiful.

With the three of them, it was all about contrast: in personalities, in skin colors, in points of view about many things. Snyder and Kovak were both blond and with fair skin, even if Snyder had a hint of strawberry in both hair and complexion while Kovak leaned toward peaches and apricots.

Kovak snorted quietly. Peaches and apricots were among the stone fruits, and he could relate to that easily. Now a different correlation to peaches emerged as Snyder moved to all fours, his ass high and his face low, dragging his nose along Hugo’s shaft avidly inhaling a fragrance Kovak knew too well.

Hugo combed Snyder’s long hair to one side.

Something in the back of Kovak’s mind told him their lover had done that to give him a better view of Snyder’s actions. He swallowed hard, seeing Snyder’s lips wrap around Hugo’s cockhead. The way Snyder used his plump lips to lower the foreskin gave Kovak goose bumps. For a moment he considered how that mouth would feel around his own member.

Hugo’s and Kovak’s eyes locked, and Hugo closed his eyes slowly with an imperceptible nod as if agreeing with him. Being caught by Hugo imagining Snyder’s mouth on his cock should have doused Kovak’s arousal, and yet it had the exact opposite effect: his nipples hardened and a slight tremor spiraled over his body.

Snyder worked with serious concentration; his big fist pumped the shaft as his head bobbed engulfing and releasing inches and inches with gusto.

With one hand, Hugo traced the perfect concave arch of Snyder’s back on his way to rocky cheeks— unhurriedly, just a wide expanse to glide over and enjoy.

A finger disappeared inside Snyder’s hole. The mercenary moaned, his mouth still full of sweet Hugo, and Kovak groaned in response because the sound had touched him in a place that wasn’t supposed to be touched by that sound or the image accompanying it.

Kovak knew it wasn’t a projection of his own reactions, knowing that Hugo also did these things to him. No, it was about Snyder; about how the mercenary gyrated his hips— eager for deeper penetration; about the way his long pale lashes caught the emerging light of the morning as he closed his eyes to receive more of Hugo’s cock in his mouth.

Three fingers were now readying Snyder. Kovak didn’t know what had changed, but this morning he had come to a new appreciating of Snyder’s form, of his reactions to Hugo’s touch. Kovak did not want to be just a silent spectator anymore; he wanted to be part of that, but his own conflict— his own sense of incomplete atonement kept him rooted to the couch.

Snyder straddled Hugo, his back to Kovak, his long hair falling like an unruly, sunny river down his wide shoulders. Hugo spread hard cheeks, exposing their sweet treasure. Snyder used saliva to coat his mark then with that same hand guided Hugo inside him.

Kovak held his breath. Snyder slowly lowered himself, taking it all with determination and abandon, the angle of his spine growing inward with every devoured inch. Snyder and Kovak exhaled together when Snyder was fully seated and in control of Hugo’s cock.

Kovak’s entire body tingled. The image before him and his memories entwined and swirled, bringing the flames engulfing his body to new heights.

Snyder started to ride Hugo. First a soft roll, quietly increasing from trot to canter to gallop until it was full command and utter possession. Kovak worked his cock in tandem with Snyder’s motions, getting closer with each heartbeat— with each moan and grunt escaping the other two.

Kovak’s hand became a blur, so in tune with Snyder, hoping it was Snyder. Abruptly, Snyder stopped. Kovak saw the rivulets of sweat sliding down the strong back and arms, damping strawberry hair. Both heaved, perhaps lost in the sudden quiet.

Snyder rested his brow over Hugo’s. He nodded as if coming to a realization. He straightened his upper body and turned to look at Kovak, his eyes wild and needy. Snyder extended his hand, but the word came from Hugo’s mouth, “Come.”

Kovak’s feverish brain thought they wanted to see him come, see him reach his climax for their enjoyment, but then he realized they’d meant, “Come to us.”

In a daze, Kovak went to his feet, hard and very close to bursting.

Before Kovak could reach the bed, Snyder got off Hugo and lay on his back.

Hugo moved to his knees to receive Kovak. He climbed on the bed, and Hugo gave an upward sweep with his middle finger over Kovak’s leaking cockhead to scoop some precum. Kovak thought Hugo would lick it, but instead he put the now dripping finger on Snyder’s lips.

Snyder took the finger in his mouth— his eyes locked with Kovak’s.

Kovak felt lightheaded, and all he wanted to do now was to have his mouth sharing that finger with Snyder. And he went for it, covering Snyder’s body with his body, covering Snyder’s mouth with his mouth, tasting himself and Snyder in the same heartbeat.

Hugo removed his finger from the equation, leaving Kovak and Snyder devouring each other’s mouths, their cocks grinding, the friction taking both higher and higher. Hugo began to masturbate, pushing his cockhead between their wrestling lips every two pumps.

Soon Kovak’s mind spiraled, enthralled by the powerful man beneath his body and the hard cock teasing their united lips. Hungry, feral, he shared a growl with Snyder as the first drop of cum fell in their greedy mouths. Hugo grunted as he came, more and more deliciousness reaching Snyder’s and Kovak’s taste buds.

Hugo smacked his wet cock on Kovak’s cheek, and that was it. Kovak cried as his body convulsed, and cum burst over and over, drenching his crotch and Snyder’s. And Snyder grabbed Kovak’s ass and ground their drenched cocks together and came and came, forcing Kovak to swallow the mercenary’s howl of completion with a punishing kiss.

****

“Fuck. That was…” Kovak said after enough time had passed for them to breathe evenly again. He lay on his back, Hugo and Snyder flanking him, all three staring at the ceiling— the bed sheets they’d used to clean themselves rumpled around them.

“Intense?” Hugo’s voice emerged a bit strangled from Kovak’s right.

“Eye-opening?” Snyder sounded unusually contemplative.

“I honestly do not have a word to describe it… yet,” Kovak finally offered after several heartbeats.

Hugo sprang up, resting on his elbow. One ear perked toward the door like a bloodhound. He covered Kovak’s mouth with a hand before he could open it.

Then Kovak heard it too, someone (or several) moving downstairs. They left the bed in silence. With practiced ease, they donned clothes and weapons quietly.

Snyder was the first out of the master bedroom. He moved toward the stairs and stopped at the edge. He stared at Hugo and Kovak and hand-signed “Fight or flight?”

Hugo and Kovak exchanged a glance. Kovak moved his hand, “How many?” They only used eyecode when other people were around or they couldn’t move their hands.

They all focused their senses on gauging the number of intruders in the house. Hugo’s hand traced the amount in the air. “Six?” Snyder and Kovak nodded. Hugo jerked his right thumb toward the guest bedroom.

They were swiftly inside the smaller room. “What do you think?” Hugo asked as they huddled close to the window.

“Effing Monday morning for crying out loud,” Snyder growled. “The low hangers on those fuckers.”

“You don’t suppose those are squatters, right?” Kovak asked just to be obnoxious.

Hugo shook his head a little. “Kovak, squatters would be making a lot more noise thinking the house was empty.” He made a face.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Snyder grumbled. “Those motherfuckers interrupted my afterglow, and I won’t be in the mood for questioning them.” His eyes landed on Kovak, but they had a naughty gleam instead of a murderous fog. “I might be inclined to simply end them.” He smirked easily.

“We don’t even know what they want,” Hugo huffed.

“I agree with Snyder. Let’s get the fuck out. This can’t be a friendly visit. They didn’t ring the doorbell.” Kovak shook his head. “People have no manners anymore.”

Snyder snorted. “You’re an idiot,” he said, opening the window slowly.

The roof of the tool shed attached to the house was below that window. The sun was fully out, and the neighborhood was coming alive around them. Hugo stepped out first, then Snyder. Kovak used his sliding momentum to close the window behind him. From the shed, they jumped to the backyard.

They never parked their jeep in front of the house. It was something they did in every house they rented after an assignment, foreseeing situations like this one. Since Snyder had been the last to drive it, he’d guide them. Always ready to leave everything behind, they didn’t have anything really personal to forget if escape was needed. Their true sentimental possessions were in safe storages around the world. They’d been in that house for three months, though, and Kovak really liked that headboard.

Well, shit happens.

The backyard grass was still dew-soaked, and it squished under their boots. There was something indecent about that furtive noise after the moment they’d shared in bed.

Before they could jump the low chicken wire fence, Snyder elbowed Kovak. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Asshole,” Kovak grunted under his breath.

“You two can flirt later. C’mon,” Hugo urged, moving over the fence like an Olympic hurdler.

They were in the middle of their neighbor’s yard when the house exploded.

They stopped in their tracks and turned around. They gawked as debris flung in all directions and flames soared.

“What the Helheim?” Snyder blurted, frowning. He had started to use that word instead of hell since he read the Magnus Chase Series by Rick Riordan.

Kovak liked the ones around Percy Jackson better; he was more in tune with Greek and Roman mythologies than those of the Norse even if he had been born in the area where the Vikings had thrived.

Snyder crossed his arms, shaking his head. “Well, that’s just wrong.”

Their house was practically across the street from a weapons museum. Kovak could only imagine the news headlines. He too shook his head.

“Let’s get the hell out of here before the police arrive,” Hugo commanded, and Snyder took the lead toward their jeep.

As they trotted away from the fire, Kovak realized the house had exploded before the invaders could have been out of it. Screaming police sirens and deafening firetruck honks were definitely not the best soundtrack for that disturbing realization.

 ****

#comingsoon #fiction #mmromance  #triad #action #adventure #international #menofgabbo #paranormal #mystery #ancientartifacts #contemporary #ebook #mercenary  #treasurehunter #naughty  #scourger #humor #gabbodelaparra


 

Saturday, August 26, 2017

THE LOVE THAT WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE

Snyder was not supposed to become part of Hugo's life; nonetheless, he did.



“Uh-huh. Nobody climbs the rope higher, aims better, or finishes a set faster. Our only problem with him seems to be, he can’t do a single one of those things quietly.”

Hugo chuckled.

“It’s not funny. Besides, there’s an ongoing wager to see who’s gonna pop his mercenary cherry.”

“What?”

“Well, you know. After forty-five days with us, someone should have claimed that fine body already. Even the Amazons are on the wager— as much as everybody is aware of his preferences. Such a tasty, unclaimed morsel is driving my soldiers nuts.”

“He’s no virgin.”

“That’s not the point.  I’ve broken fights of guys vying for his attention. The last one was over who’d pay for his beer. It was such a monumental brawl—none of my men will be able to set foot on that fucking bar for at least a century.”

“He needs to forget a man. Would you do me a favor?”

“Whatever you ask, baby.”

Snyder’s adoration was starting to suffocated Hugo. He also needed to forget a man. It was always easier to give advice than to actually follow it, and not all the rage in the world would have been enough to make him let go completely. That dull ache still reverberated in those nights when the moon was a sliver. His time to move to new pastures had come. “Tell your men you did it, so they back the Hell off.”

“You want me to have sex with Angel?”

“That would be his decision, not mine. Right now, he needs to be angry ‘til his love fades away. I’ll tell him to go along with it so your boys can pursue other ways of entertainment.”

The big blond moved from his sideways position on the tangled sheets to loom over Hugo. “Is this a goodbye?”

“I thought we had a tacit understanding we were just fuck buddies, not lovers.”

“You’re right.” Snyder plopped on his back to take his face away from Hugo’s sight. “My mistake.” The voice wasn’t completely Snyder's.

“Just don’t force Angel.”

“I’ll never… I’ll lie to my men, but I have no intention of claiming the boy.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not doing this for you. He’s a good asset. I hope he stays with us.”

“He probably will.”

And Hugo would lose his charge, his little brother, his almost son. He scooted until he was seated at the end of the bed, elbows on his knees and palms over his face. In two days, Snyder and a group that included Angel would set up camp in the Cantabrian Mountains, preparing the destruction of the gate located at Picos de Europa National Park.

Softly, Hugo padded to the open window. The night breeze blew the curtains, and he stood there naked, watching the half-mast crescent moon. He sensed Snyder moving behind him, most assuredly to escape the room without awkward farewells.

A thick finger traced a line from the back of his neck to his coccyx. Warm breath tickled his ear. “One last time,” Snyder sighed, “for the road?”

Why the fuck not?

Monday, May 1, 2017

A BIT OF MAGIC FOR BELTANE

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