Tuesday, January 23, 2018

GOLDEN PRINCE DIAMOND KING - 4

FOUR

Ample and well-paved, the thoroughfare to Chryso had low hills flanking it, their green almost too bright to be real. Spring seemed to have unleashed its beauty on this area with a vengeance.

They’d driven in silence for a ridiculous amount of time. Orrin remembered something. “I need to apologize, my King.”

Joran didn’t look at Orrin. “Did you do something?” He tilted his head toward Orrin but kept his eyes on the road. “You haven’t been here long enough to do something.”

Snapping wasn’t a good beginning for an apology. Orrin closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. 
Luckily Joran had his eyes somewhere else. “I did something without your blessing on my way here.”

That made Joran look at Orrin sideways. He had that face King Ouranio sported every time he was about to yell at Orrin. “Do I really need to know?” He didn’t yell but the voice wasn’t friendly either.

“A Doriar vessel had been attacked by a sea monster, and there were about forty people stranded on several boats. They were wailing and screaming thinking the monster will come back to finish them, so we took them aboard and brought them to Me Diell.”

“Oh.”

“At first we thought it might be a ruse to gain our ship because we couldn’t find any debris around, and there were nobles amongst the people, and their servants still had their standards, and the carnival folk had their implements. They didn’t seem like they had truly jumped ship to save their lives. They were too put together.”

Joran pulled the reins to stop their chariot and raised his hand to halt the convoy too. He turned to face Orrin with his whole body and gave him his full attention.  “I see.”

“We thoroughly searched them of course. They had everything, and I seriously mean everything but weapons.” Orrin chuckled a little. “It was as if they had actually started their voyage in those dinghies.”

“An absolute possibility.”

Orrin knew his expression must have been one of true confusion because Joran added, “Sometimes land people do stuff like that to avoid paying full fare.”

“Are you serious?”

“These are things they don’t teach you at King School.”

“There is no such thing as King School!”

“I think you’re missing the point,” Joran said and pressed his lips into a hard line.
Orrin stood there agape for a heartbeat, then huffed, “You are making fun of me!” He almost raised an accusatory finger but thought better of it.

“Just the King School part.” Joran grinned and his violet eyes sparkled. He was an obnoxiously handsome man.

And he was all Orrin’s.

Silver lining much?

“You went cold really fast there.” Joran’s features changed too quickly into paternal concern, something that wasn’t really in tune with Orrin’s current thoughts. “Are you all right? Do you want us to take a break?”

Orrin lowered his eyes; he wasn’t faking it this time. He shook his head. “I am fine. Thank you.”

“Your outrage should have been longer.”

“You’re very distracting,” Orrin murmured before his tongue connected with his brain.

“Hmmm. Then you’re very easy to distract.” Joran elbowed Orrin before turning his body forward again and flicking the reins. “Let’s go!”

The convoy advanced at a brisk pace, but Orrin couldn’t pay attention to the rolling hills and the blooming trees and shrubs anymore. With furtive glances, he noticed the many hues of grey, mixed with black and white in Joran’s long hair, the wide shoulders and tall frame encased in the colors of Doriar, red and brown. He admired the way the muscles of the King’s forearms flexed graciously as he controlled the chariot, the big hands with their wide fingers (adorned with thick, bejeweled rings), and fleetingly imagined how those hands would feel over his skin.

The man smelled like a bow Orrin had once, made with precious rosewood. It was ridiculous that the King of Doriar had reminded him of a weapon he’d lost long ago. The first weapon he had learned to handle. There must be some kind of message in that memory, but, by Apheilon, Orrin couldn’t focus enough to decipher it.

This time the silence between them didn’t feel like a slight but an opportunity for reflection. Orrin had been around Joran in several summits, had heard the man laugh while talking to others, but he had never had the attention of this King so concentrated on him like now.

Soon they would be sharing a bed. What would that even be like? Should he simply submit because Joran was the one with the power, the one who had chosen him? Would it have been different if there had been a spontaneous attraction between them during one of those previous encounters?

Deron and Landra (arms crossed and with You. Need. To. Stop. miens) appeared in Orrin’s mind’s eye.

Orrin snorted.

“What’s that about?” Joran asked.

“Just me being silly,” Orrin said, trying hard not to sound too silly.

“I rather have you being silly than sad,” Joran said.

“Why would I be sad?”

“Some could say it is unwise to talk of these things, especially here in the middle of the road, but I want us to be sincere with each other. I’m not going to wait until we are married to start. There is no point in that.” Joran did that thing when he only tilted his head toward Orrin without truly looking at him. “I know you didn’t want this. You had your own life, your own prospects. Your own kingdom to rule in the future.” He sighed. “You did something good on your way here, and that showed me a little bit of you.” His eyes left the road and settled on Orrin. “I want us to be good together. To create something good together. Duty doesn’t have to be a burden, and I wouldn’t want you sad about it.”

The tone (more than the words) soothed some of Orrin’s inner turmoil. He moved closer to Joran and pulled the King toward him by the hard leather belt. He let his head rest on Joran’s shoulder. “Thank you.”


Orrin felt Joran’s body relax beside him.

GOLDEN PRINCE DIAMOND KING - 5

FIVE

The people of Chryso made Joran proud. The city looked amazing decorated in sky blue and white, the colors of Zigag. Orrin’s utter surprise was priceless. Children wore narwhal and orca costumes and ran along the convoy cheering and giggling or waved from men’s shoulders. Women had made flowers for their hair with blue fabrics since real blue flowers were not easily available. Although, Doriar’s alchemists had brought the end of spring to one of the greenhouses, producing thousands of myosotis for the wedding day.

Orrin waved at the people, drinking in their welcoming joy, and they waved back with bright smiles. White petals fell from balconies as they moved across the streets toward the palace. Everywhere the flags of Zigag and Doriar flew together.

Joran was happy. He let himself forget about the sexual exploits preceding the arrival of his husband-to-be. He simply wanted to soak in the sweetness of the man beside him. Being so focused on the things Orrin had done before coming to Doriar would not help him to start the trusting relationship he hadn’t know he wanted until they were on the road to Chryso.

Orrin resting his head on Joran’s shoulder had been an unexpected surprise. He hadn’t acted like the pervert Joran had imagined; perhaps he was too overwhelmed by the change of scenery for his more licentious traits to emerge.

Perhaps Joran should stop thinking that kind of nonsense while he waved to his people on his way to the palace.

It’s hard to give him a chance when even his father has attested to his rampant lechery.

Luckily, salpinges called as they approached the palace entrance, yanking him away from those gloomy, displeasing thoughts. Soon they stopped and alighted to climb the twenty-seven marble steps to the palace doors, opened wide and with the Court filing out of them to receive Orrin; Advisers, Ministers, Ambassadors of the other kingdoms, and Joran’s daughters, accompanied by Yndyre and their nurses, gathered amid the swirling columns of the front portico.

His three girls looked pristine in their white little chitons and sandals. Their hairs were up, held by crisscrossing sky blue ribbons in a very mature style Joran had rarely seen them in. Each had a bouquet of myosotis in their hands. They had probably pestered Yndyre since Joran left so they could get those from the accelerated greenhouse. They occupied the frontal place amongst those waiting to greet the Prince of Zigag.

As soon as Orrin and Joran stood side by side before the girls, they pushed the bouquets forward. “Welcome, Prince Orrin!”

Joran chuckled a little. “Orrin, Rider of narwhals, Sun of Zigag, Golden Prince,” he waved his hand to encompass his children, “these are my daughters. The Obsidian Princess, Eione. She’s ten. The Sapphire Princess, Cymo, is eight. And the Coral Princess, Actaea, is six.”

Orrin took the flowers with a bright “Thank you!” He turned to Joran and (not totally under his breath) said, “I thought only the heir or heiress apparent had a gemstone added to their name.”

“Each member of the royal family receives one of the twelve gemstones as part of their legacy, according to the signs and oracles of their birth,” Joran explained proudly.

“What a lovely tradition.”

Actaea had her brow furrowed; she was displeased with something. Joran knew that sulking style very well.

Orrin crouched in front of the Cranky Coral Princess. “You’re not smiling like your sisters. I hope we could be friends,” he said softly. His smile could have disarmed the most jaded warrior, but apparently not Joran’s youngest.

“I wanted an orca costume,” Actaea poutily summarized.

Orrin looked up at Joran. “We need to get her an orca costume.”

In return, Joran gave Yndyre a stern look, and his Right Hand quickly explained, “We thought it more appropriate to have them dressed like princesses and not city children.”

“If she gets an orca costume, I want a narwhal one!” Cymo rarely asked for anything, so deny her a silly costume would be just cruel.

“You’ll get your costumes. Let’s just finish the Prince’s reception in the proper way,” Joran offered conciliatorily. “Agreed?”

Cymo and Actaea nodded with huge grins, and some of the Court members around them applauded.

Orrin moved to his feet and turned to Eione. “Do you want a costume too?”

Eione tilted his head.

Joran caught Orrin’s almost imperceptible flinch. He knew everybody said she was a miniature version of him, and Orrin’s reaction spoke of him noticing the similarity.

“I do not want a costume, Prince Orrin. What I want is to ride an orca.”

A collective gasp surged around them. But before Joran could say anything, Orrin asked, “Why ride an orca and not a narwhal? I think narwhals are more interesting.”

“I know the narwhal horn is the symbol of Zigag,” she turned her eyes to the standard with the crossed horns beside the doors, “but they don’t have dorsal fins. It has to be harder to ride them. It makes sense to start with the less complicated, and then ease into the other.”

Orrin nodded and said, “Wise words. I see you’re on the right path to queenhood.”

Eione smiled graciously and put her hand out for him. He took it, and she said, “Let’s give you the welcoming my father’s husband-to-be deserves, Prince Orrin.” She walked forward, and those blocking the doors moved aside to let them pass.

That’s my girl.


She was not going to be riding sea creatures, though.

GOLDEN PRINCE DIAMOND KING - 6

SIX

The reception progressed splendidly. Orrin had been introduced to more than fifty people, including the current ambassadors in Doriar of several of the Ten Kingdoms. Zaros of Nemed, the Zigag Ambassador, had been one of his tutors when he was a child; it was always nice to be able to chat with him as an adult, and they were discussing the merits of this alliance so similar to the one between Munus and Lakoneh, albeit arising from different circumstances.

Joran had gone to tuck in the princesses for the night. Orrin searched for him around the spacious hall since he should have been back already. He didn’t try to analyze the sudden twist in his chest when he found his husband-to-be in animated conversation with a very handsome, swarthy, curly-haired man, seemingly a soldier by his ankle-high boots, leather skirt, and cuirass-covered torso. The (let’s call him) soldier was only a finger or two shorter than Joran, who was almost a head taller than Orrin.

Not the kind to be intimidated by the beauty of others since he was usually hunting his prey amongst the beautiful, Orrin wondered if that was the kind of men who could catch Joran’s attention. Were they lovers? Would they still be lovers after the wedding?

Jealousy was an alien emotion for Orrin. There had never been a reason for him to be jealous of anyone. He had been born to be King, and his only logical competition looked exactly like him. He had seen other siblings squabbling about who was better looking, but that would have been ridiculous between Landra and him. And he loved his twin too much; he often thought of Landra as a better version of him, a sensible version— the nice version.

Joran put his hand on the soldier’s shoulder with a nod, and the man departed, exiting the hall like one with a very specific purpose. Their eyes met, and Joran smiled. Orrin only twisted his lips faintly, unable to erase all the disturbing ideas his mind had conjured with violent speed.

Unhurriedly, Joran walked toward Orrin through the crowded space. His eyes sparkled as if he was reading Orrin’s mind. It seemed as if he could see Orrin’s childish inner agitation, and that amused him to no end.

Knowing that people usually saw him as petulant and loose, Orrin would not cause a scene during his first day in Doriar; nevertheless, that didn’t mean he was going to simply lie there and roll over when commanded.

“Are you having a good time?” Joran asked as he reached Orrin, taking his hand. He gave a kiss to the back of Orrin’s hand. The gesture so fluidly natural anyone could think they have been a couple for eons.

“You said you wanted us to be sincere with each other, right?” Orrin asked, not completely sure where he was going but powerless to curb his tongue.

“I did.” Joran nodded, now holding Orrin’s hand with both of his.

“Is that soldier your lover?”

“Will it be a problem if he was?”

“No,” Orrin said hastily, absolutely aware that whatever expression he had at the moment screamed the exact opposite.

“I’ve barely known another’s touch in almost four years,” Joran offered calmly, not a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Orrin was surprised and concerned. “How could you live like that?”

“Sex is but a part of life, Orrin.” Joran kissed Orrin’s hand again. Those violet eyes always focused on him. “One can go without having it every day.”

“Tell me you at least masturbated.”

When am I going to connect tongue and brain?

“I did.” Joran chuckled. “This conversation has taken a very weird turn.”

“Forgive me, my King. I am not used to be in this situation.”

“I understand that. You were raised thinking you will be the one doing the choosing.” Then Joran’s expression changed from understanding to challenging. “Although, I am aware of your knack for sampling everything available, I’m trying my best not to hold it against you.”

Orrin removed his hand from Joran’s hold and bowed. “And I appreciate that effort, my King.”

“Why do I have the feeling that every time you say ‘my King’ you’re actually insulting me under your breath?” There was a hint of amusement in Joran’s tone.

“Nothing could be further from the truth. I use those words out of respect.”

“I wish you could respect me because I am the man with whom you’re about to spend the rest of your life and not just because I am the King ruling over you now.”

“So you’re not intent on making me love you.” The statement had sounded like an accusation, and Orrin was immediately slapping himself mentally.

Once again Joran said something unexpected. “Right now, my only intention is to have you happy and not feeling like you got the short end of this bargain. How much you grow to care for me is all in your heart. I cannot force that.” He moved closer and pulled Orrin toward him by the waist. “It would be nice if you at least liked me a little, though.”

Orrin snickered. “I like you all right. You’re very nice to look at.”

“Good. Because I really like you.” Joran kissed Orrin on the cheek.

They were staring at each other when a sudden shift in the general atmosphere made them look toward the entrance of the hall. All heads were turned in the same direction.

As soon as he was sure he had everybody’s attention, Ferion Tereii said with gusto, “Sorry I’m late, but,” he did a grand gesture with his hands to encompass himself, “you know...” He was wrapped in a himation pinker than a freshly gutted sacrifice and trimmed with feathers. Did he sew the feathers one by one himself?

The man was loud and obnoxious. Orrin had shoved his cock into that pretty mouth (and ass) to quiet him more than once. “What is Ferion doing here?” He asked with a tired sigh.

“He’s the recently promoted Nivoril Ambassador,” Joran answered, pulling Orrin possessively toward him.

Ferion made a beeline for them and bowed, saying in his most acidic tone. “My. My. King Joran. Prince Orrin. How wonderful is to see two of the most handsome men of the Ten Kingdoms together.” He eyed their united bodies, not trying (even a little) to disguise he would gladly be on all fours between them. Still, there was something in the way he had looked at Joran and then at Orrin as if he knew something Orrin didn’t.

“Ambassador,” Joran said with dry politeness.

Orrin only nodded. Any word would encourage Ferion to remain there talking their ears off. And he didn’t like the alarms going off in the back of his head.

“Ambassador Ferion,” Joran released Orrin’s waist just to grab his hand, “we were leaving. Please enjoy the reception with the rest of the guests.”

“But I just got here...”

Orrin was tempted to snarl, “Not our problem,” but he simply let Joran tow him away from the hall.
Guards appeared as they crossed the threshold, escorting them through the well-lit corridors of the palace. The lamps’ burning oil had a sweet fruity fragrance. It distracted Orrin for a moment, but then he asked, “What was that about?” He tried to slow Joran down without making it seem like they were fighting. He whispered, “Do you know how rude it is to leave your own party?”

“What’s the point of being King if you cannot do whatever you want?”

“That sounds like something I would say not you,” Orrin countered.

“I saw how he looked at you,” Joran growled. “I did not like it,” he added, huffing.

“You fucked him, didn’t you?”

“I’m pretty sure you fucked him too.” Joran’s voice had grown darker and deeper.
Orrin wanted to throw Joran’s words about the soldier back at him, but it seemed unwise at the moment.

Better live to fight another day.

They stopped in front of tall wooden doors, profusely carved and with metal trimmings. The two guards posted there stood straighter than before and then opened them. Orrin heard their escort march away as the doors closed behind them.

Good thing Orrin was not a fragile man because Joran was grabbing his wrist in a way that would have damaged a weaker person. Since they were alone now he could stand his ground and pulled back, jerking his wrist from Joran’s grip.

Joran was clearly pissed off as he swirled to face Orrin, and the wavering flames of the lamps distributed about the chamber made his visage a lot more sinister.

Orrin crossed his arms; he was sure he hadn’t done anything wrong. If this tantrum had anything to do with Ferion, it was a total waste of time. There was no point in having an argument about something that happened way before Joran even considered him as an option for a consort. “I’m supposed to be the childish one in this relationship,” he grumbled.

“What does that mean?”

“If something is bothering you, the normal reaction would be to have a conversation about it, not drag me through the whole palace like a Kept you’re going to punish in your chamber.”

“So you don’t think you deserve to be punished?”

Orrin narrowed his eyes. “I was raised to be a King. I might be conflicted and out of sorts by the situation and your handsomeness with that hair like ashes and those arms like trees and your eyes like a damned sunset, but you’re not going to treat me like a child.”

Yes. The part about the hair and the arms and the eyes. No reason for that.

Joran was nose-to-nose with Orrin in two long strides. “So you demand to be treated like a man, Golden Prince?”

Joran loomed over Orrin; he should have been intimidated (this man was meant to rule him as his King and husband), but something snapped inside him. He grabbed Joran by the shoulders and pivoted their bodies together, slamming Joran against the nearest wall. “Not like a man. I am a man.” He kissed Joran angrily.

For several heartbeats, the King of Doriar remained frozen, letting Orrin move his hands from shoulders to neck, thumbs caressing his throat as the others held him in place. Then, when Orrin thought he had gone too far, Joran reacted, answering the kiss with equal anger, with a force that soon turned into something more.

Orrin didn’t know how long their lips and tongues and teeth battled, but he suddenly felt his feet leave the marble floor. Joran had grabbed him by the legs, pulling him upward and carrying him to the bed, where the King flung Orrin.

Orrin bounced on the immense bed.

Joran unbuckled his belt and almost tore his chiton apart as he removed it with a brutal yank.

Even amid the abruptness of the moment, Orrin couldn’t help but admire Joran’s form— his body heaving in frustration, all muscles bunching as if ready to pounce, his cock hard and proud and ready for attention.

And yet, one more time, Joran did the unexpected.

The Diamond King of Doriar turned around and spread his muscular cheeks, growling, “No one has been inside me, Golden Prince. You think you’re man enough to conquer this?”

A rumble emerged from Orrin as every inch of his body hardened to answer the challenge.


Conquer was not the best verb to describe what was about to happen to Orrin’s husband-to-be.

GOLDEN PRINCE DIAMOND KING - 7

SEVEN

Joran had enjoyed the hardness and strength of other male bodies, even if he had always been the one in control of the situation— the dominant, the one commanding pace and rhythm. Then again, being their King, those men had gladly offered themselves, rejoicing the touch of their ruler.

What Orrin had done and was doing to his body not only opened Joran’s eyes but inflamed every inch of him in new and unfathomable ways. Orrin was taking (possessively and masterfully) but with such a giving method it was impossible to hold anything back; the only option was to capitulate to his disarming skills.

Every part of Joran had been caressed, nibbled, licked and kneaded, leaving him breathless and intoxicated. He couldn’t grasp how Orrin’s tongue tasting the back of his knees had sent jolts of abandon and pleasure; how those pearly teeth biting his inner thigh could make his eyes roll back in his head; how the artful pressure of a thumb between ball-sac and hole could make him yearn to be destroyed in the most abject manner; how the annoyingly perfect bliss of Orrin mischievously blowing over his hole before lapping on it had been surprise and curse.

Sweet Apheilon, Blessed Erin, thank you for letting this young man know about pleasure so thoroughly, so deeply.

Now Joran had his back against a wall, Orrin handling Joran’s weight as if he were nothing but an idea of a grown man. The ecstasy of the brutal penetration sent his eager hole ablaze as Orrin slammed against it mercilessly, his honeyed eyes bright and intent, stealing kisses and biting Joran’s neck.   

A war cry (something that should have started a ruthless battle) rose from Joran before his body shook, broken and free. He spurted with such force jets and jets of sweet completion spattered their chests, leaving them drenched but never breaking Orrin’s intention.

Some drops landed on Joran’s lips. Orrin swept in, mastering Joran’s mouth, tasting his reward. Perhaps that was the trigger because he groaned (their mouths still attached) and lost his rhythm, the spasms of completion seizing him, flooding Joran, taking both to a blinding summit where climax could only be measured in the stutters of their screaming hearts.

Frozen in time, amid faltering heartbeats that seemed millennia, breath slowly returned. Orrin slowly lowered them, still connected, still hard, until Joran’s feet touched the floor— his body wedged between the wall and his lover, perfectly seated on Orrin’s lap, impaled, sated.

Orrin let his head fall onto Joran’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“Whatever for?”

“For letting me have you like this. For giving me a gift I wasn’t expecting.”

Joran moved Orrin’s head, taking his face with both hands, making the Prince of Zigag look into his eyes. “You’re the unexpected gift.”

“Why do you call me Golden Prince?”

“Because that’s what I saw when I met you this afternoon. The sun firing your hair, wrapping you in its golden light, perfect and mesmerizing,” Joran explained with a catch in his voice.

A soft smile emerged on that handsome face. Orrin’s eyes lowered, and Joran released his face. Honeyed eyes moved downward, perhaps studying the outcome of his efforts. Joran was sweaty and sticky and stupidly happy.

The searching eyes stopped on Joran’s cock. Orrin wrapped a hand around it, stroking it languidly. It hadn’t truly softened, and in no time it was fully erected again. “Would you make me yours, my Diamond King,” he whispered.

Orrin had melted, forged and reshaped Joran’s body in the last hours. If their minds could bond as their bodies had, this could be the greatest adventure for both.

“With heart and soul, my Golden Prince.”

Wednesday, January 17, 2018

READ FOR REVIEW #R4R



If you're a member of the Goodreads M/M Romance Group (if you aren't join it! It is fun!) on January 21st, 2018 you'll be able to receive #CLOCKWORKVENDETTA in exchange for an honest #review as part of the #DontBuyMyLove program. * Join the group if you haven't already and check the link  

https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/19171943-don-t-buy-my-love-coming-soon-1-21-2017-clockwork-vendetta-by-gab 


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Monday, December 25, 2017

HIDDEN GIVER



ONE

“Three hundred cycles ago, when humans had their first contact with extraterrestrials, there were riots and mass suicides, unfathomable chaos because it was very hard for them to digest, not only that they weren’t alone, but that there was nothing special about humans in the grand scheme of the Universe,” Nir dictated to his scribe.

The canine looked at Nir as if it wondered where he was going with that information.

“Turmoil, Moire,” Nir said. “The turmoil that the unknown brings to your existence.”

The canine nodded and typed, adding the words to Nir’s log entry.

There were times when Nir would have been fine if the canines of Thereon were more like those of Terra. Sure those pets weren’t as smart or capable of all the things theirs easily achieved, but the cuddly factor was important sometimes. Thereon’s canines could not function as pets; they were too aloof, too smart, too impersonal (just like the actual people of Thereon) to provide any warmth or emotional support. They weren’t even cute, according to the human crew of the Qizil Tacir. It had been mentioned that Moire looked like the ugliest mutt one could imagine or have a nightmare about.
Nevertheless, Moire was something from his planet. Nir looked around his cabin. The purple flowers which grew freely in Thereon's valleys hanged from vines covering the walls, and yet Nir still missed something he couldn’t quite name.

Moire stared at Nir expectantly.

Before Nir could open his mouth to continue with his log, the cabin door chimed and the computer blurted, “It’s Captain Wang!”

“Grant access,” Nir sighed. He moved to his feet to receive his boss as the door whooshed open.

“Chief Kah,” the massive captain entered the cabin, “I have your options for Hidden Giver here.” He pushed a compad into Nir’s face, and with a click, a multicolored hologram wheel floated over it. “If you were so kind as to spin that to find out your receiver.”

Nir took a step back, so he didn’t have the edge of the device on his nose and spun the floating wheel with his index finger. The seconds it took to stop seemed interminable. It stopped in a blue section, and the color dissolved, allowing a name to surface.

“That should prove interesting,” commented Captain Wang after turning the hologram wheel to himself and reading the name. He punched a key and the hologram dissolved.

“Whatever do you mean, captain?” Nir swallowed hard.

“Well,” the captain eyed Nir, “you made a funny face when you saw the name. I think you were expecting to get one of your fellow Thereons as receiver.”

“What would be the fun in that, captain?”

“That’s the spirit!” Captain Wang smacked Nir on the shoulder and about-faced. “Alright, I’ll leave you to your logging and please keep your scribe in your quarters. I’m not going to name names but some people have been like ‘aww captain that thing is scary,’” the captain affected a whiny voice, “and that, dear chief, gets on my nerves.” He looked over his shoulder. “One would think after all the standard months you have been on this ship, those...” he cleared his throat, “people would have gotten used to your assistant aboard.”

“I’ll keep an eye on that situation, captain,” Nir promised before the captain stepped out and the cabin door closed behind him with a definite whoosh.

If canines were able to roll their eyes, Nir was sure Moire should be doing as much when he turned to sit facing his scribe again. Nevertheless, his scribe seemed oblivious to the reaction its appearance caused in some crew members. Canines didn’t care what they looked like, just how efficient they were.

Moot point.

“Yes, turmoil...” Nir returned to his dictation. “Once the majority of humanity assimilated the knowledge of a wide and multi-populated Universe, they let go of many notions regarding the existence of deities and their role in their lives. Nonetheless, as creatures of habit, many traditions subsisted losing their esoteric origins but remaining widely popular around the planet. That’s how I ended up participating in an end-of-the-cycle tradition called Hidden Giver.

“Humans traditionally exchanged gifts with relatives and friends, but if the exchange was in a working environment, for some unfathomable reason, it seemed more exciting if the person you were to gift didn’t know who you were until the end-of-the-cycle company party.” Nir shook his head. “In some places, like the captain wants us here on the Qizil Tacir, you were supposed to also give several small, simple gifts before the actual event.”

Moire finished typing, but Nir didn’t say another word as his eyes watched his fingers trailing the dark material of his chair.

The Qizil Tacir had two hundred crew members, unevenly divided among six species. Since it was a Terran merchant ship, almost sixty percent of the crew was human. Nir’s department controlled the ship’s computers; therefore, he interacted with everyone. Even if the people of Thereon were distant by nature, he felt he had a fairly decent grasp of normal interpersonal interaction, and his last review proved it with a ninety-three percent score on the subject.

Still, this Hidden Giver game (or tradition) would make him dive into something he wasn’t sure how to approach. Yes, there was gift-exchange in Thereon, but their gifts were practical things. With humans, gifts were often impractical trinkets more related to sentiment than to actual usefulness.
Nevertheless, his challenge wasn’t that; several of his subordinates were human, and he could easily ask for their advice. No. His challenge was the man the Universe had decided to put in his path for this “assignment.” Sure, Nir was obviously the receiver of some other crew member, but Nir’s man...

That thought made Nir shudder.

The human had caught Nir’s eye since the first time they crossed each other in the mess hall. He couldn’t say if it had been the spring in the man’s step— some kind of unmitigated cheerfulness paired with an imposing figure. Perhaps it had been the light blue chunks of hair over the man’s forehead after escaping the rest of his black hair, neatly fastened into a ponytail.

A pale shade of blue uncannily similar to Nir’s own eye color.

Nir could not declare the reason this human stirred things inside him. The man just did, and Nir had never forced an encounter or a word. Everything between them had been work-related and casual, but even the man’s voice disrupted Nir’s essence to the point where Nir had to actively avoid any interaction— a not so easy feat since the man headed the Distribution Department, and there was always something wrong with their computers.

Now, Nir had to give his...

(What was the word he’d heard the girls use?)

Yes, his crush. Nir had to give his crush gifts.

Several silly things and a really nice one, but none the thing Nir would truly like to share with Bebu Neda. 

***

TWO

“Oops!” The Orelian girl giggled. “You weren’t supposed to see me leaving this!” Her cheeks turned purple and her antennae waved anxiously.

Bebu smirked. “Are you my Hidden Giver?” He put a hand on his chest. “I promise I’ll act surprised during the end-of-the-cycle party.”

“Oh, no, Chief Neda! I am not!” She smiled shyly and even her serrated teeth looked cute.

Bebu narrowed his eyes. Since his eyes were slanted by nature, people usually said he was downright frightening when he did that. He cocked his head. “You are not lying to an officer, right?”

“No, sir. I wouldn’t dare!”

“Very well, you might go now.” Bebu made a move along gesture with his left hand, and she scurried away. He noticed the lack of noise around him. He circled around, finding all the men staring at him. “What?” he asked to no one in particular.

Everyone sprang back to work.

Shaking his head, Bebu sat and pushed closer to the console where the girl had left a small whimsically wrapped bundle.

Tito’s bulk threw a shadow over Bebu and a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “Hidden Giver?”

“Apparently,” Bebu looked up toward his burly assistant. “Are you my Hidden Giver?”

Tito snorted, squeezing Bebu’s shoulder with more force than needed. “Seriously? Do you see me giving you such a cutesy whatever that is?”

“It might be a ploy to throw me off the scent?”

Unceremoniously, Tito picked up the bundle and opened it. “Nah, not my style.”

Since Bebu was seated and Tito was an eight-foot-tall beast, he couldn’t see what was in the assistant’s giant paw. “Hey! Give me that!”

“Do you honestly think I would get you candy?” Tito had a small pale blue ball between his ridiculously big forefinger and thumb. He sighed. “How long have we worked together?”

“Oh, shut up!” Bebu moved to his feet and snatched his gift. “I swear to ‘Verse if you are my Hidden Given I will punch you in the face in front of everybody.”

Tito rolled one of his three eyes. “You just want to get me all hot and bothered. Not fair.”

“Go do some stevedoring,” Bebu growled. “Shoo!” he added, plopping back into his chair.

The snort-snarl Tito released as he departed was a clear signal of his annoying amusement. He “playfully” punched another Gorgon on the shoulder to move him out of the way, and the other big guy went crashing straight into a crate; the contents spilled in a mess that would set the workers back for at least an hour.

“Not setting an example there!” Bebu didn’t know why he wasted his time shouting at Tito. Warehousemen were a rowdy bunch, and Tito’s amicably brutish demeanor was a great tool.

Swiveling to face his console, Bebu took one of the powder blue candy balls and popped it into his mouth. He liked this kind of hard candy. Whoever his giver was— knew him or had taken the time to investigate. The latter option really intrigued him.

Chief Kah, Bebu’s receiver, was also an intriguing option. Clearly the odds of the Thereon being Bebu’s giver were so slim he wasn’t even logically considering them; nevertheless, some childlike hope still lurked. No. That minuscule hope wasn’t lurking; it was more like waiting in shy expectation, almost holding its breath a little.

The candy ball rolled in Bebu’s tongue, slowly releasing its sugary goodness. He counted how many were left. Eleven. He caressed the hard balls with his forefinger, moving them around in random patterns. Their color was very close to the blue in his own hair.

It was also very similar to Chief Kah’s eyes.

But Bebu wasn’t exactly thinking of the Thereon’s eyes.

As one ball rolled in his mouth and the others around his finger, Bebu’s mind was slowly drifting to another, darker shade of blue— that of Chief Nir Kah’s lips.

***

THREE

Exuberant and eclectic Zimski Station was bound to have the perfect gift for Chief Neda. The Qizil Tacir had docked there the previous standard day, and, after all the legalities had been concluded, the crew was free to roam it until their departure.

Nir had several ideas to work with thanks to the large and inconspicuous mechanism he had unleashed to learn things about the Distribution Chief. It wasn’t hard to admit a certain amount of excitement tinging the covert maneuvers he had designed to keep the man from learning his intention.

According to general gossip, with less than ten standard days left before the end-of-the-year party, almost everybody already knew the identity of their giver. Still, Nir had been so focused on keeping such a low profile to avoid any leaks, he had not even thought about finding out his. The only important thing was to truly surprise his receiver.

Out on the big promenade of the space station’s Shopping Quarter, people from merchant, pleasure, and military starships moved in a cacophony of languages and grunts meant to be overwhelming for some and fascinating for others while competing with the mostly cheerful vocal-less music emanating from the area’s sound system. End-of-the-cycle traditions from around the galaxy mingled easily in store windows and flashy holograms: Terran snowflakes, Centaurian spears, Ophiuchian bubbles.  

The colors of outfits and headdresses, the not-always-enticing smells of the multiple restaurants and street vendors were nothing for Nir; he only had one mission, and all his concentration was aimed at that purpose. Chief Bebu Neda was big on two things: sugar and leather. Nir had utterly eaten the sugar road; thus, the perfect gift would be the man’s other passion.

As if conjured by the brazen witches of Veran, the perfect store to find the right present appeared magically in front of him. From the smallest accessory (strips of leather braided to form a bracelet) to full skirt dresses and muscle-hugging bodysuits, every imaginable thing was on display. Color didn’t seem a complication either: bright, pastel, muted, rich or subtle— all were there too. The store was packed. He straightened his shoulders and prepared himself to push, elbow, and threaten if anyone was already pawing Chief Neda’s perfect gift.

A while later, Nir was tracing his index finger over the shoulder of a knee-length, dark green overcoat when the voice that thundered in the restless moments of his nights spoke in his ear. “That is not your color.” He didn’t jump because Thereons weren’t easily startled but something inside him did somersault. He turned around and found Chief Neda grinning at him.

His brown leather jacket made his shoulders look wider than usual, and the artificial light of the store reflecting on it gave his face a sun-kissed glow. “I feel like I should apologize for whispering in your ear like that.” Chief Neda stroked his chin with a hand as if considering it.

It had been rather intimate.

Chief Neda’s eyes sparkled. Nir tilted his head and, perhaps encouraged by the glinting mischief in the silver eyes or the extremely informal introduction to their encounter, spoke, “Never mind an apology. I’m more interested in knowing ‘my color.’”

The grin returned wider. “I rather show than tell.” His voice had come out low. One could say “husky,” as if he was still whispering in Nir’s ear and not speaking face-to-face.

Nir nodded wordlessly. One part of him wanted to flee before he did something stupid; the other wanted to stay close and take advantage of the moment. Too many expectations had been centered on the end-of-the-year party, leaving him certainly ill-fitted for this random occurrence.

“Although, I need a promise from you first,” Chief Neda added.

“Let’s see if I can handle it.”

“Promise you’re not going to find a way to simply vanish.” Chief Neda smiled, but his words had a hint of defeat in them.

“I don’t understand what you’re implying.” Nir shook his head. “What do you mean with ‘vanish’?”

Chief Neda chucked ruefully. “Sometimes I think you dislike me. I know you don’t have to like someone to be able to work with them, but I feel like you avoid me,” he looked at the store floor for a heartbeat, “as if my presence is a nuisance to you.”

“I assure you that is not the case,” Nir said firmly.

“And yet you’re giving me a non-answer.”

Defeat hadn’t been an undercurrent this time; it stung Nir.

Fortune favors the bold.

The old Terran proverb came to Nir’s mind, and resolution seized him. “I want you to walk out the store, find a place where we can have lunch, and call me.” He tapped on his earpiece. “Three seven four six is my direct line.”

“You’re not gonna vanish?”

“I promise I will come to you.”

“Why can’t you come with me now?”

Yes, why not?

It was all too sudden. Nir was not going to run, but he needed a few moments alone to put the mental giggles and the goosebumps and the trembling under control to be around Chief Neda without being a complete wreck. He found a decent justification. “I wanted to buy something for myself here and since I will probably spend the rest of the day with you, I rather do it first.”

Chief Neda narrowed his eyes, which made him look not only skeptical but menacing. He took a deep breath, and those mysterious eyes widen slightly. “I should be more respectful. After all, you just made a promise, and that ought to be enough to settle my nerves.” He seemed startled for a heartbeat as if the last part had come out aloud without his permission.

Knowing now that he also did something to Chief Neda’s composure, Nir said softly, “You’re right, and you can take a Thereon promise to the bank.” Amid his own nerves, he found a little smile and offered it to the human.

“Someone’s been reading old Terran books.” The Distribution Chief smiled back. He put his hand on Nir’s arm and gave it a tentative squeeze. “I’m going to find the best place for us.” He nodded and turned to zigzag between the customers in the crowded store.

Nir followed the chief’s bobbing ponytail until it was out of sight, mentally open-mouthed and with his heart beating faster than the Drums of Delia. He shook himself out of his stupor. Gift hunting had become a time-constricted mission.

****

FOUR

“I admire you, Chief Kah,” Bebu said, staring at the Thereon’s mesmerizing eyes.

Chief Kah tilted his head a little, a half smile enhancing his square features. “And why is that?”

They had spoken of neutral themes while eating. Now dessert had come; maybe it was the sugar already taking control, but Bebu felt ready to get more personal with this man, who intrigued him so much. “You chose to embark on a Terran merchant ship, with only a handful of other Thereons on board. That’s kind of unusual.”

The Well-Well restaurant had a quiet atmosphere, and they sat beside a manicured garden. With its regal decoration, the rich fabrics and ornaments of the place seemed to complement Nir Kah’s otherworldly allure. He nodded. “True. Thereons rarely embark with other species, but I wanted to challenge myself. The Universe is too big to be stuck in only one place.”

“And nothing like a merchant vessel to move about the stars,” Bebu agreed wholeheartedly, keeping his eyes on the Thereon’s face. It had been seriously hard to concentrate on a decent conversation after feeling the strong muscles under the caramel-colored, long-sleeved top.

“Exactly.” Chief Kah stared a Bebu for a couple of beats. “I bet you wanted to be a pirate when you were a kid,” he declared with a wink.

The comment (plus the wink) surprised Bebu, not just because it was uncannily accurate but because it was extremely out of character for Thereons in general and for unpretentious Chief Kah in particular. He snicker-snorted loudly. “I didn’t know your species were mind-readers!”

“We are not,” Chief Kah said softly. “You have a very swashbuckling swagger about yourself, and it’s really not that hard to reach such a conclusion.”

Bebu cackled this time, making some of the other tables hush them. “You’re talking about ancient Terran pirates, Chief Kah. There’s nothing swashbuckler-ish about space pirates.” It was Bebu’s turn to wink. “Perhaps the freedom and sense of adventure.” He noticed a flash of darkening on the Thereon’s cheeks. It had been so quick; he wouldn’t have seen it if he hadn’t been so invested in learning and memorizing each detail of the other’s face. He covered one bluish hand with his. “Tell me what you wanted to be when you grew up.”

Chief Kah looked at Bebu’s hand. Bebu feared he had crossed a line this time by touching him in such a familiar way without consent, but the Thereon didn’t yank or remove his hand. Glowing eyes moved slowly toward Bebu’s face. They gazed at each other, locked in a deeply consequential moment.

“Can I offer you more wine?”

Wrenched from that beautifully sacred place they had created in an instant, both turned toward the waiter, then in slow-motion toward the empty glasses.

“Yes,” Chief Kah reacted first, “we need more wine.” He quietly removed his hand from under Bebu’s as the waiter turned about in search of more spirits.

“I shouldn’t have,” Bebu offered hesitantly.

Chief Kah shook his head. “I’ll tell you someday, not today.” He sighed.

“Am I pushing you?” Bebu had been sure his gamble would pay off. Now he was afraid he had fucked it up.

“I don’t think it’s pushing if I am welcoming it.” There was that flash of darkness on his cheeks again.

“Tell me what to do. I want to know you. Share things with you.” Very few times in his life Bebu had been so enraptured by another, especially by someone who seemed (until today) unable to give him the time of day.

“I want the same.” The four words had surged in a mere whisper. Chief Kah wasn’t looking at Bebu but at the empty plate of Tura Mousse. After a moment, his eyes sought Bebu’s. “Have you ever been so zeroed in on doing something at a very specific moment that if the opportunity comes early you are out of sorts?”

Bebu considered the question, trying to not be distracted by Chief Kah’s trembling lips. No. He wasn’t reckless, but it wasn’t in his nature to plan things in a restrictive way. A negative response would probably show an inability to empathize since he hadn’t experienced the same. He answered with noncommittal honesty. “I have been unprepared.”

This seemed enough for Chief Kah to continue, “I had my heart set on approaching you during the end-of-the-cycle party.” He twisted his mouth. “All the scenarios I ran in my head were within that schema. You finding me at the leather store and so casually engaging caught me off guard.”

“You seemed normal to me,” Bebu blurted before he could censor his wayward mouth.

Chief Kah chuckled a bit dejectedly. “Thereons’ inherently cold demeanor may easily conceal internal turmoil.”

“I never meant to upset you.”

“You didn’t. It’s all in my head. I just need a little bit of time to process you are not indifferent to me.”

Bebu always thought it was the other way around, but he didn’t say it. It was time to simply assimilate the revelations. He smiled. “Let’s do something. We’ll meet again at the end-of-the-cycle get-together. Just know that I’m interested— very interested in you.” He moved to his feet and took the Thereon’s hand. “I’ll pay the check on my way out, Chief Kah.”

Before Bebu could turn to leave, Chief Kah said, “Please call me Nir, Chief Neda.”

“Then you should call me Bebu,” he proposed.

“Goodbye, Bebu,” Chief Kah said with a curt nod. A small grin surfaced briefly.

“It was a pleasure, Nir.”

Bebu left the restaurant, rolling Nir’s name on his tongue and in his mind.

Nothing had ever tasted sweeter.

***

FIVE

“Thank you so much for helping me with this, Chief Kah!” Commander Sera sounded excited. The young Futhark hadn’t been in that position for long, and Captain Wang had probably dumped the organization of the end-of-the-cycle party on her just to size her up.

Nir could have entrusted any of his subordinates with this part of the project, but it was also an important event for him. “You’re very welcome, commander. Happy to be of assistance.”

One click from Nir’s end.

Commander Sera squealed in his ear, “It’s perfect!”

“I’ll see the result tonight. I’m sure everyone will have a great time.”

“I hope so. Thanks again, chief!”

“You’re welcome, commander. Goodbye.” The communication ended, and Nir wondered if he should have said “Until later” instead of a cold “Goodbye.” He shrugged (sinking into his chair a little), the commander had apparently been extremely happy to notice.

Nir felt growing excitement too. A slight sense of apprehension wanted to push its way into the surface, but he decided not to force it away. For the moment, he needed to confirm that everything was in place to keep the systems running smoothly as the majority of the crew enjoyed the celebration.

They would receive the 2418 cycle as they reached the Ascella System in ten standard days. Hopefully (if he didn’t botch his “date” tonight), by that time Nir and Bebu would be able to hold hands surrounded by the Sagittarius constellation while off-duty.

Una, his assistant, approached him, a schematics hologram floating from her compad. “We’re done with the last verification, chief. Nordar should have a nice shift without complications.”

“Are we going to send his giver up here when the exchange begins? What about his receiver?” Nir asked.

“Oh, that,” she shrugged as if the situation wasn’t important, “he contacted but parties as soon as he learned he was in charge of that shift.”

“Is that a normal thing to do? This is my first Hidden Giver after all.”

“Well, there's no regulation against it, especially for those who need to remain at their post during the event,” she offered matter-of-factly.

“It makes sense,” he agreed. Although in his mind, the whole point of the endeavor was the possibility of spending time with Bebu. Was he supposed to spend time with his giver too? He never asked about that. He focused back on the woman beside him. “Very well, I will see you tonight at the party.” He stood up and (with a nod to those around him) walked out of the Computers Department control room.

By the time Nir arrived at the end-of-the-cycle party, the celebration was in full swing. Captain Wang had commented last year’s theme had been a Rubian Forest. Tonight, Commander Sera had transformed the mess hall into a Terran Winter land; everything was white and silver. At least fifty giant crystal sculptures commanded the area, and myriad little lights titillated all over the place (their patterns and sequences thanks to Nir’s department). The crew had been advised to dress in white, and they were— enhancing the gleaming magic of the moment.

People danced and laughed. Nir moved amid them feeling the cheerful energy and searching for that special human who had captured more than his imagination. He found the man surrounded by a group, enraptured as they listened to Bebu.

A couple of meters before reaching the group, all erupted in laughter, and in that moment Bebu lifted his eyes and saw Nir. He stopped laughing, but he smiled wide and his eyes beamed. Those around him noticed the action and turned to find out what was making the human look so happy. When they saw Nir, they opened a path, allowing Bebu to approach him.

Bebu’s hair wasn’t tied tonight; it rested long and wavy over his wide shoulders. His sleeveless white top shimmered faintly, showcasing the flat abdomen and broad chest. His pants were made of crisscrossing stripes that hugged narrow hips and bulking thighs. Face-to-face, Bebu grinned and said, “You leave me speechless.”

“I am dumbstruck, but I’ll try my best to be coherent,” Nir offered after swallowing hard.

A low growly laugh came out of Bebu. “Seems like we are not going to be conversing much.”

Nir cocked his head. “We can dance.”

“True,” agreed Bebu.

In that moment the music changed from rhythmic and enthusiastic to a languid cadence. Couples started to move toward the center of the hall. Bebu offered his hand. Nir took it.

The embrace was tentative, yet solid. Nir trembled a little, but before he could feel embarrassed he realized Bebu had trembled in his arms too. “I’m your hidden giver,” he whispered, his eyes locked with Bebu’s.

Bebu nodded solemnly, then moved to speak in Nir’s ear, “I’m yours.”

“How can you— oh. You mean I am your receiver.” Yes, this human certainly made Nir lose his head. For a moment there, he thought the words had been a love confession.

“That too,” said Bebu, and softly touched his lips to Nir’s.

This time Nir didn’t tremble; he closed his eyes, sought Bebu’s lips, and, as they kissed, he felt surprisingly grounded.

Bebu’s hair caressed Nir’s cheek; they slowly broke the kiss. Dancing to the soft melody, they simply smiled, lost in each other’s eyes, secured in the other’s certain embrace.

When the music transformed into an upbeat number, they walked toward the table with all the presents, holding hands. Nir wanted to call sacrilegious the fact that he had to release Bebu’s hand to be able to grab the box with his present.

“Open mine first,” Bebu said, presenting the perfectly square box to Nir. He held it with both hands as if it were an offering to a deity.

Nir set the elongated box he held back on the table and accepted Bebu’s. He opened it. A brilliant sphere surged out of the box and hovered between them. It was bright but the numbers moving over its surface were perfectly legible.

The set of numbers was a date, but it wasn’t that night’s date or that of the day they met so casually in Zimski Station. It wasn’t Nir’s first day aboard the Qizil Tacir either, but it was somewhat close to that date. They stared at each other for a moment wordlessly.

“I know this has a meaning, and I promise you I’ll figure it out.” Nir hugged Bebu and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

Bebu kept his arms around Nir’s waist and back, squeezing— not hard but firmly. “It’s the day I first lay eyes on you,” Bebu whispered. “Right here in the mess hall.”

Nir pushed their chests apart and gazed at Bebu’s silver eyes, mentally agape and with faulty legs. The bright gift cast a golden glow over them, making Nir think of old Terran legends about guiding stars and miracles. He rested his head back on Bebu’s hard chest. “My gift would be so mundane now,” he sighed.

“Nah,” Bebu kissed the top of Nir’s head, “you bought it for me, so it means a lot. No matter what.” He gave Nir one last quick squeeze before releasing him. “Can I open it now?”

Nir nodded, picking up the box and offering it to Bebu.

Bebu opened it with child-like enthusiasm. His eyes widened as he surveyed the contents. His face slowly turned toward Nir, a cheeky grin flourishing. “How did you know?”

Nir felt heat on his cheeks. “It was a hunch.” And it seemed to have been a right one.

Bebu brought the gift out, leaving the box on the table. He inspected it, turning it this way and the other with both hands. The midnight blue leather harness with silver trimmings seemed a complicated contraption, but Bebu easily downed. It expanded nicely over his chest, framing his pectorals to perfection.

Nir imagined how it would look over Bebu’s naked skin, and many things stirred in his body.
Bebu grabbed Nir in a bear hug, swirling their entwined bodies and exclaiming, “I love it! I love it!”
They laughed riotously, not caring about all the crew members around. When they finally stop spinning, Bebu covered Nir’s face with kisses.

“I want to tell you something,” Nir said quietly.

Bebu held Nir’s face with both hands, his eyes roaming all over as if unable to have enough. “Anything.”

“You asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up.”

“Yes, I did.”

The husky whisper fathered goosebumps, but Nir found his voice. “I wanted to be special.”

Bebu closed his eyes and put their brows together. “Oh, sweet Nir Kah of Thereon, you are. You are.”

Sunday, November 26, 2017

LOVE IN THE TIME OF SOCIAL MEDIA


You might have probably heard of Gabriel García Márquez “Love in the Time of Cholera,” but what you probably not know is that in Spanish “Cólera” (the original word in the title) also means anger. The book follows the characters within the context of the cholera epidemic at the time and the anger destroying their lives.

Now, I am glad I don’t usually write contemporary romance (and when I said “contemporary” I’m not talking about after WWII, I’m talking about from 2010 forward) because humans have become an angry species, and Social Media is the petri dish where all the festering things wrong with us today incubate.

How am I supposed to write about two (usually young) people who must certainly live glued to their gadgets and are offended by the silliest things while there are hunger, poverty, human trafficking and a thousand other ugly things really happening but are none of their concern? You’ll rarely see an instance of homophobia in my books; lots of people write about that and use it as the conflict for their stories. So, I don’t see a reason to add to that; there are other situations (especially internal situations) available to keep any story interesting. Bad things exist, homophobia, racism, bigotry, but instead of being victims of those things, we need to move forward, beyond them because there is a moment when those things turn into the only prism you use to analyze reality and you sink into that mess really fast and bitterly.

We have turned into fragile, selfish creatures, obsessed with image and immediate fame. We ask the other person’s role in bed even before knowing their full name or birthdate. We judge people based on what they let us see on Social Media. We condemn people for being human and making mistakes. We allow those in power to distract us with bullshit while they use all their cunning to rob us blind, selling their lies as benefits (but for whom, them or us?).

Fiction needs to be anchored in reality; today’s reality is a sad one, an angry one, a petty one. This is why I write about the past (we made mistakes but it’s done so we cannot fuck it more) and the future (hoping somehow it becomes something better than today) because many real people of today (of all sexual persuasions) are very, very hard to love, and don’t want to be loved either: they want to be admired.

Of course, there are exceptions, but that’s exactly my point “cases that do not conform to a rule or generalization.” Isn’t it sad that the angry, easily offended people aren’t the actual exceptions?
I’m not going to blame technology. Social Media has not turned us into monsters; we did, using anonymity, hiding behind a keyboard, to spew all the nasty things we did not have the balls to say face-to-face to other human beings. To spread our insecurity, our lack of hope in a comment section as if it could cure us instead of trying to dig inside for our reasons to be so fucking angry all the time. 

Every so often you’ll see a comment section of anything (a song, a sad story, a joke, a movie trailer, a suicide note, a news report) without some dismissal, hatred, or mockery. When the only thing you could share with the world is negativity, the world is not the problem, you are. It’s perfectly normal to go through a bad time, a bad season, a bad year, but if you rather drown in the bad than trying to kick up to the surface, seeking positivity = you are the problem.

So, yeah, I don’t expect; I hope.

And I honestly hope there is something better ahead; that those born in this century get tired of the angriness of their fathers and work to unite the human race, guiding it to a brighter future.