Maxime Jaz🌈🏳️‍⚧️

@maximejaz.bsky.social

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Non-binary trans masc. Bi. He/They. 49. Author of queer erotic romance🔥 I write about guys falling in love in various spaces and times. Love conquers all. 🏳️‍🌈🔞F*ck AI. https://linktr.ee/MaximeJaz

He glanced over at August’s key card, that small cardboard pouch on it. “Sixth floor? I’m on the fifth.”
“Nice…” August sighed, taking his suitcase’s handle. “I hope you can get some rest…” Thinking at how Jeremie had shamelessly flirted with him, he was convinced they had already set something up. And why not? That young guy was stunning after all… Pinching his lips, he walked to the elevator, letting Désiré match his pace. Waiting.
“I’m not sure I can sleep… to wound up usually after a flight. And you?”
“I might…”
“Nothing else planned?”
August looked at him. “No…”
“Oh, no hookups then on a work trip?”
“I’m not that kind of man.” His face in flames, still.
“I see…” Grinning, he turned back to the doors when the bell pinged.
Getting in when the doors opened. Watching the doors close in that awkward way one watches the doors locked inside with someone else. A soft whiz. A shadow as August got pressed against the wall, that shock invading him when he felt his body, his scent. After shave above it or his perfume… He couldn’t breathe, feeling a hand glide up to his chest, under his vest, rubbing slow circles on his chest, making his nipple harden.
He looked up into his eyes, his breath short, his lips parted.
“I have five floors to convince you to get out with me, and not go up to your room…”
August’s eyes went wide. “What…?”
“Four floors…” Pushing his mouth on those lips parted in shock, he pressed his body against August’s, pinning him to the wall. His thigh between his legs too.

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Jack sighed. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, ok? You had no choice.” Unsure, how he could ever touch Cedric without causing harm, tearing his wounds up, even if Cedric didn’t shy being against him, in his embrace. Jack was good at his job, he knew mining and digging inside out, the rock, that black powder, how it moved, cracked, when it was becoming dangerous, how it would break to the sound it made under his drill… but he had no clue how he could help that damaged man. How… he wasn’t smart enough. So he did the only thing he knew how to do. He held Cedric close. Just held him whilst they watched a stupid show on celebrities surviving on a fake farm. Held him, feeling his tears stream, soak his T-shirt on his chest. No matter. Not having words, giving him that silence he was maybe craving, and Cedric just left his hand on Jack’s abs, his head on his chest, letting his tears spill, wash out all that horror and pain a bit. Maybe daring to believe that Jack was not putting up a show, a façade. That this was him, truly, his large heart on his sleeve. That generous, deep heartbeat, soothing Cedric’s frightened, galloping heart.

Riding the waves to forget all the shit, a good wind, some flags posted for swimmers to be cautious, but Corey was flying, his heart too, knowing he’d be safe when the sun went down behind the horizon.
***
“Looking at your protégé?”
Mitch lowered his binoculars, looking at Burke, his smiling eyes. “Not really…”
“He’s a fine looking guy, that youngster.” Sipping his coffee.
Mitch sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t be such an ass about this.” Putting his binoculars back in front of his eyes. “It’s a fling, that’s all.”
“Sure…”
Scanning the swimmers, the kids playing close to those treacherous waves biting the sand. “Sure. He has his studies to finish… and it’s not like this could be permanent. Not with people judging. You, first.”
Burke tapped his arm, so Mitch looked at him. “Hey, no harm meant, ok? I’m just worried about you.”
“You shouldn’t be. I can take care of myself.”
“I know, I know…” Patting his arm, he left.
Mitch sighed, fed up a bit. His heart battling his brain, his reason. One summer… no big deal… Watching Corey ride a wave, his hair flying free. Falling off at the end, but even if his heart had squeezed, Mitch could see him emerge, shake the water out of his hair, crawl back on his board. Paddle, letting a wave bring him to shore. Thank fuck…

Stroking that baby which had calmed on that warm wool, her eyes flickering. “You can have it.”
“You’re sure?” Mesmerized, watching her calm, fall asleep. “I never heard of sheepskin for babies…”
“I’m sure. And I guess not many have… Amie knew all sorts of stuff. She wanted Jules to grow up with natural things… close to her and us, always.” He gestured at the baby carrier crampled on the floor. “That carrier… is not good for her…”
Benedict shrugged. “Someone bought it for us… as a present… I got it at the reception after the funeral.”
“I can give you a wrap? Teach you how to wrap it on too.”
Benedict smiled, watching Eliza sleep, her small hand lost in the sheep’s fur. “Alright… I guess I can try things… I don’t know anything about babies and stuff…”

“I’m not sure which one to choose…” Flicking that thick catalogue, his hands trembling.
He cast a wary look at her, almost an annoyed purse of his sharp lips. She scowled at him, looking back at that man, his cheeks flooded with tears.
She pulled a tissue out of a black ebony box and handed it to him. “Take your time. This is an important decision.”
He looked up, taking the tissue, blowing his nose, loud in that room draped with black velvet curtains, lined with purple, and gold fringes shimmering in that dim light. A small mournful music, barely perceptible, filled that space. That black lacquered table between them, a man and woman sitting in large dark leather armchairs, and that crying man on a sofa. Black too, soft velvet.

The young man took the glass out of her hands, arching his eyebrows. “What’s up?”
“That asshole wants his drink without ice… and I forgot because of everything else we have to do… and it’s anyway soon take-off. Fucker!” She opened the bottle, but the young man took it out of her hands.
“Hey. Let me deal with it. Just get the other stuff ready. His first drink?”
She rolled her eyes with a grateful smile. “Third.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah… oh! Mighty fine asshole, that’s for sure. Thanks, Gabe.”
“It’s nothing.”
He poured the drink and brought it to that lone man. Leaning a bit as he was tall, putting on his smile. “Your drink, sir.” Meeting his eyes as he looked up, steel blue, almost with a grey shade. Black hair cut short, a business haircut, his jaw clenched. Anger. Fear. A surprised flash in those stunning eyes, too quickly gone as he took the glass out of his hands, his lips twisting into a disgusted curve.
Damian scanned his face, a bit puzzled at this young man, as he had been expecting the blonde woman. Hazel eyes and light-brown hair, almost dark blonde, cut short, but the top had been left a bit wild, even if he’d tamed it with a dash of gel. A wide smile which seemed to light up the room. Surely a fag… He pursed his lips and took the drink, averting his eyes. He sipped the drink, trying to tame the shaking of his hand, his eyes back on the paper.
Gabe straightened and left him, feeling a bit flustered, maybe a vague shame there, but he dismissed it fast, busy with preparing the take-off. H

“I’m not leaving you alone to deal with this. It’s my shit.”
“Thanks...” That moment, stretching in time, that moment of having his hand on his arm.
It would have been easy to turn that touch into a pull, to just tip him enough to catch him, his mouth, but Siegfried let him go, and curled his hand into a fist, that touch lingering, dancing on his skin.
“Let’s go, old man.”
“Yes…” Hurrying to the entrance, the ghost of his touch on his skin. Taking the keys, he froze when he felt Siegfried behind him, close.
“I’ll make you pay for that suit.” Soft, it had his smile.
Charles smiled. “I haven’t forgotten.” A small thrill as he opened the door. Stopping a bit when he saw those strong men get out of the truck, the finality of that moment hitting him in the chest.
Siegfried’s voice. “Those are just objects, Charles. None of us take anything with us.”
“He’d be very upset, that’s all…”
“He’s dead.” Looking down into those eyes frame in gold when Charles looked back at him. Guessing. “It might be the right time for you to think about yourself. You want to keep all his shit? Or you want to turn the page?”

shouldn’t have gone out for those drinks… His friend’s mocking face floating in his mind… Come on, Jake boy, another one won’t kill you... Fucker… His eyes went wide a bit when the world turned, a dull pain in his ankle as he hit the ground. What the fuck… He sat, a bit stunned, tearing his earplugs out, his hands going to his ankle. Fuck, fuck, fuck, no, not this…. His irritation grew with his pain and his head snapped up at the voice above his head. “You need help? “ His eyes met the stranger’s kind green eyes under a mop of wet dark hair, his chest heaving from his run. He crouched down and reached out his hand, but Jake just snarled at him. “Leave it! I’m a doctor, I can take care of it!” A puzzled shadow flew across the stranger’s face, and he raised his hands. “Ok, ok…” Jake’s face softened, remorse creeping into his sour mood. “Sorry… it’s just… I don’t need an injury right now.”

He glanced at the man but he had just started eating. Cutting into that meat which fell apart like butter. He pushed a bite in his mouth, trying not to break down crying, it tasted so good, so warm. Swallowing when that dread rushed down his back. Looking up at that soft laughter.
“It’s not human, so don’t shit yourself.”
“Ok…” relieved but not believing him fully.
“And what difference would it make? Humans are animals too. Worse than animals, really…” Eating with those precise moves he had. He hadn’t bothered dressing back up either, utterly at ease with sitting there, naked. “Here… some Coke.” Handing Graham a glass. He looked up at a scratch on the door and stood, letting that large cat in. “Oh, my pretty pet… come, come…”

Quote in the middl of a moodboard “I’m a professional show jumper. A champion.” Facing him off.
Beau sucked on his teeth, unfazed. “Yeah, maybe… that was some shit riding though, champion or not.”
“I don’t have to listen to a peasant like you… the fuck you know about riding…”
“If you call that riding, what you did, I sure hope I know nothing about it…” Beau left him, before he would grab him and dunk him in the trough.
Pic collage left side a man's blu eye, a book in a western stirrup, an ass in blue jeans and chapsmiddle pic two men kissing in rain and cuddlmg, right side a man's green eye, a boot anf leg ona horse classicl saddle, a man's legs in whit riding pants nd black boots

Black cat lying among mossy rocks and near broken decorative plates in a garden with a goose statues on the right.

Bay draft horse with a white list

Going to the pen then, he gathered that sack of bones in a tattered red halter which had all but grown into his skin, rubbing the hair off the bridge of his nose. Ears pricked, sniffing Beau with that large nuzzle, somehow, that animal knew he was not going into that truck smelling of death backing to the pens.
“Come, bud… Let’s go.” Smiling a bit that he had bought that old donkey, but he walked and tugged a bit, and the donkey followed. Slow, but Beau had that patience to match his wobbly steps. To the trailer where he just opened the door, and lowered the ramp. Walking in, not even looking back, feeling him follow, feeling his nose against his back. Tying him up, he ran his hand on that meagre coat, tracing his bones, the whip scars. Putting a lump of hay in the net.
“Not too much, bud… ok? Don’t make yourself sick.” Boiling at the state of that animal. “We’re going home. I have a new friend for you, you’ll see.” Smiling, watching the donkey munch that hay, careful.
He locked him up and climbed up, starting the engine, rolling out softly under that rising sun. Putting the radio on, some country songs filling the air, and all felt good and right, that warm blood raced around by his generous heart. A tiny idea there, taking shape as he hummed the tune of the song. A tiny thought, his heart warm.

Jean-Pierre gestured at him after the meeting. “Coffee?”
“Yeah, I could use one.” Forcing his voice out. Thankfully, his cock had managed to calm down so he could stand, gather his laptop.
They dumped them at their desks and walked to the coffee machine. Cole let Jean-Pierre make them, hand him his cup. That same fleeting touch, that tiny spark of fire.
Jean-Pierre leant against the counter, the sun flooding the room, watching Cole above his cup as he sipped his coffee. He knew what he was seeing, he had known the moment their eyes had met. The way Cole blushed, unaware, the way he twisted his ring all the time, even taking it off, rolling it in his fingers just to slip it back on, sometimes looking a bit guilty, mortified, even. Watching that younger man with his neat haircut, his ironed light blue shirt, and his blue and red striped tie. That guilty despair in those rich brown eyes. Pauvre con… Jean-Pierre tamed that curve of his lips, pondering, still. If he should. Even if he knew that he would. He would tip that trembling man over, just to show him what he was hiding from. What he was missing.
Cole swallowed at the light in Jean-Pierre’s eyes, trying to ignore it, that predatory gaze. A bit envious too, that Jean-Pierre just embraced who he was, blatantly unashamed, provocative, even. Wondering how it could feel, to be this shameless and carefree. Maybe the French factor. His guts clenching at his own thoughts. Dead scared that he could barely breathe when it had not been such a huge issue for long years. This can’t be happening… it will pass… Unconvinced.

Their eyes met, and Benedict could get some calm from his green eyes, somehow… somehow, there was maybe some light and respite. Safety too, from his own thoughts. His ghost.
“Frank… thank you.”
Franks’ heart raced at his name. “Hey, no big deal…” Patting his hand. “Let me find that bed. Just relax a bit. Or try.”
Benedict gave him a shadow of a smile, looking down at the baby. Unreal. A hard time to fathom she was real… and not going anywhere. That white panic at what he was facing, alone.

Henna patterns with an ink blotch raven in the middle of a hand

A left hand with black ivy patterns left and right and an ink booth raven in the middle

Black cat in a relaxed pose with a paw curled inward and claws sliding out.

Black cat lying next to my hip on a beach towel laid on a swing bed and licking his fur.

A cup of coffee in a flamingo cup with a wild garden in the background.

Still, next evening, he was waiting for them, hearing the door open, he raised his eyes as he knelt there. An ingrained routine, honed during long months with Raymond, his back softly aching even I the lashes had closed. Raymond walked in, talking to a man older than him, stockier, his balding head, but he had a perky gait, laughing at something Raymond said with that charming voice he could conjure. And behind them, a tall, lanky young man in heeled boots, black stocking and a purple mini skirt reflecting the light. A shimmering green top and his hair cropped short, a single blue butterfly pinned in it. A large bracelet on that slender arm, and the collar, almost like a piece of jewellery, silver and thin. His eyes went to River and they locked, an amused glint invading those golden green eyes. Nails painted deep purple.
Raymond stopped in front of River. “No need to take the shoes off, we’re going straight to dinner.” He put a hand on River’s shoulder. “This is my slave. River.”
That older man smiled. “Ah, River… Raymond talks a lot about you.”
Raymond scowled.
The older guy turned to that young man who had laced his arm into his. “Better looking than you thought, my love? What great luck.”
That young slave just tilted his head with a small smile. Not mocking. And River was a bit lost in those stunning eyes. Maybe staring too, he snapped his gaze away when Raymond squeezed his shoulder.
“Well… maybe. Serve dinner, River.”

“Morning, my prince… had a good sleep? You ate? Had your full?”
Andrew didn’t think he should answer instead of the cat, but talking to an animal puzzled him, still, a bit, even if he had done it without thinking.
The cat curled up in his lap, purring.
Andrew put his coffee in front of him, his breakfast. A pang to that unruly heart when those blue eyes went to him, his fingers lost in the cat’s fur.
“I gather this was not a challenge.”
“No, sir.” He stayed standing on the other side of the island, waiting.
He sighed, annoyed. “Won’t you eat? Or at least have a coffee. It’s awkward that you just stand there.”
“As you wish.” Andrew had a bit given up pleasing him, deciding to stick to his orders and be polite and detached. Brewing a coffee and even if didn’t do much, he was looking forward at the taste.
Going back to face him, he sat on a stool, still, not to annoy him. Sipping that coffee whilst he ate, scrolling the news on a tablet built into the counter.
“Mhm…” Almost speaking to that robot, but he caught himself, pushing more food into his mouth. Annoyed, to no end, because with his human assistants, he often discussed the news, their trip, even if the last one he had gotten had been cold and distant a bit… Glancing at that machine, but his eyes were lost a bit on the window, maybe, the stars filling that vast sphere. A soft ache pushing at his chest, because somehow, he seemed human almost with that melancholic look in his eyes… Fuck that!

#575 in Bisexual Fiction

Gearing up as the fights rumbled in the arena already, a much larger one than Brutus was used to, he had that mild stress invading his insides when he had to face a crowd. Still. Tightening his straps, checking Alekhos’ too as he did the same, tightening their leather armbands, checking their swords, their helmets. Tucking it under their arm as Agenor had said they had to first show their face.
Alekhos spread his hands, holding his helmet, slowly turning around, grinning and waving. “Champions show off.”
Brutus shot him a dark look, unable to even go there in thought. “I am not champion.”
Alekhos tossed him in the chest, “Not yet.” Poking his tongue out at that anger flooding those grey-blue eyes. “Come, you beast. Time to shine.”
Lining up, he had quieted too, that tangible death so close as bloodied bodies got dragged off the sand, sliding next to them on that sloping stone. Music playing above the cacophony of the crowd. Deep breaths as they rolled their shoulders to fit their armors better, the heat of the sand pouring down like a beast’s maul.
“Let’s go, boys.” Agenor, with that reassuring voice.

He walked in, smiling, going straight to the kitchen. He sat at that small table, putting his ankle on his other knee, his arm on the table. Drumming his fingers a bit as he looked around. “Charming little kitchen… Is this part of the priest zero comfort package? A shabby little flat with a seedy kitchen and a shower I wouldn’t wash my dog in?”
Matteo shot him a look, taking the kettle off the flames. “Frugality. That is all you need.”
“And a giant cross to remind you that you haven’t suffered enough.” Grinning.
Matteo turned to him. “Would you like some tea?”
“With a dash of rum?” Laughing at Matteo’s face. “I didn’t think so. Yes, please, Father.”
Matteo took some filters and put them in two mugs, pouring that scalding water on them. He placed a mug in front of Byron, trying to ignore how blatantly he was looking at him, trying to catch his eyes.
“Thank you.”
Matteo turned to the stove to avoid those amused eyes. “You’re hungry?”
“I wouldn’t dare impose myself on your dinner.”
Matteo sighed. “You… just answer me.”
“I could eat…” The way his voice softened at the end made Matteo turn, his heart in his throat. Meeting that amused smile. “Whatever you cook.”
“It’s pasta…”
“Frugal. I see.” Laughing he took the filter out and scooped some sugar in his mug from a bowl on the table. Sipping that scorching tea.
“Careful, it’s hot…”
Byron grinned. “I love it hot.”
Matteo put the pasta in that boiling water, stirring. Setting a small kitchen timer. He sat then, carefully testing the tea. “Uh… this is scalding.”
Byron swallowed a large gulp. “Is it? Uncanny. It seems lukewarm.”

Later, when they had cleaned up and did the washing up, filled the machine too, Siegfried was standing at the back door, ready to sneak around to his father’s house to seem like he had slept there.
Charles readjusted his shirt collar, smoothing it down. “See you soon?”
“All eager to get cock?” He had grinned away how leaving was tearing him apart a bit.
“Maybe.” Charles’ eyes smiled.
“But not here, ok? I want to hear you. Come tomorrow?”
“Already?” That fright, coiling in his guts.
“Oh, come over and we’ll see. Nothing is compulsory, old man. Just an opportunity…” Smoothing a rogue strand back on that hair Charles hadn’t bother combing back.
“I’ll come then.”
“And sleep over?” Hoping.
Charles swallowed. “I can make a story up, maybe…”
Siegfried hid how moved he was. “Oh, grand. Please and thank you.” Taking his hand, he kissed it as his eyes played. “I can take my time with you then… See you Charles Henry.” Moving towards the door.
Charles’ heart lurched as he lost his touch. “I miss you… I’ll miss you…”
Siegfried turned back, his hand on the handle, that mocking grin, but his eyes betrayed him, filled with that warm light Charles knew by now, that rare light over the murky waters of his hate. “Oh, I miss you too already, old man.., Hurry tomorrow.”
“I shall…” Giving him a small wave, as his heart beat against his chest.
Siegfried couldn’t even hold back, couldn’t leave him standing there, those sad eyes in their golden frames, his hunched shoulders. Scooping him up, he pulled him up to his mouth. Kissing him, deep, giving a small nip to his lower lip.
Charles hissed at that sharp pain, a dull throb as his tongue licked over it.
“So you remember me…” Smoothing that ache away with his thumb, but the throbbing stayed, that murdered flesh pulsing with Charles’ racing heartbeat.

“You’re speechless, old man? Good.” That soft grin as they walked to that open casket. “I’m doing this farcical masquerade for you, just remember it. Fuck them.” Gesturing a bit around, to all those guests eating them up with their eyes. “Your family? Charming.”
“You…”
“Me.” Facing him, with that smile Charles knew by heart, that insolent quirk of his lips. Out of his usual clothes and his eyes wiped clean, he seemed a different man. A hint of Warren there, despite that hate, he couldn’t deny it, that blood. The way he stood, his shoulders dropped, his mouth curbed, his jaw and cheeks. Charles shuddered, looking down at his friend’s remains. Barely recognizable, even if the funeral home did a stunning job. His hands folded on his chest over a Bible, a rosary wrapped around those pale yellow hands.
“Bastard looks better than I thought…” That bitter edge in his smile.
Charles sighed, hoping Siegried hadn’t been too loud. “Yes… just tame your mouth.”
Siegfried almost burst out laughing. He leant to Charles, pretending to say something in his ear. “I wish I could show you just how tame that mouth can be…” Meeting those stunned eyes, how his cheeks had flamed up.

Paul took that large round donut coated in chocolate. Filled with a rich cream, it melted in his mouth, bringing some tears in his eyes as his blood warmed. Confessing this, not even knowing why. “I told the psychiatrist that I had cheated on Randy with you… because he was prying on our relationship and I had no better idea…” Glancing at him, burning. “Not that we have anything…” Laughing nervously, he washed the rest of the donut down with his coffee.
Troy just smiled. “Well, in a way, we both lied. No harm there.” Eating too, his eyes roaming that room, the floor.
Paul just watched him, somehow wishing that that lie were truth, even if it was madness to even go there in thought, Randy barely buried, and him straight out of death’s maul. His blood burning when Troy wiped a crumb off with his thumb, sucking it in his mouth.
He looked at his watch. “I’d like to stay and chat, but I have to go, sorry. I’ll pop in tomorrow.” He stood, and cleared the cups and plates away, steeping to the small sink to rinse the plates, lining them near the tiles.
You’re always this neat? That question, unasked, only in Paul’s eyes.
Troy turned to him, his heart tight, seeing that pale face, those feeble hands on the covers. “You’ll be fine until tomorrow? Just call if you have to talk. Maybe call your friends?”
Paul’s eyes never left him. “I don’t really have friends…”
Troy smiled. “Ok… call me then?” Fishing Paul’s phone out of his bag, he put it near his hand. “Here.”
“You might be busy… or asleep… I don’t want to…” Looking up at him when he stepped closer and brushed his fingers down his lips. That touch, barely there.
His eyes, stern a bit. “You can call. Any time. Don’t be alone.”
Sighing, his lips tingling. “Fine. Thank you. For everything.”

Cover of sentence for life by Maxime Jaz. A man on black background, half naked leaning against a wall like structure. Maxime Jaz author of Donum

Mood board pic collage with a quote on top "if you win that freedom will you take me with you?" "Brutus grinned pushing a palm on his cheek "yes" "Promise?"his face blurring. "I promise "top left a man's grey eye, under it a man's muscled backa.nd arms , caption Brutus top right a man's bony back, a man's blue eye caption Rufus . Background is blood spatter over Roman mosaic of gladiators fighting . Bottom Maxime Jaz

He let him loose in the round pen, took the halter off too as the horse set off, nervous, sniffing the ground with loud snorts, his tail raised high.
Finn caught up with Beau. “Not a great idea… how will we catch him now? Fuck….”
Beau just smiled, leaning on the pen’s railing, his leg on the lower one. “Let him run a bit, discover this new space. Then you’ll go in.”
“What? You’re insane!”
Beau looked at him. “You have to. He’s your horse. And you don’t talk.”
“Fuck. Where’s the whip?”
Beau laughed. “Whip? You go in with this lead rope and your bare ass.”
“No way.” Shaking his head, he shrunk back when Lance trotted close, and menacingly swung his head at Finn. “He’ll kill me…”
“Not if you run fast enough… Now, just go in and stand in the middle. If he charges, you spread your hands, high, and stand your ground. If he doesn’t stop, you run for it. Again and again, until you can push him away, then you chase him.”
“I saw those bullshit videos… it’s not real, those are trained horses.”
“Try it.” Pushing on his back. “Get your ass in there.”
Finn blew a breath, but opened that small gate. “If I die, my father will kill you.”

It was on that dance floor under white lampions and glowing stars, drunk, that he kissed (redacted), out of the blue whilst she was grinding against him, clinging to him, and he could not remember if she had pulled him on her mouth, or he had, all hazy, that kiss too, chaste, polite, their lips locked, a hint of her lipstick’s fruity taste. Sweaty, he still held her, and let her smash her lips on his, not daring to open up because what if that was already too much for her chastity wow… A vague memory of escorting her back to her bungalow, and somehow making it to his own, lying in bed, looking at the picture of Lance and that donkey, reading his texts. Don’t stress… The phone plummeting on his chest, his mouth on fire, her taste lingering.

Following him, his eyes roaming that vast space. Glancing at the bed, he had to swallow. He turned to Siegfried when he walked close.
“You’re scared, old man? What did I tell you?” Smoothing his hair back.
“That you won’t hurt me.”
“That’s right. And you better cling to that…” His eyes playing in their black frames. “I sure hope though I will make you scream for all the right reasons…”
“Scream…” Outraged a bit, in disbelief, even if his lips quirked.
“That’s right…” Pushing him to the bed. “But first… it’s care time.”
Charles glanced at the bed covered with a towel like cover. “Oh…”
“It’s special… for sex and fluids… not that I give a fuck about the sheets, but I want to mess up several of these today…”
“I’m old… I might not…” Protesting a bit, even if Siegfried had pulled his T-shirt off.
“But you are… and fuck old…” Lacing his arms around him, pulling him against his body. A deep kiss, his hands roaming down to his ass. Grabbing it, hard. “This… is our centre of attention today…”
Charles floated a bit on that soft pain. “I see…” His belly filled with that tension, his blood rushing to his cock which just hardened against Siegfried’s thigh.
“Oh, I see… all eager?” Squeezing harder, he almost lifted him off his feet. “All eager…” Pushing him on the bed, he pulled his clothes off.

Harry read the names above the ponies’ halter. “Peanut, Nutmeg, Ginger, Pepper… all nuts and spices?”
Beau glanced at him. “Yeah… ponies tend to be spicy.”
Harry laughed. “That’s true. A bit nutty too.”
Beau straightened. “They sure are fun.”
Finnegan was boiling. “Horses need a firm hand. They shouldn’t be fun, not when our life depends on them.”
Beau smirked. “You seem like a ton of fun, lad.”
“Stop calling me lad!”
Beau scoffed, putting the broom away. Looking down into his eyes. “Make me.”
Harry and Carla laughed.
Finnegan’s anger flooded him. “Just watch yourself.”
“Am pissing my pants. Sure.” Tipping his hat, he left them, hoping that those few months would fly fast and they’d be out of his hair. He couldn’t stand intruders to his world, specially not ones who gave no shit about horses, save to use and abuse them for profit.

Leading another trail ride this time with teens, he could glimpse Finnegan fighting with his horse, his coach shouting orders. The whip, those harsh ties, Beau couldn’t even count them, the horse’s head tied down as he cantered, rage in his eyes. The same rage in Finnegan’s eyes as he sawed the bit in the horse’s mouth. Buddy looked at them as they were walking outside, his ears pricked towards that new horse he couldn’t meet.
Beau patted his neck. “Aren’t you glad you’re no five million bucks horse, Buddy?” Wincing at another swish of the whip, the horse bucking, almost sending Finnegan flying as he was howling, gripping the reins to stay in the saddle. “Aren’t you glad, boy…” Buddy just snorted, walking with a good pace towards that lush landscape they could not get enough off, the youngsters chatting in the background, their hearts flying with that slight spring wind.

Helmans creamy ranch sauce

“Mitch. There’s someone here for you.” Giving him a look before he let his hand go of the door frame and walked inside.
Mitch. Frozen at the name of the stranger he was looking for. Watching with a hammering heart a man emerge from a small, glass walled office. A tall man, his white T-shirt straining on his broad shoulders, red shorts, flip flops. That black hair he could remember. His tanned skin. His hands filled with veins. Cocking his head with a squint of his eyes, wrinkles crinkling at the corners. Blue eyes, like that sky that day. He had a smile on, maybe having recognized him, maybe… he was hoping he didn’t have to explain.
That strong hand, reaching out. “How are you?”
He shook it, limp. “Hi… I’m fine… I wanted to thank you for…” Saving my life. It sounded lame. His lips trying to form words he could not push out, lost in his eyes, in his touch. One that went when he let his hand go.
“It’s my job. Glad you’re doing ok. We were not sure you’d make it.”
“I didn’t know it was you… I mean I had to ask your colleague there who did… CPR on me. He was not happy. That I’m here.”
“It’s fine. He’s just protective of our space.” Tilting his head. “I had a hard time recognizing you too. Your hair was wet and a mess.” It was honey blond now, in large curls, down to his ears. Soft green eyes, verging on grey when the light hit them. A lanky body, lean muscles from what he could see under his sleeveless shirt and shorts and remember. His lips too, full, with an impeccable curve. Damn young too… “Anything else I can help with?”
He shifted on his feet, licking his lips with that stressed out look in his eyes. “I’d like to thank you… not just like this… Maybe I can pay you a drink? After work?” He had managed, to keep those large eyes on him.

Waking at the lights of dawn, his throat aching, Ruby had no idea where he was for a moment. Trying to breathe in all that fright, he had to push himself away from that man sleeping in the bed… not just a man, a stranger, Buck… that relief there, even if he had no idea how the sky was clearing when they had just gone to bed. The soft noise of morning traffic seeping in, someone coughing next door, cars pulling out of the parking lot. Calming a bit, he laid his hands under his cheek, barely breathing as he watched Buck sleep. On his back, he had a hand on his chest, lips parted. A deep sleep, something Ruby hadn’t known until now… wondering how he had fallen asleep, the last memory of him crying bringing a vague shame. His eyes roaming that man under the sheets, almost a pull there to push his hands under them, find his cock. I could suck him out of his sleep… but he was too scared. It had earned him some hefty slaps sometimes. Buck would never… but they had just met, and Ruby knew that every honeymoon phase would turn into a nightmare. Even if Buck didn’t give him any reasons to doubt him, Ruby couldn’t trust him. Not yet. Sleep was not possible though, so he stayed, huddled away from him, even if he sort of knew Buck wouldn’t mind if he cuddled up. Too scared to disappoint, too scared to push, he stayed put, just watching him. Waiting for him to wake up as the sky lit up.

Top of a laptop and view on green trees in a garden and a covered terrace with lattice on top

Days churning, those days always the same, in that tomb flat, and River was losing it a bit, not seeing other humans but the one, the one he hated the most. The one who invaded his body over and over again, his friends, his colleagues, whomever he brought home on a whim. And one day, River rebelled a bit, a mild smirk, maybe, one he couldn’t hold back. Too late, when he realized it, that Raymond had caught that pull of his lips.
“Get the rod.”
River’s lips parted. Almost objecting.
Raymond’s eyes blazed. “Go and get it. Or you’ll get worse.”
River went to the cupboard and took out that rod, the chain glinting in that soft light. He almost grazed his hand down it, but caught himself, bringing the rod to Raymond. He didn’t dare ask what he’d done wrong, his heart hammering in his throat. Stripping his top, he knelt, curbing his back as he braced himself on his thighs. How bad could it be… That swish cut his words, his thoughts. That insane pain as the skin ripped on his back. A howl. One he could not recognize, blinking against that white light as his drenched hands went to the cool floor. Another swish. This time, River had jerked away from the pain.
“Don’t move.”
A third one.

Byron smirked and slid next to him in bed. He faced Matteo, his eyes burning with soft flames as his heat flooded them under that flimsy blanket. Byron flicked it. “This goes soon… I’ll bring you some proper bed sheets.”
Matteo protested softly. “It’s not necessary.” Shutting up at that burning finger sliding on his lips.
“Tut-tut. Shut up, Father. And now, you can tell me why the tears…”
Matteo’s eyes welled up. “I don’t know… hard day… and I have a lot on my mind.”
“A lot, or me?” Grinning, he slid his palm on Matteo’s pale cheek. Wondering why he bothered to ask anything, or to care, when he should have just fucked him in the mattress.
“You’re a lot.” Almost smiling with that bitter tone in his voice.
“Am I just? It’s true.” Amused, he kept stroking that cool cheek. His own thoughts surprising him as they stumbled out of his mouth. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re exhausted and messed up.”
Matteo swallowed. “Then why are you here?”
“To keep you company.” He didn’t even believe his own words.

Next one, and then Brutus. Relieved when he saw his hands. He had to grab them, soft, run his fingers on the pad of his thumbs, looking up into his eyes. That exhaustion laced with warmth. He was bleeding again, that forehead wound, and he was pale, so pale…
Rufus took that special bowl he had prepared him, coated extra thick with honey, nuts and fruits, and ladled a good dose of oatmeal on top.
Whispering as he put it in his trembling hands. “Rest a bit?”
Brutus just nodded, taking the bowl in. Watching him leave, a fleeting moment when he could not see him anymore, even with his face close to the grates. He shuffled to his bed and plopped down, scooping that hot mush out with his fingers, licking them off. Smiling when he found that treat at the bottom, almost moaning it felt so good to have that small bit of extra food and honey. It found his blood, rushed to his pale, cold cheeks, warming him up. He grazed that wound, rubbed off the blood as best as he could off his face. Not daring to waste water from that single jug, he wiped at it with his palm. Hot… and dizzy,.. he could feel it swollen a bit around the stitches.

That mouth wrenched off his mouth in all that haze as he drew in a breath. Eyes opening, his ears registering the shouting, claps, relieved voices and cries. Trying to see that shadow over him, his black hair against the sun as he turned to someone. That muscled, tanned chest… Who? That salty, warm vomit rushing up his throat, bubbling up as he choked. Firm hands turning him to the side, holding his forehead as he threw up, the sand grinding under his teeth, on his tongue… Aches, every breath a struggle. Turned on his back on something hard, a mask pushed on his face. Cool flow of air… He gulped at it, almost tearing the mask off, squinting against the sun, that warm hand clamping on his flailing hand. Easy… Deep voice, his features melted into the sun. Red shorts. His eyelids fluttering, closing his eyes, feeling vaguely being hauled up, carried on that sand, the sky swimming above him, the sun, the clouds. Peace…

“Suit yourself… we have to ride back, but if you don’t want to refresh yourself… Fine.” Pulling a shirt on, he buttoned it and sat on the log. He didn’t put his hat on, brewing something in a small jug, the scent of coffee flooding the air around them. Another pot steaming on the fire.
Finn went and cautiously washed his hands and his face, flinching. “Oh fuck, it’s cold.”
Beau laughed. “Come, sissy, eat and drink some coffee.” He handed Finn a bowl. “Oatmeal and honey. A few slices of apples too.” Handing him a steaming mug. “Coffee…”
Finn gingerly tasted that mush, but soon, he was eating with an appetite he never knew he had. “Mhm… very nice…” Drinking that strong coffee, bitter and sweet dancing in his mouth.
“Yep… fuels you up…”
Wondering how a kiss would taste in the morning with all the tastes in their mouth. Somehow, Beau being alone with him gave all sorts of ideas to Finn. Dreadful ones.
He breathed against that clutch on his chest. “So, what’s the plan?”
Fuck you senseless in the tent… “We go back and you let Lance rest today. Then, tomorrow, just show up in some working clothes, not your jumping show ones…”
“Like jeans and shit?”
“And shit… yeah…” Laughing softly, he swallowed and turned to Finn. Watching him a bit under that raw sun, how it danced in those green eyes under that rich blonde guy hair, how they had glints of gold. He had to look away to breathe all the things he wanted to do away. “We’ll work a bit then, dance, if you want to call it that… Lance will hate you but don’t give up. You buried yourself deep.”
“I figure…” Somehow, he could hardly speak. Fuck. “Could we come back here? Someday…”
“I hope with Lance next time.” Giving him a wink.
“Impossible…”
“Nothing’s impossible.” Sipping his coffee.

On purplish castle with a moat and bridge background, autumn leaves on top and across. Top right KU banner, bottom right a raven graphic, to the left the book's mockup Khirion by Maxime Jaz, graphic of a girl reading a book, a stack of books next to her. Sparkles. Line art of a man and a woman face, he's kissing her forehead, and a man behind the man, his lips on his neck. Ravens flying above the quote: Dark lips, almost with a grey-violet tint… They were soft on her skin, and his eyes never left her, filled with lust too, almost as dark as his pupils. A play of the lights… Letting him pull her close, slide his hands behind her neck, under her hair, his eyes asking, and she parted her lips, that mad wish for revenge warming her chest, laced with her yearning. For him. Maybe for them… She had no idea, having only known her husband, and a vague curiosity crept above her fear.

His lips parted. “Definitely not you…” Stroking, pushing his lips on those terrified ones, to soothe that fear, that guilt as his other hand slid on Charles’ ass. “I need you out of your clothes.” Letting him go, he pushed his pants off, helping Charles out of his too. Pulling him close, blending him against his body on their sides, his hand gliding down that shivering, soft skin. “I missed you… a lot… I missed you during the night… and that is a problem now, Charles Henry, you, in my brain…”
“I’m sorry…”
“The fuck you are…” Amused, he sealed his lips, reaching down to take their cocks in his hand, stroking as his thigh went over Charles’ hip, to keep him close, not let him escape.
A soft whine, one he didn’t even knew he could make, but Charles let him take over, daring to move his hips too, even if it was still shy, barely there, as if his body had to be woken up from those long years of nothing. It felt right, though, to be in his arms, the arms of a man, and Charles had to try and forget all his thoughts on how he had lived his life so far… missing something that had maybe been there all along. Holding Siegfried tighter, pulling closer to escape his own fear. Staying blended to his body, his mouth, because no matter what this was and how long it would last, Charles didn’t want to miss a moment of it.

Next day, Khraal walked to him to another part of the castle where they hadn’t been, a large room where they stood on a balcony half-way up a wall. Darven’s eyes wide on the slumbering beings on the floor below, the room huge, stretching into darkness. Skeletons sleeping hunched up, sitting, their heads bowed, or so it seemed. The whole room damp, cold, the smell of decay pervading everything. He leant against the railing, his despair invading him as his eyes roamed that silent crowd of the dead. So many… He jolted at Khraal’s hand on his back.
“Like what you see?”
“I’m not sure…” His voice vaulted into that huge room, bouncing off the walls, even if he had tamed it, out of respect maybe for those dead forms on the ground.
“An army which doesn’t need sustenance, water, training. Just a space to sleep until they are summoned. Perfect, isn’t it?” Darven met those flaming eyes, his grin. “An army… an army you might just need…”
Darven’s eyes went wide. “No.”

Finn frowned. “Showjumping is not wiggling your ass in chaps on a saddle.” Feeling flames creep to his face, he had to face Beau when he stopped.
Amused. “Really? And how do you know how an ass looks in chaps?”
Finn almost sunk into the ground. “I have eyes…”
“I see.” Grinning, he set off. “I hope your trip goes well.”

He smirked. “Just as I thought. Ugly as fuck. Come, beast, let us end this.”
A sharp snort made him jolt, eyes wide as the beast just lurched for him. Theseus’s heart leapt into his throat, but he raised his sword, ducking away from that meaty fist. Lashing out, but the beast jumped aside with surprising agility. Theseus spun to face him, laughing.
“The best you can do?” His blood burning. “Animal.” Attacking straight away, catching those beast eyes darkening. He missed the monster’s flank by a hair width, rolling to parry another swing of that large fist. Running to evade it, but the monster followed, snorting as it reached for him. Theseus rolled again, cutting towards the back, catching the monster on its side. It howled, somewhere between a cry and a growl.
Theseus laughed as he steadied himself, that dark blood flowing down his blade to his fist. “Fuck you, monster. Do you know who you are facing? Abomination… you will die today. Die in this gods forsaken place where you belong… Monster.” He had said it with a sneer, almost spitting the word.
Waiting, holding his sword, watching the beast let go of his bleeding side and turn to him. Raw hate in those dark eyes. He took off, running towards Theseus.

There was no other memory of his father but his hands, his fists, his belt and whatever else he could lay his hands on. No other memory but that raw fear slowly nursed into hate through the blows, the bruises, the broken bones, the split lips, the swollen eyes. Going to school, black and blue, and no one cared, no one said a thing, no one dared to say anything because they sort of knew it was a lost cause. Going against a cop. Going against someone everyone knew. One man who gave a lot of laughter and love to everyone but his family. One boy, and three girls followed, but somehow the girls were spared, maybe because he wanted to make sure they got decent husbands. He had never found out. Taking the beatings with a raging heart, that small, trembling boy growing into a defiant teenager. One that caught his friends’ eyes one day when they were having a backyard barbecue with booze. His father had caught his chin. He’s pretty alright. That danger in his eyes, that cold hate.

“Go in and walk a bit with him, just be with him. Then you can climb on.”
“I have to have a saddle and bridle! What the fuck!” Mad and scared, he clutched those ropes, eyeing the horse.
Beau smiled. “No, you don’t. Trust, first. Then your fancy gear.”
“It’s madness.”
Beau sucked on his teeth as his eyes followed the horse. “It’s trust.” Looking at Finn. “Get your ass in there.”

watercolor pencil drawing of two men kissing, the black haired one face uptruned towards a man with long brown wavy hair

moodboard 3x3 with quote in the middle. Left pics, a man's blue eyes, a man's boot in a western stirrup on a bay horse, a man's ass in jeans, and leather chaps. Middle pics two men kissing under the rain, a man's face snuggled up in another man's neck. Right pics a man's green eye, a man's leg in riding boots and pants, English style, a man's legs in white showjumper pants, and knee high black boots.
Quote“I’m a professional show jumper. A champion.” Facing him off.
Beau sucked on his teeth, unfazed. “Yeah, maybe… that was some shit riding though, champion or not.”
“I don’t have to listen to a peasant like you… the fuck you know about riding…”
“If you call that riding, what you did, I sure hope I know nothing about it…” Beau left him, before he would grab him and dunk him in the trough.
Maxime Jaz

Half eyed black cat lying on my chest and looking at the camera