Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

"CJ" I know returns. I missed his vocal swagger.
    He continues, "It just so happens you're great too." He adds in a whisper, "Better than I am."
    If that's not the sweetest thing I've ever heard him say… Thank God it's still dark in the room because I'm certain my face is crimson. I have no response to that, so I nuzzle into his neck instead.
    "Heath?"
    "Yeah?"
    "What's your middle name?"
    "William."
    I look up from my exploration of his neck to stare him in the eyes.
    "Christ, really??" Turning my face into the pillow, I muffle, "It would have to be some variation of Bill."
    "What?"
    "Nothing. Never mind. Just don't tell anyone else that. Ever."
    Heath chuckles at me.
    "Heath?"
    "Yeah?"
    And I kiss him.
    EPILOGUE
    With some really great physical therapy and a roommate willing to torture me if I don't remember the strengthening exercises, I'm actually in condition to walk across the graduation stage without crutches. I feel so incredibly liberated knowing I'm done with school. Well, at least done until this fall, when I hope to have a job teaching French to unenthusiastic teens in one of the local high schools.
    On the weekend between our conference finals and NCAA regional qualifiers, Heath and I move into an apartment near campus. My dad said he will pay for it over the summer so I can interview with local school systems more conveniently. Once I have a solid job plan for the fall, I'll probably move. I told Dad about Heath's situation and Dad said Heath can live with me until the track house reopens and Heath can move back in for his senior year. And if I didn't give Dad all of the details about me and Heath, so sue me. Dad doesn't need to know just how much Heath means to me quite yet.
    I don't know if I'll want to let go of Heath when school starts back up, but he says if he stays with me during the fall, he might lose his competitive edge.
    I don't believe there's a chance in hell of him losing his edge.
    Heath is way too good at it.
     
    THE END
    Author bio: Adara O'Hare is a geek in writer's clothing— a mild-mannered website designer by day and a wife, mother, reader, and sometimes writer by night. She enjoys Star Wars, Firefly, manga (includes yaoi), anime (very little yaoi), and a whole lot of other hobbies, mostly encompassed by the Society for Creative Anachronism (SCA). She still has her collections of board and card games, stuffed animals, original My Little Ponies, and Star Wars books and action figures, though not really anyplace to put them at the moment. Thank goodness most of her M/M romance collection is eBook, not physical, or there would be no space at all left to walk in the dining room.
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    ****

CONSTABLE OF DISTURBIA
    by Darcy Abriel

    He's a madman: a megalomaniac bent on destroying the world in a cloud of chemicals and remaking it with him at the helm. And I'm standing right beside him.
    ~ Adara

    genre: dark fantasy/steampunk/alternate worlds
    tags: scientist; constable; alienist; automaton; conflicted heroes; dark and twisted
    content warnings: explicit language; explicit situations/threesome; dubious HFN (very dubious); drug use; hints of sadism/masochism; hints of sexual torture, behavior modification and rape
    word count: 22,327
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    CONSTABLE OF DISTURBIA
    by Darcy Abriel
     
    CHAPTER 1
    "Am I satisfactory, sir?"
    Sam inspected the handsome young man standing before him. Pretty might be a better word with his perfectly dark brows arched over periwinkle eyes, long dark lashes. The stunning brilliance of shoulder-length burnished auburn hair dusted his broad shoulders. Dressed not as an upscale gentleman, but clothed in a conglomeration of beautiful and bright colors. The trousers dark, resting on narrow hips, fashionable and dapper. A casual cream shirt opened at the neck, exposing a pale column of throat, a glimpse of his smooth, hairless chest. He wore a waistcoat of paisley, stitched and sewed to enhance his slender, youthful frame well. The beige leather coat, utilitarian, or might have been except for the black velvet-covered lapels and cuffs, adding that dash of dapper and debonair, with just a touch of untamed. And then, of course, the hat resting upon his longish locks. A black bowler ribboned in periwinkle to match his eyes, a brace of scarlet poppies settled at the curve of the brim.
    But it wasn't the outfit that Sam scrutinized so thoroughly, it was the man-image beneath the