Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 8

breath and the light scratch against his neck as Sam silently begged for more.
    I love you, Devin thought just before saying it aloud, a whisper into the crook of Sammy's neck as he writhed beneath him. He repeated it again as they moved together, more urgent this time. Sam locked his arms around Devin's chest and arched his hips up. Their eyes met. Sam had heard, but he was beyond words. Beyond anything but the way they felt, together.
    Devin repeated it again for good measure, pulling Sammy tighter to him as he moved, meeting him thrust for thrust, coming so hard and fast spots swam before his eyes. Sam followed soon after; Dev's name an oath on his lips as he cried out, his voice echoing around the quiet room. Devin kissed him again, hard, then pulled out, tossing the slick condom into the trashcan. More kisses followed, sleepy, thankful, content, and they settled onto the bed, Sam draped across Devin's chest.
    A long time passed before either of them moved or spoke. It had grown dark outside. Dev wondered if he should get up and close the bedroom door, but he knew Mike would understand. Besides, he couldn't bring himself to leave Sam's arms.
    Sam cleared his throat. "How long was I asleep?"
    "Not long. Maybe twenty minutes."
    Sam moved to look up at him. Devin could just make out his grin in the darkness. "You clocked how long I'd been asleep?"
    Devin laughed. "Yeah, I was wondering when the sleeping angel was going to be replaced by the sexy little devil again."
    "Whenever you want it," Sam said. He placed a kiss on the underside of Devin's jaw and returned his head to Dev's chest. "You know what this means, right?"
    You're home. You're not leaving. I never have to feel lost without you again. Heady stuff, Devin's thoughts. Aloud, he said, "I have to stop fighting with Lee?"
    Sam chuckled. "Worse. Mike gets to say 'I told you so.'"
    Devin laughed and pulled Sam tight against his chest. "I think he's earned this one."
    THE END
    Author bio: Sara Winters began reading at three, writing fiction at six and had become totally immersed in the idea of creating new worlds before becoming fully aware of her place in this one. Writing has always been her number one love, bringing hours of enjoyment and earning her the privilege of being able to connect with people from all walks of life with just a few descriptive sentences. When she allows herself to spend time in the real world, she is a professional procrastinator in her late twenties with half a dozen unfinished novels and ideas for two dozen more.
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SHADOW DANCE
    by Cherie Noel

    On a highly polished floor, two supple young men rest. The wall behind them is a deep wine red color, and lights glow along the edge of the stage so brightly the floor they rest on appears to be mirrored, reflecting their intertwined forms back up at them. Though still, the shape the make together is so dynamic it appears to move. One young man's face is visible and clearly marks him as being of Asian descent, while the other young man's is hidden. They are dressed in white loin cloths, and their skin shimmers with the sweat of their exertions.

    Dear Author
    On stage they move together beautifully, fluid and flawless and perfectly in sync. Off stage, they dance around each other, hesitant and uncoordinated. What keeps them apart? What steps must they take before they find their rhythm?
    Sincerely,
    Samantha

    genre: contemporary
    tags: dancers; star-crossed lovers; sweet/no penetrative sex; some grief; HFN; gay-for-you; coming out
    word count: 32,438
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    Dedication
    This one is for Sam, because she asked, and for Patric, my Balthazar, because he is. I dream of you among the stars, dancing shadow dances of your own.

     
    SHADOW DANCE
    by Cherie Noel
    CHAPTER 1
    ~First Impressions~
    The voices of the flutes and drums echoed through the small studio where Hinata danced. He closed his mind to all the worries of his day, sinking down into the pulses of sound, letting them mold and shape his form until muscles and sinews no longer dictated his body, until only the rhythm and the sad, sad murmurs of the two bamboo flutes twining around his naked bones moved him through the steps of his dance. The music flowed across the pale pine expanse of the floor as his feet took flight. When he landed, the notes and the silences between them came to eddy and swirl around his ankles. The sounds ran across his skin