Love Is Always Write Volume 4

again, or I may shoot you myself. But I didn't mean I couldn't keep loving you. I know you. I know even when you sneak into people's vanities at night or slip a ring off their hand at a party, you don't mean to harm anyone. I know that you got caught because you broke into a house where a young child was left alone while his parents went to a party, so you stayed to read him a book to send him to bed. But I can't take you in the hospital. I'm not built for it."
    Jonathan was surprised to hear the hitch in his husband's voice, and he rolled his head back enough to get a fair look above him. Stacy's eyes were pressed closed, his teeth clenched. When he looked down again, Jonathan saw the blood-shot whiteness, the almost bruised looking bags, almost like Stacy had spent a very long time awake and at least part of that time crying.
    "I can do a lot," Stacy said. "I can watch my men walk into near-suicide missions. I can train men to deal in weapons of death. I can walk through a haze of teargas and fire on another human being. I can even take a bullet or two, but I cannot take you lying too still, deathly white, and unable to even know how close I am to you. So please, don't ever make me go through that again."
    Jonathan reached up, glad he was in a position that he could wrap his hands around the back of Stacy's neck. "I won't, I promise." He pulled Stacy down into a soft kiss. "Next time I think there's anything, I'll get the police to check it out. I won't even dream of walking into a building that could be in any way compromised. Okay?"
    Stacy nodded. "Okay," he said, sliding his lips across Jonathan's. Then Stacy curled himself over, deepening their kiss without jostling Jonathan's hip.
    The nurse came in some time later to extract visitors and make sure the patients were settled for sleeping. Jonathan was still curled in Stacy's arms. He had, somehow, maneuvered his body onto the bed fully and was carefully holding Jonathan up from putting too much pressure against his hip. Jonathan was dead asleep, the pain medicine and surgery eating at his body's energy. Stacy pressed his index finger to his lips and the nurse nodded. She made a few quick notes on her chart before retreating, not even bothering to inform Stacy that visiting hours had ended thirty minutes before.
    THE END
    Author bio: I am currently a freelance jack-of-all-trades, having had my stint in the professional world and looking towards graduate school. I began writing back when I was but a wee lass and had run out of good books to read and thus began writing my own. My first book was burgeoning on four-hundred pages and was only maybe halfway through when I suddenly fell into the world of m/m slash fiction. The rest, as they say, is history. My major fault is not finishing stories once I've start them, so my goal as a jack-of-all is to focus on completing stories and posting them for your viewing pleasure. My new account on adultfanfiction.net is under the member name Le_Lethe . This is where I'll be posting all my new fiction in the coming months. I also have a LiVEJOURNAL account where some updates will be going under username nlogue . Hope to see you around!
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HIDING MARIAH
    by Cheryl Dyson
    story inspirations and info

    Ever had one of those days where you wished you stayed in bed? Today has been the weirdest day of my life and, believe it or not, it all began with a cactus! So here I am - there's no way this day could get any worse, right?
    ~ Susan

    genre: contemporary
    tags: humorous; businessman; artist; geeks; slow burning UST
    word count: 17,705
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    HIDING MARIAH
    by Cheryl Dyson
    The knocking was getting louder. Bob thought it was part of his dream, but when his eyes snapped open, he realized someone was at his front door. Pounding on his front door.
    "Hang… hang on!" he yelled and swung his feet out of bed. He caught a glimpse of the clock on his way to the door. Who the hell was banging on his door at 5:47 in the morning? Was there a fire in the building? He yanked the door open.
    A hard object was thrust against Bob's torso. "Take care of Mariah. Don't let them get her. I'm counting on you, man."
    Bob tried to shake off his sleep-addled confusion long enough to form a question, but by the time he did, the man had trotted to the stairwell and disappeared. Bob shifted his attention to the object in his hands. It seemed to be a potted cactus plant. And the man had been Bob's strange, but very attractive