Thursday, March 25, 2010

Misbegotten Lace Chapter 2

Misbegotten Lace
Chapter Two
by Nix Winter
All Rights Reserved
copyright 2010
Do not archive
thanks :)
Link to chapter one:

A strong hand touched the back of his neck, and he froze, blue eyes wide. Rude fingers combed into his hair, taking a firm hold as his captor pulled him back. "Well, now, what have we here? Mistress Saint Chevalier? Or Mister Saint Chevalier?"

"Unhand me!" Lancelot demanded. The ship lurched throwing him back into his captor.

The man kissed his neck, wet and hot, while keeping a strong hold in Lancelot's hair. He screamed, struggling angrily, until the man's kisses moved up to his ear. In a dark, rum tinted voice, he said, "Still not sure, but you taste delicious, so it hardly matters. I bet your ass is tight either way!"

"Unhand me," Lancelot growled. The hand holding his gown opened and he twisted to strike his captor with the full power of his fury. The gown dropped, leaving him in lacy edged corset, a sheer chemise, and frilly bloomers, with tall white stockings.

The slap left a bright red handprint on the face of his attacker, and a smile. "I fear we must be leaving this ship now, Mister Saint Chevalier." He shifted Lancelot to his shoulder without so much as a struggle.

"Put me down! I demand you listen to me!"

The man leapt to the railing, one hand holding a rope as the ship rocked, another arm over Lance's kicking legs, he laughed. "I have very little choice in that at the moment, my fair laddie. You're screaming in my ear. Arms across your chest, dearie, try to hit heels first."

"What?" Lancelot gasped, clinging now, even as the powerful pirate peeled him off and sent him towards the debris filled dark waters. He screamed all the way down. His sister's words echoed back at him... 'All the way to the bottom.'


When he woke, he lay on a dry soft bedding, dried lace pulling at his thighs as he rolled over. He murmured softly and snuggled down into the pillow. Such strange dreams. Sebastian and pirates! He imagined Sebastian pressing him against a wall, kissing him passionately. He smiled, pressed his face into the pillow, his hips into the bed, which, honestly, felt much thinner than his bed should be. The pillow as well, felt off. It smelled masculine, a little salty, strange, exciting. It wasn't his pillow. His pillow smelled of lavender. He opened one eye, then the other, peering over the fluffy pillow in his arms to the green eyes watching him.

This strange man in his bedroom had dark sandy hair, golden streaks from the sun, sun darkened skin, and intense green eyes. A golden earring hung from one ear. He squatted at eye level, one hand laying over the other, chin on his hands, just watching with this hungry smile on his face.

French accent, a voice deep and seductive as the rhythm of the sea, he licked a rosy lip and leaned forward just a little, "Hello there, Beautiful."

Lance gasped shooting up in bed, the pillow coming with him, covering what he could of the corset he still wore, the letters he could feel indenting his skin. "Who are you and where am I?"

The man stood, tight leather pants covering powerful legs, doing little at all to make polite the size of the man's personal endowments. He wore a clean and flowing white shirt, which, Lance felt fairly sure had been his at one time. So very like a man wearing another man's shirt, this man bowed gracefully, courtly. "I am Viscount Aimé Driant, however, I'd be best pleased by being addressed as Captain Fox. As I have not yet unwrapped my gift, I am slightly unsure if you are Genevieve or Lancelot. You my dear, send mixed signals."

"Hardly," Lancelot said, drawing the covers around himself. "Any idiot would be able to tell that I am Lancelot."

Fox snorted, arms across his chest. "I think you underestimate your beauty, my darling. St. Chevalier did not say how incredibly lovely you were."

Lancelot blinked, bit his lip. "Exactly what are you saying?"

"We need to talk your sister into coming to visit us. You see, she has some of my money, Lanie. I want my money back and until I get it, I'm going to amuse myself with your lovely virtues."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Lance said, legs crossed, pillow held very tightly.

"Now that I might believe, but you see, I cannot be letting her get away with my money."  Fox pulled a chair from in front of the table, closer to the bed and sat down. "You are not really to blame for her behavior. I'm going to be really good to you while you're my 'guest'."

Lance swallowed, hoping his sister never fell into the clutches of this man. "Perhaps we could start with some clothes?"

"Oh, but I like what you're wearing, dearie," Fox said, reaching to tug the protective pillow from Lance's arms. "I have a feeling that you want me to take advantage of you. Have you ever had a nice hard cock in that sweet little ass of yours?"

Lance's cheeks flamed brighter than fire and he was sure he'd sink if he were a ship. He'd have liked to have sunk right through the bed, back into the wall, and when his cock did start to harden at the man's rough words, he grabbed up a blanket and pulled that around himself to hid the betraying reaction.

"There is nothing at all wrong with being what you really are," Fox said, smiling victoriously. "There is something wrong with hiding it. I think I shall have to spank you!"

"I am not a child!" Lance squeaked, scooting farther away.

Fox reached under the blanket and grabbed his leg, tugging him back, pulling a long slender leg from under the cover of the obviously stolen velvet blanket. "Look at this leg! I'd say you shaved, but no," he ran a calloused hand up Lance's leg, pausing to hold his knee, fingers pressing the sensitive spot behind his knee for a moment. "You just are very blond. Are you that blond elsewhere, my pet?"

"I am not your pet!"

"Oh, yes you are!" Fox growled, drawing his captive closer. An exploring hand slipped under the bloomers that Lance wore. The next hand grabbed his ass and squeezed. "You want me to want to do wicked things to you!"

Lance lunged off the bed. Fox kept hold of his ankle, so the lunge did not go very far. "Oh no I do not!" Lance growled. "I require you to release me this instant! I shall have nothing to do with you!"

Fox pulled him back, hand over hand, until his strong hands slid under the bloomers that Lance wore. "Imagine, my pet, that you are held captive by pirates and we are going to ravish you. I'm going to slide my cock into your tender little ass, and you will probably scream in outrage, but imagine, how much you could learn and experience while we have you, so that when your Sebastian ransoms you, you will not be the blushing little virgin prig."

"I don't need Sebastian or anyone else to rescue me!" Lance said, determined.

"And what have we here," Fox said, triumphant, as his hand closed around Lance's hard cock. "I do believe it is my guest's hard dick."

Lance struggled, blush turning his cheeks a bright red. Fox held him with one hand, stroking his captive's cock with the other. Lance dug the heels of his hands into the bed, trying to gain some leverage. It did him no good.

Fox shifted, both hands grabbing Lance's legs and flipping him over. Just as quickly he jerked down the bloomers, revealing smooth creamy ass cheeks. He gave one a good smack, leaving a red print. Lance yelped, reaching for the end of the bed to crawl away. Another smack hit his bottom, but he only fought harder.
"You are a dirty pet," Fox said, "I shall have to see that you are cleaned up before I put you to good use."

"I am not the pirate! I am not about to rape an innocent man."

"I am a pirate, but I'm not a liar," Fox said. Bloomers, soft lace, brushed over Lance's thighs, between his legs. Fox rolled him over again and caressed Lance's cock. The strong fingers guided the virgin cock up, making a tent out of the soft fabric still hiding it.   A confident thumb slicked through Lance's precum. The slender blond gasped, biting his lip.

"Am I raping you?" Fox asked, voice deep and velvety.

"Yes!" Lance snarled, but his struggles somehow seemed to lift him up into Fox's touch more than away. "I would never consent to sexual relations with you!"

"Is that so?"  Fox smirked, letting Lance go for a moment.

Lance pulled the bloomers up over his still stinging ass, up as high as he could get them. "That is so. How can my sister owe you money? You'll be waiting a long time if you expect my father to pay for my return!"  A soon as he'd said those words, he wished he hadn't. Hope of ransom might be all that was saving him from  experiences he'd not care to imagine.  His skin tingled with longing for the rude man's hands. An unfamiliar fire burned in him, eating up the loneliness and shame he'd felt, the quiet of a life that never fit in anywhere. He'd been so quiet, so obedient, in all that he could be obedient in.

Fox peeled his own shirt off, revealing sun goldened torso, lined stomach, smooth skin, except for a silvery scar that ran along his ribs. He ran a hand over his pants, his own cock, which was obviously also hard and not small, not polite in the least. "Tell me that you don't at least imagine having this moving inside you?"

Lance shifted a little, drawing his knees up under him. He ran his hands through his hair, pushing golden disarray back into some semblance of submission. Thoughts clattered, crashed against each other. He might as well have been sinking towards the unknowable depths of the ocean.

"If you touch me again, without my permission, you will make me your mortal enemy."

"What do you think you'll do to me, little boy? Cost me your ransom by dying early?"

"I'll cost you all that you could have gained by being my friend," Lancelot said seriously.

"Can you get me back my money that your sister carelessly stole from my little money launderer?"
Lancelot straightened up, stepped off the bed, drawing the velvet blanket with him. "Who much money did Genni take?"

Fox crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back against the wall, one booted foot on the edge of the bed. "More than you've got tucked up in your bloomers there. Probably more than you could pay off by leaning over my desk and letting me bang you relentlessly. I need that money back. You do realize that your sister left you to us, don't you? She escaped with her comrades, and left you to us."

He focused for a moment on the velvet of the blanket, wrapping it around himself. "She knew you won't hurt me," he nearly whispered.

"That's very generous of you. If she'd asked you to be her decoy to help her escape, with the probable loss of your life, what would you have said?"

"I would have helped her at all costs," Lancelot said, honestly, chin held high. "I love my sister and her baby."

Fox broke into a laugh, loud and vigorous. He rose, grabbed his shirt, smirking. "You Sir, are a woman like I have never met before. You're very lucky that I want my money more than I want your ass."

"There could be a possibility of having both," Lancelot said softly.

"Ummm," Fox agreed. He opened his closet and pulled out a shirt and pants. "Or do you prefer skirts?"

"If you have them, and you're not throwing me overboard, I would prefer skirts.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Fluffy Bunnies

Ha! This is my life... one panel at a time.

There are so many errors in this little comic, but it's as good as it's going to get today!

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Misbegotten Lace Chapter !

Misbegotten Lace
by Nix Winter

Note: This story is not historically accurate. Very little attempt was made to make it so. If enough people want to see an  historically accurate version, I could probably be talked into it, but it might not be nearly as fun.. certainly not as playful.

This story is going to be very wicked... very wicked... :) 

Chapter One

The backgammon board sat between them. Sunlight filled the room. Twins, a boy and a girl, in their early twenties, blond as the sunlight, leaned over the table. This sitting room linked their staterooms.  He sat with his elbows on the ivory inlaid table, chin in his hands, blond curls around his face, blue eyes staring at the board.

"I'm sure you cheat," he said. He had a sweet voice, light and more innocent than was fashionable in a man about to attain his majority. Blue eyes, like a fine spring English sky, watched his sister, as if waiting for her confession.

She leaned back in her chair, beautiful yellow silk draping over her perfectly, a low enough cut bodice cupping creamy, shapely breasts. Her hair was every bit as golden and silky as his was, only just a little longer.  "I'm not the one who was caught with loaded dice in my possession."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, but we both know they weren't mine. We both know quiet well whose dice they were."

"But you're a good brother and you'd never tell," she said, smiling. "As it happens, I'm not cheating. You're just losing naturally. It does happen, you know."

"Witch," he complained affectionately as he picked the dice back up. "Now you should conjure up the winds, make us get safely home."  He rolled a pair of sixes and smirked happily as he moved his tokens.

"I don't see why I would want to do that. Grandmother is hardly going to be anything close to pleased with either of us. You're homosexual and I'm pregnant and she has a perfect cure for both of us."

"Marriage," they said in unison, looking just slightly green at the idea.

"I'd fling myself overboard, but I can hardly say I'm homosexual if I've never had sex. Just looking does not really do the job. One has to go a little farther than that." He gave her belly a pointed stare.

"Umgh. I would think," she patted her still flat belly, "that this would be proof that I'm not homosexual. Don't kid yourself, Lanie. You are a man's man, and not the way that Papa is. Honey, I don't think there's anything wrong with it. I don't think there's anything wrong with being pregnant either. I don't need some man's guidance or his money."

"Just how do you expect to live then? Grandmother is going to beat those thoughts out of your head, and beat me just to be sure they haven't gotten to me too."

Genevieve leaned back in her seat, arms across her chest. "The truth is the truth. It will go worse for me when if I were to get home and my baby were born there."

"Oh Genni," Lancelot leaned back, a hand over his mouth. "You told Father that American, Hastings, was the father. He was the father, wasn't he?"

She templed her fingers, spread her legs, elbows on her knees, as she leaned forward, giving him the serious look. This look had preceded most of their adventures, most of their disasters.

Lancelot leaned back in his chair, as if he could keep whatever was about to splash from hitting him.  "What have you done?"

"I'm a bit of a pirate," she whispered, real concern for her brother's opinion on her face. "I knew the combination to Father's safe."

"Oh god, what have you done? He'll be after us."

"He won't," Genevieve said. "I only took the money in the back and he had ever so much of it. I bought a ship."

"That's a lot of money! He will notice!" Lancelot rose, pacing.

"Even if he does," she said, a dark edge in her voice, "I left him a not explaining to him why he shouldn't mention the loss. I'm not going back to England, Lanie."

He grabbed the back of his chair, staring at her, utterly stricken. "Where will we be going?"

"We're not going, Lanie. We're trading."

"Excuse me?"

"Listen to me, my love," she said, leaning back again in her chair. "I want to sail. I want my own ship. I want to be the captain of a merchant ship. The father of my child is Justice Whitecrane.  Lancelot St. Chevalier can do that. He can sail for his father. He can marry Justice's sister."

Lancelot's mouth dropped open, then snapped shut again.. "What an adventurous life you've planned for me."

"I've made arrangements for you, Lanie."

"Why thank you so much," he snapped, more speechless than not.

"There is a gentleman," she started, continuing even after he refused to look at her. "His name is Sebastian Baker. He's not a peer, and grandmother will be displeased, but he has already pressed for Genevieve's hand in marriage. He's very wealthy, very attractive, very gentle. We knew him before we left for the West Indies. I do remember you smiling at him as a boy. He was only five years our senior. It's perfect. He will secure his place in the business world, with the connections that father can give him, live with completely propriety, and yet have the hand of the boy he's dreamed of for a decade."

"That's such a lovely plan," he snapped, "Except that I am a man and you are a woman!   I think people will notice. I don't want to be a woman! Do you really want to be a man? Swaggering around and spitting on things?"

She grinned, knowing she'd already won her point. "Actually, I rather like swaggering and spitting. And you, my dear brother, enjoy water colors and pretty flowers, comparing cake, and reading novels on the lanai. Keep your face clean shaven, smile a lot. You'll pass just fine."

"You insult me," he hissed, arms across his chest.

"Come now, you remember Sebastian? He had dark hair, deep colored eyes, blue like the color of sunset? Can you honestly tell me that you won't enjoy strolling Hyde Park with Sebastian as he whispers in your ear and tells you how much he desires to press his manhood between your sweet cheeks? You can have a little cross dressing to have the life you want. Lanie, I love you. I want you to be happy. Homosexuality is illegal in London. You would not survive going to jail and I wouldn't survive your death. Just try this plan. If it doesn't work for you, write me, and we'll arrange for you to have your name back and I shall just pick another."

"I don't know how to live as a woman."

"Yes, you do," she chided. "You've been my best friend and more often than not my best maid. You know how to do my hair, just how to do my dresses."

"I have no breasts."

"As if I'm all that well endowed? Then you shall have to be more modest than I have been, but after you lose the baby, I'm sure you'll find ways of explaining the personality change."

"You want to go live such a dangerous life. What if I never see you again?"

"My dear," Genevieve said, rising to hold out her arms for him, a tolerant smile on her face. "As your brother I shall write you very often. I shall come to see you. You could be so much more of everything, if only you were not pretending to be that which are not."

"And what am I, Genni?"

"You are a gentle, sweet man, who desires to love and lead a life filled with art and poetry. You are all the good things that I shall never be." She hugged him fiercely.

"You are all the brave and courageous things that I wish I could be," he whispered, ashamed.

"Courage, like tea, comes in many flavors!" She reached to the top of her head and lifted her hair off like it was nothing more than a wig. This she plopped onto his head. "There, my dear. You've got my hair. All my clothes fit you. Maybe I'll drop by and leave you with a spawn now and then."

He grabbed her by the arms, the wig of her hair going askew on his head. "This is crazy! What have you done to your hair? You can not possibly be serious! How could you keep this from me?"

She grinned, joyful. "Every time I thought about telling you, I thought about what you're saying right now, and I felt much better about keeping it from you."

"You're just.... unspeakable," he said, his hold on her arms turning gentle, yet firm, as if he could hold onto her forever.

"Sebastian has sent you letters. This was his idea. I think it's a brilliant idea. He's going to meet us when we dock in two days, in Charleston. I'll depart as you, and he'll continue back to England. You'll know by the time you get there if you can marry him or not. If you want to, maybe you both can live in the New World."

"I thought you said he was pressing Grandmother for 'my' hand."

"He is! Through his solicitor. It's easier if it's a done deal by the time you get there," she smiled, hands on her hips now, hair short and boyish around her face. The yellow silk didn't matter. He could see her as a captain, even a bit of a pirate.

"What are you going to do when one day I am more interested in my own interests than in yours?"

"Nonsense," she said, dismissing both the idea that he would or that that was what she was doing now. "Let's trade clothes, rooms. Try calling me Lanie?"

"Oh, I don't think that suits you," he said. "I think you'd be more of a Lance."

"I like it!" She shoved him then, both hands on his back into her room. "And you? Genni doesn't suit you either. Those were our childhood names anyway. I'll be Lance and you can be Eve."

"That's not funny," he said, moving to peer out the round ship's window, ignoring his sister's rummaging  though her closet. "There are two ships on the horizon." He picked up the small pair of 'opera' glasses that his sister had custom made and peered out the window again. "They're flying Spanish colors, but they look French to me."

"Get out of those clothes, Eve."

"My name is not Eve," he said. "Those ships worry me."

"Fine, just don't worry. I had this dress done just for you."

"Have you thought about what will happen if this does work and Sebastian... excites me at an inopportune time?"

"Um," she said, lips twisting as she tried not to laugh. "Don't worry. Skirts are too full for such a sight to be visible, unless you're sitting. I suppose you'll have to have firm undergarments made."

"You're utterly horrible!"

She laughed, and his heart gave way. He'd worried about her marrying, her life being drawn into line with a proper husband. He'd worried that she'd have faded away like an orchid dragged back to England.  "You'll be careful? You'll send me the child, even if he is darker?"

Standing there, new blue gown held up, she hugged the gown close and sighed, biting her lip a little. "I'll send you the child, unless Justice is desperate to keep it. I will always do my best. I just... I just can't be what they want me to be."

"I shall expect many letters," he said firmly as he undid the cuffs of his shirt. This wasn't a great adventure, but neither was it really the end of the world. In the end, she was right. He would have his water colors and his garden. She would have her ship and her swagger.  "If you die in this venture, I shall be very full of wrath."

Words slipped around on her tongue, but she closed her mouth before they got out. After a moment, she shook threw the gown on the bed, and grabbed up a petticoat, a pair of fluffy bloomers. "Don't think about it being women's clothes. Think about how good silk feels on your skin."

"Oh that's so easy for you to say," he complained, moving behind the narrow little changing screen. He threw his shirt over at her, then his pants.  "If we get caught, you can blame it on me. I'll be dead of mortification anyway."

"We will not get caught," she said firmly, her voice dropping a little, to a splendid mimic of his. "My name is Lance Saint Chevalier."

He tried the same, letting his voice go just a little higher. "Then I must be Genevieve Saint Chevalier."

The undergarments were not all that uncomfortable, really, and he let himself imagine coming down the gang plank, the handsome Sebastian waiting for him, knowing his secret, wanting him all the more because of it.

"You did that so well!" She tossed the gown over changing screen. "Hurry up so I can do up the laces and give me your boots."

"Really? My boots are in my room."  He stuck his foot out, showing the embroidered blue satin shoes he wore. "I don't know that my boots will fit you."

"They do," she said, sounding much too confident for his tastes. He peered out from behind the changing screen. Her wig on his head and he tucked at his own hair, making sure it was under the cap and what wasn't was hidden by the ringlets of the wig.  His shoes, which had felt so masculine only moments before, now felt right at home with the long blue gown. He tugged at the laces of the dress, trying to lace it up. The bodice seemed to be designed to flatten a chest, but had soft curves built into it.

Seeing himself in the mirror, he saw his sister, perfectly, only looking more comfortable in her skin. Her cheeks were flushed, lips darker. He forgot about the laces and reached to touch his own face. He could see his fingers moving over his cheeks, feel his fingers, but it looked like Genevieve touching her cheeks. "This is unnerving."

"Yes," she said, standing in the door way, wearing his coat, his leather belt. Her hair was actually longer than he'd thought when she first pulled the wig off, not as curly as he thought of her hair as being - more like his own hair.  She was indeed wearing his boots. It was like looking at himself. "Come, let's finish our game."

"I feel... overcome," he said softly.

"Come on then," she said, moving to take his arm, to place his hand on her arm. "I'll make you some tea. You'll see. It will all settle perfectly."

"I'm only doing this for you! To keep you out of a horrid marriage, away from Grandmother's cane."

"The possibility of being kissed by Sebastian in public has nothing whatsoever to do with it," she said, straight faced.

"There might be that," he admitted letting her sit him down in the chair that had been hers.

"Now you're winning," she pointed out, wiggling an eyebrow.

"My manhood lays shriveled in a nest of lace and linen. I'm not sure that counts as winning," he complained, sitting with his knees together, hands instinctively more graceful, genteel as he reached for the dice.

"Your manhood," she said respectfully, "is wrapped as the most delicate of gifts, to be unwrapped by a man you know you want. You are sneaking under the eyes of watchful matrons, stealing their authority so that you may live your own life."

"Be that as it may," he said, remembering that he'd rolled double sixes and it was really 'his' turn. He handed the dice over. "It's your turn and just exactly how shall I enjoy my cigars?"

She took the dice, smiled wickedly. "If you smoked cigars, the bedroom might be a good choice. Or the garden. Honey, I don't think you'll be much of a society pigeon. You have always been private. Irritated Father to death."

"Everything about me irritated Father. He'll like me much better now."

"He'll like me better too," Genni said.

They looked at each other, a moment of seriousness passing between them, maybe wondering why they hadn't bothered to do this before.

A hurried and urgent knock on the door sent Lancelot pale, but Genevieve rose and strode to the door as if she'd been a man her whole life. She opened the door decisively and said, "Yes?"

"Sir, the ship is being stalked by unknown vessels and Captain believes we shall be cut off by a third vessel ahead of us. He requests you join us on deck with whatever pistols you may possess, Sir."

"Yes, of course," Genevieve said with a voice so close to her twin's that he could barely believe he'd just said that.

As soon as she closed the door, he rose to his feet, hands made into fists. "I don't own any pistols."

"I do," she said, giving him a wink. "And I know how to fire them."

"Genni! Have you actually shot someone? You haven't, have you?"

"Don't be a puppy," she said, giving a genuinely stern look. "Do you remember last year, when Father accused you of dueling?"

"You didn't! Did you kill someone?" He pressed his hands to his cheeks, beside himself.

"Not at all," she said, returning from her room with a pair of pistols in her hands, and a bag of balls at her waist. "He didn't die. He was much nicer to you afterwards."

"Oh good lord! 'I' shot Uncle Ben." Lancelot staggered back to sink into the chair. "What else have 'I' done?"

"You are apparently quite good in bed as well. I was completely sure that Father would dismiss the idea that you were homosexual, after the governor's daughter."

Lancelot held his head with both hands. "How on Earth?"

She smiled gently. "When we get through this I can demonstrate the technique for you, Lanie."

"Oh hardly, no, not really, I don't think so," he said holding up his hands.

"My dear brother," she said, coming close to hug him and kiss his forehead. "You're entirely too sweet and innocent. Sebastian is a bit of a bad boy.  You're going to have to be a bit more worldly to hold him you know."

"No, actually, I don't know. How do you know?"

"He was on the island last year," she said. "Now don't fuss. I'm not stealing your man."

"Hardly," he said, blond eyebrows arching up.

"Stay here. Read his letters. You'll see for yourself. He's utterly smitten with you."

Lancelot looked away, arms across his chest.

In some very real sense, Lancelot strode from the room. His  pride felt as if it had taken a ball to the heart.

The ship shuddered under the evil intentions and actions of their attackers and soon nerves drove him to Genevieve's room, in search of those letters. If those letters had been written for him, he had every right to read them.  Sebastian had been in his thoughts many times over. The man was taller than Lancelot, with long dark hair, dark violet eyes and a smile which had always suggested the edge of wicked thoughts, dangerous desires to Lancelot. True, they'd been very young when they'd seen each other, but at least for Lancelot, Sebastian had been with his thoughts grown into adulthood.

Violence pitched the ship and Lancelot barely caught himself, half tripping on the dress. He looked back to his room and considered changing back into some of his own clothes, but he hardly wanted to out his sister. There couldn't very well be two 'Lancelots' running around.

Heart in his throat, he focused on searching through his sister's trunk. The letters were not hard to find though and he clutched their fawn colored parchment being to his chest.  A shiver went through him! There were so many things he'd thought of, but only knew through secretly read naughty books! He told himself that he was not that innocent! He wasn't!

He stared through across the sitting room into his room, feeling it draw farther away, that this was truly the right path. He didn't belong there.

Then a cannon ball tore through the ship's wall, through his chest of drawers, over his bed, and out the other side, leaving a trail of smoke and destruction.

His breath caught and he held the letters even tighter. Angry, he shoved them down into the tightly drawn corset, and made for the door. He WAS a man! He'd help in what ways he could.

The door though refused to open. He tugged, twisted, and like a mental cannon ball, he understood that his sister had locked him in. She hadn't wanted a second Lancelot either, perhaps. So he ran back into his old room and out the whole the cannon ball had torn. Up the stairs and onto a deck filled with black smoke and vile scents. Blood, bile, and things he certainly had no ready name for, and he froze.

A man with less than a mouthful of teeth ran by him, grinning demonically.  Lancelot covered his mouth with his hand, eyes very wide.

"Lanie!" Genevieve yelled at him over the battle. "The Marie Kate is going down! Do not let them take you!"

"Just what do you suggest I do?!" He strode out onto the deck, as if authority alone might provide some solution.


He did and she fired over his head. Hot blood splattered over him, running down his neck, soaking into his clothes.  Lancelot screamed.

She grabbed him by the bodice and jerked him to his feet. "The ship is sinking. I'm leading a party to take their wounded schooner! For God's sake, Lanie! Get out of that dress! You cannot swim in it! You'll go right to the bottom!"

"My clothes are gone!"

"Your soul will be gone if you don't have quick wits. There are worse things than being caught in your petticoats. I would know!"

"This can't be happening!"

"It is happening, Lanie. Stay alive! I will be back for you! Sebastian will kill me if I let anything happen to you!"

"I'll come with you! To the other ship!" He peeled at the gown. "I can help!"

"Dear Heart! You cry when pigs get slaughtered! I'm going onto their ship and I'm going to kill them to the last man!"

"You can't kill people to take their ship!"

"Explain that to the pirates who are attacking us! I'll be back for you!"

Just barely holding onto the gown, the letters from Sebastian in one hand, he watched his twin dive overboard - wearing his last pair of pants.

Monday, March 8, 2010

One Star

So I found this rating of one of my stories.
One star.

I can't say that I blame them.
I'd do that story differently now, and I will.

I could explain why I did the story the way I did then, the concept I had, the plan... *manical laugh* THE PLAN!

I has such plans!

In those plans I forgot about having fun. I forgot about being satisfied with myself.

I ground myself down into dust.

So.. I accept. I'm not going to be great and famous by the force of my will. I might not be great and famous ever.

I might not have family the way I'd planned it.. the way I imagined it.

I have great family thought.  I love writing my stories, making my art. Even if only a few people ever enjoy them other than myself... that's enough :)

So I want to re do The Pet.. from the very beginning.

I want to write the story without explicit sex.

There have been so many times in my life where I've traded sex in one form or another for what I wanted.

Sex for love.
Sex for safety.
Sex for the right to be able to love someone.
Sex for forgiveness.
Sex for roller skates.

I want to save sex... hide it away, treasure it until it flowers into something that only casts the slightest shadow over me now.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

The House of Silver Oak

Title: The House of Silver Oak
by: Nix Winter
Genre: romance, yaoi, horror, murder mystery
Press: The Second Legrange Point Press,
Release Date: Today!
Buy Link:
Coupon for 10% off: Enter code IDES at checkout. (Offer ends March 31, 2010)


Don't go in the cellar.

Cain's problems didn't get smaller in Iraq.

Whiskey doesn't fix anything long enough.

His last chance gets him a job as a caretaker for an old mansion.

It comes with more ghosts than he had before.

Don't go in the cellar.

A hundred years before a triple homicide made the house notorious.

Shelly Comstock-Gray is still the celebrated murder suspect.

Cain can't believe the smiling, cheerful ghost hurt anyone.

Mistakes can be deadly.

Don't go in the cellar.


The other option was the library. 

A profoundly dusty place, with just a hint of lavender hiding in the air, he waved at the dust as if that would help. There had to be more than a thousand books, floor to ceiling with one of those neat little wood ladders on wheels. The desk was, Cain struggled to find the right descriptor, Louis XIV? Gold and white with little lion's heads for feet, maybe it wasn't anything other than unique.  Slowly he made his way around the desk. He left footprints in the dust, and he had a hard time believing that the last caretaker hadn't ventured into the library. What else was there to do in a place like this? It wasn't like they were getting cable.

 The desk looked as if no one had touched it in ... a hundred years?  Certainly no caretakers had been in here. He leaned a little and blew dust from thick creamy papers. A feather quill spun in it's now dry inkwell, but the paper had words written in a fine and delicate hand.

'Forever is such a lovely dream. I forgive you. I understand. I love you in all good ways. I'll see you in Paris. S.' The letter was dated August 21, 1872.  It didn't have to be, but Cain was sure the 'S' was for Shelly. How someone both long dead and probably not at all like he was being presented had taken a hold so quickly in Cain's imagination, he didn't know.

"You've been alone too long," a voice said, light, playful, accented oddly.

"Who's there?" Cain snarled, wishing he had a flashlight, a big heavy black one, even though it was the middle of the day.   Wishing that he'd done a full house sweep. "Show yourself!"

"Why should I? I'd rather you didn't run away."

"I don't run from anything," Cain said, standing up, straight enough to hide the distribution of weight between his legs. "Who are you?"

Blue misted, swirling a little like a painting of a Chinese cloud, and a man stepped into the doorway. He seemed to have volume, substance, but he was blue, shades of blue from midnight in the shadows to summer sky for his eyes. Dressed like something out of Gone with the Wind meets Poetic Pirates, he looked very much at home in the dusty mansion. "Shelly Comstock Gray," he said, making a sweeping bow, but rising with a smile. "You're in my house. Who are you?"

"Cain Hardrain. I'm the new caretaker." He moved slowly around the desk, and towards the doorway, as if he were trying to get close to a wild bird. "If you're dead, it's not your house."

"Death," Shelly said, holding out a hand as if he expected it to be kissed, "is subjective. Hardrain. Such an usual name. Your skin is golden like tea. Are you a savage?"

Cain laughed, reaching for the extended hand, to shake, not kiss. "It's been said, sometimes. I can be savage as hell."

Shelly's hand passed easily through Cain's, back up to touch the lace at his collar. "Well, one either is, or one isn't, aren't they? Are you Northern or Southern? Not that I should ask, but I would really like to know before I let you stay in my house."

"That was over a long ass time ago, Shelly," Cain said, just giving up, until he got more information. Shelly was hardly the worst or most intimidating figment of his imagination.

The flouncing man could be a ghost. He had to allow for that. An open mind meant he might not be completely insane. Heading back to the kitchen, he said, "If it matters I was raised in New York. My mother was British. My father was Apache. People don't ask if people are savage anymore, unless it's at that kind of club and they're hoping for a close encounter of the leather kind."

"Excuse me," Shelly asked, "Did your mother escape then?  You also didn't answer. Are your sympathies with the Union or the Confederacy, Sir?"

"The Civil war was over a long time ago, more than a hundred years ago. The Union won," Cain said, winking before heading into the kitchen. "Did you run off the last care taker?"