X-mas Read | The Porcelain Santa

X-mas-read

Flash fiction anyone? I used to write a lot of flash fiction, but it’s been ages since I did now. The Porcelain Santa is something I wrote waaaayyyy back in 2014, so I don’t dare to read it LOL

Some lovely people put together a holiday blog hop where everyone participating should write a story under the LGBTQIA+ umbrella with less than 3000 words including: 

• A winter holiday theme

• A “bad boy” character

• A gift of some kind

Below, you can read what I wrote.

Porcelain

The Porcelain Santa

Sprawled on the window seat, I watched the snow falling outside. I love this time of year, love the preparations, the anticipation, and the serenity that comes with Christmas. The cup in my hand warmed my skin, and my flat smelled of candles and holiday biscuits. Even the normally depressing courtyard outside my window could’ve starred as a motif on a Christmas card with the glistening snow that clung to every surface. I closed my eyes with a content sigh…and heard the all too familiar noise of a snowmobile. Flying up into a sitting position, I made the tea in my cup spill over the rim and onto my fingers. The snowmobile was skidding over the yard—messing up the untouched snow. That fucking idiot! Why did he always have to destroy everything?

I glared at Zach through the window, he knew I was there of course, and he turned to give me a cheeky smile before heading for the front door. Bastard! I blew out the candles and stomped out to the kitchen where I poured the remaining tea down the sink. Since the day he’d moved in, he’d ruined things for me. Always loud, always there, always so fucking handsome. I wanted to strangle him.

¤¤¤

I might have stayed a little longer than usual in bed the following morning, and I might have taken a little longer to eat my breakfast, but no matter how much I delayed it, I had to go to work—my last workday before the holiday.

Zach always went before I did, about eight minutes before. But today he was late. I sighed, making the glass in the peephole fog. Finally, I saw his door open on the other side of the hallway. I closed my eyes and counted to a hundred before I opened my door, sauntered down the eight steps, and went outside with a quick look around. Zach was nowhere to be seen, I could’ve sagged in relief.

“Hey, Benji! Wait up!” Where the hell had he been hiding? I gave him an icy stare. His confident grin made me want to smack him. Or kiss him. Either or. Those warm dark eyes glowed, and I just loved the way his black hair became a curly mess when it got a little too long. The knitted cap he wore today hid most of his curls, and it infuriated me that I felt disappointed for being unable to see them.

“You shouldn’t be walking in this weather. Come on let me drive you to work.”

“I’m not getting on that snowmobile,” I exclaimed appalled.

His lips twitched as he fought a laugh. “I do have a car, you know.”

I hadn’t known that. He was on that damned Ski-Doo all the time. “Then why do you ride that thing?”

“Because you’re pretty when you’re angry.” I gaped at him. The nerve! I was not pretty, and I did not get angry. I was hardly ever angry! “See, like that,” he said, and I swear his eyes twinkled. “Come on, I drive past your work anyway.”

“How would you know where I work?”

Zach raised a brow. “You work at Simon’s, everyone knows that.”

Everyone did not know that, hardly anyone knew that. Of course, people knew that I worked there, it’s a café and people aren’t blind, but…

We reached the garage, and it turned out Zach did have a car. “Here, let me take your bag.” He took it and held the passenger door open. I squinted at him before climbing in. He took an awfully long time walking around the car, and once he started driving, he was looking more at me than on the traffic. “So, Benji, where will you be spending Christmas?”

“At home,” I grumbled.

“Not going anywhere?”

“No.”

“Not having anyone over?”

“No.” I didn’t look at him. Since he kept looking at me, I felt the need to keep my eyes on the road.

“Why don’t you talk to me?

“Have nothing to say.”

Zach nodded. “We’ll change that.”

I snorted, relieved that we’d reached Simon’s. Jumping out of the car I noticed Zach doing the same. I frowned as he handed me my backpack. I can’t believe I forgot it.

“See you later,” Zach said with a kind of smile I hadn’t seen before. What was he up to? His eyes were soft, but that grin made me cautious. I nodded and went to work.

¤¤¤

The smile that had played on my lips the entire way home from work, died when I unlocked the front door. My hand-painted porcelain Santa Claus was crushed, there were tiny pieces all over the hallway floor.

Someone had been in my flat! My stomach clenched as I peered into the living room. No one there.

That’s when I noticed a box of chocolate on the hall table where the Santa had been. A note was sticking out of it. I took it and read, “I have a gift for you. Love Zach.”

I stared at it, stared at the broken Santa, and swung around. That fucking bastard! I stomped over to his flat and banged on the door. He opened it, a look of uncertainty flitted across his face before his usual confident grin took over.

“What the fuck did you do?”

“I…er…I was gonna leave you a box of chocolate.”

“So you picked my lock?”

“Well, yeah. You really should get a tumbler lock.”

“What the fuck, Zach!”

“Yeah…but, I wanted to give you something tonight, so when I had the chance by the car this morning, I slipped your calendar out of your bag—only to make sure you’d be free. I picked your lock to leave the note, I never meant to break the china thing!”

“Why would you do such a thing?” My jaw ached from how hard I was grinding my teeth.

“To make you come over here.”

“Why would I come over here?”

“To have dinner with me.” He stepped aside to show a beautifully set table with candles and white lilies. “But now I realise that we need to go down to the novelty shop to get you a new porcelain thing.”

“Was my calendar the gift you were referring to in the note,” I groused, annoyed with myself for not being angrier with him.

His nose crinkled. “Of course not! That was just to check if you were free.”

“So…dinner is the gift?”

“Yeah…well, I was thinking…kinda like…er…I’m the gift.”

I felt my eyes go wide. “You’re the gift?”

“Yeah, look I have a ribbon and everything.” He started to unbutton his jeans.

“Zach!” He looked up and winked. “That’s so fucking lame,” I breathed and felt my face warm.

He smiled and shrugged. “Yeah, but I’m serious. I’m yours if you’ll have me.”

“What the hell are you playing at?”

“Oh, come on, baby. You’re not that blind, are you? I like you. I want you.”

“But, you’re always making me angry.”

“Noo, I always make you notice me.” He leaned in, his breath ghosted over my skin. He lingered there, his lips almost touching mine. I heard myself whimper. He kissed me then, holding me close while exploring my mouth. I moaned, and his lips stretched into a smile. “Come on, let’s go buy you a new figurine.”

I nodded, a little dazed. He blew out the candles, grabbed his jacket, put his hand down the front of his jeans, and pulled out a red ribbon that he tossed into his flat before closing the door behind us.

The End

X-mas Read | Boughs of Evergreen

X-mas-read

There are no guests today, so I thought I’d fill up the slot with one my Christmas stories, instead.

One of the first stories I wrote was From All of Us to All of You. It’s part of the Boughs of Evergreen anthology from Beaten Track Publishing which is an anthology with a mix of short YA/NA holiday stories.

Boughs-of-Evergreen-Text

First, I thought I’d list all the covers and blurbs, but the anthology consists of twenty-two stories – yes, I’m too lazy.

My favourites are Kiss Me at Kwanzaa by LL Bucknor, Always have, Always will by Amelia Mann, Shiny Things by Amy Spector, The Invasion of Tork by Al Stewart and Claire Davis – there are more stories I would recommend (if you read horror (and F/F), Terry Kerr’s A Family Christmas! Love that one LOL) but I’ll move on to sharing an excerpt instead.

Lucia

Today it’s Lucia. It’s strange that we celebrate an Italian saint in Sweden when the rest of the world doesn’t. But we do. My kids will be dressed up in Lucia gear tomorrow. Normally, we’d start the day going to the school to watch them walk in the dark morning with lit candles while singing Christmas songs, but not this year. They’ll be dressed up, and each class will sing a song that the teacher will film and then share with us – not nearly as atmospheric.

In From All of Us to All of You they’re also celebrating Lucia.

Excerpt:

I tried not to think about the other people in church, and what they would think when they saw me. I knew they judged my mother, and pitied me, hell they would even pity Annie, and normally I would hide in the back. But, not today!

Monica actually made it better. Now they wouldn’t think that poor deserted boy. Now they would think, Oh, how nice of her to sit next to him. Okay, maybe that wasn’t better, but still, they wouldn’t think I was alone. People thought that just because you stuck to yourself, you were lonely. I wouldn’t call myself lonely. Okay, I was pretty lonely, but I chose to be. Better to be lonely, than have to explain the whole thing.

One failed stint at the university had taught me everything I needed to know about myself. I’d gotten free therapy through school, but even though my therapist had made some good points, what I’d really learned was that I couldn’t handle the real world. I couldn’t cope with the pressure of having to accomplish something, be someone. So, I’d moved back home to our small southwestern town, and gotten a job as a cashier at the smallest food market that wasn’t a neighborhood corner store. I’d been a cashier there for four years now.

“Natten går tunga fjät…” Oh, here they came. Monica, grumbled something next to me, before turning her attention to the children striding down the aisle. I almost became a little teary-eyed. They were adorable, all of them, and Annie was beautiful. She was concentrating really hard on holding her head straight and her hands palm to palm, while singing along in the Santa Lucia song.

The dark church instantly became brighter when the children took their place in front of the altar. After a few songs, four of the Lucias took a step forward. One by one they each lit one of the four tapers in the large candelabra, and then read a verse.

I saw Annie’s hand shake when she held the match to the wick, but she read her poem flawlessly. It was nerve-racking to read a verse in front of this many people, and she didn’t even stutter. I was so proud.

When the four candles were lit, and the girls had returned to their places among the others, they sang a few more songs before the procession took its leave. First the Lucias, then the handmaidens, then the star boys, and last the gingerbread men, and the brownies.

There was applause, of course. What parent wouldn’t applaud their child after such a performance?

“Lucia bread and glögg in the parish house?” I asked Monica with a smile.

“Yes, of course,” she answered, almost as excited as I was.


From All of Us To All of YouSimon is counting the days to Christmas, not because he likes the Holidays – no, he hates them. He dreads every single holiday ever created, but Christmas it the worst. As if his dad’s drunken snores and his mother’s faked Christmas spirit isn’t enough, his sister has decided to celebrate Christmas elsewhere this year.

The stress and anxiety drive Simon crazy. When he is introduced to a work colleague’s son, Hannes, he mistakenly believes he’s been set up on a blind date. Even after Hannes sets him straight in his assumptions, he keeps seeing signs that shouldn’t be there. Is Hannes lying when he says he isn’t interested or has the Christmas stress finally driven Simon mad?

books2read.com/FromAllOfUs

Guest Post | Nicolas by Dianne Hartsock

Guest-Post

Dianne Hartsock is guesting us today. She’s here to tell us about her story, Nicolas. I don’t know if you’re familiar with Krampus, I’ve mostly come across the creature in horror stories, but keep on reading, and you’ll learn more.


Hello! Thanks for stopping in. Today I’d like to tell you a little about my story NICOLAS. First off, it’s not your usual Christmas story, unique in that I didn’t use the well-known legend of Santa Claus and his elves. My story involves the Krampus, the terrible creature who chases St. Nicolas through the centuries. I have to say, when I first heard the legend of the Krampus, I was intrigued. It’s not Santa Claus who keeps a list of naughty children. It’s Krampus.

Instead of sweet, magical elves helping Santa deliver toys and goodies to everyone, my Nicolas has this dark troll at his side, haunting his steps, bringing nightmare and terror in his wake. In the legend of the Krampus, he’s the one who punishes the children when they are bad with switches and lumps of coal. He’s the dark side to Nicolas’s goodness.

I twisted this legend a little, having my Nico fleeing from this dark entity. He only wishes to be left alone, to continue spreading God’s word of unity and peace to the world. But the Krampus won’t let him be. Long ago, Nico had stopped him from murdering three children, accidently killing the man the Krampus had been in the process. But the man’s spirit returned as the Krampus. who will never forgive him.

The Krampus uses Nico’s feeling of guilt against him, destroying every relationship Niko tries to have by making him feel unworthy of love. But then Nico meets Jamie, an artist who has given up on love. They come together against the Krampus, but will their love be enough to defeat him?

NICOLAS is the story of fear and guilt, love and redemption. It’s a legend brought to life, with a dark twist and a promise of a happy future. But first Nico must learn to forgive himself, the hardest task of all.


NicolasFS

Betrayed by a lover, Jamie rents an isolated cabin on Lake Huron, wanting only to be left alone. Instead, he is pulled from his solitary existence as an artist and tumbles headlong into the legend of Saint Nicolas.

As a young man, Nicolas accidentally killed a man intent on murdering three children, only to have the man’s malicious spirit rise up against him. Fleeing through the centuries from the Krampus, the evil troll-like creature that dogs his steps, Nico finds refuge with the young artist who takes him into his home and bed. But Jamie has questions. Who is Nicolas, and why does the Krampus want to destroy him?

When the Krampus begins to torment and torture anyone Nico comes in contact with to punish him, Jamie’s life is put in danger. And Jamie isn’t sure whether he can help Nico defeat his nemesis or if he’s merely a pawn in the Krampus’s game.

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Nicolas-Dianne-Hartsock-ebook/dp/B0881HXTY7/ref=sr_1_3?dchild=1&keywords=dianne+hartsock&qid=1589140003&s=books&sr=1-3

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/nicolas-dianne-hartsock/1123118053?ean=9781646564002

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/nicolas-9

JMS Books: https://www.jms-books.com/dianne-hartsock-c-224_445/nicolas-p-3257.html


Excerpt:

Jamie startled awake. “What?”

He had trouble breathing, the crushing weight on his chest seeming to have followed him up from his dreams. But that couldn’t be right. He’d rented the cabin for its isolation. No one should be there. Did he still dream?

A warm breath brushed against his cheek, sending a shiver of dread and strange anticipation through him. “Easy, baby,” a silky voice whispered in the darkness. Sharp teeth nipped his earlobe and pleasure and pain sparked along his nerves. His eyes adjusted to the moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains, and he stared in amazement at the man gazing at him with wild green eyes, long pale hair, high cheekbones and a slender neck he craved to run his tongue along.

The stranger laid his weight on him, driving the air from his lungs and making Jamie struggle for every breath. Shifting position, the man sealed his full lips over Jamie’s, drawing a long groan from Jamie when an impossibly large cock slid against his. In sudden panic he reached to shove his unknown visitor away and touched hot skin and lean muscles. Of their own volition his hands roamed lower, following the curve of the stranger’s back to the rounded swell of his ass. He drew a quick breath and the man laughed into his mouth, pushed his tongue deep, thrusting inside to match the movement of his hips as he ground against Jamie’s aching dick.

Heat pooled in Jamie’s stomach. God, what was happening? The thing in his bed looked like a man, but his every instinct shouted otherwise. His skin was warm when it should have been cold from being outside. And how had he gotten in? All the windows and doors were locked tight against the winter storm. It was as if he’d just materialized in Jamie’s bed. “Who—”

He cried out when a hand pushed between them and grabbed their cocks, stroking them together until he lost the ability to think. So close! He grabbed onto the man’s firm ass and yanked him tighter against him, rising up to shove into his strong grip.

The triumphant hiss in his ear shot ice through his veins. “So naughty.”

“No!” Jamie struggled to sit up, scrambling back against the headboard. He blinked, finding himself alone in the room, only his ragged breaths disturbing the silence of the cabin. A forgotten anxiety knotted his stomach. Naughty. He hated that word, tossed about by the boys he once knew in school. The ones he’d suck off behind the gym, desperate for a gentle hand in his hair, balm against his loneliness. He’d been terrified his parents would find out he was different, that he liked girl things and found boys much more exciting than he should. They would know he was gay and there would be hell to pay for their freak of a son.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. God, that had been ages ago. The last shreds of the dream dissipated, and he reached for the bedside light, fumbling in the darkness for the switch. Low light stung his eyes and he blinked at the empty bedroom, unable to believe the attack hadn’t been real.


About Dianne:

Dianne is the author of m/m romance, paranormal suspense, fantasy adventure, the occasional thriller, and anything else that comes to mind. She lives in the beautiful Willamette Valley of Oregon with her incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours she spends hunched over the keyboard letting her characters play. She says Oregon’s raindrops are the perfect setting in which to write. There’s something about being cooped up in the house with a fire crackling on the hearth and a cup of hot coffee warming her hands, which kindles her imagination.

Currently, Dianne works as a floral designer in a locally-owned gift shop. Which is the perfect job for her. When not writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.

Blog: http://diannehartsock.wordpress.com/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/diannehartsock
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/Dianne-Hartsock-Author-107985445959828/
Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/diannehartsock
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/diannehartsock/
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/4707011-dianne-hartsock
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Dianne-Hartsock/e/B005106SYQ/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1361897239&sr=8-1

Birthday Presents:
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B076C5XNDD/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1507823212&sr=1-3&keywords=dianne+hartsock
Less Than Three Press: https://lessthanthreepress.com/books/index.php?main_page=product_bookx_info&cPath=90&products_id=1453&zenid=3ghdqc3p4kqgu5lb4rcb2gk4l6
Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/birthday-presents-2