Sebastian Nothwell's Blog - Posts Tagged "queer-romance"
Sunday Snippet, 8.14.22
Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian fae romance, Oak King Holly King – available now wherever fine books are found!
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The sheer strength of Shrike’s frame proved itself through his strapping shoulders and sinewy arms. To Wren, he appeared all the more breath-taking when he bent over work so fine and delicate as plying the merest sliver of a blade to the thin sheet of pale white hart’s hide and slicing the leather into lace. Rough yet gentle hands, whose touch could make Wren tremble, now split a slender piece of wire in twain—a boar bristle, Shrike explained when he caught Wren’s curious gaze—and wound with catgut for needle and thread to piece together a patchwork harlequin who would’ve been the envy of all in Venice’s Carnivale. Wren felt his pencil scribblings hardly did justice to the man he knew and loved. Still, as the house passed in comfortable silence, he filled his sketch-book’s pages with his attempts to capture the knife’s-edge balance between brutish brawn and elfin grace.
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The sheer strength of Shrike’s frame proved itself through his strapping shoulders and sinewy arms. To Wren, he appeared all the more breath-taking when he bent over work so fine and delicate as plying the merest sliver of a blade to the thin sheet of pale white hart’s hide and slicing the leather into lace. Rough yet gentle hands, whose touch could make Wren tremble, now split a slender piece of wire in twain—a boar bristle, Shrike explained when he caught Wren’s curious gaze—and wound with catgut for needle and thread to piece together a patchwork harlequin who would’ve been the envy of all in Venice’s Carnivale. Wren felt his pencil scribblings hardly did justice to the man he knew and loved. Still, as the house passed in comfortable silence, he filled his sketch-book’s pages with his attempts to capture the knife’s-edge balance between brutish brawn and elfin grace.
~
Sunday Snippet, 8.21.22
Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian fae romance, Oak King Holly King - available now wherever fine books are found!
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“Then, if none but friends may enter Blackthorn, why did you draw your sword when you found someone already in the cottage?”
To Wren’s surprise, Shrike appeared chastened by the question. He glanced away and hesitated, the silence broken only by the slight clink of his sword in its scabbard as his fingers played upon the pommel. When he met Wren’s gaze again, the fathomless depths of his dark eyes shone soft with reverence. In a much-abashed tone, he replied, “I have far more to lose now than ever I had before.”
To be wanted was one thing. To be cherished and defended was another. To be loved… Wren dared not think so far as that. But nevertheless his heart sang with the knowledge that Shrike considered him worthy of protection, and that the loss of Wren would pain Shrike as much as the loss of Shrike would pain Wren.
No words seemed sufficient to express even a fraction of what Wren felt. As such, he abandoned language entirely. Instead he reached out his hand to Shrike’s scarred cheek, turning his face so he might capture his mouth in a kiss.
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“Then, if none but friends may enter Blackthorn, why did you draw your sword when you found someone already in the cottage?”
To Wren’s surprise, Shrike appeared chastened by the question. He glanced away and hesitated, the silence broken only by the slight clink of his sword in its scabbard as his fingers played upon the pommel. When he met Wren’s gaze again, the fathomless depths of his dark eyes shone soft with reverence. In a much-abashed tone, he replied, “I have far more to lose now than ever I had before.”
To be wanted was one thing. To be cherished and defended was another. To be loved… Wren dared not think so far as that. But nevertheless his heart sang with the knowledge that Shrike considered him worthy of protection, and that the loss of Wren would pain Shrike as much as the loss of Shrike would pain Wren.
No words seemed sufficient to express even a fraction of what Wren felt. As such, he abandoned language entirely. Instead he reached out his hand to Shrike’s scarred cheek, turning his face so he might capture his mouth in a kiss.
~
Sunday Snippet, 8.28.22
Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian cross-class romance, Mr Warren's Profession, featuring hurt/comfort and a happily-ever-after - available now wherever fine books are found!
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Lindsey led the way to a grand hall with a high, vaulted ceiling. Originally built for indoor perambulation, thick curtains now covered its wall of impossibly tall windows. Every remaining inch of wall from floor to ceiling displayed framed portraits of blond, blue-eyed, aquiline-featured people. Several could’ve passed for Lindsey’s doubles, costumes aside. These, then, were Lindsey’s ancestors, stretching back through the centuries to William the Conqueror. Possibly beyond.
The entire Althorp clan stared Aubrey down. Aubrey, alone, with no gallery of compact, bow-lipped, large-eyed individuals behind him. Not a single living soul who bore any resemblance. No memory of a face like his looking into his own.
Despite his best efforts, he felt a bit small.
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~
Lindsey led the way to a grand hall with a high, vaulted ceiling. Originally built for indoor perambulation, thick curtains now covered its wall of impossibly tall windows. Every remaining inch of wall from floor to ceiling displayed framed portraits of blond, blue-eyed, aquiline-featured people. Several could’ve passed for Lindsey’s doubles, costumes aside. These, then, were Lindsey’s ancestors, stretching back through the centuries to William the Conqueror. Possibly beyond.
The entire Althorp clan stared Aubrey down. Aubrey, alone, with no gallery of compact, bow-lipped, large-eyed individuals behind him. Not a single living soul who bore any resemblance. No memory of a face like his looking into his own.
Despite his best efforts, he felt a bit small.
~
Sunday Snippet, 9.4.22
Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian fae romance, Oak King Holly King - available now wherever fine books are found!
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Wren took advantage of their absence to collapse into his desk chair.
Shrike strode toward him, hand outstretched.
Wren stayed him with a glance—half warning, half desperation—and Shrike settled his hand on the back of Wren’s chair rather than on his shoulder, where his warmth might have suffused and soothed Wren’s aching muscles.
“You should go,” Wren forced himself to say. “While they’re distracted. Before they start asking questions.”
Shrike gazed down at him a moment longer with an expression no less handsome for its mournful cast. Still, he nodded his assent and turned to go.
“Wait,” Wren blurted, his exhausted mind belatedly recalling what he’d nearly forgotten.
Shrike halted, looking somewhere between confused and concerned.
But before he could enquire, Wren had already dived into his satchel and fished out the laudanum.
“It’s for easing pain,” Wren explained as Shrike studied the bottle. “Just a drop or two mixed into drink. Any more and it becomes deadly poison.”
“Such is the way of all medicine,” Shrike murmured.
Wren held it out to him. Shrike took it. His fingertips brushed Wren’s knuckles. The touch sent a shiver across Wren’s skin. He wanted nothing more than to reach for Shrike, to seize his cloak and drag him down into an embrace, throw his arms about his shoulders and collapse into him.
Instead, Wren dropped his hand to the arm of his chair and clenched it hard.
Shrike’s eyes followed the gesture. He tucked the laudanum into the folds of his cloak and said, “Whenever you can get away…”
“I will run to you,” Wren finished for him.
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~
Wren took advantage of their absence to collapse into his desk chair.
Shrike strode toward him, hand outstretched.
Wren stayed him with a glance—half warning, half desperation—and Shrike settled his hand on the back of Wren’s chair rather than on his shoulder, where his warmth might have suffused and soothed Wren’s aching muscles.
“You should go,” Wren forced himself to say. “While they’re distracted. Before they start asking questions.”
Shrike gazed down at him a moment longer with an expression no less handsome for its mournful cast. Still, he nodded his assent and turned to go.
“Wait,” Wren blurted, his exhausted mind belatedly recalling what he’d nearly forgotten.
Shrike halted, looking somewhere between confused and concerned.
But before he could enquire, Wren had already dived into his satchel and fished out the laudanum.
“It’s for easing pain,” Wren explained as Shrike studied the bottle. “Just a drop or two mixed into drink. Any more and it becomes deadly poison.”
“Such is the way of all medicine,” Shrike murmured.
Wren held it out to him. Shrike took it. His fingertips brushed Wren’s knuckles. The touch sent a shiver across Wren’s skin. He wanted nothing more than to reach for Shrike, to seize his cloak and drag him down into an embrace, throw his arms about his shoulders and collapse into him.
Instead, Wren dropped his hand to the arm of his chair and clenched it hard.
Shrike’s eyes followed the gesture. He tucked the laudanum into the folds of his cloak and said, “Whenever you can get away…”
“I will run to you,” Wren finished for him.
~
Sunday Snippet, 9.11.22
Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian cross-class romance, Mr Warren's Profession, featuring hurt/comfort and a happily-ever-after - available now wherever fine books are found!
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By slow increments, Aubrey repositioned himself half on his side, half on Lindsey. A contented hum issued from Lindsey’s lips. Then his eyes opened. His sleepy smile remained for an instant before his brow knitted in concern.
“You all right?”
Aubrey hurried to rearrange his own discomfited expression the moment Lindsey opened his eyes, but it seemed he hadn’t been quick enough. He plastered an easy grin over his anxieties and affected an airy tone. “Of course.”
Lindsey didn’t appear convinced. His mouth opened. Aubrey, dreading further questions, put a stop to it with a kiss.
Thus distracted, Lindsey gave up his inquiries. He pulled away to nuzzle at Aubrey’s jaw and on down his throat. Aubrey allowed himself to relax a fraction under the quiet, undemanding affection.
The downy duvet drew up over his shoulders. Another kiss, this time to his collarbone, then Lindsey’s forehead came to rest upon it and seemed content to stay there. Aubrey let his own hand rise to comb through Lindsey’s well-tousled curls, untangling and twining them through his fingers.
He could get used to this, he thought drowsily.
He wouldn’t, of course. Only a fool would dare to.
But he could.
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~
By slow increments, Aubrey repositioned himself half on his side, half on Lindsey. A contented hum issued from Lindsey’s lips. Then his eyes opened. His sleepy smile remained for an instant before his brow knitted in concern.
“You all right?”
Aubrey hurried to rearrange his own discomfited expression the moment Lindsey opened his eyes, but it seemed he hadn’t been quick enough. He plastered an easy grin over his anxieties and affected an airy tone. “Of course.”
Lindsey didn’t appear convinced. His mouth opened. Aubrey, dreading further questions, put a stop to it with a kiss.
Thus distracted, Lindsey gave up his inquiries. He pulled away to nuzzle at Aubrey’s jaw and on down his throat. Aubrey allowed himself to relax a fraction under the quiet, undemanding affection.
The downy duvet drew up over his shoulders. Another kiss, this time to his collarbone, then Lindsey’s forehead came to rest upon it and seemed content to stay there. Aubrey let his own hand rise to comb through Lindsey’s well-tousled curls, untangling and twining them through his fingers.
He could get used to this, he thought drowsily.
He wouldn’t, of course. Only a fool would dare to.
But he could.
~
Sunday Snippet, 9.18.22
Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian fae romance collection, Tales from Blackthorn Briar, a sequel to Oak King Holly King featuring hurt/comfort and many happily-ever-afters – coming out Sept. 21st and available for preorder wherever fine books are found!
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“Are you all right, sir?” asked Mr Hull.
Ephraim didn’t quite know how to answer him. In an abstracted sort of way, he quite liked to be held so gently in the brawny arms of his very handsome clerk. On the other hand, he was not quite so old yet as to feel totally bereft of dignity, and dignity demanded he put a stop to this sort of nonsense.
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“Are you all right, sir?” asked Mr Hull.
Ephraim didn’t quite know how to answer him. In an abstracted sort of way, he quite liked to be held so gently in the brawny arms of his very handsome clerk. On the other hand, he was not quite so old yet as to feel totally bereft of dignity, and dignity demanded he put a stop to this sort of nonsense.
~
Sunday Snippet, 10.2.22
Welcome to spooky season! Please enjoy this Sunday Snippet from my sapphic Gothic romance, The Haunting of Heatherhurst Hall...
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Alexandra smiled, her Cupid’s-bow lips spreading into a fond expression. “I do hope you’ll forgive my shocking familiarity. But as you’ve no doubt heard my Christian name on my brother’s lips, I wondered if I might ask you yours?”
Kit’s mouth went suddenly dry. “Catherine.”
Alexandra smiled. “I’ve had a wonderful evening with you, Catherine.”
“My friends call me Kit,” Kit blurted. If she’d had a hand free, she’d have clapped it over her own mouth in horror. Until now, the only people to call her Kit were her childhood nursemaid, her cousin Phoebe, and Lucy. It was absurd to think an aristocrat such as Miss Cranbrook would ever want to use such a childish nickname. Though nothing Kit said could take her presumptive comment back, she couldn’t stop herself from adding, as if it would help matters, “Close friends do.”
Alexandra’s smile widened. “Then I hope I may someday earn the privilege.”
~
The Haunting of Heatherhurst Hall is a Gothic romance rife with horror and heartache, wherein an American heiress makes an ill-advised marriage to bring herself closer the woman who’s stolen her heart.
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Alexandra smiled, her Cupid’s-bow lips spreading into a fond expression. “I do hope you’ll forgive my shocking familiarity. But as you’ve no doubt heard my Christian name on my brother’s lips, I wondered if I might ask you yours?”
Kit’s mouth went suddenly dry. “Catherine.”
Alexandra smiled. “I’ve had a wonderful evening with you, Catherine.”
“My friends call me Kit,” Kit blurted. If she’d had a hand free, she’d have clapped it over her own mouth in horror. Until now, the only people to call her Kit were her childhood nursemaid, her cousin Phoebe, and Lucy. It was absurd to think an aristocrat such as Miss Cranbrook would ever want to use such a childish nickname. Though nothing Kit said could take her presumptive comment back, she couldn’t stop herself from adding, as if it would help matters, “Close friends do.”
Alexandra’s smile widened. “Then I hope I may someday earn the privilege.”
~
The Haunting of Heatherhurst Hall is a Gothic romance rife with horror and heartache, wherein an American heiress makes an ill-advised marriage to bring herself closer the woman who’s stolen her heart.
~
Sunday Snippet, 10.9.22
Sunday Snippet from my sapphic Gothic romance, The Haunting of Heatherhurst Hall!
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Alexandra shrugged again and glanced out over the cemetery’s wide expanse. “It’s a pity you haven’t found occasion to use your camera yet today. You should capture something before the light fades.”
“I could capture you.”
Alexandra whirled to face her. Kit clapped a hand over her own mouth. She hadn’t meant anything by what she’d said, merely echoing Alexandra’s phrasing, but the moment it left her lips and touched her ears she realized how horrible it sounded.
But a gleam came into Alexandra’s steel-grey eyes, and her bow-shaped lips widened into a delighted grin. “Could you, indeed? I should like that very much.”
~
The Haunting of Heatherhurst Hall is a Gothic romance rife with horror and heartache, wherein an American heiress makes an ill-advised marriage to bring herself closer the woman who’s stolen her heart.
~
Alexandra shrugged again and glanced out over the cemetery’s wide expanse. “It’s a pity you haven’t found occasion to use your camera yet today. You should capture something before the light fades.”
“I could capture you.”
Alexandra whirled to face her. Kit clapped a hand over her own mouth. She hadn’t meant anything by what she’d said, merely echoing Alexandra’s phrasing, but the moment it left her lips and touched her ears she realized how horrible it sounded.
But a gleam came into Alexandra’s steel-grey eyes, and her bow-shaped lips widened into a delighted grin. “Could you, indeed? I should like that very much.”
~
The Haunting of Heatherhurst Hall is a Gothic romance rife with horror and heartache, wherein an American heiress makes an ill-advised marriage to bring herself closer the woman who’s stolen her heart.
Sunday Snippet, 10.16.22
In the spirit of spooky season, please enjoy this Sunday Snippet from my sapphic Gothic romance, The Haunting of Heatherhurst Hall!
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Kit ran her fingers over her keys again as a physical reminder of her defense against the metaphysical. She might not have a key to the attic, but she at least had a key to her own bedroom.
Then she remembered Alexandra had the very same ring of keys.
Her breath caught in her throat as a vision flashed before her mind—a vision of herself, asleep, alone in her marriage bed, a full moon hanging in the sky outside the high-arched window, throwing off just enough illumination to reveal the turning of the doorknob, the slow inward creak of the door, and a shadow sliding across the floor with supernatural ease, rising up beside the bed in the form of the raven-haired Alexandra, looming over Kit, helpless and utterly ignorant of the danger—until Alexandra swooped down upon her, and—
Kit snapped out of the waking nightmare, her heart pounding with new fear—or perhaps some other, more unspeakable emotion.
~
The Haunting of Heatherhurst Hall is a Gothic romance rife with horror and heartache, wherein an American heiress makes an ill-advised marriage to bring herself closer the woman who’s stolen her heart.
~
~
Kit ran her fingers over her keys again as a physical reminder of her defense against the metaphysical. She might not have a key to the attic, but she at least had a key to her own bedroom.
Then she remembered Alexandra had the very same ring of keys.
Her breath caught in her throat as a vision flashed before her mind—a vision of herself, asleep, alone in her marriage bed, a full moon hanging in the sky outside the high-arched window, throwing off just enough illumination to reveal the turning of the doorknob, the slow inward creak of the door, and a shadow sliding across the floor with supernatural ease, rising up beside the bed in the form of the raven-haired Alexandra, looming over Kit, helpless and utterly ignorant of the danger—until Alexandra swooped down upon her, and—
Kit snapped out of the waking nightmare, her heart pounding with new fear—or perhaps some other, more unspeakable emotion.
~
The Haunting of Heatherhurst Hall is a Gothic romance rife with horror and heartache, wherein an American heiress makes an ill-advised marriage to bring herself closer the woman who’s stolen her heart.
~
Sunday Snippet, 10.23.22
In the spirit of spooky season, please enjoy this Sunday Snippet from my sapphic Gothic romance, The Haunting of Heatherhurst Hall!
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Love had made Alexandra stupid. Love had frayed her steely nerves to the point of snapping, had forced her to question her own behavior, had made her look within herself and realize she had grown as much a monster as any malevolent spirit lurking within the crumbling edifice of Heatherhurst Hall. Her own selfishness had made her unworthy of Kit.
And it only made her love Kit all the more.
~
The Haunting of Heatherhurst Hall is a Gothic romance rife with horror and heartache, wherein an American heiress makes an ill-advised marriage to bring herself closer the woman who’s stolen her heart.
~
~
Love had made Alexandra stupid. Love had frayed her steely nerves to the point of snapping, had forced her to question her own behavior, had made her look within herself and realize she had grown as much a monster as any malevolent spirit lurking within the crumbling edifice of Heatherhurst Hall. Her own selfishness had made her unworthy of Kit.
And it only made her love Kit all the more.
~
The Haunting of Heatherhurst Hall is a Gothic romance rife with horror and heartache, wherein an American heiress makes an ill-advised marriage to bring herself closer the woman who’s stolen her heart.
~
