Thursday, July 30, 2015

Thursday Things with T. Neilson

 Today, we invite you to meet T. Neilson.  T enjoys writing contemporary M/M romance, and likes a good daydream in bed now and again. Hopefully you will too.

Good Morning
          Riley woke up little by little. It was probably the clunk of the ventilation system that woke him first, and then the pattering of rain against the hotel window.
          More rain, he thought. He groaned and stuffed his head back into pillows scented by the hotel laundry, and sheets a little bit smudged with the make-up that somehow made it past the make-up artists and the shower. He did shower, didn’t he? He tried to remember. 
          They’d been doing the scene with the fight in the alley, shooting it over and over again. A little more frantic this time, the director had said, Okay, now lets do one a little less intense, and then okay, I need you to notice him earlier, again and again until even the stunt doubles looked worn out.
          Toward the end of the shoot, Riley had started falling asleep. He fell asleep in chairs, in corners, half-under the food services table. He didn’t even remember Leanne, his assistant, driving him back to the hotel. He sure didn’t remember having a shower.  After twenty hours of shooting a fight scene, a guy really should have a shower.
          Thank God it was Thursday, and Leanne wasn’t coming by till the afternoon. They were ahead of schedule on the shoot, and the rule was: Mornings off on Thursdays till further notice. Bliss.
          The rain splattered harder on the window and Riley had another thought. Maybe the afternoon shoot would be cancelled on account of the weather. Double bliss. He felt like he could lie in bed forever.
          He missed California. He missed his own bed, the scent of the sheets, and the warm length of Quinn lying beside him. Quinn was supposed to be coming up to Vancouver on the fourteenth, but Riley actually had no idea when that was in relation to now. The exhausting schedule of the shoot had turned everything into a blur. He wasn’t even totally sure that it was Thursday.
          When I get home, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut as if he could wish himself there and then if he just tried hard enough. When I get home, I’m going to…
          He could picture Quinn lying in the bed beside him, smiling just a little. He imagined Quinn saying, You're gonna what? like a challenge.
          Riley grinned into the pillow. Quinn had picked up the tabloid habit of calling Riley ‘Mr. Midwest’, as if having wholesome habits and high expectations was some kind of a fault. Riley, for his part, didn’t fight the moniker; it had been great for his acting career. Plus, Quinn seemed to forget that Riley hadn’t just stepped out of a Disney movie, which mean sometimes, Riley got to surprise the heck out of him.
          So in his imagination, Quinn said, You're gonna what? and Riley shoved Quinn’s shoulder, so he flopped over on his back in the bed, grinning that big, cocky grin he's got. Riley thought he'd grin right back at Quinn. Let me show you.
          Then Riley’d get up and straddle Quinn’s legs and run his hands down Quinn’s belly, where the skin's tender and touching it makes Quinn pull in a sharp breath, though he swears up and down he’s not ticklish. There’d be morning wood, there’s always morning wood.
          There certainly was this morning, Riley realized.
          Riley hadn’t meant to get himself excited, but now his cock was waking up, growing full and heavy under him. Trapped rather pleasantly between him and the bed, and there was nothing wrong with that. Not at all.
          He thought of Quinn again. Well, good morning, Quinn would say to him, all fake-innocent and faux-surprise.
          Not yet, Riley'd answer, but it will be.
          He’d grab the lube from the bedside table and grin like a shark. Then he’d kiss his way down Quinn, careful of the scars, and hitting every totally-not-ticklish spot he knew about on the way down. By that time, Quinn would be fully hard and making little noises, and those noises…
          Riley smiled into the pillows, thinking about those noises.
          Riley would lube up one hand, have Quinn’s cock in his mouth as soon as he could - no messing around, no being as shy as he usually felt. He’d spread Quinn wide and press a finger into him, and feel Quinn jerk under him and say, Woah, Mr. Midwest, as if he thought Riley’d never fingered a guy before, and hadn't been thinking about doing that to Quinn since forever.
          The thought made Riley grind his hips into the mattress and that was… very nice. Friction. That was what he needed. Friction would really improve this morning. He slid his hand down to provide more friction and thought about Quinn again.
          Riley decided he would work Quinn till the pitch of Quinn’s noises changed. Till the sounds stopped being sweet and sensual and started to become desperate and animal, until Quinn whispered, babe, I’m gonna— which would be about as far as he’d get before he was coming into Riley’s mouth and falling apart under Riley.
          Riley tightened his grip on himself. No lube, but he was growing slick with precome, and something about the roughness and the fantasy was pushing him fast toward the edge. He closed his eyes, pressing hard against the bed, thinking of Quinn, who would by lying there with his mouth half-open, cheeks flushed, whispering Jesus, babe, come here, and reaching for him. Reaching and —
          The lock on the hotel door beeped. Riley froze.
          Shit, he thought. It’s Leanne. It’s not Thursday. I’m late for make-up.
          Riley had a moment of total, animal panic. If he got up and ran for the bathroom now, maybe he could get to it without embarrassing the hell out of himself. No, too late. The door was already opening, and he could hear the soft pad of footsteps across the carpet. Fake sleep, he thought. Then fake wake up. Ask her to go get you coffee. It’s your only chance.
          He held still till the footfalls stopped. The bed dipped a little on one side. “Hey,” someone whispered, and it was Quinn’s voice. Riley opened his eyes. Quinn sat smiling faintly at him. "Faker," he murmured.
          A surge of relief went through Riley. He sagged into the bed. "God, I thought you were Leanne."
          “You fake sleep when your assistant is in the room? You weirdo. Besides, it’s the fourteenth.” Quinn stroked back the hair on Riley’s forehead. “You didn’t forget I was coming, did you?”
          “No. I just… lost track of the days. It's Thursday, right?” Riley asked.
          Quinn nodded. “Yeah, I—”
          He didn’t get the chance to finish before Riley said, "Oh, good," grabbed him, and pulled him down into the bed.
          “Whoa,” Quinn laughed. “Good morning.”

          Riley grinned. “Yeah. It’s about to be," he said.


Submission Guidlines

Cole Doren is starting over. He's moved, started working as a food writer again, and is crushing hard on his new neighbor, Daniel Mazurek, who is a genuinely nice guy and as hot as a supernova.

Too bad for Cole, Daniel's not what he seems.

And too bad for Daniel, the cute boy-next-door's DNA says he's one of America's most wanted, and it's Daniel's job to confirm that and bring him down. Digging through Cole’s past, Daniel finds out about Cole’s BDSM videos and while it should set off warning bells, it only leaves Daniel damn hot for Cole. Getting closer to his subject is easy, but starting a relationship built on trust is a lot harder when everything Daniel’s ever told Cole has been a lie.


T grew up in the Rocky Mountains and moved out west to go to university, and there she stayed. She has now lived and worked on Vancouver Island for fifteen years and, by some definitions, is even considered a local now.

She still misses sparkling, snowy winters of the mountains, but living in a temperate rainforest has its perks. In the summer you can find her either camping or hiking. If she's not out there, try looking at the beach. She might be out there, listening to audiobooks, scouring the shore for beach glass, and trying to fill her year's quota of vitamin D by acting like a lizard whenever the sun comes out.

In the rainy season, (substantially longer than the sunny season) she writes, reads, drinks far too much coffee, bakes and cooks, and works hard to maintain an addiction to pop culture, social media, and cartoons. If you're looking for her, she's probably on the couch, under the big blanket, nursing a cup of tea or a glass of wine, and reading something juicy.

T's author page at Dreamspinner.

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