THEMES FOR THIS WEEK:
"I/HE/SHE FELT THE EARTH MOVE..."
"EVERYONE PLAYS THE FOOL SOMETIME...."
"SITTING HOME ON A SOFA ON A SATURDAY AFTERNOON,
"HIS/HER BODY SWAYED WITH THE MUSIC, UNABLE TO RESIST THE BEAT..."
It's free so you have nothing to lose and 8 scintillating stories to gain, by LM Brown, Meredith Russell, Ryssa Edwards, Freddy MacKay, Lily Sawyer, SA Garcia, RJ Scott and your's truly. So make sure you head on over to Silver Publishing and pre-order your copy. Available to download from 11 April 2012.
I chose the theme, "I/She/He felt the earth move." So here is my contribution...
The Day the Earth Actually Moved...
The earth moved. Davis had always considered that to be one of the most ridiculous of phrases. Usually squealed by women who had just experienced their first real orgasm—well, the first one they weren't responsible for themselves. The last four minutes, however, had quickly changed his mind, because the earth had fucking moved!
Growing up in a middleclass home in Scotland didn't exactly prepare you for an honest to God earthquake. Why would it? The British Isles were devoid of the gut-churning fear of being woken up by your apartment shaking around your ears. What earthquakes there were, usually passed unnoticed by
everyone except the seismometer.
Davis clung to the walls as he tried to walk across the shaking floor to the bathroom. He'd seen it on TV once; supposedly the bathtub was the safest place to be during an earthquake. He wasn't exactly sure why it was the safest place. The safest place as far as he was concerned right now would be Glasgow. As books and ornaments fell from his bookshelves, Davis had a swift and sudden longing for his mother's shortbread, could almost taste it on his tongue as he all but threw himself into the tub.
Davis lay down, wincing at the coldness of the plastic against his bare skin. He brought his knees up to his chest and buried his head in his arms, in a feeble attempt to protect himself. Cursing loudly as the sound of breaking crockery from the kitchen reached his ears, Davis curled into himself tighter. How long was this going to last? Was this it? Naked in a bathtub? His mother would be so proud. He could hear her voice
"Didn't I tell you nae good would come of ya moving to that city? How am I gonnae be able to show ma face in the shop? Elsie McCreedy will be pointing her finger and whispering behind ma back. There goes Ida Butler. Her son died in a bathtub with his arse hangin' out. My God, the shame of it."
He curled his hands around his head, burying his fingers in his mop of blond hair, wishing, not the first time since he'd arrived in LA, that he'd listened to his mother. Why the hell had he jumped in the bath? The noise of the quake seemed to increase in decibel level, bouncing off the walls of the tub around him—increasing the beat of his heart and the tightness of his bowel. He should have just gone with his initial reaction…pulling the covers over his head and reciting as many Hail Marys as he could, like the good Catholic boy he was supposed to be.
As suddenly as it started, the shaking subsided as if someone had flicked a switch. Davis waited a few more moments and, when the world remained steady, he slowly unfurled and pushed himself up to sitting in the tub. The bathroom looked a wreck. Most of his toiletries were on the floor, those in glass bottles obviously broken and the odor of several aftershaves merging together wafted up to meet him. He wrinkled his nose and began planning his path through the shards of broken glass without cutting himself when the aftershock hit.
Not that Davis paid much attention to the aftershock because something heavy hit the back of his head and he yelped loudly. He put his fingers to his scalp and pulled them away to look. Unfortunately, Davis was not blessed with the strongest of constitutions and when he saw the sticky darkness of blood on his skin, he did what any self-respecting beer-swilling, caber-tossing Scotsman would do. He fainted.
The voice sounded as though it came from underwater, and Davis tried to latch onto it as it coaxed him from the dark he was cloaked in. It was a warm, rich voice that sent a shiver down his spine and a pleasant tightening in his gut, like the burn of a really good Glenfiddich as it slid down your throat. He would have quite happily listened to the sound of it forever, until the voice said firmly, "Dude, if you don't stop smiling and open your eyes, I'm gonna let Mrs Winkleman from three-B in here to give you mouth to mouth."
Davis's eyes fluttered open and he blinked owlishly until the face belonging to the voice swam into focus. Blinking again, just to make sure he was actually awake, Davis stared into the deepest brown eyes he'd ever seen and swallowed hard. "Am I dead?"
"Not quite," the half-naked man looming over him replied. "I'm James from four-C. You didn't answer when we did the door to door checking everyone was okay, so Mr Anders from three-A picked the lock."
"Mr Anders? The guy who's older than God?"
"I know," James chuckled, holding out his hand to Davis. "I didn't like to ask how he'd acquired that dubious skill. But… I'm glad he did."
Davis felt himself blush from head to foot as James's gaze traveled over his naked body, pausing at his cock lying against his thigh. Of course, that lingering gaze had his traitorous length twitching in interest… well, he was only human.
"Would you like a hand?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"A hand out of the tub," James clarified with a grin and pulled when Davis grabbed onto his offered hand.
Wrapping the only towel not tossed onto the floor around his waist and securing it before his cock embarrassed him further, Davis ran a hand through his hair and winced at the movement. "Something hit me," he mumbled. They peered over the rim of the tub and Davis heard James chuckle at the shampoo bottle lying there. Davis gasped as James's bare shoulder brushed against his and their eyes met in a glance filled with mutual promise.
"You okay?" James asked.
Davis nodded, his grin echoed by the man beside him and mumbled, "I thought I felt the earth move again."