Author Override is the place where authors take the reins and take you on a journey into their world. Some may allow you into their private writing dens. Others may take you along with them on research trips or interviews. Whatever the case may be, sit back, relax and enjoy the ride because here you’ll get an in-depth look into an author’s musings.
Hi everybody! Ally Blue here, stopping by to talk about my gay erotic horror short story “Flesh And Song,” part of Riptide Publishing’s newly released Bump In The Night anthology. This is super exciting for me, not just because I’m in a book with a group of seriously talented authors, but also because I’ve always wanted to write horror. I’m dipping my toe in for the first time with this little tale. Well, technically the second time, but the other horror-type story I wrote a hundred years ago is out of print now. I hope y’all love reading “Flesh And Song” as much as I loved writing it. J
For this post, I decided to give you a deleted scene. The story was originally much longer and went in a way different direction than I ended up taking it. The scene below is part of what got cut to make the story better. I think I made the right decision in the end, but I really liked this bit so I’m glad someone gets to read it after all. Enjoy! To my lovely blog hosts, thank you so much for having me here today and letting me share your space!
© Copyright 2013 Ally Blue
The blows from fists and feet had barely begun to land when a shout and a gunshot sounded one after another. His attacker dropped him to the unforgiving floor with a curse. He peeled his eyelids open just in time to see the man and the woman who’d propositioned him run off with a group of others.
So this would not be the time of his delivery from the hell of his life. He covered his face with his hands.
Strong fingers grasped his wrists and tugged with more strength than he could resist in his inebriated state, forcing his hands away from his face. “Hey. Are you okay?”
Resentful of the interruption, of the softly accented voice forcing its way between him and what should have been his death, Noah opened his eyes to see the bastard who’d kept him from the peace which was all he craved anymore.
The man didn’t look like a hero, or a villain. Late forties at a guess, stocky, salt-and-pepper hair curling around a soft round jaw covered with at least two day’s worth of black stubble. Lush, kissable lips and tremendous eyes brown as dark as roasted coffee beans made the otherwise unremarkable face riveting.
Before, Noah would’ve smiled, turned on the charm and seen where he could take this. He’d bedded more than one man who’d turned out less straight than he’d believed himself. Now, after the island, Noah didn’t even want to try.
He rested his head on the floor. “Go away.” As soon as the room stopped spinning, he planned to get up and go back to Ligia, where he still slept at night. He couldn’t do that as long as this person knelt over him in unwelcome solicitousness. He shoved the man’s sturdy shoulder. “Leave me alone.”
Instead of doing as he was told, the stranger heaved a deep sigh, bent and slipped a muscular arm around Noah’s chest. “Up you go, Sunshine.”
Noah’s stomach rolled when his tormentor heaved him to his feet. He groaned. “Stop.”
“I’m taking you home.” The man’s voice was calm, patient, soothing. He dragged Noah toward the bar door with no evidence of physical strain, in spite of being half a head shorter. “Where do you live?”
Noah laughed, harsh and humorless. He didn’t live. He existed. He went through the motions. The corpse of the life he’d once known lay on a deserted beach somewhere in the Caribbean sea.
Since he knew damn well that wasn’t what his self-styled rescuer meant, however—and since said man seemed determined to see him safely to the place he laid his head before letting him be—Noah decided to keep his bitterness contained and tell the man holding him up where to take him.
“Rickenbacker Marina. I live on my boat,” he added in answer to the man’s raised eyebrows.
Another sigh, though Noah detected a note of relief in this one. The marina wasn’t too far from here.
Outside, Noah let his new acquaintance lead him through the hot, sticky Miami night to a battered and rusted red truck with one black door and a volleyball net stretched across the back in lieu of a tailgate. Springs squealed when Noah climbed into the passenger seat.
“Sorry.” The man shot Noah an apologetic look as he settled behind the wheel and started the engine. “You’re probably used to something more high end.”
Noah shifted in his seat, torn between discomfort and irritation. His companion assumed a great deal based on Noah being able to afford a hurricane season mooring at the marina, and it got under his skin. “I’ve owned worse. In fact I recently spent a couple of months sleeping on the ground, and sailing alone isn’t exactly a five-star resort experience, so don’t assume you know what I’m used to.”
He expected a rude reply. Possibly an invitation to get out of the truck and walk back to the marina. He would’ve welcomed it. Instead, the man fixed him with a swift, sharp stare.
For a moment, Noah was positive the man was about to say something, but he just shook his head and pulled the truck into traffic with an unhealthy cough and roar from the old engine.
The trip to the marina passed in silence. Noah found himself wanting to know more about his new friend. Most people would be angry with Noah by now, or at least annoyed. In his experience, even the kindest of good Samaritans had limited patience when it came to helping the fallen rich, particularly when they failed to prostrate themselves in gratitude. All Noah felt from his companion, though, was an odd blend of curiosity, pity, and dread.
He got the distinct feeling the man knew something about him, and he didn’t like it. Not because it put him at a disadvantage—though it did—but because instinct told him the things this stranger knew were things Noah would rather forget.
When they reached the marina, Noah gave directions to his berth before his friend could ask. The man parked as close as he could get, helped Noah out of the passenger seat in spite of his protests and they started toward Ligia together.
“Nice boat,” the man said when they stopped in front of Noah’s lady. “What’s her name?”
The man let out a hollow laugh. “After the siren.”
“Yes.” Clearly much more lay behind this man’s unassuming face that Noah had originally believed. He studied the ordinary but not unattractive profile. For the first time since he’d left the island, a spark of heat stirred in his belly. “What about you?”
The man blinked and turned to Noah, his thoughtful expression turning sharper, hotter. “Me?”
“You.” Noah smiled. “What’s your name?”
“Miguel Vargas.” The brown eyes cut sideways, then focused on Noah with a crackling intensity. “And you?”
“Noah Rose.” Noah felt the seductive mask he’d once worn like a second skin trying to slide into its old accustomed place. He shook it off. He couldn’t play those games anymore. Not since the island and his god. “Come on board with me, Miguel. I’d really like for you to fuck me right now.”
Miguel answered by stepping into Noah’s personal space, snagging a fistful of Noah’s hair and yanking his head down for an aggressive, invasive kiss. Noah opened wide and went with it. He wound his arms around Miguel’s neck and pressed close to the hard-muscled body. It wasn’t like kissing the island god, but it was good enough to stir Noah’s cock to life for the first time in months. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed feeling sexual excitement.
He managed to lead Miguel to his cabin in spite of the alcohol blurring his vision and the desire telling him to take a kiss every few seconds. They fell onto Noah’s narrow mattress already undressing one another. Shoes and shirts went flying, landing scattered on the floor. Between them, they got both zippers open and Miguel’s underwear and ragged plaid shorts off. Miguel sat back on his heels, got hold of Noah’s shorts and peeled them off. If the lack of underwear surprised him, he didn’t take the time to show it. Grasping Noah’s hips, Miguel flipped him onto his stomach.
Noah didn’t need to ask questions. He got his legs beneath him and positioned himself on knees and elbows, thighs apart and back arched to spread his ass and show Miguel his hole. He twisted to peer over his shoulder. “Lube’s in the headboard.”
After that, they didn’t speak. He didn’t have any condoms, and Miguel didn’t ask. Noah heard the faint squeak of the compartment opening, then the click of the lube bottle. Lube squelched. There was another click, then the wet, sticky sound of Miguel spreading the slick gel on his cock. The mattress moved, barely noticeable with the roll of the low swells beneath the keel. Miguel’s cock nudged at Noah’s entrance, paused for a heartbeat, then shoved inside.
Christ, it hurt. Noah bit his lips together, fisted his hands in the sheets and focused on breathing. In. Out. Forcing his body to relax and accept the intrusion. Right now, Miguel’s cock felt impossibly huge, stretching Noah’s muscles until he thought he’d rip in half. But it would pass. It always did. And then, Miguel would fuck him and he’d fly again, for a little while.
It didn’t take long before Noah’s body remembered how to bottom, and Miguel started to move inside him. It felt so damn good, Noah couldn’t hold back his moans. Pushing up onto his hands, he braced himself enough to meet Miguel’s increasingly hard thrusts with backward movements of his own, driving Miguel’s prick so deep he ought to taste him in the back of his throat.
“Ahh, Noah, God.” Miguel fell forward, catching his weight on one hand. He wrapped the other around Noah’s cock and started jerking him off in a distractingly irregular rhythm. “I wanna come in your ass.”
A violent shudder shook Noah from stem to stern. “Yes. Do it.”
Miguel pounded into Noah, breathing quick and harsh in his ear. His fingers tightened around Noah’s cock to the point of pain. The scent of sweat and drugstore cologne surrounded Noah, kicking his excitement into the stratosphere. Miguel’s thumb swiped over the sensitive tip of Noah’s prick, and his orgasm overtook him, rolled him over and drowned him. Through the sex-drugged haze, he felt Miguel’s climax—a few brutal thrusts, then a trembling stillness, Miguel’s cock buried to the root in Noah’s ass, throbbing with the force of his ejaculation.
Noah grinned to himself. Right now, it didn’t matter that the sex hadn’t been as intense as it had been with the god. Knowing he could still feel passion, pleasure, even the unique pain of unprepared penetration, made him giddy with relief.
As soon as Miguel pulled out, Noah turned over, wrapped arms and legs around him and urged him close. Miguel laid his body full length on top of Noah and sealed their mouths together. In the post-sex glow, the kiss felt lazy and sated, all the urgency of before burned away.
Miguel rolled sideways, taking Noah with him, and raised a hand to touch Noah’s face. His palm smelled like Noah’s crotch. “Where were you before you came to Miami?”
It was a strange thing to ask. Noah didn’t like it. He gazed into Miguel’s eyes, trying to pin down the elusive something that made him different and a little frightening. “Why?”
“There’s something about you.” Miguel traced Noah’s jaw with blunt fingertips. “Something about the look in your eyes. I think maybe we’ve seen the same things.”
Apprehension dug icy fingers into Noah’s gut. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. But he’d never rest easy until he did.
“I went looking for La Terre de la Belle Mort.” Noah used the obscure name deliberately, hoping Miguel wouldn’t recognize it. He clearly did, though. Noah curled closer to Miguel’s warmth with a sigh. “I found it.”
Miguel stroked Noah’s hair. “What did you see?”
Noah shut his eyes. “I saw a god. And he destroyed me.”
Turn off the lights . . . and turn on your darkest fantasies.
Demon pacts. Ghostly possessions. Monsters lurking in the depths. The things that go bump in the night frighten us, but they also intrigue us. Fascinate us. Even turn us on.
Join us as fan favorites Ally Blue and Kari Gregg bring over-amorous aquatic beasts to life with their mythic twists on the Siren and the monster in the lake. Erotic horror pros Heidi Belleau, Sam Schooler, and Brien Michaels show us just how sexy scary can be with a pair of demon deals destined to curl your toes and set your heart thrashing. And literary masters Laylah Hunter and Peter Hansen weave haunting worlds where ghosts and dead lovers can touch our hearts (and other, naughtier places too . . .) and teach us lessons from beyond the grave.
By turns exciting, evocative, and exquisitely explicit, the stories in Bump in the Night are sure to scratch your sexy paranormal itch. Explore your wildest fantasies with us in this collection of dark erotic tales.
You can read excerpts from all the stories and purchase the book here.
About the Author
Ally Blue is acknowledged by the world at large (or at least by her heroes, who tend to suffer a lot) as the Popess of Gay Angst. She has a great big suggestively-shaped hat and rides in a bullet-proof Plexiglas bubble in Christmas parades. Her harem of manwhores does double duty as bodyguards and inspirational entertainment. Her favorite band is Radiohead, her favorite color is lime green and her favorite way to waste a perfectly good Saturday is to watch all three extended version LOTR movies in a row. Her ultimate dream is to one day ditch the evil day job and support the family on manlove alone. She is not a hippie or a brain surgeon, no matter what her kids’ friends say.
Connect with Ally on the interwebs: