Summary:
Kobbi AAkers was excited to have a traditional family Christmas with his younger sister Franzi, a famous rock star. But instead of the peaceful holiday he had planned, she’s turning it into a televised musical extravaganza, in a desperate bid for publicity.
Kobbi can adapt, especially since the show’s host Wytt Kanard is easy on the eyes and easy to work with, even if he doesn’t believe in Christmas at all. Wytt is alternatively amused and horrified at the simplicity that is Kobbi’s life and the enthusiasm he has for the holiday, all while taking care of his houseful of unexpected guests.
Maybe Kobbi can convince the cynical Wytt that Christmas isn’t an event to be managed, but something special to be shared. Maybe he can muster the courage to confess his attraction and offer Wytt a surprise present.
Summary:
Colleagues Ford and Vaughan have long admired each other from afar, but Vaughan’s shyness and Ford’s emotional hang-ups have meant that neither has made a move. That all changes when they draw each other’s name in the office Secret Santa.
Summary:
Martin 'Tin' McAuliff is an innocent - in every sense of the word. He hides behind his studies and his job to cover up how socially awkward he is, but that doesn't stop him dreaming of the perfect guy coming to sweep him off his feet.
Beckett Lake exudes power and status, from the top of his perfectly tousled hair to the bottom of his expensive shoes, but he’s never met a man worth lavishing his substantial affections on. Until a chance meeting with the most adorable man on two legs quickly brings out his protective side.
Tin doesn’t realize that Beckett wants more than friendship from him.
Beckett is struggling to come to terms with how fast he is falling.
Together, they will create a Christmas love story of a lifetime.
Summary:
The last thing Micah Trant expects to find in the snow by the side of the road, is a badly beaten man. But when Micah discovers his identity, it feels like more than mere coincidence is at work here. Like modern day Good Samaritans, he and his dad offer the stranger a place to recuperate. After all, it’s almost Thanksgiving, and Greg is in no state to travel home. It’s not an entirely altruistic move: Micah wants answers, and he’s not the only one.
Greg cannot believe the way things turned out. The odds of Micah being the one to find him have to be astronomical, but he accepts the kind offer. As days become weeks, Greg learns more about Micah’s family, and comes to realize that staying with them for a Wyoming Christmas might just provide him with the answers he’s been seeking.
The magic of the holidays will also conjure up something neither Micah nor Greg expected…
Summary:
Frankie Faraday is a promising young salesperson at Mason’s Emporium. Bill Mason is his boss, the son of the store’s founder, and the object of Frankie’s long-suffering, deeply devoted crush. Bill is steady and sober; Frankie is frivolous and flaky. Or so they seem to each other, until the night of the annual inventory, when they’re trapped together in the Seasonal Gifts storeroom, with nothing but candy and peppermint schnapps to sustain them until they’re rescued. And then the real truths—and something definitely more intimate—emerge!
A story from the Dreamspinner Press 2017 Advent Calendar "Stocking Stuffers."
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Random Tales of Christmas 2017
And to All a Good Night by Felicitas Ivey
Of Printers and Presents by Asta Idonea
I WAS puttering around the house, trying not to be too nervous about waiting for my sister Franzi to arrive. When I heard an SUV pull up in front of my house, I stopped straightening up the already clean family room and headed for the front door. When I opened it, the person standing there wasn’t the one I was expecting.
“What are you doing here?” I asked in confusion.
Tanya Williamson standing on my stoop was the last thing I expected for Christmas. Tanya was the manager/babysitter/fixer for my high-maintenance rock ’n’ roll younger sibling, Franzi. Franzi’s a veteran of the cutthroat music business at twenty-one, following the footsteps of our father, Franko, the infamous rock star. Franko had risen high, stayed there a long time, and died of a heart attack at the age of forty from a number of things. Franzi was ten; I was just past twenty.
“Let me in, Kobbi,” she snapped. “I’m freezing my tits off. I’ve been on the road for hours to this back-road town and I want to pee.”
I bit back the retort I wanted to make and stepped aside to let her into the entryway. She had to put up with Franzi a lot more than I did now. Franzi was a sweet kid, for the most part, but could go from zero to impossible in the blink of an eye.
“Where’s Franzi?” I asked. Keeping her on the stoop was rude and was also letting all the heat out of my house.
Tanya sighed, her anger flowing out of her as she walked in, removed her coat, and handed it to me. “She didn’t call you?”
“She’s not coming,” I said flatly as I closed the door behind her.
But that wouldn’t explain why she was here. Tanya was attached to Franzi at the hip, usually after she had acted out in public. But that still didn’t stop my heart plummeting to my toes with the feeling of disappointment that Franzi wasn’t going to be here.
“She’s being a brat,” Tanya growled. “Give me a cup of coffee after I hit the girl’s room, and I’ll explain everything to you. She’s a couple of minutes behind me, so she’s not blowing you off.”
Of Printers and Presents by Asta Idonea
Ford Ackerman leaned over the printer, fumbling at the rear tray, and Vaughan sucked in a sharp breath. The bending action pulled Ford’s trousers taut over his perfect butt, framing two globes so delectable that saliva pooled in Vaughan’s mouth and his own trousers were suddenly a tad too tight. Everyone in the office had pronounced Vaughan mad last month when he refused the chance to relocate to a recently vacated desk by the window, away from the noisy printers and the staff restrooms, but he’d assured his boss, Marie, that he found the sound of the copiers soothing and scarcely noticed the foot traffic to and from the restrooms. Ford was the real reason he’d stayed though. Sitting here, Vaughan got to see Ford several times a day as Ford went in and out of the men’s room or attended to the printers, replacing toner or paper, or fixing jams and other glitches.
Vaughan had been celebrating his third anniversary with the company when Ford started with them two years ago. Although he’d previously liked his job well enough, Ford’s arrival on the scene ensured that Vaughan leaped out of bed each weekday morning, eager to get to the office. Essentially, Ford was no more than a dogsbody. He carried out all the menial tasks the other employees hated. He set up rooms for meetings, organized stationery supplies, and filled lunch orders. He mended broken equipment, greeted visitors, and sorted the mail. Most of Vaughan’s colleagues hardly acknowledged Ford’s existence unless they needed something, and even then Ford might as well have been a machine. To Vaughan, however, he was very real.
Aside from the spectacular, bauble-like buttocks, Vaughan didn’t know what it was about Ford that so captivated him. Ford wasn’t classically handsome, that’s for sure. Yet there was something magical about his graceful movements and the dexterity in his long, slender fingers as he flicked through files and plucked at pages. Then there was his smile. He didn’t use it often, but when he did, his eyes brightened, completely transforming his mien. It was a real classic-era Hollywood smile—a Gene Kelly smile.
Vaughan knew that Ford was gay—that vital nugget of information had found its way out of the director’s office following Ford’s initial interview—and he appeared to be permanently single, attending staff events alone and never meeting anyone either at lunchtimes or after work, at least not as far as Vaughan had ever witnessed. Nevertheless, in the two years they’d worked together, Vaughan had never approached Ford on any topic save that of an empty stapler or to place a coffee order.
As he watched Ford now, Vaughan’s mind teemed with thoughts of all the things he and Ford could do together: dinner dates, movie nights…and more personal pursuits. He shook his head. Why did he torment himself like this? Why dream of something that could never be? He knew he wasn’t going to stride over there, spin Ford away from the printer, and pull him into a kiss. So why pretend he might?
Vaughan had always been painfully shy. His work didn’t require much in the way of external interaction, and over the years, he’d learned to manage his condition with friends and co-workers, but he still faltered when it came to romance. Although he was officially out to his colleagues, having determined to get that drama dealt with from the get-go, the idea of dating Ford with them all knowing about it, and doubtless smirking behind his back, was enough to send genuine shivers down his spine. Besides, what would Ford want with someone like him? Vaughan was a boring average Joe; Ford deserved someone special.
Then there was the risk of rejection and its aftermath. If he approached Ford and Ford rebuffed him, how would Vaughan be able to face him at work each day? The same would be true if, by some miracle, they did hook up and it didn’t work out. Office romances were minefields, and he had no desire to be blown to smithereens, no matter how strong the inducement.
Nevertheless, Vaughan regularly dreamed about Ford and sought every opportunity to learn more about the object of his affection. Thank god for social media! Already friends with some of his other colleagues on various platforms, he’d summoned the courage to send Ford a request shortly after meeting him, and Ford had approved the connection. Despite being less shy online, Vaughan never commented on anything he saw on Ford’s page, unwilling to draw attention to himself, but he viewed Ford’s profile religiously after work each day and read any new posts. Ford rarely shared selfies or anything about his friends and family, but he did provide tantalizing information on his likes and dislikes, so over the last twenty-four months, Vaughan had acquired a fairly comprehensive understanding of Ford’s hobbies and interests. Video gaming and comic books covered the bulk of it, but Ford also seemed to enjoy classical music and a wide range of films. Were someone to create a quiz category on Ford Ackerman’s favourite superheroes, Vaughan would score full points.
Ford shut the printer tray and straightened. He scrunched the mangled sheet of copy paper he’d retrieved from its depths in his fist, before tossing it into the nearby recycling bin. Then he studied the display and pressed a series of buttons. The printer rumbled back to life, happily spewing forth sheet after sheet, and Ford watched it for a moment, no doubt to check all was well. When he turned to go, he looked in Vaughan’s direction and caught his eye.
Panic laced through Vaughan, but he managed to flash a faint smile and a nod of greeting as he raised a file in front of his face to hide his flushed cheeks. He needed to take more care. It wouldn’t do to be caught staring like that again. He didn’t want Ford to get the wrong idea. Or the right one. Ford was a beautiful fantasy. The last thing Vaughan wanted was to ruin that.
The Peppermint Schnapps Predicament by Clare London
I GUESS you might say my current predicament is punishment for my sins.
What sins? you ask, amazed that a cute twink like me with such angelic features and a sweet, sunny disposition could be so debauched.
Oh, but I admit it! I throw my hands in the air and proclaim my dissolution. This afternoon, Greed and Lust led me to a moment’s weakness, yet who can blame me? It’s Friday, it’s later than the usual clocking-off time because of the annual inventory at Mason’s Emporium—here in the Seasonal Gifts and Festivities department—and it’s the end of a too-long, loathsome week in retail. Why wouldn’t I look for some distraction and delight to lift my weary spirits?
As usual, my eyes were drawn irresistibly to Bill Mason, manager of SG&F, son of the original founder of the store, and my current supervisor. All hail the Supreme Being of Boy Crushes, who obviously influenced the staff rota on my behalf! Bill Mason, a Channing Tatum lookalike right down to the mischievous smile, and not forgetting to linger on the very finest musculature, all wrapped in an appealing package of checked flannel shirt and ass-hugging jeans. Bill Mason, always strong, steady, and self-disciplined, with a bossy bark to his minions that fair makes my balls clench in ecstatic fright. Bill Mason, working so close to me while we check inventory that I can smell the shampoo he uses—masculine and musky, just like him—and occasionally brush my hand against his brawny body on the pretext of helping carry a box or two. Or four, in his case. Oh, see those biceps strain.
When Bill strode off to the overflow storeroom at the back of the warehouse, I—poor infatuated fool that I am—trotted after him like a sheep, blithely shackled for shearing. I shuffled into the room virtually on his heels, so when he turned to catch the door, I got in his way. Like, right up in his face, much to his righteous shock. By the time we’d done the yelp of surprise from him and the “Sorry! Sorry!” from me, the door had slammed shut behind us.
And now I’m in The Predicament. Just like I said before, although in a rather roundabout way. There’s no door handle on the inside, you see. It fell off last week and Mikey from Maintenance hasn’t gotten around to fixing it yet, with Christmas being our busiest season and all. Besides, everyone in the warehouse knows to keep the door propped open when they use this particular room.
Except me, obviously.
Oh, Mr. Disturbance and Subversion, that’s me.
And looks like I’ve brought Bill Mason down to my level.
Felicitas Ivey is the pen name of a very frazzled helpdesk drone at a Boston-area university. She's an eternal student even with a BA in anthropology and history, since free classes are part of the benefits. She's taken courses on gothic architecture, premodern Japanese literature, and witchcraft, just because they sounded like fun. She has traveled to Japan and Europe and hopes to return to both in the future.
She knits and cross-stitches avidly, much to the disgust of her cat, Smaugu, who wants her undivided attention. He's also peeved that she spends so much time writing instead of petting him. She writes urban fantasy and horror of a Lovecraftian nature, monsters beyond space and time that think that humans are the tastiest things in the multiverse.
Felicitas lives in Boston with her beloved husband, known to all as The Husband, and the aforementioned cat, whom the husband swears is a demon, even though it's his fault that they have the cat. The husband also is worried about Felicitas’s anime habit, her love for J-Pop music, and her extensive collection of Yaoi manga and Gundam Wing doujinshi, which has turned her library into a Very Scary Place for him.
Asta Idonea is an alternate pen name of author Nicki J Markus.
Nicki was born in England in 1982, but now lives in Adelaide, South Australia with her husband. She has loved both reading and writing from a young age and is also a keen linguist, having studied several foreign languages.
Nicki launched her writing career in 2011 when she released several short stories with Wicked Nights Publishing. She then had two novellas published with Silver Publishing, prior to the company’s closure.
At present, she has several new projects on the go. As well as branching out into the exciting world of M/M under the pen name Asta Idonea, Nicki is working on the first book in a fantasy-mythology trilogy and hopes to find a publisher for it in 2015.
Nicki currently works as a freelance editor and proofreader, and in her spare time she enjoys completing MOOCs and pursuing other interests, including: reading; music; theatre; cinema; photography; sketching; and cross stitch. She also loves history, folklore and mythology, pen-palling and travel.
Avery Ford spends way too much time daydreaming so finally decided to put some of her stories into print. An avid reader, she loves writing contemporary M/M romance.
Born and raised in the north-west of England, K.C. WELLS always loved writing. Words were important. Full stop. However, when childhood gave way to adulthood, the writing ceased, as life got in the way. K.C. discovered erotic fiction in 2009, when the purchase of a ménage storyline led to the startling discovery that reading about men in love was damn hot. In 2012, arriving at a really low point in life led to the desperate need to do something creative.
An even bigger discovery waited in the wings—writing about men in love was even hotter….
K.C. now writes full-time and is loving every minute of her new career. The laptop still has no idea of what hit it… it only knows that it wants a rest, please. And it now has to get used to the idea that where K.C goes, it goes.
And as for those men in love that she writes about? The list of stories just waiting to be written is getting longer… and longer….
K.C. loves to hear from readers.An even bigger discovery waited in the wings—writing about men in love was even hotter….
K.C. now writes full-time and is loving every minute of her new career. The laptop still has no idea of what hit it… it only knows that it wants a rest, please. And it now has to get used to the idea that where K.C goes, it goes.
And as for those men in love that she writes about? The list of stories just waiting to be written is getting longer… and longer….
Clare took the pen name London from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with her other day job as an accountant.
She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with award-winning novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic and sexy characters.
Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter 3 stage and plenty of other projects in mind . . . she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.
All the details and free fiction are available at her website. Visit her today and say hello!
Felicitas Ivey
EMAIL: Felicitas.Ivey@gmail.com
KC Wells
EMAIL: k.c.wells@btinternet.com
Clare London
EMAIL: clarelondon11@yahoo.co.uk
And to All a Good Night by Felicitas Ivey
The Peppermint Schnapps Predicament by Clare London
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