Oren's Right Solstice Vignette & Giveaway by Blaine D. Arden

~I am so happy that Blaine took the time write a little something about Oren and Veld from Oren's Right, a short story that was apart of The Carved In Flesh anthology. She also brought a giveaway, which is really sharing the holiday spirit. So if you loved Oren & Veld, then you will love this short.~

Oren's Right Solstice Vignette by Blaine D. Arden

It was quiet when I entered Oren's dwelling—our dwelling. The only thing that betrayed Oren's presence was the slight hint of cinnamon coming from the kitchen. Oren started taking some buns home for breakfast the moment I moved in with him. He'd have them warmed up and shining with butter every single morning, kneeling next to the bed as he waited for me to wake up. Unless I slept in. Then they'd be sitting on a tray that was spelled to keep the buns warm.

I hung my cloak on a peg in the hall and toed off my muddy boots before walking into the kitchen, but Oren wasn't there. My heart sped up, and I crossed the kitchen in no time, stopping in the archway to the living room. Oren kneeling next to my chair—one of the few of my possessions that I'd brought with me when I moved in—warmed my heart and made me smile. How could it not? The way he sat as he waited for me to arrive—heels pressing into his firm buttocks, the artwork on his back on display, his visibly relaxed bearing—was exquisite. It never ceased to amaze me how gorgeously at ease Oren looked when he was waiting for orders... from me.

He must have heard me, but he didn't turn his head or acknowledge my presence, not until I sat down. Of course, I couldn't pass up an opportunity to ruffle his messy curls, knowing it would make him smile. That, and I loved the feel of them between my fingers, silky and ticklish. Oren was holding a mug—spelled warm, judging from the steam rising from it—and lifted it up as I settled into my chair.

"Thank you," I said, wincing as my voice broke the gentle quiet. But Oren just smiled, his sky blue eyes brimming with joy, and sat back on his heels. Taking in the smell of the strong, dark, rogge tea, I blew across the mug to cool it a bit and enjoyed the view.

As usual, I was drawn to the design just above Oren's heart—my design—right next to Haram's. I'd kept it small so as not to diminish the significance of Haram's brand—his name in the ancient script of the first tree-elves. Mine showed two leaves, like the ones on my thigh, portraying the letter V with a heart set in between them and a small O at the bottom of the V. The leaves symbolized the Chantus tree, the oldest and biggest tree in the village I was born in. Tending a tree as old as our Chantus was an honor amongst Foresters.

That design had been the first I'd offered Oren the day after his mourning period ended. Merely thinking of Oren's reactions, Oren's craving and obvious enjoyment as I cut it into him, still made me smile. Even though I'd added two more since then, I'd never forget that first one. Taking Oren afterwards had been the sweetest moment of my life.

The recollection of how he'd looked, bound to the kitchen table, made me lower my gaze to Oren's cock flaccidly nestled on top of his heavy balls and hanging freely in the position he was in. It was always soft when Oren was serving me, soft and relaxed. Though seeing Oren like this never failed to arouse me, for Oren there was nothing sexual about serving me. His subservience was part of who he was and brought him a different kind of satisfaction. I reminded myself every day what a privilege it was to see him like this.

I finished my tea and lowered the mug. Oren immediately grabbed it before rising elegantly and taking it into the kitchen. He didn't return immediately, and I leaned my head back to rest my eyes for a moment. My last tree today had been a particularly stubborn one. Soon, wonderful smells wafted into the room—basil, parulm bark, tomatoes. My stomach grumbled.
A hand on my knees made me open my eyes.

«Dinner's ready in an hour,» Oren signed before kneeling beside my chair once again.

He grabbed my favorite book from the low table next to him and presented it to me. I smiled as I took and opened it where I'd left off, but didn't start reading right away. I wanted to enjoy the view in front of me a bit longer. Not too long, because an hour until dinner meant an hour of growing unbearably hard unless I distracted myself by reading. To Oren, it meant an hour of tranquility; an hour of sitting beside me, my hand in his hair, obeying my every command.

In the beginning, I made the mistake of leaving him kneeling next to me without giving him something to do. He already took care of all the household chores. That would be enough, wouldn't it?

It wasn't. I'd woken up one night without Oren plastered against me, and he rarely woke up once he slept. I'd found him in the kitchen, mindlessly kneading dough that he'd left to rise when we'd gone to bed. He'd turned around when I asked him to come back to bed, shoulders slumped and looking at his hands rather than at me. I'd barely opened my mouth to ask what was wrong when he'd raised his hands and fixed his gaze on me. His hands had fluttered too fast for me to understand what exactly he was saying. It didn't really matter. His slumped shoulders, the way his hands moved, even without the words, I'd understood him perfectly. In the six moons since, I'd learned to save up all sorts of tasks for him, tasks I'd never before thought to leave for someone else to do.

So, while I read, Oren cleaned my boots, brought me water, mended a tunic or two, and answered a letter from my sisters—Oren's handwriting was so much neater than mine, not to mention that my sisters liked the little anecdotes he added to the letters—and all while he was kneeling next to my chair with my hand tangled in his curls.

By the time Oren finished the letter, the hour was almost up, and he rose, elegantly as ever, and trod off to the kitchen to put on a tunic and set the table. I looked up from my book to admire his gorgeous body as he walked away, suppressing the urge to adjust my cock in my trousers. Oren knew how he affected me, of course he did, but no matter what, I'd have to wait until after our meal. A meal on the night of the winter Solstice to celebrate our vows and honor those who attended the Circle tonight, like Oren's sister, Ajuna.

With a sigh, I focused my attention back to my book and finished the chapter I'd been attempting to read. As I closed the book and waited for Oren to come fetch me, my mind drifted to things to come.

 Oren's Right is part of the Storm Moon Press Anthology Carved in Flesh
~~~~~~

Blaine is a purple haired, forty-something, writer of gay romance with a love of men, music, mystery, magic, fairies, platform shoes, and the colours black, purple, and red, who sings her way through life. Blaine can be found on blainedarden.com, twitter, facebook, and goodreads. Blaine's books are available at Storm Moon Press, Amazon, and Are

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Giveaway
Blaine is offering one book from her backlist (your choice in format)

• Must be 18yrs or older
• Leave a comment along with email
• winner has 48hrs to reply to me email or another winner gets chosen
• Contest runs until December 27th 11:59pm EST

Whose Line Story: Hard Deadline

So do you remember when we asked for you to tell us your line? Well if you did comment and left us your line, it can now be found in an original short story 'fuck yehs'. Check out the Whose Line post to get all reacquainted with how it all got started.

Title: Hard Deadline
Authors: S.L. Armstrong & K. Piet
Websites: SLArmstrong.net & KPiet.net
Blogs: S.L. Armstrong at Wordpress & K. Piet at Wordpress

Disclaimer: All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing, except for quotations included in critical articles and/or reviews, without prior written permission from the authors.

Dedication: To DarienMoya at Pants Off Reviews. It's been an awesome year, and we hope the next one is only better for you!


Elliot rubbed at his eyes one more time. They were dry and sore, dammit, and he wanted to leave the conference room and run to his desk. At least there he had some Excedrin and Visine. Christ, if he was going feel like he was hung over, he should be given the most basic of remedies. Neil's voice was sharp, calling his attention back to his boss. "I need an energy drink or more coffee or a drip of pure adrenaline," he sighed, stretching in his chair. "It's two in the morning, Neil."

 "And we roll the launch out at eight, so we're not going anywhere tonight." Neil stood up, tall and lean. Elliot's eyes moved down the length of Neil's body where the cloth of a dress shirt and business slacks hung in all the right ways. "I'll send John out."

 "John's asleep." Elliot pointed at the kid—who couldn't be more than twenty—who was asleep at the desk outside the conference room. "Which is exactly where I'd like to be."

 "In bed?"

 Elliot's head snapped up. Had he heard Neil right? That edge to his voice, and was that heat in his eyes? He was sure they'd been dancing around something for weeks, ever since Neil had promoted him, but he wasn't sure. And he wasn't going to do anything to find out because he valued his job. He wasn't just some code monkey anymore. "Yeah, in bed." He couldn't help the smirk that found its way to his lips. "But you're keeping me from it.

" Neil shook his head and picked up the phone. He dialed three numbers, and John jerked awake. "We need energy drinks and food." A pause. "We're in New York City. Something is open and selling food." He let the phone drop back into the cradle, an arrogant quirk to his eyebrow.

 "You like being the boss, don't you?" Elliot snapped.

 "Yes, I do." Neil crossed his arms. "You like not being a lackey anymore, don't you?"

 Elliot snorted. "I haven't been a lackey in years, Neil. I was senior developer before you made me project manager. Which, by the way, I still don't understand." Thunder rumbled outside, and Elliot stood up, went to the window. "Great, you sent John out into a damn thunderstorm.

Poor kid."

 "He'll survive." Neil's voice was closer now, and the hairs on the back of Elliot's neck stood on end. Neil had to be right behind him. That voice... fuck, what it did to Elliot's self-control. "I love thunderstorms," Neil all but purred behind Elliot.

 "What do you like about them?" Elliot asked, and was that his voice that had gone all husky?

 Neil chuckled. "The power. The darkness. The brightness."

 "You like power." God, how close was Neil to him now? "You like challenges to that power?"

 Neil's lips were close to his ear now, and the heat of his words traveled right to Elliot's cock. "Be careful, Elliot; you might not be able to handle what happens. Power is a wild, untamed thing.

" Elliot licked his lips and wondered if the movement could be seen in his reflection. He didn't dare move, even if his words were a whole hell of a lot bolder. "I can handle anything you throw my way, boss."

 "That's not what you said last night," Neil countered, and Elliot swore there was just a hint of challenge there. Was he supposed to take the bait? Should he just ignore it? What kind of game did Neil have in mind, and would it cost him his job if he fucked it up?

 He swallowed thickly before glancing over his shoulder, trying to keep his tone light. "Yeah, well, that was when before I brilliantly came up with the solutions to the five issues we were having with the code." The others had given up and gone home, but he'd been determined to see the project through and ensure they didn't blow past their deadline. He deserved a raise, dammit, or at least a hefty bonus for all this overtime.

 "I used to think you were so innocent..." Neil's eyes were dark, sultry even, and Elliot couldn't look away. "But now, I think there's a side to you that you haven't shown me."

 "You see what you want to see," Elliot tried to say nonchalantly, but his voice cracked halfway through, and he silently cursed himself.

 Neil chuckled, and the sound went directly to Elliot's groin. "I want to see more. I want to see what strange things make you weak. Tell me your secrets, Elliot."

 It was an order, and Elliot didn't know if he had the strength to deny him. He opened his mouth, and then closed it. After doing that three times, he just decided he should stop trying. Neil's grin was just growing broader by the second, and part of him didn't like giving him the satisfaction.

 "Need a little help with words? I bet I can inspire you."

 Before Elliot could formulate any kind of protest, Neil's hands were on him, pressing through his dress shirt all the way down to his slacks. His eyes widened, and he failed to swallow back a gasp as the hands moved forward and up his front. One hand trailed down his arm, and then Neil grabbed his wrist, and brought his fingers up to his mouth.

His heart was thundering in his chest, and he spoke in order to keep from squeaking. "Don't go putting that in your mouth," he warned shakily. "You have no idea where it's been."

"Maybe not." Neil smirked at him. "But I know where it will be," he purred, and then he drew two of Elliot's fingers between his lips.

"Oh, fuck," Elliot breathed, lust coiling low in his gut. "I can't believe it's not butter!"

Neil pulled back, brow furrowed. "What?"

A flush bloomed bright and hot on Elliot's cheeks. "I mean—I—Who the hell cares?" He cupped Neil's face and brought their lips together in a deep, hungry kiss. He'd wanted to do this since Neil had hired him, and if Neil was game, he was going to take every ounce his boss offered up.

Their hands made short work of ties, shirts, and trousers. Neil kicked off his wingtips while Elliot took off socks and loafers. It wasn't long before Elliot's hands were on Neil's boxers, yanking them down, exposing Neil's gorgeous, uncut cock. He licked his lips. "Gorgeous," he whispered before drawing his tongue up the hot, hard length of Neil.

He'd only managed two good licks when Neil's hands fisted in his hair, jerked his mouth away. "Seriously, if you touch it again, it will explode," Neil panted, his eyes wild.

Elliot rose, kicking his own boxers from around his ankles. "Anything we can use for lube in here?"

Neil's eyes darted down to look at Elliot's cock. Elliot puffed up his chest a bit as Neil swallowed. "I'll be bending you over the conference table, right?"

"No." Elliot pumped himself. He was proud of the size of his cock. No one expected the thickness or length from some geeky coder in an unremarkable cubicle. "I don't think so."

"Are you kidding me?" Neil shook his head, a nervous smile on his lips. "That thing would have me singing soprano for days!"

Elliot gave Neil's ass a sharp slap. "Find some lube, Neil, or I'm just going to spit in my hand."

The soft curse that Neil emitted brought a broad grin to Elliot's face, and he crossed his arms and watched Neil run across the length of the room to the mini fridge. He moved a hell of a lot quicker than Elliot had ever thought possible from a man with such broad shoulders. He eyed those shoulders, let his gaze wander down the line of Neil's spine to his ass. His cock twitched in anticipation.

Elliot's face contorted when Neil held up a Tupperware filled with some sort of oily mixture. A salad dressing? The questioning look thrown over Neil's shoulder told him Neil had no clue either. "It looks odd. Why is it so gray?"

"It's been that way for a while?" Neil guessed. "Fermentation?"

"Eww!" Elliot laughed. "You don't know where that's been! No fucking way I'm smearing that on my cock."

Neil tossed the container back into the fridge, all but slamming the door. Elliot could see the wheels turning in Neil's head, the quiet consideration and weighing of options. Neil was the analytical type, a boss that saw a million different details and was able to catalog them and file them away in his brain just in case he needed them. Didn't matter that their situation was out of the ordinary; Neil was obviously on the hunt, his eyes scanning the conference room for anything else that would do. Time was ticking. John would be back God knew when, and Elliot was sure Neil didn't want to be caught mid-reaming by the gopher.

A grunt of displeasure, and Neil made a beeline for the door, passing by Elliot along the way. "There's nothing else in here, dammit."

Elliot shook his head, following him with quick steps, his stride a bit shorter than Neil's. He leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed as he watched Neil rummage through the bottom drawer of John's desk. His eyebrows rose when Neil stopped short and held up a ridiculous stuffed animal.

"Okay, can you tell me why the kitten has purple polka dots?" Neil asked before tossing the furry plush haphazardly over his shoulder. He obviously didn't expect an answer, which just made Elliot chuckle. Neil grunted his triumph when he held up a tube of lube and a condom.

"What the...? John? Here at the office?" Elliot chuckled. "He wouldn't be the only one, but still. You knew?"

Neil straightened, and then yanked him back into the conference room. "Nothing happens in this office without my knowledge."

Elliot fought not to shiver, and when their lips collided again, he battled Neil for dominance until his lips ached and his persistence won out. He snatched the lube and condom from Neil and bit at Neil's throat, inhaling the scent of aftershave and pure, masculine musk.

Furious kissing led to a small duel of whom would be on top of whom, and Elliot wasn't about to give his boss that particular satisfaction. Well, not yet, at least. He bit Neil's lip before he spun him around, pressing Neil's bulkier, broader frame face first against the conference table. "Stay," he ground out.

"I'm not a dog."

Elliot laughed, the sound deep and dark. "You would look lovely in a collar."

"Watch it." Neil glared over his shoulder. "I'm still your boss."

"I know, which is going to make this so damn good." Elliot rolled the condom down his cock and squeezed the tube of lube. A peel of thunder sounded, and then Neil's shout filled the room. Elliot buried himself to the hilt in one swift, sure thrust. "Fuck!"

Neil's breath rasped in and out. "Christ, Elliot. Not much for foreplay?"

"Not when John could be back any minute." Elliot's rhythm was fast, hard, the sound of his flesh meeting Neil's loud, wet, and he groaned. Oh, hell, he wouldn't last long. He was going to embarrass the hell out of himself by coming too soon. "God, so tight. No wonder... you're such an asshole."

Neil pushed back, met him thrust for thrust. "Fuck you."

"Mmm." Elliot grinned as he watched himself moving in and out of Neil. "Too busy fucking you, boss man."

It was everything his wet dreams had been. Neil bent over the conference table, moaning and clutching at the high polished top, and Elliot's cock plowing his tight hole. God, how was he going to keep working here without getting a hard-on every time he saw Neil? Screw it. He'd worry about that after they rolled out the new version of the shopping cart. Right now, he just wanted to come. He reached around and took Neil in hand, and he pumped as fast as he fucked. It was furious and base and, oh, God, he was going to come!

Elliot threw his head back and let loose a shout as his hips snapped forward, milked the moment for all it was worth. Neil's shout of climax was a distant sound compared to the pounding of his own heartbeat and the next rumble of thunder. When he came back to himself, his brow was pressed to Neil's sweaty back, his hand covered in come, and he felt the best he had in, at least, a month. He shook his head, letting go of Neil to hold the condom tight as he pulled back.

"Fucking hell," Elliot groaned, flopping back into the nearest chair. "I needed that."

Neil stood, turned, and leaned against the table. He was flushed, covered in sweat, and Elliot just wanted to fuck him all over again. "So did I. It took me a while to figure out that those side-long looks of yours weren't wishful thinking on my part."

"I dropped every hint I knew of!" Elliot tossed the condom into the waste basket. "Six months! I could have fucked you six months ago!"

"Yeah." Neil laughed. "If you'd just asked me."

Elliot let a laugh bark out of him. "Bastard."

"I didn't get to be the CEO of this company any other way."

They dressed in relative silence, and then Neil ducked out of the room. As Elliot was buttoning up his shirt, he saw Neil walk through the main office space with a step ladder. "Er... where are you going with that ladder?" he called, leaning out the conference room door.

"Do you want security to see the video of you banging my ass?" Neil smirked when Elliot blinked. "Didn't think so."

By the time Neil came back, John had come and gone, leaving them with bags from some local joint. It was odd packaging, and Elliot poked at it. Neil raised an eyebrow. "Is that a big pizza pie in the sky that the cowboy is riding toward?" he asked, pointing to the logo and motif on the bag.

Elliot rolled his eyes. "No, the moon doesn't look like a big pizza pie; that's just your Italian wolfy hunger speaking. Eat. It'll look like a moon again."

"I'm not Italian." Neil sat in the chair beside Elliot and snagged the bag closest to him. "My family is Irish."

"Are they?" Elliot opened up his hamburger, eyes sparkling. "I look forward to meeting this Irish family of yours... and getting to know you a lot better."

Neil rolled his eyes and plucked a fry from the bag. "You're fired."

Elliot laughed again. "Anything you say, boss man."

The End