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[personal profile] lesley_hastings
...just quite randomly, this afternoon. Well, this evening. Basically, it's the beginning of an m/m urban fantasy romance about a guy who meets a faerie in an alleyway behind a gay bar. I have no idea where it's going to go from here (except for a few minor details), so I figured I'd put it up here to see what people think of it.

Feel free to offer any con-crit you like. I LOVE con-crit.


The first time he saw Flynn, Geordie was taking a piss out back of Maggie’s Hotel. Trying to take a piss, anyway. He’d never quite got the hang of the whole “going in public” thing, even if it was in a deserted alley at 3am on a Tuesday morning.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Fuck.”

“Was that an offer?”

Geordie jumped, maintaining just enough presence of mind to restrain the yelp that threatened to rise from his throat. The voice had come from his left. From his left. There was nothing to his left, nothing except a small wheelie bin and a couple of cardboard boxes.

Shit, shit, shit.

If someone was waiting to jump him, he wasn’t exactly ready to fight. Geordie kept his eyes fixed on the bin to his left, hoping that no one was about to jump out of it.

He really didn’t expect to see a man walking out of the brick wall. Well, hovering more than walking. His feet didn’t touch the ground.

“What the fuck?”

“You seem to like that word,” said the man, smiling mildly.

“There is no way that I drank that much tonight,” said Geordie. “No fucking way.” Two beers, maybe three? Fucking hell, if Mitch had slipped some sort of hallucinogen into one of them…

“You really like that word. Are you sure you don’t want to—” The man glanced pointedly at Geordie’s crotch.

Heat rose to Geordie’s cheeks, and how fucking stupid was that, blushing because some hallucination was checking out his cock? That didn’t stop him from scrambling to shove his dick back into his Y-fronts. For some reason, the need to pee didn’t seem quite so pressing anymore.

“What the—” Geordie caught himself just in time. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The man shrugged. “I like to visit sometimes,” he said.

“Are you some kind of ghost?”

“Hmph. Ghosts. Believe me, they wouldn’t be interested in you at all. Once they leave their fleshy bodies behind them, they tend to get all high and mighty. They think they’re above that sort of thing.”

Geordie shook his head. “I am not doing this. I am not standing here, having a conversation with an apparition who is trying to hit on me.”

“If it helps, I’m not an apparition.”

“What the fuck are you then?”

The man cocked his head at Geordie and smiled. “There isn’t really a modern term for it. In older times, we would’ve been called faeries.”

Geordie scowled. “Faeries hanging out the back of a gay bar. Right. Nice one.” Some fucking ‘phobe’s idea of a joke. Great.

“It’s true.”

“I don’t know what sort of optical illusion you’ve pulled on me, but from what I remember, faeries—faerie-tale faeries—don’t go around in ripped jeans and white T-shirts.”

The man laughed. “We adapt,” he said. “Some of us do, anyway.”

“So no more frolicking amongst the daisies, or whatever it is that you’re supposed to be doing?”

“I haven’t done anything like that for at least fifty years.”

Geordie shook his head. “I am going crazy,” he said. “I am officially going crazy.”

The man walked—or floated—across to Geordie, closing the space between them. Geordie found himself staring into the greenest eyes he’d ever seen; they contrasted sharply with the man’s—the faerie’s—black hair.

He raised a hand to Geordie’s cheek. “You’re not crazy,” he said. “I promise.”

Geordie just looked at him. If this was some kind of hallucination, he just had to wait for it to pass.

The man leaned forward and brushed his lips across Geordie’s, light as air. “I’m Flynn,” he said. “And you’ll see me again, Geordie.”

“How do you know—”

Flynn smiled, and disappeared.

“I am fucking going to kill Mitch,” Geordie muttered.


Note: If I continue this, the next section will specify that Geordie and Mitch are actually staying at the hotel overnight, which is why Geordie is there at 3am on a Tuesday. The bar closed several hours ago, and he couldn't use the bathroom because Mitch was occupying it, at length, with a guest.
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March 2011

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