About Fellow Barbarians

by Stevie Woods
13 pages / 4500 words
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc

Stephen and Low have a tempestuous relationship. These well-loved characters from BA Tortuga's Hyacinth Club are back, and they're hotter than ever. What happens when Scottish lord Low has a really bad day? Can hot-tempered Texan Stephen improve Low's mood, or will their passion explode and send them reeling, looking for a way to kiss and make up?

Sample

What an insufferable, horrid day. Bloody, buggering Englishmen and their oh, so superior nose in the air caste system. Every last one of them could kiss his pale, freckled Scottish arse.

Low made his way into a very, very quiet Hyacinth Club, wondering where everyone was. 'Twas late evening, and there were few amusements in town this night. Surely someone would be about to ease his temper with some Scotch and perhaps some good conversation. Or mayhap he might find Devlin and challenge him to some fencing. He handed over his coat and hat at the door and inquired of the doorman, being directed to the gaming room off the back hall.

Ah. So there must be quite a game in progress. He wandered back, stopping at the library to grab a decanter and fill a glass.

Sure enough a game was in process, some of the fiercest competitors in the club arrayed about the table. Dare, Travis and Seth, naturally. Devlin and Caleb appeared to have cashed out. And finally, Stephen.

His Texan.

Stephen looked wonderful to him, stripped to his shirtsleeves, shirt open at the throat, neckcloth long gone, no doubt. A curl of hair fell over Stephen's forehead, dipping into one eye only to be blown back impatiently.  

The fine rage that had ridden him all day exploded into a very different kind of heat, and he suddenly felt the need to sit down rather than embarrass himself. He avoided his friends, nodding, but not joining them, choosing instead to seat himself in Stephen's direct line of sight.

Stephan's dark eyes focused on him, cheeks growing flushed, fingers tightening on the cards. He sipped his Scotch, staring intently at his Texan, imagining all of the things he might do to vent his need on that fine skin, letting it show in his eyes.

Stephen played a few hands, losing one, winning one, attention obviously divided.