As much as I’m rather loathe to admit it, I’ve decided to write a romance novel. Actually, this idea had come to me some time ago, but back then, the idea was just as much about writing a social commentary on the state of the USA as writing about two people meeting and falling in love. Now, the story has evolved and has ventured slightly further away from the scathing stab at society and is more focused on the main characters and their relationship. I suppose some of the inspiration has come from too much video game playing and romanticizing an imaginary relationship between two of the game’s main characters. As a result, the original story has had some rather drastic alterations, and I’ve already begun scribbling down notes and scenese, even calling upon siblings to help flesh out the details of the novel.

As such, I feel an intense need to post something that I’ve written from the book, and while I don’t expect that it’ll make a lot of sense as of yet, it’s cute and fluffy and I decided to post it. After all, I haven’t posted in quite some time–not having finished editing the most recent pictures taken of the murals at the library–and this is as good as anything to stick on this random/crazy site. Enjoy or don’t, but at least I’ll have gotten this bit of rambly, sugary sweetness off my chest. 🙂

      “Kitten?”

      “Hell no.”

      “Muffin?”

      “You stink at this; you really do.”

      “Sex muffin?”

      “What? What does that even mean?”

      “Mr. Sexy Pants?”

      “I’m not wearing any pants.”

      A deep, baritone chuckle. “I know. How about cheri?”

      “What’s that mean?”

      “French. It means ‘dear’ or ‘darling.’”

      “Uh, no. No French. Too fruity.”

      “Like you’re one to talk,” came a dry rebuttal.

      That was met with a smirk, but no reply.

      “Lollipop?”

      “Ooh, I like that one. Lots of devious innuendo there, but no.”

      “Angel?”

      “Since when am I an angel? And would that make you a devil?”

      “Yeah, right. Guess you’re right though; religious pet names are just so stupid.”

      “Religions are stupid.”

      “Yeah, yeah. How about ‘puppy?’”

      “No.”

      “Chickadee? Dove?”

      “What’s with you and animals all of a sudden? Do I look like I have feathers?”

      “No, but you sure are furry.”

      “Shut it. We’re not going into that again.”

      “I could just call you ‘sweetie.’”

      “Yeah, or you could call me ‘Tony.’ That’s my name. Funny how that works.”

      That earned him a full pout. The man half-draped over him sighed and lowered his head to Tony’s shoulder. With an unnatural whine in his usually stern voice, he complained, “But you’ve got a pet name for me. I want one for you.”

      Tony had to laugh at Nick’s “dire” quandry. “I call you ‘Nicky.’ That’s not much of a pet name, babe.”

      The brunet grinned and squeezed Tony’s pale torso a bit before suggesting, “There, how about that? ‘Babe’ or ‘baby?’”

      Tony wrinkled his nose and looked up at the swirly pattern in the paint on the ceiling, half-yawning. He blinked a few times and said, “Nah, at least, not all the time. Maybe once in a while, but it’d get old real fast.”

      Nick nuzzled Tony’s neck lightly as he listened to the younger man. He sighed, his breath tickling the blond’s neck in a pleasant way. Nick finally caught Tony’s brown eyes with his grey ones and asked shyly, “Well, what did your other—uh, your other b-boyfriends call you?”

      Tony didn’t respond immediately, chewing on the words carefully. He knew Nick was uncomfortable talking about Tony’s previous lovers, partly out of jealousy and partly out of embarrassment that he was so much less experienced than the younger man despite being seven years older. He bent his head down and kissed the brunet on the forehead and replied smoothly, “Whatever they wanted. None of them ever cared enough to ask me how I felt about the pet names they gave me.” He gave the muscular, tanned shoulders of his lover a squeeze and said, “Does this make you more or less queer than they were?”

      Nick blushed, the red of his cheeks making the dark five o’clock shadow less obvious as his expression darkened. As much as the both of them hated to have to admit, Nick was still very much in the closet, even in his own house. Words like “queer,” “gay,” and especially “fag” fell like hammer blows on Nick’s ears.

      Stammering almost inaudibly, he shrank back from the thin man and meant to pull away completely save for Tony’s strong grasp around his shoulders.

      The twenty-something was quick to apologize to the thirty-something with kisses, caresses, and the words, “It’s OK; I’m sorry. You know I’m just teasing.” Tony often felt that he worked hard to try and get Nick out of his tightly encased shell, but sometimes he realized he was working too hard and needed to step back and ease up. He ran his bony fingers through Nick’s short, brown hair and kissed his forehead once more. “Honestly, you can call me whatever you want so long as it makes you happy. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

      The brunet was still somewhat miffed at the blond, his deep blush having yet to recede. His eyes remained averted for a fraction of a second longer before a quick decision was made in his mind almost before he was conscious of the thought.

      “All right,” he said with a mischievous glint in his grey eyes. He propped himself up on his elbow, his other hand still lost in the tangle of Tony’s light chest hair. Smirking, he said in what was almost a growl, “’Kitten’ it is.”