The men you need.
Zac Baker, Keenan Doyle and Hunter Hilton. A collaboration made in the filthiest part of gay heaven. Spicy gay fiction to get the heart pumping. Settle in. Unzip. These boys want to tell you a story.
The King
And this is how I come to see the new king’s coronation. Be a part of it. A hundred feet above marble and mosaic. With the view of a bird.
The Master
Shaded in black, hidden behind veils, he nevertheless commands all for many miles around. The way he holds himself. The way he walks. I admit it is fear too, fear of what he is.
Parshano
The stretch of his jaw is inexorable. He takes me easily though not all men do, this Parshano, prince of the church.
Ebenai
He is indeed tall and strong, as if his background really could be a military one, and at this point as I cannot place his position in the artist’s household I think of him as the Handsome Captain.
Hafar
He is handsome, as I think a representative of the gods might well be. My eyes slide again to his chest, and I count the lines of muscle as they climb down to the golden-pink sweep of his sash.
Papa Zarbo
Many is the dark night we have sailed into Pavon on the flood tide and left on the ebb, our instructions imparted in the darkness of the dockside by men with faces I’d rather not see or remember. We disappear into the sea fog and emerge where he wills, to do and say whatever he needs, and return with news of a successful adventure. I’ve smuggled the elephants clean out of the Temple of the Elephants in Monsoforro and swum them back to the mainland without any other than the prince and I having the first clue of how it was done. I think I can manage the temporary disappearance of one small boy.
Andeyro
I survey him as he surveys us. The distinguished beard, the flickering eyes of deepest grey. The locks of white and black that fall like a porcupine’s stripes to the nape of his neck and gather high in the topknot that makes him so recognisable as he walks the city streets. They say he is fifty. They say he is seventy. I don’t know. But I can see with my own eyes he is handsome now, and that perhaps, in his youth, he was a real spectacle.
Tap. And Thwack.
And the sun warms us. And the twins will be ready once more before many minutes have passed. Tap will reach over me, perhaps, to take a glance at the cock of his twin. Seeing life, he’ll take me by the wrist and guide me towards his own cock, and in a moment I’ll have one in each hand.
Gader
He follows me to my tent. Fleetingly his hands are on my chest as he reaches down to kiss me. His body is huge as he holds it against mine, his arms strong as they wrap around my shoulders. The hair on his chest is so fine, bleached so golden by the sun that I almost cannot see it.
Sherumzeh
Handsome as a pirate as he slides his robe to the floor. Hard as teak. Hard as brass.
Luban
Luban never really softens. I watch as the blood fills it once more and it clamps tight to the firm muscle of his abdomen.
Qalin
We are the same height, but he has extra years on me. Extra years on horseback. Extra years in the practice yard, with mace, and bow, and sword. I grew up expecting to garden. He grew up expecting to fight. His shield arm, under my fingers, is like rock. The shoulders are made to set fly arrows to three hundred yards. He kills at a distance with those arrows. He kills at a distance with his words.
Shamattar
His arms completely enfold me. He has all I could wish for – in gentleness and in strength.
Ruahron
Over a season, acknowledgements become smiles, and smiles become words. And he becomes my still space. My calm. We sit together, our backs to the wall and our backsides to the dirt. And one day his finger touches mine. And it is the only feeling in the world that counts.
The stories you’ll love.
Spicy MM romance. Gay erotica. Call it what you will. The temperature is just the same.
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