Renew, a Hammer story by Sean Michael

I have a new Hammer book coming out tomorrow! I started this one as a very short story about three of the Hammer couples getting together at the club for a Fourth of July party and they kind of ran away with the story!

Sharing your problems with your master always makes things better, but it's a lesson every sub needs to relearn now and then. Jim, Montana and Jeremy are no different and a get together at the Hammer has them reminiscing about how Marcus, Billy and Simon have helped to make everything better, once they were in the loop about their subs' problems.

Join these three popular Hammer couples as they celebrate their lives together.

It's available tomorrow at Torquere Press!

Excerpt:

Tanny watched the dance floor, slowly sipping his milkshake. Billy had promised him a dance later, after they'd eaten, relaxed, let go of the week's stresses. It had been a long one for him -- tons of work, one of his vendors had fucked up an order, they'd had a plumbing problem at the house, and Billy had been out of town for four days of the drama.

Still, he'd survived it, dealt, and Billy was at the bar, chatting with Xavier and Marcus Goodfellow, unwinding. It was looking like a better end to the week than beginning.

Jeremy and Simon came in, Jeremy walking on prosthetics, a cane in each hand. It was kind of amazing, the way Simon didn't hover, just walked next to Jeremy. The big Texan headed across the floor and Tanny waved, smiling. He and Billy were sitting at the table that was the easiest for Jeremy to get in and out of, on the edge of the crowd, easy access to the bathroom and the spare wheelchair that Xavier kept in the back. "Want to join me?"

Jeremy looked at Simon who smiled and nodded, and murmured something before going to join Billy at the bar.

"How's it going, Jeremy?" He lifted his glass in greeting.

Jeremy eased himself down. "Just fine, Tanny. Glad it's Friday. What're you drinking?"

"Caramel milkshake."

"Oh, I haven't had a milkshake in a long, long time."

"The strawberry ones taste like chemicals. The vanilla, pineapple and caramel ones are fabulous." Tanny didn't drink alcohol. Ever.

"I just might indulge if Simon doesn't get me a beer."

He nodded, chuckled. "Sounds good. You here to dance?" He'd seen Jeremy and Simon slow dance before, even with the fake legs.

"We might. If I'm asked." Jeremy looked over to where Billy, Marcus and Simon were all standing at the bar, talking and laughing.

Tanny frowned. Where was Jim? He searched the club, looking for the long red hair, the bright green eyes of his best friend. Jim was nowhere to be seen, though.

And now their Doms were coming toward the table, carrying drinks and a huge plate of what looked like appetizers of some sort.

Jeremy cheered. "Food!"

Tanny chuckled. "Bottomless pit."

"You know it."

Marcus set the plate down, and sure enough it was a sampling of all the little appetizers that the Hammer sold. It was usually served as finger foods for two, but Xavier had clearly put this together for the six of them; there was way more food on the plate than he usually saw when he and Billy ordered it.

Billy had another milkshake for him, too, and Simon had two big mugs of beer, sitting one down in front of Jeremy before settling next to his lover.

"Thank you." He kissed Billy's cheek. "Master Marcus? Is Jim okay?"

"He is indeed. He'll be joining us shortly." Marcus had a serene smile, not giving away anything. Still, it soothed Tanny, immediately. Marcus had control.

Simon chuckled and snagged a chicken wing and several deep fried cheese bites, putting them on a plate in front of Jeremy.

"Thank you, Sir." Jeremy picked up goodies, serving Simon. Tanny grinned, leaning into his master's side. That was so dear.

Billy kissed the top of his head. "You want me to feed you?" There was a note of amusement in his master's voice.

"I think I can manage, love. Thank you." He did put some fried mushrooms and ranch on Billy's plate, though.

Billy chuckled at him, kissed the top of his head again in thanks, and proceeded to clean the plate.

Sean Michael

smut fixes everything

www.seanmichaelwrites.com

Men in uniform

that's a subject very much on my mind. I'm working on at least 3 military/cop/firemen right now

Who's your favorite man in uniform?

A hot fireman in his turnout?

A cop in motorcycle boots?

A marine in dress blues?

I like them all.

Yum

Tell me your favorite!

XXOO

Julia

www.juliatalbot.com

Call Me Yours by Celia Kyle

Three hundred year old Mitchell Faerigan has been chasing Clover Brady for two years, determined to make the gorgeous red head his mate. The man is skittish, but Mitchell is one determined fae. When Mitchell’s family threatens and then tries to kill Clover, all bets are off, and Mitchell claims what belongs to him. Now, he just has to convince Clover that loving him is worth the risk. And this fae is up to the challenge.

Clover Brady has a simple life running his simple antique shop and ogling the not-so-simple owner of Faerigan Cycles. Mitchell Faerigan is Clover’s dream man with his manly muscles, dark hair, and gorgeous blue eyes. He’d like nothing more than to throw himself into Mitchell’s arms and beg him to do naughty things to his body. Unfortunately, Clover is unwilling to risk his heart. He’s still recovering from the loss of his parents, and there is no way he could ever survive loving and possibly losing Mitchell. So he’ll keep his heart to himself, no matter how tempting the other man may be.



EXCERPT

Mitchell wiped down the motorcycle, paying special attention to the chrome. This shop was his life’s blood now. He always wanted to make sure it was spotless, the bikes in particular. Men and women came from all around to buy a Mitchell Faeriegan original, and his job was to assure customers that it would be money well spent. Lots of money.

His brother Fingal sighed, and Mitchell could practically hear the man rolling his eyes. “Come on Mitch, if you rub any harder, the damn thing will need to be sent back to the chromers.”

Mitchell snorted. That was Fin, always in a hurry. He appreciated his brother helping him out, but Mitchell needed to actually hire someone. Then again, Fin’s glamour got him in good with the working men, at least those that had their eyes on the stock bikes and good credit scores.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he grumbled. A glance at his brother revealed that Fin’s attention was firmly pinned across the street, particularly on the Emerald Isles Antiques store. “Leave it be, Fin.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Fin turned to him, a mask of innocence in place. “And if I did, I’d tell you that I still think you’re wrong about that little human and that mother—”

“If mother has a problem with anything, she’ll get over it soon enough, but I think you’re looking for troubles where there aren’t any.” He grunted as he levered himself off the floor. He wasn’t old at three hundred, but spending hours bent over a motorcycle was a lot harder on his body than lounging around the fae court.

“Whatever, bro. I’m outta here. I’ll tell everyone you said ‘hi’.” With that, his brother poofed from the room.

Too bad Mitchell hadn’t remembered to remind him not to say anything to anyone about a certain someone who owned Emerald Isles. Then again, Fin had been keeping the secret for two years.

He tossed the rag he’d been using into the wash bin and went around the counter. To any outsider looking in, he was checking over the merchandise in the glass cases. To anyone who really knew Mitchell, like Fin, he was keeping an eye on the delectable man across the street.

After two years of watching and getting to know the shop owner of Emerald Isles Antiques, Mitchell had damn near had enough. No matter how hard he tried to corner the bugger, Clover Brady always managed to sneak away. Hell, one time he ran. Hard to get? Mitchell wondered if Clover wasn’t interested at all.

But then… Then he’d catch Clover staring at him through his own window with a dreamy look on his face. In Mitchell’s fantasies, Clover was thinking of him. Maybe the slim man across the street was pouring over his own fantasies and had gotten stuck in thoughts of the two of them having sex.

Mitchell shook his head. Nah. There was no way the beautiful man thought of him as anything but a friend, and even that label stretched things. No matter how hard he tried, Clover wouldn’t give him the time of day.

Lights flicking out over at Emerald Isles signaled that Clover was done for the day. Good. The man never seemed to take care of himself. Mitchell knew that Clover had been left alone when his parents died. The antique shop was all he had now, and he worked hard to hold onto it.

Now it was time for Mitchell to head home. With a smile, he clicked off the remainder of the lights in his own shop and went to check the deadbolt on the front door. On more than one occasion he’d been so caught up in admiring Clover’s ass that he’d actually forgotten to lock the front. Thank the Maker nothing had been stolen. How the hell would he have explained that to the insurance company and cops? Sorry sir, I was ogling the guy across the street…

Just as he approached the front door, Clover emerged from Emerald Isles, his bright red hair nearly glowing in the darkened night. What Mitchell wouldn’t give to run his fingers through those unruly curls. Of course, he wouldn’t stop there…

Mitchell looked his fill while Clover was none the wiser. He let his gaze linger over the seductive line of the man’s neck, allowed his attention to stray to his shoulders, and further down his slim back. The crowning glory of his perusal was Clover’s ass. Small, high, and tight, Mitchell drooled over it every time he was able to sneak a peek.

Clover would fit perfectly against him, his lean form snuggling against Mitchell’s while they lay tangled amongst the sheets. They’d make love—never fuck—all night, and then he’d curl alongside Mitchell as they drifted off to sleep.

His cock hardened within the confines of his worn jeans, thickening and lengthening beneath the soft cotton. Yeah, Clover got to him something fierce. Reaching down, he palmed his hardness, squeezing and enjoying the small shiver that slithered up his spine. He stroked himself through the material, letting himself take a small measure of pleasure from the action before forcing his hand away. He wasn’t gonna stand in his shop window and rub one out to Clover like some pervert.

“But you are a pervert.” The mocking, feminine voice had his cock deflating in an instant.

Mitchell leaned his head against the cool glass and let the frigid temperature seep through his blood. They were nearly on top of winter, the nights growing colder, and he could really use the chill to get his body under control.

“Hello, Mother.” He was going to ignore her “pervert” comment and the fact that the woman still thought it was okay to pluck thoughts from her children’s minds.

“Well, if you would learn how to shield from me properly, you wouldn’t have to worry about me digging around.” His mom sniffed.

Torn by Sean Michael, adult excerpt

As promised, I'm back with an adult excerpt!

Pistol loves nothing more than the rush of riding broncs, well, almost nothing -- his loves Bender the most. Injured and tired and not sure if he's going to be able to ever ride again, he comes home from the rodeo circuit, just hoping that Bender will welcome him home after yet another long absence.

Adult excerpt:

Both boots off, Bender started working on the buttons on his shirt. Pistol could smell the shampoo on Bender's hair, and the sweat of an evening's chores on top of a long day in the sunshine, working hard.

"Uh-huh." Pistol leaned in, moaned softly as his body went tight.

"Careful," murmured Bender, fingers dragging on his skin as each button was undone.

"I don't do careful so good."

Snorting, Bender pulled his shirt out of his jeans. "Yeah, the shoulder surgery kind of gives that away."

He let Bender strip his shirt right off, look at the healing incisions. "Not infected. It looks okay. You out for the season?"

"I am. At least. Doc says it was a mess in there."

Bender gave him a steely-eyed look. "You gonna be mad if I say I'm glad you're out?"

"Nope. I'm gonna be mad if you don't come to bed."

Bender pushed him back, hands on his chest, until he was lying on the mattress. Then his lover attacked his jeans. There was no one as needy as his lover, no one else ever touched him like he was precious.

Bender dragged his jeans off and climbed up the bed, kissing the inside of his thigh. His balls drew up and his thighs spread.

Bender chuckled softly. "Look at my greedy lover -- I just jacked you off."

"So? I'm still hard." Still needy.

Bender laughed harder at his words. "I can see that." Bender straddled Pistol's legs and began undoing his work-shirt, revealing the rangy body, the ropy muscles made from hard work.

"Fuck, baby. Look at you."  Pistol reached out with his good hand, tracing muscles.

They jerked and flexed under his fingers. "Been working hard."

"I can tell. Fuck, I need you."

Bender nodded. "I want you. I want to fuck you so hard you have to stay in bed a week."

"I dare you."

Bender put his head back and laughed, long throat exposed for him. "I was gonna do it anyway."

He lurched up, heedless of his shoulder, and fastened his lips on that bared skin.

"Pistol!" Bender's hands grabbed his head, holding him there.

He bit a little, hand grabbing Bender's hard little ass.

Bender rocked against him, denim covered prick pushing against his belly. "Fucking need you so bad, Pistol. Been so fucking long."

Sean Michael

smut fixes everything

www.seanmichaelwrites.com

 

Torn by Sean Michael, PG Excerpt

I have a new short story in with an anthology. The anthology is called Fever, and it and the stories in it will be available from Torquere Press tomorrow. I'll post a PG excerpt now and a more racy one later today ;)

Pistol loves nothing more than the rush of riding broncs, well, almost nothing -- his loves Bender the most. Injured and tired and not sure if he's going to be able to ever ride again, he comes home from the rodeo circuit, just hoping that Bender will welcome him home after yet another long absence.

PG Excerpt:

Pistol pulled up along the drive, his truck rattling bones that he wouldn't even have known he had five years ago. Hell, some of them he'd just discovered when his ass hit the dirt two weeks ago. He'd had his shoulder operated on, and had spent a couple of days recuperating before making the trip home.

Too bad he wasn't a hundred percent sure Bender would open the door for him.

He pulled up next to the barn, killed the engine, and stared. It had been eight weeks this time, eight long weeks with only three days home before that.

The back door to the house banged open, the hounds bounding out toward him, and behind them was the most beautiful son of a bitch he knew. Long and lean, whipcord strength contained in every step. Bender didn't come running like the dogs did, but he did come.

Pistol watched Bender walk toward him, his eyes burning in his skull. God, he was fucking tired, bone deep tired, just aching with it.

The dogs were at his door now, jumping up and barking, trying to get to him.

He opened the door, pushed it open and stood, trying to keep them from the arm still in the sling. "Hey y'all, you happy to see me?"

"You should have called and let me know." Bender waited for the dogs to have their hello, blue eyes on him like twin laser beams.

"I didn't want you worrying. Jack needed his guest room back." He'd been imposing. Not to mention, the man's mother-in-law had come to help with the last few days of Mary Ellen's pregnancy, and he'd wanted to come home. Bender told the dogs to "scatter," and they did.

Before Pistol could say anything Bender was on him, mouth covering his in a kiss that smashed his lips against his teeth and totally stole his breath.

Oh. Oh, thank God. He pushed up into the kiss, damn near sobbing with relief.

Bender grabbed the collar of his shirt, shifting him and slamming him up against his truck. All those long, lean muscles pressed up against him. He wrapped his good arm around his lover, his legs, clinging like a fucking leech.

Bender got both hands around his ass and hitched him higher, rubbing hard. There were no words, just hard, needy kisses and harder cocks bumping through denim.

Finally, he managed to find breath and brain enough to mutter, "Missed you. Need. Fuck."

"Shut up and kiss me."

Sean Michael

smut fixes everything

www.seanmichaelwrites.com

Merry Month of Masturbation!

Did you know that May is the Merry Month of Masturbation?

Well it is!

Check out my livejournal for MMoM ficlets staring the subs and Doms of The Hammer Club.

Sean Michael
smut fixes everything
www.seanmichaelwrites.com

Art and Snowflakes by Sean Michael

First a note about the Hop Against Homophobia and Transphobia. I'm taking part this year, and so are nearly 180 others. It's an important message and there's tons of prizes available. You can start at my post and from there click on the link at the bottom to go to the rest.

Now on to Art and Snowflakes. This will be out at Amber Allure on May 26!

Ten years ago, Jaxsom left town, and his lover Dave, following his whim and his art through booze and alcohol. Now he's back, sober, clean, and with a wad of cash in his back pocket from the sale of a dozen works of art.

A chance meeting with Dave earns him an invitation back to Dave's place for dinner and one thing leads to another. Now that Jax is clean, will Dave want to rekindle their romance? And if so, can Jax find a way to have his art and Dave, too? 

Buy link.

Excerpt:

Look at the snow.

Jaxsom tilted his head and lifted his face to the sky, lips open, the flakes falling like icy kisses from the fairies. How pretty. He hadn't been this far north in, what, a decade? More?

He'd taken eight canvasses to Shel and had twelve thousand dollars in his pocket, and had decided, suddenly, to get on a train. Four days later he was at the border, heading up to see the house his mother had been born in, died in.

Weird.

Cool, though.

He really needed to buy a new coat, if he was going to stay more than a couple hours, though.

He sat at the bus stop, looking across the street at the house. Someone had painted it green. A nice green of lily pads and the light falling behind a frog's eyes. Jax approved.

The windows on the second story had blinds down, instead of the curtains. That had been his room -- the bedroom facing the street -- and he'd had dark crimson curtains. He'd loved the way the late afternoon sun poured in and turned his bedroom bloody.

He wanted to go up, knock, see who lived there now, but he couldn't. He knew better. People didn't get it. So he sat and looked, watched as the lights came on inside and the sun went down outside.

God, it was cold.

The bus came lumbering up the street like a large, lazy bear, pulling to a stop in front of him with a low growl and a loud hiss.

He stood up, pondering getting on, watching the people get off, all bundled in their coats. He glanced along the windows, a handsome face catching his gaze. Jax tilted his head. Whoa. That looked like Dave, but older.

Dave... mmm... the man knew how to make him fly.

They'd played hard, once upon a time. Dave had amazing hands, but Jax's art had been calling him and he'd gotten lost, a little bit.

For, like, a decade.

The man on the bus turned his head to look out the window, eyes looking right into his. Dave's eyes. Shockingly blue. Direct. Intense.

His lips parted. Oh. Oh, wow.

Sean Michael

smut fixes everything

www.seanmichaelwrites.com