What made him happy was Brian Kinney, and Justin was determined never to give that up, no matter the cost. He was smart enough that he knew a good thing when it came along, even if it was in the overdosing, chain-smoking, fuck-your-brains-out kind of package.
“Qui est-il?” came an annoyed, slightly drunken voice from the old-fashioned buzzer.
“C’est moi, Oncle,” Anne said, testing out her rusty French. “Your nièce, Anne. Let me up, it’s cold out here!”
There was little she could do, however, because necromancy and child-bearing did not, all the books told her, mix.
This is the first year in so many she would not spend in the company of the Royal Family, and perhaps Favrielle no Eglantine was the most upset at her absence.
It wasn’t until he was absolutely sure he was offered a place with the Royal Ballet that Billy could start convincing Michael to move to London.
Don was unprepared for David Posner’s smiling face at his door, a bit damp but shaking it off. “Hullo, Scrippsy,” David said warmly.
They scrambled at each other’s clothes, knowing they really only had a moment’s time before someone would walk in, or shooting would begin, or Mal would get some crazy idea about saving whatever world they were currently on.
Honestly (and he won’t admit this to anyone, let alone himself), he thinks about Irwin quite a lot of the time when it’s his own hand on his dick in his room at the end of the hall, where the sounds of the bronchial radiator drown out any noises that might escape.
Titus was so unerringly faithful, even given all they had been through both together and separately.
Lacey knew everything there was to know about Grady.
There was one thing last to do, and that was to visit the High King.
Anne Marie never stopped being in love.
“Ergo, fucking.
The first time they try kink, it failed miserably.
You lose the taste of salt, when you’re a surfer.
Miles wasn’t ashamed to admit he was a shallow creature, watching the two bodies on his bed moan and writhe before him.
She wrote on the last of the parchment she had, a handful of inches from the end of a roll tucked in the back of an old magazine, wrinkled and worn but still useful.
There is no true measure of time.
She was the only girl who got it, what it was like to want things the girls at school didn’t care about but still want girl things too.
She’s still got it.