Flash Fic Friday–Saturday Edition

**My characters speak for me…and then have sex**

I stared at the blank document, my hands poised above the keyboard ready to type.  I watched the cursor blink.  I wracked my brain.  I watched the cursor blink some more.  Then, with a defeated sigh, I dropped my hands to my lap and bowed my head.

“Eli?” asked the deep voice from behind me.  “What’s the matter, babe?”

I turned in my chair to look at my boyfriend.  Cole was a big guy, with dark hair cut close to his scalp and a slightly imperfect nose from a fight in high school.  He was beautiful and loving and wonderful and absolutely the love of my life.  I could tell him anything and he would listen without judgement.  And he always offered his blunt and honest opinion.  I loved that about him.

“I’m boring.”

Cole cocked his head to the side and studied me for a moment, before crossing the floor on silent feet.  He stood behind me and dropped his warm, strong hands on my shoulders.  After a moment, they started to knead, working the tension from my stiff muscles.  He worked quietly for a long few minutes before he asked softly, “What are you talking about?”

“There’s supposed to be…” I trailed off and made a helpless gesture at the empty computer screen.  “I’m supposed to put up regular blog posts and I’m supposed to be writing words and I just…. I don’t have anything to say.”

“Well,” Cole said after a moment.  “You can’t force it.  Every time you do, you hate everything you write.  So just take a deep breath and take a step back.”

“But I’m supposed to write!”  I was whining and I didn’t care.  Cole’s hands squeezed, and I took a deep breath. “My readers, they come to the blog expecting to see posts about my progress.  Or what’s going on with me.  Only I don’t have anything to say and I haven’t made much progress.  How is that fair to them?  They’ve been so amazing.  They deserve better than that. How can I expect to keep the few fans I have if I don’t give them what they want?”

“You’re just starting out as an author, Eli.  You have to give it time.  Pretty soon, you’ll have many more readers.” Cole leaned down and placed a kiss on my temple, then said in my ear, “Believe it or not, they know you’re human, that you have a life outside of writing.  They all understand that sometimes you’ve got nothing to say.”

I nodded miserably.  “But I want to write for them.  For me.  I just–”

Cole cut me off by turning my head and pressing his lips to mine.  As always, I went pliant beneath his mouth.  I loved his lips and I loved them on mine.  He knew how to make me putty in his hands.  A few teasing licks, a little bit of a nibble on my bottom lip, and I melted with a sigh.  He pulled back, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Maybe you just need a little inspiration,” Cole said, his voice low.

I blinked.  “Wha?”

He gave a sensuous chuckle, taking my hand in his.  With a little tug, he pulled me to my feet and started leading me toward the bedroom.  We had made the spare room my office, so it was a short walk across the hall and into our room.  With deft hands, he removed the t-shirt and sweat pants I was wearing, then gave me a little nudge so that I toppled backwards on the mattress.  Cole kept his gaze on mine as he removed his own sweatshirt and jeans.  Within moments, he was naked, his cock half hard and rising from the nest of dark curls I loved to bury my nose in.

“You write gay romance,” Cole said, his voice gravelly and deep as he stalked toward the bed.  He put one knee on the mattress as he reached for the condom and lube on the beside table.  “You’re a gay man.  So–” he stopped and gestured to his naked body, and then gave me a wicked grin as he added, “inspiration.”

My breathing sped up even as I lifted my arms and made a “gimme” gesture with my hands.  “Yes, please. Inspire away.”

Cole’s movements were slow and sensuous.  His lips and fingers never stopped moving, tracing and kissing every patch of skin on my body that he could reach.  He was always an attentive lover, always seeing to my pleasure.  He’d told me repeatedly that he got his own pleasure by watching me come undone.  He stretched me slowly, readying my body to take him in.  He wouldn’t be rushed, no matter how much I begged.  I didn’t need that much prep but Cole didn’t seem to care.  He never entered me before he decided I was ready.  He never wanted to cause me even the slightest amount of pain.

Cole drew out our pleasure until I was a sobbing, begging mess beneath him.  Only then did he pick up his pace, give me the pounding that I really loved.  When I finally came, I screamed out wordlessly.  Cole followed me over a dozen thrusts later, his big body pinning me to the mattress.  We were sticky and sated, panting heavily.  I held him as close as I could.  I loved his weight on me, and I never felt more cherished than when he held me tightly after we made love.

Eventually, Cole moved.  He disposed of the condom, and then pulled me out of bed to drag me into the shower.  He washed my body, and I let him, loving his hands on me even when he was just cleaning my skin.  Ten years together and he still made my breath catch.  When we were back in the bedroom getting redressed–because the day was only half over–he gave me a lazy smile as I pulled on a clean pair of sweatpants.

“So?  Was that inspiring?”

I dropped the t-shirt in my hands to launch myself at him.  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I kissed him.  Hard.

A while later, when I was back in front of my computer, I lifted my hands and began to type.

I stared at the blank document, my hands poised above the keyboard…