luninosity

From "October by Candlelight," available for pre-order now, release date October 20! Domestic autumnal just-moved-in-together warmth, pumpkin scents, many many candles, and talking about important things...

Here's chapter two, as a teaser!

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Two days later, on Saturday, a delivery arrived: three pumpkin-spice candles, a paperback copy of The History of Silver Age Superheroes, a zucchini, and a loaf of raspberry wheat bread. None of these had been on the shopping list tacked to the fridge, except Finn’s zucchini, which had a muffin-related destiny.

Wes, who’d answered the door and opened the package, considered this fact. “I’m not sure you’re allowed to buy things without me.”

Finn gave him a sorrowful-kitten look. Wes knew that look. He gave in to that look just about every time.

“Is this what living with you is like? It is, isn’t it? Not,” he added hastily, “that I mind.”

He didn’t. Not at all. This house had room for their combined eclectic library; Wes’s organized desk and an old guitar from his wayward college rock band days lived alongside Finn’s hobby-of-the-month origami and card-trick magic practice and ocean-themed coloring books, finding three-month-old harmony. The pool out back was good for Finn’s physical therapy and also just for floating around in, and they did a lot of that. These days Wes’s world was wondrous.

He lifted up a bright orange shape, turned it around. “More candles?”

“They were on sale,” Finn protested. He’d gotten up, and Wes nearly argued, but it seemed to be a good day; that wasn’t even much of a limp. “They smell like pumpkins. And autumn grass. And bonfire smoke. Here, I can help—”

“Yes, thank you,” Wes said, now juggling three candles and bread and zucchini and a book, trailing Finn into the kitchen. “You want pumpkins and bonfires in our house.”

“I’ll make cinnamon rolls with pumpkin cream cheese.” Finn was only half paying attention, entranced by autumnal temptation and finding gleaming silver to put candles inside. “Anyway you like pumpkin spice.”

“I’m not sure I want to, you know, breathe and eat pumpkin…” He did love Finn, though. And he loved the sparkle in those huge eyes, diving into the world with full-on enthusiasm. “I can build a fire if you want. In our fireplace. For you.”

Finn set down the third candle. Smiled. “Come on, baby, light my fire.”

“Terrible classic rock puns,” Wes informed him, “mean absolutely guaranteed seduction,” and took a step forward, everything else shoved onto a countertop, hands finding and cupping Finn’s face, thumb skimming over a dimple because it was there and he could.

Finn looked at him, smiling, waiting; pure anticipation danced in every line of him, every lifted eyebrow. Wes kissed him for it, leaned down and conquered Finn’s beckoning mouth with tongue and lips and teeth, all of himself; and shifted closer, pressing Finn up against the counter, held securely between smooth pale granite and Wes himself. Finn made a sound, light and wordless, lips pink and parted; Wes paused.

“Oh, no, don’t stop.” Finn had one hand on the counter, but the other slid along Wes’s back, keeping him close. “Good sound. Promise. You feel so good. Have I mentioned I love you being all possessive and in charge? I do.”

“What was it you said about cream,” Wes said, and dropped to both knees, and tugged down Finn’s loose flowing pants.

He was decently good at this, though Finn was better; Finn was phenomenal, a skillful mouth and generosity and fearless pleasure. Wes had been getting a lot of practice, though. And he liked knowing exactly what motion, friction, licks and strokes and repetition, would make his boyfriend gasp and shudder and clutch the countertop as if trying to dig fingers through it.

Finn managed, “Wes…” voice shaking; his hips jerked, and Wes tasted desire, readiness, need gathering. Looking up, knowing Finn was watching him—the slide, the length, the plunge in and out—he watched Finn, too, and loved the sight: the unguarded ecstasy, the moment when Finn simply fell apart with pleasure, feeling nothing but bliss.

He wanted to do that, to give Finn that, forever; he knew what Finn liked, and he did it, harder, more, until Finn practically screamed his name, and Wes swallowed and drank down and licked up his release, every drop.

Finn’s legs wobbled. Wes lunged upright, throwing an arm around him. Finn leaned into being held, but promised, “I’m fine, it’s not that, it’s just that someone finished off my sense of balance along with everything else, unfair,” and did something between a kiss and a bite at Wes’s chest, through his shirt. “I’m not complaining, but what was that for?”

“Nothing,” Wes said. “You. Pumpkin candles and cinnamon rolls.”

“Don’t make fun of my pumpkins. They’re totally appropriate for what we just did.”

“I’m going to regret this, but how?”

“Well.” Finn put both arms around Wes’s neck. Got nose to nose, and very serious. “Because I’m…falling for you.”

“Why,” Wes said to the ceiling. “Why.”

“You did ask.”

“I did.” The kitchen smelled like ridiculous pumpkin candles, like autumn, like giddy heat; Wes’s mouth tasted like Finn, and he’d never been happier in his life.

~*~

The week after that, they ventured out of the house. The rain had let up, they both loved their small local independent bookshop, and they needed to do some shopping for Wes’s niece’s birthday. Finn, in frayed jeans and a blue hoodie, looked like the Southern California teenager he’d once been, bouncing across beaches with a surfboard when not working, running around in flip-flops in the summer. He was moving more easily now, mostly recovered from filming and travel.

Wes glanced at them both in the mirror, getting dressed, and couldn’t hide his own wry expression. Finn laughed. “Sorry, is it worse than usual?”

“Maybe I should finally start coloring my hair.” He wasn’t exactly self-conscious about it. Not as such. He’d willingly admit he thought they looked good together: matching height, with his own dark gaze and golden skin and high cheekbones and silver flecks in black hair next to Finn’s casual sun-kissed prettiness and tropical-beach eyes.

That didn’t mean he didn’t look older than Finn. Particularly when his other half dressed like that.

“I like the grey,” Finn said. “Distinguished. Keep it.”

“Should I wear the reading glasses out in public, too?”

Finn put his head on one side, let his eyes travel up and down Wes’s body and face, and smiled. Slowly. With a lip-lick.

Wes pointed a finger at him. “No.”

“In bed, at least?”

“Do you love me, or your sexy professor fantasies?”

Finn spread both arms in invitation. “Lecture me about medieval gender theory while bending me over the bed?”

“Maybe later. Errands first.” While the weather was good, and Finn felt good, and they could go out and wander around a bookshop, hand in hand, on a date. “We can stop by that coffee place you like. Get something seasonal.”

“Ah, more bribery. You know me so well.” Finn swept a hand toward the bedroom door. “Caramel apple spiced latte. Vanilla ginger pumpkin mocha. Pecan praline cream.”

“Are any of those actual coffee, or are we still in your fantasy universe?”

“Both,” Finn said, and laced fingers into Wes’s on the way out the door. “I like my universe, thanks.”

~*~

The coffee shop was close to the bookshop, and the bookshop also had a small local art corner, handmade crafts and knickknacks for sale, supporting the community. The girl at the counter recognized them and waved, but didn’t come over; Wes thought she’d been in a first-year survey course he’d taught, but she’d also worked here for a few months and knew them as customers. He wasn’t sure whether she knew who Finn was.

Most people were good about not bothering them, even if anyone specifically recognized Finn Ransom. Sometimes there were a few double-takes, but more often than not those were along the lines of, “Is that…somebody?” or “Do we know that guy?” or “I swear he looks like someone famous, who was that…”

Finn usually found this amusing, or he said he did. Wes had asked once, unsure whether his own reaction should be gratitude about not being mobbed, annoyance on Finn’s behalf, or sympathy for a career and a level of recognition Finn had lost. Sort of all of the above, he thought.

Finn had shrugged a shoulder, lying stretched out beside him in bed. Had said, “I’m not exactly the kid from Cody and Finn’s Upside-Down Life anymore, I get that, I just always wonder who they think I look like. I hope it’s at least flattering. I mean, can you imagine some of the possibilities?”

“No,” Wes had said, truthfully. “You look like you.”

Finn did, he thought. Not as innocent and sunny and boy-next-door as that teenage superstar had been. More aware of pain and effort and the randomness of the world. Older in both time and experience, and if he was leaning on the cane for support most people either looked at that or looked away from that. But he’d never be anyone else, not with those spellbinding eyes and that wide-open heart.

Finn had blushed at that evaluation, which had meant Wes needed to kiss him, and more.

Sometimes people did figure it out, especially if they were looking at the eyes and the dimples. Wes didn’t mind, as long as they were polite about it; hell, his own university students recognized him too, in bookshops and movie theaters. One of them, with no apparent irony, had said enthusiastically, “Dude, Professor Kim, your boyfriend’s totally hot, like a grown-up Finn Ransom from that old show!” while handing Finn a bucket of popcorn before a new Colby Kent romantic comedy film.

Wes had felt himself go red, ears and cheeks and throat included. Finn had grinned at the kid and said, “Thanks, you know, I’ve heard that a couple times, maybe I should finally watch the show!” and tossed a piece of popcorn at Wes’s open mouth, accurately.

At the moment Finn had acquired a selection of graphic novels—research for the superhero project—and a book about women in the French Revolution, on the basis that it sounded interesting. And then he’d wandered over to the local arts and crafts section. “Oh, awesome, come look at these—”

“More candles?”

“They’re candles shaped like ghosts! Handmade!”

“Do we…need more candles?”

“They’re perfect for Halloween!”

“You don’t need more things to light on fire around the house! We live in LA! It’s like ninety degrees out even when it’s raining!”

“Are you honestly anti-ghost-candle?”

“I just don’t see the point,” Wes tried. He wanted to. But he really, really didn’t.

“But they’re ghosts! And they’re cute! And they smell like, let’s see, this one’s trick-or-treat scented, what does that mean…the tag says marshmallows and sugared candy and linen pillowcases—”

“When you light them they’ll only melt,” Wes said, a bit desperately. “Their faces will melt.”

Finn’s shoulders drooped. And he put a ghost back. “No, yeah, you’re right. That probably would be weird. Okay. So we should think about Valerie’s birthday, they’ve got some neat jewelry, she likes blue, but more lavender, that color that’s almost sort of violet? What do you think about this bracelet? And maybe also a book? She likes fantasy, right?”

Wes, standing amid local artisan crafts, stared at the man he adored, who knew his niece’s specific favorite color when Wes himself didn’t.

Finn had already wandered into handmade jewelry displays, fingers skimming through beads and stones and metal. He did not turn around while talking.

Wes eyed the candle-ghosts. Ridiculous kitschy molded whiteness with wicks sticking out of their heads. Holiday-themed and overpriced, even if hand-crafted. They would definitely match Finn’s decorating sense, which could best be described as exuberant, and not at all Wes’s wistful desire for order and serenity.

The ghosts smirked at him, not unkindly.

He cleared his throat. “If you, um…think about it…if they melt when you light them…”

Finn turned back. Surprise in his eyebrows, in the tilt of his head.

“…they kind of work well, as ghosts? It’s like, um, living—not living—up to their potential? Ending up insubstantial and floating around a room?” Maybe that counted as an apology somehow.

“The one in front says it smells like candy corn,” Finn said, a question that hid in hopefulness.

The fact that it was a question just about broke Wes’s heart. What was he doing, objecting to something as small as his boyfriend liking candles? It wasn’t as if he even cared that much. And it made Finn happy, for some mysterious reason, and that was the most important part.

He ended up buying six flowing wax Halloween-scented ghosts. They had different scents and different faces, so he had to find them all.