Work in Progress: The Lady and the Sword, week 11

Remember last week I said there might be an announcement this week?

I now have a Patreon! 

I’m going to develop that Elemental project from the ground up, and start an ongoing… something. How long it will be, where it will go, all of that is stuff that we’ll discover together.

Since I’m still in the middle of Swords of Charlemagne, I set the Patreon up to be a pay-for-content, not as a monthly draw. That might change once I have a better idea of what the Elemental project is, and as it gets going. For now, now one pays anything until I produce something.

Speaking of Swords of Charlemagne,  last week I also said that I thought I’d be at the halfway mark by Wednesday?

Yeah, I didn’t make it Wednesday.

I made it Monday.

This was an uncommonly good writing week, all in all.

The Lady and the Sword
Swords of Charlemagne, Book 2

That is, until I hit chapter seventeen.

Sex scenes slow me down. I’ve said that before. So do fight scenes.

So I, in my genius plotting brain, decided that The Lady and the Sword must have a fight scene that segues right into a sex scene. Because reasons.

It came together a lot faster than I though it would, because I had a lot of it in my head already. So here’s a bit of the unedited scene:

***

Douglas frowned slightly. He opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was lost as Mystere’s fist connected with his chin. Douglas stumbled backwards, regained his footing, and stared at Mystere like he’d lost his mind.

“I… you hit me!”

“Are you ready to listen now?” Mystere asked.

The answer quickly became obvious — Douglas charged at Mystere, roaring like a bull. Until that moment, Mystere would never have expected his Doogie to be a brawler. But clearly, there was a history there that Mystere had missed.

Also clearly? Punching Douglas to get his attention was probably not the smartest thing that Mystere had ever done in his lifetime. Douglas was both taller and heavier than he was, and Mystere quickly found himself in over his head. He refused to use magic, even though that would have stopped Douglas easily. No, there was something here. Something visceral that needed doing. Magic would only get in the way. He ducked too slowly, caught a fist in the cheek, and stumbled back. Panting, anger shredded any semblance of clear thought — Mystere rushed Douglas, bowling him over. He skipped backwards, watching, his back against the bedroom door. Douglas got to his feet, an odd grin on his face. He rubbed one fist with the other hand, and Mystere heard Douglas’ knuckles crack. His stomach dropped, and he fumbled at the door handle.

“Douglas, I shouldn’t have done that—” he stammered. Too late — Douglas rushed at him again, the force of his attack driving Mystere back into the door so hard that the frame shattered, and both men fell into the bedroom. Mystere landed hard, but managed to use his elbow to knock Douglas back, to get his weight shifted enough that Mystere could move. He rolled, kicking Douglas by accident as he tried to give himself some room to either fight or flee. But Douglas was faster than Mystere thought, and grabbed the back of Mystere’s waistcoat, dragging him back with enough force that the cloth tore. Mystere yelped as Douglas threw him bodily onto the bed, diving after him. The bedframe collapsed under them, pitching them at an odd angle — Mystere with his head pointed toward the floor, completely pinned down and unable to get out from underneath Douglas’ greater weight. He thought for a moment about throwing Douglas off with magic, but decided not to struggle. This was no longer about winning. It was about understanding. And it was time for Douglas to do… something.

He wasn’t expecting that something to be Douglas kissing him as if both their lives depended on it, hard enough that their teeth ground together. Mystere couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, even as Douglas tore at his clothes to bare the skin beneath. There had always been passion between them, a deep desire. This was different. This… the Greeks had a word for this.

Katharsis.

***

There was a lot of consent juggling in this chapter. I do address the elephant in the room later in the scene.  It’s not as grim-dark as Rebel Mage. It’s more along the lines of Chapter 7 of House of Sable Locks. Maybe a little lighter, though.

Sometime next year or thereabouts, you all can tell me.

And now it’s time for me to go inside. Writing on the porch is lovely, until the mosquitoes wake up.