Sunday Snippet: Need

Greetings on this final day of 2017. I hope everyone had the best of holiday seasons and wish all nothing but wonderful things for the upcoming new year. I have several goals I'll be working toward and I'm kind of excited about starting with a shiny new calendar.

Holiday movies are winding down and I'll be a little sad to see them disappear until the next holiday season. There's something a little magical about Christmas movies. My one wish would be to see some diversity and have Hanukkah, Kwanza, and even Yule or the Solstice represented. I'm fascinated by other traditions and wouldn't mind seeing some movies built around them.

The Doctor Who Christmas special ended up being good. "Twice Upon a Time" tied some things up and delved back into the shows history and, yeah, I'll give credit to Capaldi's final bow. A worthy ending to Twelve's tenure.

Murdoch Mysteries "Home for Christmas" hit all the right notes. This show is in its eleventh season and, honestly, it's only improved with age. The cast is top notch and the revolving round of historical bigwig and the guest stars that portray them rarely disappoint. I'm happy this remains on my watch radar.

I've also been enjoying Frankie Drake Mysteries—another Canadian show. I like the leads and, so far, the mysteries have been entertaining. This is a little similar to Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries. If you enjoyed that one, give Frankie Drake a try.

I've started the second season of Chicago Fire and I'm a little disappointed in the whole McLeod storyline. Maybe if I had a little more to go on with why she's hell-bent on getting Boden out I might care a little more. And Benny Severied whispering in her ear isn't quite enough in my book. That said, I love everything else about the first five episodes.

I don't think I've talked about Passionflix, a new $4.99 a month subscription streaming movie service. It's brand new and they're creating original movies—and possibly series down the road a ways—and also offer several classic romantic films with more to come. To date, they have three original movies available for viewers. They're all based on best-selling romance novels and have varying levels of steaminess. The site has a convenient BON—Barometer of Naughtiness—rating system so viewers can find their comfort zone. I've been able to catch the first two, Hollywood Dirt and After Burn / After Shock. Guys… it's worth the $4.99 a month for those two alone. I'll be viewing the final new release The Trouble with Mistletoe later today. If you love romance, give this service a consideration.

And that's it for television viewing this week. This year's final post is from Need, a sexy short that might end up turning into a novella. It's a fun narrative style and little different for me.

Here's the mini-blurb:

Circe Nash and Oz Paterson, two top-notch pilots, have the strangest courtship in the galaxy—one they swear doesn't even exist. But when the need to be together hits them, they inevitably find themselves in the same place at the same time, with a little help from their crewmates.

And a sneaky peek…

And the crew did see. Oz and Circe balanced each other out. Not that they'd ever admit it.

But the long, strange mating dance or courtship or whatever one wanted to call it became the stuff of legend, kind of like the two pilots themselves.

The following is the official recollection of Circe and Oz.

Circe skated into the morning briefing at the last minute because she had trouble finding a matching uniform.

Oz deviated from his usual greeting to call her out. "Lieutenant Nash, nice to see you slide in this morning. What, pray tell, kept you today?" He quirked an eyebrow.

Circe resisted urge to slump in her seat. "Nothing important, Sir." She hoped he'd move the hell on and start the briefing.

No such luck.

Oz stepped out from behind the podium. "Let's see, two days ago, you were late because you had a little too much fun on R and R." He along the edge of the seats, heading in her direction. "Yesterday, the galley ran out of coffee and you had to wait for a caffeine fix." He stopped at the edge of her seat. "And here we are today. I'm starting to get a complex, Lieutenant." He folded his arms across his chest.

Circe smirked. "Sounds like you've got a problem, Sir." Chuckles erupted from the rest of the squadron.

Oz leaned in close. "Oh, I do. And she's sitting in front of me." He straightened. "What's the reason today, Lieutenant? Maybe we can fix whatever issue you had so you won't be late again."

Circe didn't want to be put on the spot, but she had to concede defeat. The damned man wouldn't start the actual briefing until she admitted the reason for being late this morning.

Heaving a sigh, she mumbled. "I couldn't find a clean uniform that matched." Her face heated and she kind of hoped the deck opened up and swallowed her.

Oz opened his mouth then closed it before tilting his head to one side. "Quarters after the briefing. We're going to solve your uniform dilemma." He turned and went back up front to begin going over the day's important information.

Circe waffled on the fence. Her curiosity piqued at the idea of Oz helping her out. Mortification also filled her over the state of her locker.

Not that she would tidy up. Definitely not her style.

But pushing Oz's buttons? Standard flight trajectory for her.

I'm hoping the mingling of narrative with character point of view meshes well together. We'll see how it goes and hopefully have a sexy short story in 2018.

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flipside.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Napalm at Night

Season's Greetings!

As usual, I'm running around like a crazy woman finishing up everything at the last moment. I'm only halfway through Operation Wrap Shit Up but I'll get it all done. I always do… even if it's not until four a.m. Christmas morning. LOL

Slow week in television, which isn't a bad thing because I had a few editing projects to finish up and I didn't need the distraction. I did manage to finish the first season of Chicago Fire and I can't wait for the second season to start arriving in my mailbox.

I have the Murdoch Mysteries holiday special ready to watch while we're decorating our tree later tonight. I'm looking forward to the Doctor Who special if only to watch the regeneration into a new doctor. Sadly, I never warmed up to Capaldi as the Doctor and I'm ready for a new face.

I still have the Riverdale winter finale to watch and I'm hoping to finish up my wrapping while viewing that episode. Considering I'll probably be going nonstop until the wee hours, I might even watch it more than once. LOL

That's it for television this week. Tonight's post is from Napalm at Night, a novella that started as a prompted fanfic where the requester asked to have the female character working as a helicopter pilot in Viet Nam and the male character as a soldier behind enemy lines. I liked the concept and wanted to put a sci-fi romance spin on the story.

Here's the mini-blurb:

Napalm at night is dangerous stuff. Jensen Wallis, an extraordinary helicopter pilot, makes her fair share of early dawn rescues after enemy forces unleash the potent explosives on her fellow soldiers. She comes to the aid of Rip Rafferty's squadron and gets them to safety, but not before the enigmatic man sets her curious nature on fire.

And a sneaky peek…

Rip thrashed on the cot, his mind filled with grisly images of men falling and the world around them burning. The cloyingly acrid stench of napalm surrounded him, stinging his nostrils and choking the air from his throat. The shit sticks to everything else, why not my insides?

A cool, wet cloth bathed his face. Is someone coating me with the stuff?

No, napalm burns even when it's not on fire.

He struggled to break free, wanted to get away from the reeking perfume of gasoline and detergent stink. His body rebelled. No… strong hands held him down. Caught between a nightmare and reality, Rip did what instinct demanded.

He fought.

Wrenching an arm out and up, he caught his captor by the throat. "Get off. Now." When he couldn't move his legs, he bucked his hips and arched his back. "Get away from me."

"Shhh, gunny, take it easy. You're not in a battle right now." The female voice spoke in soothing tones then turned commanding. "Let him go. If he reopens the wound, Doc Cassidy will bust us all down a rank." The damp cloth swished over his face again.

"But, corporal, he won't stay still—"

The last vestige of nightmare melted away and he remembered what happened. Hospital. An image of a cool brunette filled his mind and he relaxed, picturing her smile. Jensen. Right. A helicopter-flying angel, waiting on the horizon to rescue him and his men.

Saving him from death.

"See, he's calming down. You each should know what he's going through. Not so long since this was you lying on a cot trying to recover only to be caught in the throes of a nightmare." She took on a stern tone again. "Go on, get moving. There's plenty to do out there." Placing a hand on Rip's forehead, she spoke quietly. "Get some rest, gunny. You'll be okay now." Her footsteps echoed on the wood planks.

Rip tried to wake up. He wanted to ask about his men. Instead, the image of Jensen flashed in his mind and he gave up the ghost. If he couldn't be more than semiconscious, spending time with an angel might chase the dark dreams away.

And hopefully keep me on the right side of sanity.

Gotta say I love writing this one. My goal is to evoke the idea of what Viet Nam might have been like but keeping the setting firmly based on a recently terra-formed planet.

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flipside.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: My Best Friend is a Cyborg

Whew. What a crazy week. I'm still in the throes of trying to get the house cleaned up so we can decorate our tree. We usually wait until Christmas Eve to add the ornaments, which is a good thing because I've misplaced a package I bought to go along with our superhero theme this year.

I'm behind on my shows again. Between shopping, editing, and writing, I need about four more hours each day to get stuff done. LOL That said, I'm almost through the first season of Chicago Fire and, yeah, I really love the show. I'm going the DVD route because I never watch first run anything on NBC. I'm in about year twenty of a boycott and don't see that changing anytime soon.

I've also been enjoying holiday episodes of my favorite shows. There are so many classic television shows with themed episodes and I'm trying to build my collection. I also discovered a new to us channel on my local feeds and it shows a lot of old favorites. I won't complain. It's fun to revisit stuff I loved back in the day.

That's it for television this week. Tonight's post is from My Best Friend is a Cyborg, a novella that got a start with a writing community prompt that suggested writing a story about a best friend who ends up being either an enemy or someone not trusted anymore.

Here's the mini-blurb:

Ibby Stoke finds out her best friend is a dreaded and reviled cyborg and it sends her into a tailspin, making her wonder if the man she loves is a mecha-human. Phil McNulty is everything she's ever wanted, but if he's not all man, Ibby isn't sure she can deal with the reality.

And a sneaky peek…

Phil glanced at Art. Offered a hand then remembered Art wouldn't need assistance if he had cybor-tech installed.

Phil shied away from examining the squeamishness churning in his gut. And the kick of guilt that threatened to flare up. He didn't owe a cyborg any consideration.

But Art's been a friend for years. So what? The betrayal cuts a lot deeper for that reason.

Art got to his feet, shaking his head and running a hand along his throat. His skin had the beginnings of discolorations and would probably sport brusing in the next twenty-four hours. Ibby did a number on him.

Phil met the cyborg's gaze. "You'd better have a good reason for not registering as mecha." And it better not be to inform on humans.

Art rolled his eyes. "I did register. They put me under a different name." He started for the exit, clearly done with the conversation.

Phil quickly caught up. "Why? Why would the council list you under an assumed name?" Frankly, he didn't want to think too hard about the reasons.

Art slowed his gait and angled his head toward Phil. "Because of what just happened with Ibby. And before you ask, I told them it was a stupid idea. That if they wanted my friends to accept me and let me continue working with them, nothing but the truth would do." He snorted. "As you can see, I called that one right down the middle." He glanced away, but not before the pain registered in his eyes.

Phil's emotions battled for dominance. He wanted to write Art off, forget they even knew each other. But another side understood too well the sticky place the council put Art in.

Phil nodded toward the small alcove by the door. "Look, this whole thing sucks and I'm pissed as hell for what Ibby's going through right now, but maybe we need to sit down and have a conversation. Find common ground if that's possible." Which he couldn't believe he actually suggested.

Arthur narrowed his gaze. "Why? I'm the enemy now, right? What are you really after?" Distrust marred his features.

A good question. "Clarity for Ibby." Phil dropped down onto on the bench seats. "Unless you don't care about her anymore?" Which Phil doubted because Art could have easily escaped her chokehold.

Arthur frowned. "They replaced my eye, part of my hand, and my left leg. They didn't touch my brain. Of course I care about Ibby, you ass." Reluctance in every step, he crossed in front of Phil and sank down onto the opposing seat. "Don't ever question my friendship for her." The pointed look took on an eerie edge considering Art had a mechanical eye.

Phil shrugged. "Not sorry for asking. She's gonna have a really hard time getting her head around this whole cyborg situation." Leaning forward, Phil rested his forearms on his knees. "Why? Why would you let them overhaul you?" Phil struggled to comprehend.

Art heaved a sigh. "Not like I had a choice, man. They didn't ask permission when they patched me up after that skirmish." His voice took on a hard edge. "I didn't ask for this. And I sure as hell didn't want to keep it a secret." He slumped against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

Phil straightened, sick dread filling his gut. "You were ordered not to say anything?" Rapid-fire connections filled his head.

Art gave a nod. "Do you really think I wanted to keep this from you guys?"

A lick of shame lashed at Phil. "No. I guess not." Ibby in particular, since she'd practically grown up beside Art.

Arthur relaxed slightly, unfolding his arms and planting his hands on the bench. "This whole thing sucks monkey balls. Especially since it colors the way people see me now." He pinned Phil with a hard gaze. "And by people I mean my friends."

Another stab of almost guilt cut into Phil. "You're not wrong. It's a bitter pill to swallow." The worst kind because the aftertaste lingered.

Art snorted. "I've got news, buddy." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I'm not the first nor will I be the last. What happened to me is the shape of things to come." He paused and let Phil digest the bombshell of information.

Phil So, that means—

Art: Yeah, get used to it, because what happened to me is going to be SOP. Mark my words." He got up and delivered a parting shot. "Welcome to the new reality of this war."

Phil leaned back, shock and dread warring for prominence. He didn't doubt Art—why would he lie? His version of events had the awful clang of truth when it came to the military brass making sweeping decisions without regard to the consequences. Who cared if being a mecha-human carried an inescapable stigma? If it helped win a war, so be it. The personal lives of the recipients be damned.

Phil's shoulders slumped. "A shit storm waiting to happen." He had no idea if or when official word would come down about the military adding mecha-tech to their arsenal. But he did know one certain thing—

Ibby would lose her shit when she found out.

I had so many bits and pieces of this one and I think they're all finally starting to come together. Here's hoping it ends up as great as I hope.

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flipside.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Morning Sickness

It's amazing what a dusting of snow on the ground can do to boost holiday spirit. We got just a tiny bit last night and it looks so pretty today.

Gotta say the mid-season finales for my shows pretty much pulled out all the stops. The Flash left Barry hanging in a very precarious place. Not sure I'm totally down with where everything is going, but it's fun to watch. Lost a good character on Legends of Tomorrow in the form of two goodbyes. I do appreciate the revolving door aspect of the show and look forward to seeing how the others interact without their friends. The holiday trimmings of the shows provided a nice backdrop.

Arrow killed it. James is setting up quite the legion of doom in Star City. I'm very interested in seeing how that plays out when the season returns. If his little cohort who got him out in the first place tries to harm Felicity or Curtis, I'll be really pissed. Just saying.

Riverdale shook things up with breakups all over the place. Yikes. I have another interesting theory about Alice Cooper. Can't wait to see if I'm right. Oh, and this theory doesn't involve FP, at least not about their past.

I'm all caught up on Gotham. Gotta say it hurt to watch Alfred and Bruce tear each other apart. I get where Bruce is coming from, I do, but the whole being a brat is kind of pissing me off. That said, rock bottom isn't always an easy trip to take so I'll be patient. Sophia is proving to be a formidable force. I had a sneaking suspicion she was more of a puppet master than anyone originally thought. It's also fun to see the stories with Butch and Tabitha and Ed and Lee unfold. Seriously, Gotham upped its game and I'm loving it. Having Harvey walk away though… yeah, that one hurt, too.

Murdoch Mysteries continues to be excellent. I can't wait for the holiday episode. I think I'm looking forward to it more than Doctor Who this year. I really can't wait for the new doctor and new showrunner. Honestly, I'm so very disappointed in where Moffat took the show. It lost the heart I always loved. Yes, I'm sure I'm in the minority.

I've started watching my stash of holiday shows. I had to get a new laptop and I'm slowly but surely getting all the episodes transferred over. My Plex server is getting a lot of use this week. Also looking forward to The Trouble with Mistletoe when Passionflix premieres the movie!

That's it for television this week. Tonight's post is from Morning Sickness, a novella that started with a writing community prompt of write anything involving pregnancy.

Here's the mini-blurb:

Dava Whales has all the classic signs of pregnancy, except she can't possibly be with child—she's a solider in the middle of a war and religiously takes her mandatory birth control shots. When Warren Carter suggests Dava get checked out, the pricklier than usual officer goes ballistic—especially since Warren is the other half of the parental equation.

And a sneaky peek…

Warren maintained his calm until he got to his office. Then he lost his shit. Breaking out into a cold sweat, he paced the length of the floor. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Scrubbing one hand through his hair, he shook his head. "Dava can't be pregnant." He resumed pacing.

She never missed a birth control shot. And he would know. He had copies of all the records. But what if?

"Geez, the timing couldn't be worse."

Carrying a baby in the middle of warzone couldn't happen. The shit he'd get for not keeping his dick in his pants would be monumental. And Dava wouldn't fare any better. Her career would be all but ended.

He paused again. "Or, she could terminate." She'd only miss a brief stint if she did.

How did he feel about a possible abortion? Would she even tell him? Ask his opinion? She didn't have to.

"Her body, her choice."

And he'd support whatever decision she made. He couldn’t do anything less. His part in whatever happened next would be dictated by her lead.

He crossed the floor and sat down behind the desk. His knee bobbed up and down, the nervous tension needed as escape. Sitting back, he imagined what a kid between them would look like. Her dark hair with his amber eyes. His sandy hair with her gray eyes.

His lips quirked. "We'd make beautiful babies." Shit!

Stop! No. Just no. Zero thinking about offspring and little Davas or Warrens running around. Cripes. Could he be any more stupid?

Probably not. If he'd actually planted a seed in her womb, no, he couldn't be any more rash and irresponsible.

He grabbed some paperwork for a distraction. Anything to stay busy until he heard from Dava.

Hopefully soon.

She can't be pregnant. Right?

Right.

Or maybe not.

I'm actually having a lot of fun with this one. The conflict is built right in and gives me a lot to draw from for ideas.

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flipside.

ML Skye

Sunday Snippet: Missing You

Happy December! The most wonderful, crazy time of the year is in full swing. I'm excited for the holiday and really need to get my house cleaned up so we can actually celebrate. LOL

The mega-crossover of DC shows occurred this week and it did not disappoint. So many things happened with interesting pairings and twisty turns. Supergirl and Arrow kicked off the fun and the crazy times spilled over into The Flash and Legends of Tomorrow. Great to see some familiar and new faces. I won't get into much more, but the double wedding ended up being a surprise for me. YAY!

Riverdale continues to go places I don't expect. I have such a love / hate relationship with this show. I'm actually so happy we didn't have any Lodge parent appearances. I loved Hermione last season but this season I'm very "meh" about her. I also loved getting some insight into Sheriff Keller's personal life. I'm not necessarily a big Mayor McCoy fan, but I like the interesting twist with them. I also, somewhat shockingly, liked the beginning of Chuck's redemption. I'll stay tuned to see if that comes to anything.

I need to catch up with Gotham. I had way too much work to get through and took a full break from television on Thursday.

I did manage to catch up with Murdoch Mysteries yesterday and enjoyed both episodes I needed to see.

I'm still watching holiday movies on the Hallmark channels and should get started on television episodes this week. I'll probably begin with the Doctor Who specials. That's kind of my thing; I always begin with those.

That's it for this week's television wrap-up. Tonight's post is from Missing You, a sexy short where my main characters are separated for an extended period of time and both discover it's not fun.

Here's the mini-blurb:

Clara Small, the best undercover operative in military intelligence, tends to burn bridges instead of building them. But when she destroys the one she needs the most, she has to find a way to make amends, which won't be easy because Wes Elliot rarely gives second chances.

And a sneaky peek…

Once the initial edge of surprise died, his nerve endings went on alert. It couldn’t be. He slowly turned away from the wall. A lone female sat with her head hanging in her hands, fingers massaging the back of her neck.

She was close enough to touch. But he didn’t. Couldn't make himself, in case she wasn't real.

He whispered. “Clara?” He had to be dreaming this.

Clara shot off the edge of the bed and swung around. “Wes?” She took a step back, shocked to see him.

Clearly Stern had told her he was in the brig, charged with mutiny.

Wes scrambled to the edge of the bunk and swung his legs down. “Yeah… you’re… uh… you’re back.” He stood and crossed to her not quite believing she was here.

Reaching out, he ran his thumb down the side of her face. Real skin… she was here. He brought his other hand up, cupping her face then tilted her head up to meet his lips in a tentative kiss. When she didn’t pull away, he drew her closer and deepened the kiss. Oh gods. Things were looking up… Clara had returned to the fleet.

Clara's hands traveled up his arms and over his shoulders finally stopping to meet behind his head. She started moving him in the direction of the bunk. He wouldn't argue with the idea.

Reaching the edge, he paused and pulled back, searching her eyes for doubts. When he found none, he reached out and slowly unzipped her shirt and slid it off her shoulders. She pushed him back gently until he was seated, then she reached for her waistband and slid her pants down and stepped out of them. Wes followed suit by lifting his hips and sliding his boxers off then he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him while he lifted his feet and swung them up into the bunk. She landed on top of him and didn’t waste any more time, lowering her head she pressed her lips to his and the fire started.

Wes wound his fingers in her hair and gently tugged her head back seeking the pulse point on her throat. His lips found the spot and she gasped when they made contact. Wrapping his arms around her, he shifted their positions pulling her under him before he continued his exploration of her. He wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to discover all there was to know about her.

Starting at the top her head, his lips trailed kisses all around her face. His tongue traced the curved edges of her ear and she shivered under him. She liked that…he’d have to remember that the next time she got in his face about something. His teeth grazed over her collarbone and her breath hissed out. He placed a soothing kiss over the spot while his hands caressed her skin, gliding down her torso. His lips soon followed as they kissed, sucked and nibbled their way up and down her stomach. Kissing the underside of each breast, he could feel Clara's hips moving as she wound one of her legs around his waist trying to draw him in closer to her.

His hand cupped a breast and he used his lips and tongue to tease all around the peak but never touching the nipple as it tightened in response. He heard Clara's frustrated growl before her hands moved to his head and guided him to the peak. Her whispered plea heightened his desire and when his lips finally drew the pebbled tip into his mouth he was rewarded with a throaty groan. Switching to the other side to pay homage, her fingers tangled in his hair and made him burn just a little hotter for her as she tugged at the short strands.

She pulled him up and caught his lips in a heated kiss. Her tongue sought his and drew it into her mouth stroking against it and he could feel his shaft swell to almost painful proportions. His hand drifted between her legs and his fingers met no resistance as he slid two between her soft folds causing her hips to buck against his hand. Breaking the kiss, he gazed down at her.

She nodded her head and whispered, “Now.” Wes moved over her, still stroking in and out with his fingers. He lined himself up entered her while drawing his fingers out brushing the tips over the nub of nerves at her core.

Clara writhed under him, her head thrashing from side to side on the pillow. He pulled back and plunged forward again, the feeling of her soft flesh surrounding him nearly causing him to spill himself right then. He set a slow steady pace wanting to savor every moment of being inside her. She reached down with her hands and cupped his ass, holding his hips close to hers as she met his slow thrusts, pushing against him. His head lolled back as the exquisiteness of being surrounded by nothing but her warmth pulled him closer to his climax.

Her hands grasped his arms, short nails digging into his skin and her legs wrapped around him holding him still so she could grind hard along his length, and he knew she was as ready as he was. He bumped lightly against her and she went off, clenching around him, biting her lip to hold back her moans. He bumped against her again and her legs slid down giving him room to stroke in and out of her at a rapid pace that had stars exploding in his mind as he came buried deep inside her, hips bumping softly as he fought to gasp air into his lungs.

He was pulled from his starry haze when the alert sounded, and snapped awake to the call for action stations.

“Shit!”

He was alone in the bunk and needed to change. A rapid succession of thoughts crashed through his brain as he leaped from the bed stripping off his shorts and replacing them with quick efficient movements. Clara was still gone, his father was still in sickbay, Stern was still in command, and things were still fubar.

Nothing like a good sexy dream cut short by action stations. LOL

That's it for this week. Catch everyone on the flipside.

ML Skye