Evil Katey/Good Katey

Jamie and Kellan on St. Pat’s by Astro

Happy St. Patrick’s Day from Superpowered Love!

• Enter to win a print copy of Nobody’s Hero
• DJ Kellan’s St. Patrick’s Day Playlist (24 tracks, one for every hour)

Wow, the Nobody’s Hero paperback is like SUPER on sale right now at B&N.

(In the interest of full disclosure: there will be a contest to win a copy starting tomorrow. Just saying though, this is a pretty sweet deal.)

Aw yyyyyeah look what’s going into print: Nobody’s Hero! Just in time for St. Pat’s. Check out the re-laid and super badass PL Nunn cover, too.

Kellan is pleased. He might even smile!

Okay this is going to sound completely ridiculous, but I love getting reviews where the reviewer says things like, “I so did not expect to enjoy that!” or “Huh, that was surprisingly good, actually.”

The latest on the Amazon page for Nobody’s Hero just made me squee. MJC, I love you, wherever you are. Thank youuuuuu.

(FTR I love anyone who reads, let alone reviews my cracked out stuff, even if they hate it—though that makes me feel bad for wasting their money, of course. Just saying, had a squee moment.)

lgbtlaughs:

[Description: Screen shot of an answered ask. Anonymous asked, “Today I went to confession like always (Catholic, sorry) and finally confessed impure thoughts about another girl. My priest assigned a penance for the thoughts. I was scared, but tentatively asked if I should do more because of the gender. He was quiet for a moment or two then said, ‘Give thanks that God made you unique. Gender is irrelevant.’ I nearly burst into tears.” User beinggayisokay responded, “FUCKING GOT DAMN RELIGION DONE RIGHT OMGGGGGGFGODDESS THANK YOU FOR SHARING THIS.”] (x)

Since Nobody’s Hero, I have been asked multiple times now how (especially as an atheist) I can write characters who are queer and Catholic. The answer is:

1. I rarely agree with my characters on anything. I’m not writing about myself, here.

and

2. This.

(via echelonslostangel)

McFarlane Spidey.

Kellan needs it. 

Yes, I shop for my characters. Some day I’m going to make a list of albums I never would’ve bought if some goddamn head voice hadn’t demanded it.

Yes, I realize I am in control. (Most of the time.) Don’t be so fucking literal.

Sex.

No, seriously. This excerpt? Sex.

Well, the beginning of sex, anyhow. Click at your own risk. (You know you wanna.)

(From today’s TRS party, so feel free to follow the link and comment if you want - reposting excerpts as links to keep them accessible.)

Jamie doesn’t usually have trouble controlling his electrical superpowers these days. He’s pretty badass with it, actually; a little too badass — as in, he still has some pretty serious nightmares about a certain accident over ten years ago.

But sometimes, just sometimes, when he’s around Kellan, his powers freak out a little. Which is kind of bad news, since Jamie can’t exactly have that “So, I have superpowers” talk with Kelly just yet. He has a whole covert society to protect, after all.

Luckily, however, they’re usually too busy when things act up for Kelly to take a lot of notice.

…

PG-13 Excerpt from Nobody’s Hero by Katey Hawthorne

I closed the door behind us.

Kellan made his way across the room, looking around as if he hadn’t seen it in a long time. He gestured to a nearby rack of plastic gold awards and said, “So, these are my track trophies. And there’s my first Spider-Man poster. Thrilling.”

I flipped the lock. He grinned.

I was on him in a heartbeat, pinning him against the wall next to his high school memorabilia, my hands in his hair and my mouth opening under his. The usual wet thrill raced down my spine, waking up the electricity in me, but it was more this time. I slipped one of my thighs between his, pressed him tight against the wall, and wanted—

Actually, I didn’t know what I wanted. Maybe just to melt into him once and for all.

He pressed his hips into me, hummed happily as we closed it off, and lodged two fingers of each hand into the waist of my jeans on either side, warm against my skin. When I touched his face, it crackled.

He started. “Jesus, you’re all staticky. You dragging your feet or something?”

I gritted my teeth and got myself under control. This new development where I forgot myself around him was a pain in the ass. I would’ve been more worried, but thank God, a little static shock was a mundane enough occurrence that it wouldn’t raise eyebrows. I wrapped one arm around his neck, smoothing down a few stray hairs that were standing on end from the charge. Goddamn, that was adorkable. “Dunno. Should I make a pun about you and me and electricity, or is that too much?”

He smiled, dimple and all, and I got that feeling again, like he’d punched me in the solar plexus.

It was the music, probably. The effects of that sad, romantic song Tara had finished with.Fucking Irish and their depressing stories. But I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, couldn’t keep my hands off him, and maybe I never had been able to, but this was different. It was like all his pugnacious instincts and that hard outer shell and the surprising sensitivities and glaring soft spots all made sense, of a sudden, and it was even better than I’d expected, and I was amazed and stunned and madly in love with him.

Oh God.

Oh. God.

I shut my eyes tight and kissed him again, as much to keep me from speaking as because I needed the kiss. He turned his face and went with it, slipping one hand into my back pocket. When that kiss finished, he said, “You’re sure this isn’t too—”

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” I kissed him again, hard, demanding, more than a little desperate. He put his other arm around me, holding me tight, and gave it right back. Like he understood, knew exactly what I needed. His long, hard body shifted between me and the wall, and the whole room seemed to grow hotter around us.

If I didn’t stop soon, it was going to get painful, but I couldn’t. I started to tell myself maybe there was time for a little something, just to hold us over until we got home. I slipped my hand between our hips and found his semihard cock, rubbed it through his jeans, and hummed into his ear.

He gasped. “Holy fuck. Is there anywhere you won’t do it?”

“Nope.” I squeezed gently, felt up over his dickhead, then back down again. “You?”

“Apparently not.” His hand slipped into the back of my pants, beneath my underwear, fingers digging hard into my ass.

I disentangled my arm from around his neck and went for his zipper. “It’s okay—I locked the door. Think you can be quick?”

“I think I’m about to need new underwear. That quick enough?”

Want more? Yeah, so do they — and I promise, they get it. Eventually. There’s a bit over at the Nobody’s Hero page that involves alcoholic whipped cream though, if that helps.

And don’t forget to enter the giveaway!

In which I post snippets of Kellan-nerdery. Generally involving Spider-Man.

He has a thing. (No IDEA where he got it…)

(From today’s TRS party, so feel free to follow the link and comment if you want - reposting excerpts as links to keep them accessible.)

Morning, party people! I figured I’d start things off with a little heat, and what better for a Thursday morning than a chance encounter at the copy machine between our hero, Jamie, and the cute new code monkey, Kellan, at work? For a heads up: this never-before-seen excerpt contains strong language heavy and office fantasizing. I’ll just let Jamie take it from there…

Nobody’s Hero, superpowered love from Katey Hawthorne

I rounded the corner near the copier, and my train of thought jumped the tracks. Kellan was on his knees in front of the monstrous machine, pushing tray buttons at random and swearing inventively under his breath. He sat back with his ass on his heels, so it became obvious that his legs were just as tight as I’d previously speculated. That was a pretty hard body he was working there. He looked up at me, sighing, mouth just slightly open.

Hey, while you’re down there…

And there it was, the inappropriate workplace boner. I ducked down to eye level and asked, “Problems?” This served to mask my reaction well enough that I could be sure, at least, that he wouldn’t slap me with a harassment suit.

He made that face again, the annoyed-kid one. “Paper jam. I can’t find the fucking tray. There’s A, B, and D.”

I reached out and tapped the side of the copier, as it happened to be near me, where he couldn’t see it. The tray popped open, and I said, “C.”

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, leaving it wrecked, and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Motherfucker.”

I couldn’t help it. “You know, Kellan, you got a mouth on you.”

He bit his bottom lip as if to keep from smiling. “Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t apologize. Really.”

He grinned outright but looked down.

I rearranged myself as best I could without showing off how impressed I was with his dirty mouth and dug out the paper that was causing him grief. “Poor old thing. He’ll work for anyone, but there’s just no heart left in him.”

“Him, huh?”

“Wrong or right, men are statistically more likely to work for anyone.” I fixed him with a significant glance around the copier.

He shifted in a familiar way, sort of folding in on himself, still on his knees. He laughed, and the little dimple appeared in an unnaturally flushed cheek.

Couldn’t get a clear view to check the state of his package, but I didn’t need to—other than just wanting a good look at it. I told myself to stop there, let it be, but something perverse in me pushed me onward. “We can’t help ourselves, I guess.”

“No shit.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. They were better than good when he was genuinely amused—they were exquisite, even hidden behind glasses.

I wondered what he’d do if I stood, let him see how hard this got me, and then nodded toward the door. Would he follow me to the bathroom? To my car in the garage? Or would he just silently fantasize about yanking down my pants and sucking me off in the middle of the office? Maybe pulling me down on the floor and fucking my brains out right there and then?

The way his flush crept into his ears, I could almost buy that it’d be something like that anyhow. Always the quiet ones, right?

No. This was anything but idle speculation. This, I wanted. Bad.

“This thing giving you trouble again, James?”

The sound of that particular voice snapped me out of my head so fast I almost got whiplash. I looked up at Amy Delmonico: read, my boss. She’s drop-dead gorgeous and wears power suits; great sense of humor, but never steps over the line; doesn’t drink too much at the Christmas party; at her desk by nine a.m. sharp. She’s one scary-perfect executive, I mean to say.

Not someone I wanted to fuck with. But thank God, she was smiling.

So I said, “Yes, ma’am.” And then, though I knew I shouldn’t, that perverse thing—probably the one in my pants—made me continue with, “Don’t worry. I’ll give it a good flogging.”

She laughed and walked on.

Phew.

Kellan said, now from behind a hand, “Can’t help ourselves with that either, huh?”

“Hell no.”

He chuckled silently as I finished digging out his paper jam, calming down slightly but not even close to enough to stand.

When I handed over the crumpled remnants of his print job, he said, “My hero.”

By that time, my brain was screaming at my dick to stop it, but this was definitely a libido-override situation. I licked my lips, fixed him with another look, and said, “At your service.”

No, really. Anything you want. Anytime you want it. At. Your. Service.

More later today, but don’t forget to stop by the Big Nobody’s Hero Giveaway to win allllll kinds of things.

Hanging out at TRS’s release party today. Gonna drop some exclusive Nobody’s Hero excerpts later, but for now, here’s the intro post. Click on through.

<3

I did several double-takes with the way Jamie described the people and situations around him; marveling at the way he describes the hilarious, happy, poignant, serious, and sad people and events surrounding him. The chemistry between Kellan and Jamie is amazing, sometimes a push-pull kind of thing, but when they come together, especially in bed, it’s truly magical. Click for more of Lena Grey’s review.

For Jamie. He knows why.

And that’s the show. Thanks for letting me DJ St. Pat’s, and I hope you don’t hate Irish-Americans now. We’re not all white trash. Just me, mostly. Um, slainte, or something.

What the hell is this? DJ Kellan set-up post here.

DJ Kellan tag