Evil Katey/Good Katey

hawthornetaylor:

Birthday giveaway of the print Equilibrium/Riot Boy omnibus. Hop on board in this post.

Yeah I’m reblogging myself. But for good reason, I swear!

Today is actually Equilibrium’s birthday. That means that one year ago today my very first novel became a real thing. It’s a book about two friends with groovy superpowers (Hansen lights shit on fire with his brain, Sam has out-of-control electricity) who get into some trouble.

Vanessa said, “Fuck you, Sam. You fucking freak.”

“Yeah, fuck you too.”

Footsteps, the door opening and then banging shut.

And this is why we shouldn’t date sleepers.

I pushed off the wall, finally trying to drag myself back to my room. Praying to God that she wouldn’t tell anyone what she’d seen. Odds were she wouldn’t, and unless she told the right person, they’d never believe—

But there was a loud bang, a crash, and a heart-wrenching electrical pop from the living room.

I backtracked. When I stumbled in, there was Sam, head hanging, standing in front of our ancient CRT TV. Or what was left of it. The screen had shattered at his feet, and a tiny flame flickered inside it, the smell of burning plastic and hot metal heavy all the way across the room.

If it had been me, I would’ve cracked some awkward joke about how we should’ve put a Faraday cage around the TV too. But it was him. And all I could think to say was, “Jesus, Sam.”

He looked up, but his eyes were a little misty, so I shut my mouth. I put out the fire as fast as I could, and he never moved except to turn his head to watch me, looking pretty wretched in general. It made me even sicker than I thought it would to see him like that. “Shit. I’m—I’m so sorry, man,” was all I could say when I got back to my feet.

He sniffled and looked away, trying to hide behind his hair. “Sorry about the TV.”

“Wanted to melt the thing for years.” I shook out my hand while it cooled down.

He looked up. His shoulders were all curved inward, caving in his broad chest. His eyes had dark rings under them. He looked like someone had kicked his ass and left him for dead.

I swallowed hard. “You want a hug or something?”

He barked out a laugh and bear-hugged me so fast I hardly had time to react. At first I didn’t really think about it, just sort of patted his back and let him put his head on my shoulder, which was weird since he had an inch or two on me. Then I realized that sticky feeling wasn’t just sweat—he was crying on me. Not sobbing, but his eyes were definitely leaking.

I’d seen him break his wrist on the field junior year. He hadn’t even cried then.

But we’d been standing there long enough that it was hard not to notice that this wasn’t a man-hug—there was no careful separation of crotch areas, no holding your ass out or keeping a certain distance so you didn’t have to feel each other breathing. His breath was hot on my neck, and his stomach was tight against mine. His arms—Jesus, he was strong—held me close.

Shit. Possibly my best friend in the world, crying because his girlfriend—ex-girlfriend—had just called him a freak, the one thing she could’ve said to destroy him completely, and here I was getting excited.

I was officially the scum of the earth.

“She said…”

I patted his back again. “I heard. Sorry. I was in the hall.”

He sniffled.

“She didn’t mean it. She didn’t know what she was saying.” I hated her for it, but fair was fair. It wasn’t their fault—sleepers all reacted like that. That was why we kept them from finding out.

He picked his head up, untangling one arm from around me to swipe at his eyes with the back of his hand. Not much damage, but his face was bright pink.

I wondered if I should back away. I wanted to, because god knew when my traitorous prick would make itself too obvious for him not to feel it. Any second now.

But he still held on to me, his other hand clutching at my shirt. “I fucking suck.”

“Yeah, look who you’re talking to. I use game theory to excuse my lack of a love life.”

He laughed, halfhearted but genuine, and put his arm around me again. I thought that’d be the end of it, another quick hug and out, but instead he put his forehead against mine and took a deep breath. We were just barely touching, hanging on to each other. Him breathing on my lips.

I closed my eyes. My heart thudded, deafening in my own ears. I was sure he’d hear it, feel it. I tried to think of anything, everything except the moment I was in, but there was no room for anything else in my world.

“I’d be dead without you,” he said.

“Don’t say that shit.” I pulled back out of pure shock, opening my eyes again.

He put a hand on either side of my face and held me there. He looked at me, really looked hard at me, just held me like that for a second that wouldn’t end.

I had a couple of wild, warring impulses right about then. Shove him away. Kiss him.

Either would’ve fucked me, so I just stood there, staring, aching.

Thanks for the angstycute moments, guys.

Anyhow, as I mentioned, I’m having a giveaway of the shiny new print Equilibrium/Riot Boy omnibus to celebrate. So click the link above—or here!—and have at it.

Cover: PL Nunn

Excerpt from the upcoming book, By the River. Warning: contains wet dude.

Marshall stirred and sat up, treading water and looking around. The water rippled where the current hit him and had to go around, but he remained stationary. Didn’t even look like he was trying.

 

Adam sighed, leaning against a tree. “Oh, Jesus.”

 

“Who’s that?” Marshall called.

 

“Sorry.” Adam pushed off the tree, emerged from the wooded lot, and waved. “Heard a big splash. And you weren’t moving. You, uh, forgot your vest.”

 

Marshall smiled, quiet but genuine. “Don’t like the vest.”

 

“Isn’t that cold at this time of year?”

 

“Feels good.” Marshall pulled to the bank and emerged, skin pebbling over tight muscle, broad, flat chest tapering into a slim waist, narrow hips, and—

 

Jesus, he was only wearing a pair of little gray boxer briefs, slipping dangerously low. …

(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.