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Emmi Lawrence

~ MM Fantasy Romance Writer

Emmi  Lawrence

Category Archives: Short Story

The Immortal Lover of Lake Phanta

04 Sunday Mar 2018

Posted by Emmi Lawrence in Fantasy, M/M, Mini, Short Story

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Fantasy, fantasy romance, Fiction, Flash, gay romance, LGBT, Love, M/M, prose, Romance, Writing

In the soft soil along the banks of the jungle-hidden Lake Phanta, just past the curve where the Creeping Falls gurgled, lay an aged bottle. Stoppered with browned wax and coated with a mottled decor of muck and algae, the bottle sat lodged, its squat bottom stuck between the twisted roots of an ancient willow.

The narrow neck popped free when yanked, leaving behind a perfect ring of thick glass. Just inside, kept clean and supple for centuries, a note unfurled.

With the rush of the falls echoing across the lake, a young man plucked the note free with two fingers and unrolled it, the broken bottle quickly forgotten at his feet.

It read:

To my first love,

We’d met in the morn hours, before the sun awoke, while the birds cooed their greetings. The falls drowned out our voices, claiming our lusty sounds as its own. The jungle paths remembered our footsteps, echoed them through the trees. The moss-lined curves between the roots cradled us as we slept in each other’s arms, the scent of our lust embracing us just as surely.

No one ever found us, not in all the times we’d discovered ourselves over and over again. At the time, I’d been thankful for that privacy, you my hidden secret that kept me running wild rather than taking up the burden of responsibility. Continue reading →

Loud & Clear

04 Sunday Feb 2018

Posted by Emmi Lawrence in Fantasy, M/M, Short Story

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Author's Notes, Fantasy, fantasy romance, Fiction, Flash, gay romance, LGBT, Love, M/M, prose, Short Fiction, Writing

I did not mean for him to read my mind but sometimes there are just people you look at and wonder…why has no one hit you over the head yet? The fact he heard me as if I’d spoke out loud was regrettable.

“I can explain.”

“Explain that you want to murder me?” Eyebrows up and if I wasn’t mistaken…was that a possibility of an HR complaint glittering in his gaze?

Oh, I hoped not. I certainly didn’t want to murder anyone. Though now if someone else were to have done it, I wouldn’t have been averse.

“As if that makes it any better?” His expression became even more consternated.

“Stop reading my thoughts!”

“I’m not. You’re practically screaming them. As if you wanted to make damn sure I heard how much you despise me.”

“I don’t despise you. Hell, I don’t even think—” No, I couldn’t say that. It would be a lie.

He shook his head and backed up, waving a hand dismissively. “Forget it. I don’t need your help. Get back to whatever important report you were working on. I’m going to fill this out myself. Try to keep your thoughts a tad quieter please.” He started to turn, then added, “Or at least less murderous.”

He strode off, papers still in hand, slacks tight around his ass. A very nice— Continue reading →

Likely No Different

07 Sunday Jan 2018

Posted by Emmi Lawrence in Fantasy, M/M, Short Story

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

fantasy romance, Fiction, Flash, gay romance, LGBT, prose, Romance, Short Fiction, Writing

He should likely make a decision here rather than help clog up the sidewalk.

A giant cart poured out of the warehouse, wheels rattling against the cobbled walk, horses snorting at their drivers. Dane blinked as the cart passed, then refocused on the man on the other side of the street. A tall man. A man with a generous smile and wide open features that only closed-up, mouth pinching, when he bent to help heft another load.

Dane could make a decision right now, in this very moment, that could conceivably change his life. Alter the emptiness, fill the void in his heart and bed that seemed ever-present, throttling him with its pervasiveness.

Go up to the cute guy at the fish market and say hello. Or slink away into oblivion. Neither of them ever knowing the other’s name. Continue reading →

The Baywater and The Hurricane

05 Sunday Nov 2017

Posted by Emmi Lawrence in Fantasy, M/M, Short Story

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

adventure fantasy, Fantasy, fantasy romance, Fiction, gay romance, LGBT, Love, Romance, Short Fiction, Worldbuilding, Writing

Siuvai returned to Gale Heights with an ancient denizen and a brand new name. Siuvai the Hurricane. It had a fierce ring to it, as if it represented a warrior or a dancer, someone in constant motion, a roaring force.

Everything Siuvai was not.

The denizen, Procella, churned within her totem, her power settled in Siuvai’s veins willingly, though with a discomfort that had made it difficult for Siuvai to sleep in the days since he’d found and freed the ancient force.

Gale Heights did little to settle his blood either. The great Heaven Falls poured into the sky betwixt Watertown and the Heights, its booming voice not as tranquil as it’d once been. In the other direction, Ashburg burned on through the night, flames of the tallest buildings licking at the undersides of the Steamstone Bridgeway that rose to the Height’s hovering islands.

Siuvai could occasionally feel the heat from the steam whenever the gusts whipping and whistling through the islands dragged it in its wake. Not for the first time, Siuvai considered moving closer to the other side of the city where crystallized homes wafted a chillier, dryer air upward into Gale Heights. Perhaps there he would find what he was looking for. Then again, leaving the Heights in favor of the serene lakes at the base of Watertown might prove more worthwhile.

When he finally found sleep it was out there upon his veranda, the never-ending roar of the Heaven Falls a crushing lullaby and the turbulent winds of Procella sweeping around his house, emptying the void his home had felt since Verravia.

He woke to Procella as well, a splash of sea-rain spraying against his face to alert him someone stood at the door. Siuvai pushed to his feet with a reluctance that sank all the way to his bones. With mind lagging still, he took his time straightening himself out before stepping off the veranda and inside the house proper. There he paused.

Procella had been busy. Her totem, freshly carved with swirling streaks of grey, hung swaying in satisfaction from his mantel above the hearth. His house could be aptly described as a disaster zone. The outer walls shook with a frenzy not seen since Saburranae, while oft-moving spinning columns pulsed throughout the room. Siuvai closed his eyes briefly as one such hurricane-strength column swept over his bathing area, spitting a jet of water across his small library and the dining table beyond.

“Procella, please,” he murmured.

Her columns settled into more understandable and predictable patterns, shifting around the edges of the bathing space, the library and the sleeping area to give a sense of privacy within those sections of his house. The floor remained a slippery mess, spotted with ink-blurred paper, unworn clothes and odds and ends that Nim, Verravia or Mirrimati would have never thrown about. Procella swirled even more, that disconnect between them growing, yet her strength dimming. With another murmur, this time in apology, Siuvai stepped up to the door and willed the whirling wind and rain to part. It did, with a last spit that blew directly into the face of the man standing just outside the house.

“My apologies,” said Siuvai instantly, “I’m terrible at—” Continue reading →

First Date Taboo

01 Sunday Oct 2017

Posted by Emmi Lawrence in Fantasy, M/M, Short Story

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Tags

adventure fantasy, Erotica, Fantasy, fantasy romance, Fiction, Flash, gay romance, LGBT, Love, prose, Romance, Short Fiction, Writing

“Technically, yes.” A pale flush crept up Charlie’s neck and spread across his cheeks, the color clashing with his long, flaming red hair. “But we ended up only getting fined for trespassing.”

“And?” prompted Terry.

Charlie shook his head marginally, glancing around the restaurant before refocusing on his dessert plate. “And nothing.”

“You blushed harder than this wine. Don’t tell me nothing. Tell me the story.”

“Uh…” Now Charlie’s discomfort ramped up to a ten, making Terry reevaluate his pushing. He was just about to recant his demand when Charlie went on. “It sort of involves an ex and that’s a taboo topic for first dates so…”

The gentle clinging of silverware on china and the hum of the saxophone in the bar in the next room finished Charlie’s sentence. He then opted for a gulp from his water, bypassing his wine glass completely. The discomfort lingered, though the flush under his freckles began to diminish.

Wanting to put Charlie at ease, Terry chuckled and leaned against the table to say, “No taboo topics with me. I won’t judge.” He lifted his brows. “But only if I get the juicy details.”

Charlie’s shoulders relaxed and his lips curved. Most of his self-conscious behavior faded. “All the juicy details? Because it wasn’t exactly a PG night.”

Terry waved a hand nonchalantly before picking up his glass. “I’m an NC-17 type of guy.” Continue reading →

Tall, Dark & Handsome

03 Sunday Sep 2017

Posted by Emmi Lawrence in Contemporary, M/M, Short Story

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Fiction, gay romance, LGBT, long-reads, Love, M/M, Promotion, prose, Romance, Sale, Short Fiction, Writing

Every coffee shop needs three things: black coffee, free Wi-Fi and a hot barista. The trifecta for all our caffeine-addicted, lust-driven and connectivity issues.

Perfection is not easy to find.

That place off Mackle Street has spotty internet. The cafe down on the corner of Humble Way and 4th has burnt coffee and a stream of loud teens. The place a street off of that—Cloud Coffee and Tea—is so quiet you’ll know every bit of drama between the two baristas before an hour is out.

The discovery of the century is this narrow cafe called Tall, Dark & Handsome—or TDH to us regulars. The windows have navy blue, yet sheer, curtains that both let in the light but stop nosy window gazers from seeing computer screens. The hum of activity, while just a murmur, is enough to give a sense of cover. The tables are small but rounded, hard wood yet curved comfortably, obviously meant to entice a person to sit for long lengths of time because they don’t numb backsides or leave lines of pain behind the knees.

Small shelves, each filled with a spattering of books, are scattered throughout, some of the tables having them built into their single center legs. The unwritten rule is you take one, you leave another. One kind, though likely anal, older gentleman has taken it upon himself to keep those shelves sorted. There’s a fantasy and sci-fi table, another with romance and paranormals and two more with dramas and thrillers. The non-fiction fills the largest shelves by the bakery window.

The coffee beans are ground by hand in-house, the occasional humming of that pestle no where near as ear-splittingly painful as the machines in other places. The baristas make hot cocoa from scratch as well, their pots of melted chocolate and warm milk a constant aphrodisiac.

They wouldn’t be, if it weren’t for the lean specimen of male beauty always standing behind that stove. He wears no name tag, though his apron is as black as his hair and his coffee-flavored eyes are as hypnotizing as the real thing. His smiles are brief, his attention briefer. His hands move deftly in their work, skills that likely translate well into the bedroom. His book bag is filled with computer and textbooks when he leaves at noon and the occasional overheard conversation puts him in law school.

A man like that is sure to be attached. His ability to be an ardent lover a byproduct of all that unwavering focus and intense ambition. How he must feel, hot and willing, sweet and strong, moving over his partners… Continue reading →

The Sighing of Dead Butterflies

02 Sunday Jul 2017

Posted by Emmi Lawrence in Fantasy, M/M, Short Story

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Fantasy, fantasy romance, Flash, gay romance, LGBT, long-reads, Love, M/M, Romance, Short Fiction, Writing

He owned his stride, a strut, all attitude and self-assurance that marginalized his limp. The crookedness of his nose and the twist of an upper incisor added to a rugged charm that clung to him like a subtle cologne. And his hair, a loose, curly head of it, could never be tamed by any oil.

Imperfections, unique gambits that tugged my heartstrings hard enough I fell into that deep, immutable abyss that is love. A madness claiming me with its tantalizing assertiveness. It happened over time, that fall. A stumble so slow I did not even realize I had tripped, could not envision that his arms would be as hard and unforgiving as the concrete of the sidewalk where we’d first met.

And that seems too harsh for him. He had not meant for his body to cause me those first days of lust, nor his manner, his morals, those amusing discussions and even more enjoyable frolics we shared to transform that lust into its emotive cousin. I felt like a man trapped, unable to see beyond the desire for something that had never been mine and never would be.

It took time to heal from my foolhardiness. Time away from his ever-present grin and those daring eyes always giving me the attention I craved. I eased into a new pattern, fresh habits replacing the ones I had allowed him to invade.

Steps outside my comfort zone became larger, more like leaps into places I’d never considered until a world cut off from him was not unnatural. Unwanted, maybe, in the darkest hours when I’d lay awake imaging the way he had felt lying against my side, his head tucked upon my shoulder, his unruly hair tickling my cheek. An unwanted loneliness, though it became my norm.

I’d see him sometimes, around. The dead butterflies in my stomach would give sighs, their wings listless, but somehow coming alive for the briefest of moments. His grin never faltered, though the fakeness behind mine must have been evident to all those who saw it. I did not avoid him so much as pretend not to see him. And his charming self, never alone, would do the same most times. Or perhaps he truly did not see me. My presence in his life as fleeting and worthless as yesterday’s headline. Continue reading →

Ari’s Interview (Bridle the Unicorn)

30 Tuesday May 2017

Posted by Emmi Lawrence in Fantasy, M/M, Short Story, Teaser

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Author's Notes, Bridle the Unicorn, Challenge, Fantasy, fantasy romance, Flash, gay romance, LGBT, Love, Romance, Short Fiction, Writing

Ari’s Interview

Copyright © Emmi Lawrence

No one had ever sat in my office who could quite compare to Ari Nix. He had an insatiable, yet conflicting curiosity that did not breed questions. Rather, he just touched and poked at my things, chuckling under his breath at jokes to which only he knew the punch-lines. His nose crinkled constantly, in bemusement, disgust or delight, his emotions on parade across his face with little care over who might see them.

This man did not hide things. At least, he did not hide them well.

By the time I managed to cajole him into settling onto the bench, I had already discussed my last few books—which he lost interest in quickly—my taste in music—which he mocked incessantly—and my fashion sense—where he claimed my clothes needed a few more holes and much less grey. I disagreed silently and with a roll of internal eyes, but as I was enjoying his energy and discussion, I said nothing out loud of my thoughts.

“All right, Ari. Let’s get right to it. Since you’ve already pretty much introduced yourself, how are you feeling today?”

“Uh, good. I guess. At the moment at any rate. That might change.”

“Why might it change?”

He shrugged and rubbed at the frayed edges of the cushion. “Life throws things at me constantly. Luck takes its toll. You never know what might happen.”

“Of course. Luck is an interesting topic—”

“So are a great many things,” he interrupted. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Okay.” I glanced at my list of questions. “Are you involved with anyone right now?”

Ari did not have the same resistance as I, so when he rolled his eyes, it was a dramatic and very outward sign. “These questions are incredibly boring. Predictable. You need to ask more thought-provoking questions like… If you could know when and how you die, would you want to know?” Continue reading →

Indestructible

07 Sunday May 2017

Posted by Emmi Lawrence in Fantasy, M/M, Short Story

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Tags

adventure fantasy, fantasy romance, gay romance, LGBT, Love, M/M, paranormal, Romance, Short Fiction, Writing

After the panic, the fury and finally the numb acceptance, Nate had plenty of time to meditate. Not just on his predicament, though that dominated his thoughts at first, but about everything beyond that as well. Life in general became of blur of memory and emotion as his body morphed from uncomfortable to unbearable until settling on desensitized.

The cloying cement leaked into every crevice, every fold of his skin. Into his ears, his nose, around the thin layers of his eyelids. There it hardened, encasing him more firmly than his ancestors in their lost and buried catacombs.

How long would he suffer this? How long until the cement cracked and crumbled as this building’s foundation felt the weight of the structure bearing down upon it? A decade or two? A century? A millennium?

He could still taste the last breath of air on his tongue, its gentleness in his throat. He could smell the freshly fried donuts from the shop down the street, hear the ringing of the old church bell as Sunday mass let out over at St. Peter’s, the stained glass windows likely shivering in their frames with every pounding pass of the clapper. But it was all memory, for he could hear nothing, see nothing, taste nothing. All he could do was feel…and that was the last thing he wanted, both physically and emotionally. Continue reading →

What Secrets Might Remain

02 Sunday Apr 2017

Posted by Emmi Lawrence in Fantasy, M/M, Short Story

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

adventure fantasy, Fantasy, fantasy romance, Fiction, gay romance, LGBT, Love, M/M, Mystery, Short Fiction, Writing

 

From the Journal of Nigel Drusq

We arrived at the manor house of Frederick Carvalle this afternoon. It’s in poor shape, worse than we expected. Vines have obscured much of the east wing. The expansive veranda surrounding the third floor of the west wing has fallen into the floor below it. The gardens outside are nothing but an encroaching forest filled with tall pines that are only now giving way to far stronger oaks and hickories.

Despite all that, I can see what the Carvalle Manor had once been beneath the overgrowth and rot. A sturdy home, a powerful center for astral learning. The signs still persist despite the manor’s dilapidated state. The now obsolete astral marks are still preserved in the sides of the doorways and an ancient marble-based conductor stands, though crookedly, within the courtyard, just barely visible through the partially collapsed colonnade that runs from the west wing to the north crux.

Our boss, Elric Thomston, is less enthused than I. He cursed when he saw that the west wing’s veranda had collapsed, for the library had been beneath. All those records… The records from some of the most famous astral mages to have ever lived. All their knowledge, their creations, their successes and failures. Gone.

He’s drinking in his tent now. Says we’ll start early tomorrow—see what we can salvage.

* * *

Beautiful day. Making this trek during spring was worth all the rain and misery on the way, for now the skies have opened up. Like Frederick Carvalle is welcoming us to his legacy.

I have a picture of him—a sketch really—from the days of his prime. He’d been a handsome man with intelligent eyes that somehow manage to reflect empathy and warmness and not the condescension I would have expected from a man of his caliber. Perhaps it was the artist’s interpretation that makes him look so in this singular sketch, but somehow I doubt it. Or, at least, I hope he hadn’t been worse than the dreams my mind had come up with in all the lonely hours of our long journey. Continue reading →

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CANVAS BLUES
Vignettes Regarding the Artwork of Brendon Kotes

A serialized novel begun Jan 29th 2020. Here you can find links to the beginning and the most recent additions.

I: Prologue
II: Present
III: Yesteryears
IV: Yesteryears
V: Present

……….

L: Present
LI: Yesteryears
LII: Yesteryears
LIII: Present
LIV: Yesteryears

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THE BAYWATER & THE HURRICANE
(fantasy M/M)

WHAT SECRETS MIGHT REMAIN
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TALL, DARK & HANDSOME
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THE IMMORTAL LOVER OF LAKE PHANTA
(fantasy M/M)

ACROSS THAT OCEAN OF SAND
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MY LIFE, HIS BREATH
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POET’S BANE
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