Flashes, page 1
Flashes
By K.L. Noone
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2024 K.L. Noone
ISBN 9781685506582
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
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For J.M., with many thanks for suggesting this collection—and for all of you, friends old and new, reading these stories!
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Flashes
By K.L. Noone
Introduction: About the Stories
Castle and Mistletoe
Staircases and Stories
Alex and the Crime-Solving Werewolf
The Dark Sky, Dusty with Stars
Book-Thief
The Comfort of Cinnamon Pancakes
Seasons
Introduction: About the Stories
Welcome to my first flash fiction story collection!
Ordinarily I offer Author’s Notes after each story, but since there’re a lot here—and some of them might benefit from some context!—I thought an Introduction might be most helpful. So I’ll offer a bit of an overview—feel free to skip right to the stories, of course, if you’d rather dive right in!
Some of the short romances in this collections are fantasy, a few are contemporary; some will have characters you might recognize, and some will be entirely new characters; some have been previously published, or at least available, in various forms, perhaps expanded slightly here, and some you might be seeing for the very first time. I love happy endings, and I love seeing them for everyone, creating worlds where that’s possible and joyous; I hope I’ve managed to put some of that joy into these short tales.
This particular collection brings together the stories of mine that are roughly two thousand to five thousand words—flash fiction length. They’re happily bite-sized, for little moments, hence the overall title here—Flashes! This ebook version contains only the previously unpublished (by JMS Books) stories; the print edition will add in my short stories previously published as part of the JMS Book Hot Flash flash fiction collection. (Those already exist in a digital format, for sale individually, so they’re not included in this ebook!)
The first story, “Castle and Mistletoe,” is something almost entirely brand new, which I wrote for an authors’ group holiday flash fic challenge on Facebook; my prompt was “a castle, and mistletoe,” and I tried to do it justice! I also kept the name, because it made a good title. It’s a fun holiday story, I think: a first meeting (or first in person, at least; Ethan and Rory know of each other, after all…), and decorations for a holiday castle, and flirtation that builds to a kiss, under the mistletoe, of course. (And I’m very sure that all of Rory’s decorating staff were placing bets on the outcome!)
Another story written for a prompt was “Staircases and Stories;” this one was inspired by the summer photo prompt challenge over at the RoMMantic Reads online ‘zine, where I sometimes contribute. The staircase and the historic hotel are actually fictionalized versions of the historic hotel where Awesome Husband and I got married! It’s a staircase that begs for all sorts of plots, and consequently Perry turned up in my head, having opinions. That story’s also got quite a few sneaky classic detective and crime writer references, especially in names!
Continuing with a bit of a crime theme, “Alex and the Crime-Solving Werewolf” was written quickly on Facebook as a pick-me-up for a friend who was having a rough time. It’s not my usual genre, in multiple senses, but I was aiming for light, entertaining, and fast-paced—and I do love writing banter! Alex and his werewolf are such fun; I keep thinking perhaps someday I’ll do more with them, maybe a full-length story or a novel, though I’ve not done it yet. They definitely have more story to tell, though. Crimes to solve, love to fall into, grumpy/sunshine collisions to, well, collide and work out…
Speaking of working things out, the next story has a lot of comfort! I don’t write a ton of pure science fiction, though I do love a good space opera, and the stars lend themselves to romance, I suspect. “The Dark Sky, Dusky With Stars” is a bonus scene for my short story “In Lines of Light,” published by JMS Books; this bonus scene appeared as a little treat over on the RoMMantic Reads zine a while ago. As with “In Lines of Light,” the title for “Dark Sky” comes from the poem “The Shooting Stars” by Hope Mirrlees, who lived from 1887 to 1978, knew Virginia Woolf and T.S. Eliot, and wrote the strange and brilliant and folklore-steeped fantasy novel Lud-in-the-Mist. “The Shooting Stars” is one of my favorite poems, and it lingers in my head; so do my characters Tam and Val, and I knew I wanted a little coda for them, a moment of comfort and being there for each other, and planning a future.
Returning to more fantastic realms, “Book-Thief” is something a bit different as well! It’s a short story here, but really it’s the opening scene of what I hope will be a full-length novel, eventually. I’ve been poking at it on and off for a while now; it’s full of high fantasy m/m romance, and it begins in a library, with the theft of a book…and also a kiss. As it is, I think it works fairly well as a first meeting short story; there’s more to come, but I hope you enjoy meeting King’s Librarian Ember and his book thief, whose name, by the way, is Serenity…which is somewhat ironic, considering how much he’s about to disrupt Ember’s peaceful night. And, along the lines of disruptions, the next story…
“The Comfort of Cinnamon Pancakes” is the longest story here, and it’s one I debated including, for a couple of reasons. It’s long enough to be separately published, if I’d gone that route; it’s also somewhat darker (but full of comfort, I promise!), and I’ll list some warnings in a moment. It’s a Jason/Colby Character Bleed story, one that was originally exclusively for fans and friends as a thank you, but I think it’s been long enough that I can share it elsewhere. It’s specifically set after “Renovations” but before Jason’s (official) proposal—they’re living together, and Jason’s had some thoughts about rings, but he hasn’t asked yet. I wanted a story about both hurt and comfort, for them—what happens when something triggers Colby’s memories, very badly, and how they cope with that. As for the warnings: there’s no “on screen” violence or non-con or any of that, but in the opening section we do see Colby at an industry event, seeing someone familiar, smelling a familiar cologne, and getting overwhelmed by sensory memories and trauma. Specifically, that’s involving consent issues and unwanted touching and abuse from a former partner, emotional and physical. I’ve tried to make that real but not graphic—the focus is, or I hope it is, on the comfort and Jason’s response and caring for him. And then, too, it’s about Colby reassuring Jason, after—when Jason’s worrying about not doing or being enough. It’s about them caring for each other, I think, in the end. Plus cinnamon pancakes. And coffee, and holding on.
Finally, in something like a bookend, we’ve got “Seasons.” This collection opens with a holiday story, and closes with a story that’s got two chapters, summertime and wintertime. This is a Wes/Finn contemporary m/m story, featuring established relationship characters from my monthly story series (now finished!) for JMS Books. This one’s mostly a new story—a shorter version of the summertime section appeared over on the RoMMantic Reads zine, but the entire second section is new. I love spending time with Wes and Finn, as they negotiate their life together, an actor and a medieval history professor; the summertime section was written for the zine summer flash fic prompt about sand sculptures, and I knew Finn loved the beach. The wintertime section was an excuse to write a little scene that ties Wes and Finn properly into the Character Bleed universe, with Jason and Colby—I’d done little Easter eggs before, having Finn and Wes watch one of Colby’s movies, mentioning possible casting of Finn in a Colby Kent/Jason Mirelli upcoming project. So I wanted to see the Finn point of view of that: what does it feel like, when you’ve been slowly having a fairly successful comeback—and then one of your acting inspirations, someone thoroughly successful, someone you admire, would like to have you come in and read for a role? How would that feel, and how would Finn and Wes react? (And, not that we see it here, but of course the audition’s going to go well. How could it not? The film will be brilliant. They’ll plan a sequel.)
So we’ll end with Wes and Finn and Jason and Colby and a future full of brightness—and full of new stories to tell, and to share. I hope you enjoy some of these stories, too.
And I hope you enjoy some terrible puns. There are a few, most noticeably in “Seasons.” Because,
Castle and Mistletoe
“It’s too large,” Ethan tried, a futile protest. “And too…green. Just too much.”
The supervisor of Carisburgh Castle’s holiday decorating onslaught paused to give him a pitying glance. “It’s a garland, isn’t it?”
The garland in question was presently requiring five large persons for support and navigation, while being applied to the main stairs. Ethan had some sympathy regarding the need for support.
He propped a shoulder in the doorway of the drawing room he’d always vaguely thought of as the Home for Wayward Tartan, and gazed out at decorations, happening intensely throughout his inheritance. Twinkling lights, green and silver, red and gold. Freshly cut boughs and the scents of pine and bayberry and fir. Bows and ribbons adorning doorknobs, shelves, the chairs here around the castle’s faux-medieval dining hall, and even—alarmingly—the door to the stairs to his own private apartment.
Ethan had ventured out to make an argument about that last one, had been distracted by forests of spruce and tiny jingling silver bells, and then had been more distracted by rolled-up sleeves and strong arms and a hint of Scottish accent. Glasgow, he thought. But softened by some time elsewhere, more south, perhaps.
He shouldn’t be looking. Rory Kirke, the arms and accent and general luscious holiday present of a man, muscles and red hair and green eyes, technically worked for him. That had been a problem, albeit one entirely on Ethan’s pathetic pining side, for the last two weeks.
He said, “The budget—”
“Is fine, thank you for asking.” Rory turned to give precise directions to a beaming young woman holding bundles of emerald and white greenery, because more greenery seemed to be required. “Did you need something, then?”
“What was all of that?”
“Mistletoe. For your doorways.”
“Do we want people kissing in doorways?”
“Do you want to advertise your antique status symbol as a splendid romantic holiday vacation retreat, or not?”
It’d been Ethan’s idea. They’d needed the money—not desperately, not yet, but castles required upkeep, his parents had indisputably retired to Majorca and informed him that the Holsden family legacy was his problem now, and he’d spent quite a few weeks staring at tourism numbers in the hope that they’d become kinder. Holidays, he’d thought wearily. Surely people liked that.
And their usual head groundskeeper had a son who knew someone who’d gone into a holiday decorating business, a proper one, transforming hotels and manor houses and corporate spaces into fortresses of twinkling cheer; and why didn’t Ethan give him a call, then, the man did good work; and Ethan, who did not have any better ideas, had done exactly that…
And somehow that meant they were now here.
Where they’d been for the last two weeks. At Carisburgh, Himself in theory supervising. Himself in theory attempting a writing retreat, in the updated and cosy family suite upstairs, which he’d always liked. Himself getting absolutely no writing done, in part because of the sprouting armies of trees and bells and nutcrackers, and in part because of the unexpected presence of shaggy auburn hair and powerful gestures, every time he walked into a room.
He’d decided that Rory was, first of all, miraculous—the castle was almost unrecognizable in terms of holiday dazzle—and second of all, a menace. Omnipresent. Directing decorations, getting up on ladders, moving candles if the placement wasn’t just right. Commanding the entire production. Hands-on.
That was also not a helpful thought.
No doubt because Ethan hadn’t answered the question, Rory’s expression changed, shifted, grew less brusquely in charge: thick eyebrows tugging together, gaze traveling over Ethan’s face. “Do you not like what we’re doing?”
“What? No! I mean yes! It’s…lovely. Very festive.”
“Do you not like the holidays, then?”
“No, I—I mean. Well. Yes? About as much as anyone else?” Good God. He wrote words for a living. Bestselling words, even. “Did you need me for anything?”
Rory’s examination of him got even more evaluative. “You came in here to find me, Lord Carisburgh.”
“Oh no. Please don’t.”
“I’m not. I was teasing you.” Rory actually came over next to Ethan’s doorway, and stood there being large and holiday scented, cinnamon and pine and orange, full of muscles and something suddenly a lot like concern. “D’you not like the title? It was only a joke.”
“It is a joke. There’s no money, no real property. It’s only the castle. Anyway it’s still technically my father’s. I just…”
“You just,” Rory said, surprisingly gently for someone who’d been lightly mocking him a moment before, “stepped in to try to rescue it. This place. And to give all your tourists a good holiday experience. Festive. Memorable. You want this to work out, for everyone.”
Ethan, startled by this compassionate vision of himself, avoided it. Glanced instead at his left shoe, and a no doubt historic floorboard, and a coil of greenery that started low and went all the way up and around to frame the door.
“We’ll get it done.” Rory shifted weight, a bit closer. Almost like an offering. “It’ll be grand. It’ll be what you deserve.”
Ethan looked up. “You don’t even know me.” And abruptly he was far too aware of his own general average existence—ordinary face, brown hair, brown eyes, unremarkable height and build, nothing to draw much attention one way or the other—in the presence of glorious elemental color, the vivid hues of Rory Kirke so close, enough that they could’ve touched.
Rory did a little eyebrow lift, entertained, beckoning him in. “Knew who you were before this.”
“You did not.”
“Did so.”
“Prove it.”
“Well, we’d not met before you hired me, you’re right about that. But I’ve been here. Carisburgh.” His eyes were green as forests in sun. On holiday mornings. “When I was dating Jason, you know, Burt’s son—sorry, your groundskeeper, Burt Malone—”
Ethan made a sound. It just came out. He might’ve meant yes I know our groundskeeper, or possibly wait you were dating Burt’s son?, or hang on, did you say were? As in, past tense, not any longer, so you might be single?
Rory paused, but Ethan was busy processing, so he went on, “Jay and I walked round your grounds, a time or two. Just marvelous, this place. The history, the stories. The life of it. And he mentioned you—that you’d put all your money into trying to save it, y’know, all those book profits, you’d stepped in and been responsible and taken it on, after some—ah, neglect.”
That was tactful. Ethan’s grandparents had been hopeless with money, and his parents not much better, not understanding why anything needed updates, renewal, modernization. He nodded because that seemed like the best possible response, when he did not have words at the ready.
Rory’s cheeks went faintly pink. “Sorry. I, ah. Not my place. Not criticizing your family, am I.”
“I’ve said worse. You—you’ve been here. With Jason. You and Jason—but you’re not. Any longer. Er. I mean. Never mind.”
Rory’s face moved from apologetic to gently amused; a carol-note of entertainment appeared at the edge of his mouth, a curve. “Decided we were better as friends, didn’t we?”
“You did?”
“We did. And we’re still on good terms, best of mates and all, and Burt adores me. Like his second son, basically. Holidays, birthdays, all of that.”
“Oh.”
“Read one of your books, by the way.”
“You did?”
“Teenage steampunk witches and all. Not my usual, but my nieces love all that series, all your books, the first two movies, so I figured I’d see what the fuss was about. Not bad, honestly. If you like that sort of thing.”
“That sort of—”
“Said I liked it, didn’t I?”
“Yes,” Ethan gave in, deflated. “I suppose you did. Thank you. The third film is coming along nicely, I hear. I don’t have much to do with it, but it’ll be out in the summer. If your nieces are interested.”
