#phack

Today, instead of dutifully drafting my story from where I'd left off, I wanted to play around and see how my two characters work in bed. I often find that figuring out the smut dynamic helps me with the rest of the fic as well as the characterisation.

This is from an original romance. Unedited. A bit over six sentences today.

“You little harlot.” Philip pushed Jack on the bed and crawled over him. “How come has no one snapped you up yet?” he murmured, his eyes on the delectable sight Jack presented: beautiful and debauched, cravat undone, shirt unbuttoned, lips swollen from kissing, his excellent looks and breeding suffused with utter wantonness, looking every bit like a whore commanding a king’s ransom and nothing like the Earl he was.

Jack shrugged. “They were dull. You’re not.”

Stupid men. If Philip was allowed to keep Jack, he’d never let him go.

After many months, I have something to share for 6SS. This is an original story.

Philip jerked into motion. He’d been absorbed by the conversation, the memories, and Jack’s infernal looks—his beautiful as sin lips, his clever eyes—and he approached him and started undressing him.

Undressing him. Dear lord. Philip clearly hadn’t thought this through, though he can’t have been expected to know that Jack had grown up to be… like this.

Beautiful and clever and sad.