#writing excerpt

"Well hello to you too," Selina purred, looking over at Bruce who was in his Batman attire, "How do you know about that?"

"Because the child is here in Gotham asking me for help."

Selina frowned, "He was adopted out of state-"

"Yes," Bruce cut in, "And his adoptive sister happens to be Comissioner Gordon's niece. She brought him to Gordon who brought them to me."

"What are you asking, Bruce?"

"The child's father wasn't listed on the birth certificate. Fifteen years ago…"

Selina gave a sigh and turned away from Bruce, heading for the kitchen. Bruce didn't hesitate to follow. She poured herself a glass of wine, taking a healthy sip of it before finally turning back to Bruce.

"Yes, he's yours."

"Kiss me." Lance whispers and that’s all it takes for Keith to kiss him like every fibre of his being is suddenly dying, and Lance is his only medicine.

His lips are soft against Lance’s—a paradise he’ll never forget.

Keith puts his hands on either side of Lance’s face, and the world falls away. He’s never gotten so lost in a kiss before.

Lance’s heart keeps missing beats and his hands cannot bring Keith close enough. He tastes Keith, saliva and sweat that broke out on his upper lip, and realizes he’s been starving.

Lance has kissed before, but it didn't feel like this.

Lance has loved before, but it didn't burn him alive.

Keith’s mouth meets Lance’s again, and they only come up for air when necessary. Beneath Keith’s tongue there is a god and Lance finds it every time.

Thanks to @winterandwords for the tag!

📝 Search for the given words in your story. If your story doesn't have a word, you can use a variation on it or a word with a similar meaning.

These are from 𝔸𝕕𝕒𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕖.

Throw:

You throw arms and legs around him, minding his tail, clinging to him like a spider. You wondered if poor Arachne was still out there, and finally had the last laugh.

Catch:

The island wasn’t short of fish, nor were any of you short on time to catch them. It wasn't about sustenance. It was about connection. They wanted to be a part of anyone's story, even by force.

Hold:

You rest your head on his shoulder. It is broad and thick with muscle and you want to recoil. Will your body become this, lose the softness it holds now and become hard and thick and tough? Your body feels like yours for now, but it will change.

Drop:

There’d been talk of the old gods, of you and Belle, journeying to Olympus to take up the mantle once again. You had no interest in it. You were fine wasting away, like the creatures dropping like flies around you. Attis was gone, and so were the gods. Things seemed so pointless. Now Cybele was gone, and you remained.

Tagging @purple-on-black, @destinycraftswords, @blades-of-calmoran (I'm going to keep doing this until you share something because I LOVE YOU, DAMN IT) @writingwithoutconfidence & @jaylex05 so I can see some more work from you folks :)

Mine is: ‘The city does not become a corpse at nighttime, more like a well-decorated graveyard.’

Art for my fantasy novel THE DAY MY DREAM DIED

Lance shifts quietly but doesn't wake, and his hair tickles Keith's arm as he sleeps, softly breathing like a blue hammock, paradisiacal. Everything evil becomes bearable—if only for a moment.

Keith thinks, I've loved you my whole life, which isn't possible. My life only started when I loved you, which is.

I want you, Keith realizes with such sudden ferocity he almost sits up out of bed. Only, his arm is trapped underneath Lance’s sleeping figure, and Keith would rather chop off his own arm than startle Lance from his sweet dreaming.

Keith cards his fingers through the feathery locks of Lance’s hair, fingertips ghosting against his temple. Lance is sleeping, and Keith risks a small kiss on his forehead to release this wave of affection that threatens to overwhelm him.

He squeezes Lance’s shoulder one last time before mournfully slipping out of bed, carefully maneuvering so as not to wake Lance. Keith shuts the bathroom door before fumbling in the darkness for the light switch. He wants Lance to be able to keep sleeping. The water takes a few minutes to get hot. He brushes his teeth with Lance’s blue toothbrush.

Keith thinks about the sound of water while he washes his face, a habit he’s only just recently picked up under Lance’s persistent insistence. What does water sound like to Lance on the other side of the wall? Can he even hear it? Is he awake? Keith likes hearing a shower running when he’s in bed. It's never loud enough to keep him awake. It's unobtrusive.

Keith wants to fall asleep in the shower and let his troubles be washed away by the warm water.

He turns off the lights and opens the bathroom door, and he can see Lance in bed. He’s completely covered with blankets. He has a pillow under his head and a pillow on top and a pillow in his arms, a replacement for Keith. It is almost time for them to start their day and Keith still doesn’t want to leave. He wants to ignore the universe and never talk to anybody else. He wants to fall asleep in Lance’s arms and never wake up.

He wants to quit being a paladin and languidly climb back in bed with Lance; wants to be the warmth that fills the space next to him. He wants to wake up again in a tangle of limbs so intertwined he can’t begin to tell where he ends and Lance begins.

He wants Lance’s everything, his gentle smile, and the radiant one too, his laugh—the special one, reserved for Keith and only Keith—his sweaty palms, his brown hair, his freckled face, his piercing eyes, his sleepy confused look when he wakes up, and the smile that follows when he sees Keith.