Fabion Under the Spotlight: Part Two
This past Sunday, June 3rd, Fabion started his interview with me at Dawn Roberto’s Reading Nook. (Part one is here) Once Fabion wandered off to the bathroom, he escaped back into his bedroom. I did not want to track him in there, not with all the noise he made with his lover King Henda.
Now Fabion has managed to extract himself from bed. He’s ready to answer more silly questions. Fabion, really, aren’t you two afraid you’re going to break something?
FABION: “Break something? Hell yeah, my big dude might break me into itty bitty sexy pieces. I’m not worried; he’ll glue me back together again because he’s the super talented big dude.”
S.A.G.: Glad to hear you don’t plan a fatal Humpty Dumpty.
Fabion: “No way. You need me around so I can enjoy another adventure, right?”
S.A.G.: Don’t get too full of yourself. There’s another Elf waiting in line ahead of you.
Fabion: “Yeah, yeah, I know poor Alasdaire whines at you to finish his plot. Just don’t give him any more scars. The poor Elf already looks like Frankenelf.”
Fabion: “Hey, boss, it’s true. He’s got scars on his face, his back, his wrists… ease up on the poor dude.”
S.A.G.: You just stepped into a new question. Would you rather have an ugly scar across your face or lose 15 points of intelligence?
Fabion: “Aw hell, easy one. I already said I think I’m pretty bright, so I’d go for the intelligence loss. Hey, loosing mental points won’t make me any less creative in the bedroom, right? I know my big dude wouldn’t care about any stupid scar, but I would care since I want to give him the best, got me? He doesn’t deserve to look at a scar.”
S.A.G.: That’s one way to think about the matter. Would you care if Henda had—
Fabion: “Nope. I might not be real happy if his cock drops off, but he could have a freakin’ novel tattooed across his face and I wouldn’t care. That’s the thing, he has been in serious battles and there’s not a mark on him. I know we heal super fast but I tell you, nothing spoils his flesh. By now I’ve inspected every inch. Henda owns perfect, lickable skin. Yummy-yum-yum.”
S.A.G.: Hold on, no running back to the bedroom again. Since we are talking about Elves, why do you think there so many variations on what an Elf looks like?
Fabion: “You mean like my kind of Elf, sexy, svelte and hot, opposed to something like a Keebler elf? Humans do have a range of weird conceptions about Elves. Why is that? They’re either cute and live in trees, or wicked, evil critters who like run around stealing babies or yeah, noble powerhouses like me. I never have understood it.”
S.A.G.: I’m all for your kind.
Fabion: “But you wrote Alasdaire as a downtrodden bed slave. His Elven race is abused and banished.”
S.A.G.: Yes, and aren’t you glad you’re not in his world?
Fabion: “Fuck yeah. The Stone Age has a few, well, lots of problems but as long as I have the Big Dude at my side, everything is peachy-keen.”
S.A.G.: Time for a silly question. Why is a carrot more orange than an orange?
Fabion: “Because it’s shaped like a cock.”
S.A.G.: Not following your logic here.
Fabion: “A carrot is cock-shaped, which is means it has tons of primo confidence. It knows it’s more orange than an orange, but the carrot feels sorry for the drab, round orange, so the carrot lets the fruit claim the color. Get it?”
S.A.G.: To my surprise I do. Okay. Anything that has a cock shape has confidence?
Fabion: “Why not? A cock is pretty damned special. Hey, I am not knocking the female bits, okay? That’s special if you like that sorta thing. I’ve always been all about the carrot, the cucumber, the sausage, the wiener, the zucchini, get my drift?”
S.A.G.: Yep, the drift knocked me over. Here’s a little teaser. If you try to fail, and succeed, which have you done?
Fabion: “The only time I try to fail is if the big dude starts acting cute and chases me around the suite. Naturally, I put up a little resistance, but I always let him tackle me. To me, that counts as sexy success.”
S.A.G.: If you could add an extra appendage to your body, what would you select? And no, a cock isn’t on the list.
Fabion: “Awww, you know me all too well although limping around with two cocks sounds a little excessive. I’d like a third arm but only if it was more like something I could tuck away when I didn’t need it.”
S.A.G.: Something more along the lines of a tentacle?
Fabion: “Urrrgh, no, just something I can whip out when I want to give Henda a bigger thrill.”
S.A.G.: Can you cry under water?
Fabion: “Absolutely. Why not? I sure as shit started crying when I thought I might drown battling the big, bitchy waves. The trouble is you can’t do the snotty choke cry or things start getting nasty in shitstorm speed.”
S.A.G.: How scary. I know you’ll love this question. If electricity comes from electrons, does morality come from morons?
Fabion: “Ha! Considering that mostly morons nitpick about morality, that sounds good to me. To me, morality is try your hardest not to act like a total asshole and don’t murder anyone, well, unless it’s in self-defense or during a battle. The whole do unto others jazz, right? Granted when I was a supermodel, I tended to act less moral than I do now, but I never went out of my way to hurt anyone first. I reacted when acted upon. I’m not real big on turning the other cheek. I mean why, so some asshole can slap both cheeks? The only cheek slapping I dig is on my sweet ass. Wait, where am I going with this? Geesh, fuck, I’m confusing myself. Hey, did you already take those 15 points of brain power away from me?”
S.A.G.: Not at all. I understood where you went there. You’re correct, too many people want to impose their sense of morality on everyone.
Fabion: “And that pisses me right the fuck off. Geesh, am I flushed? I feel all hot and bothered.”
S.A.G.: You look fine. Here’s a really silly question for you. Why is it that night falls, but day breaks?
Fabion: “Hey, I like that one. Night falls because it’s heavy and dark. Night falls down from the sky and pushes the sun from the horizon. Ya know how there’s just that little sun glimmer before night takes over? That is falling. Day breaks because it busts apart the night. Day sends snappy sunrays out to tell night to break up and scram.”
S.A.G.: Watch out, you almost sound poetic.
Fabion: “Hey, now that I have merged with AF, I can talk fancy with the best of them. Whoops, I better not reveal top secret details.”
S.A.G.: That’s fine. A few reviews have already talked about AF.
Fabion: “Reviews? We have reviews? Hot damn, you need to let me see them. Do they love me? How many stars?”
S.A.G.: Yes, they love you. Two nice four and five star reviews.
Fabion: “Ha! Take that, Amando. He got what, one little three star review? Oh yeah, who’s the sexy star, that’s me, un-huh, go me, un-huh, I rock, un-huh.”
S.A.G.: Please, are you two going to start strutting again?
Fabion: “Amando sashays. I strut, un-huh, strut in style, un-huh.”
S.A.G.: Great, now Amando will harass me about why I never interviewed him. I am in such deep shit now.
Fabion: “Sorry. Come on, really, I’ll interview him.”
S.A.G.: “More like antagonize him. Listen, if you are serious about interviewing him, promise to be nice to him.”
Fabion: “Cross my heart and all that other jazz. Hey, are we almost finished?”
S.A.G.: One more and I will let you run back to bed. What do you believe will last forever?
Fabion: “Hell, that is easy-peasy. My love for the big dude. I mean the stars can fall from the sky, the planets collide, all that nasty shit, but our love will still be there. Henda and I are solid gold forever.”
S.A.G.: That sounds like a lovely ending. Thanks for cooperating, Fabion.
Fabion: “Hey, you are da boss. I know what comes next… the excerpt! Can I pick one?”
S.A.G.: Go ahead, surprise me.
Fabion: “Coolio. Let’s see, hmm, okay, got it! Bye, everyone! See you around.”
Elven super model Prince Fabion's day is perfect until wizard Matradorian kidnaps him from his penthouse. Surprise, Fabion is a spiritual match for elf king Henda’s dead lover. Only he can save the dying Henda. The problem is Fabion lives in the thirty-ninth century. Henda lives in the nineteenth.
When he lands in the nineteenth century, Fabion controls himself from punching Matradorian, saves Henda and falls in instant lust with his romantic fantasy. After all, this is a romantic comedy.
When Fabion realizes his polluted, on the verge of ruin thirty-ninth century is gone, the super model pitches the temper tantrum of any century until he realizes sexy Henda accepts him as his true lover. Being the virile, handsome Henda's lover fills Fabion's emotional gap. Despite the lack of facials and hot water, the former super model adapts to living in the backwards century.
Soon Fabion learns the nineteenth century is more dangerous than his vanished thirty-ninth century. Who wants to kill him now? And why?
Ding-dong! Fabion's already strained heart began racing toward an unknown winner's circle. Thump-a-thump-a-ling-long. No fuckin' way!
The pale dude quietly resting on the incredible bed was the dude Fabion had always enjoyed in his wet, late night fantasies. Talk about a dream come true!
Drool. Better yet, talk about dead sexy. Even when silent and unmoving, the elf lying on the grand bed looked tastier than all of Fabion's many lovers put together. This king provided a more mature, err, sterner–-yeah, that was the damned word–-version of his lovely sons. Wisdom and power were etched into his pale face. Normally any wrinkles made the hypercritical Fabion run screaming into the distance, but not this time. The age lines added depth to the male's supremely handsome face. How startling. Watch out, world, Fabion might fall for someone who had never hid his facial lines with chemical peels, inserts, or surgery. No way.
The elf king defined hot, although right now Henda appeared too damned cold and pale. If someone placed a white marble slab next to Henda's muscular body, the marble would blend in. If anyone tried such a stunt, Fabion vowed to kick them.
The long, black hair flowing behind Henda's noble head and the violet sheet tucked around his spectacular body emphasized his intense paleness. The dude looked sensational even while slipping away.
What a sad concept.
Fabion needed a quick mental distraction to keep him from hyperventilating. What a damned gorgeous headboard. A skilled artist had forced solid wood into a turbulent fantasy featuring beckoning orchids, crashing waves, fern fronds, and twining ivy. Killer. Why didn't Fabion own such a super headboard? The dramatic style suited his legendary beauty. He wanted one exactly like the creation for his bed.
Good, his breath stopped emerging in frantic puffs. Fabion crept forward. His lusting gaze examined the immobile elf.
"Hello, my Henda. After years of delicious, wet fantasy desire, we finally meet. You are real. Imagine the crazy concept. At least I think you're real. This might be a first-class hallucination."
Before he realized what he did, Fabion's trembling fingers unlaced his tight silk tunic. His instinctive response urged him to strip naked and jump into bed with his eternal, elven fantasy.
How had sly Mr. Fuckface sensed Fabion's desire to perform the ultimate deed? What a slick, old manipulator!
Bizarro. No time for messing around. He realized he needed to perform a miracle or else this magnificent elf would cease to exist. Talk about a fuckin' shame. A turned-on Fabion desired those stern, royal lips nuzzling against his own perfect body. Hmm, did pure, raw lust supply enough zip to revive this glorious male? Fabion hoped so. Imagine, his fabulous fantasy male waited for him. Kicky!
Damned intricate laces! They teamed with the relentless trembling infecting his fingers and tried to defeat his effort. The frustrated Fabion released a teakettle-worthy hiss. He anxiously yanked and tugged until his fingers tossed his ripped tunic to the floor. What a waste of a bitchin' garment. Well, in times of need, one sucked up fashion sacrifices. No worries, old Mr. Fuckface and his magic staff guaranteed Fabion a new tunic.
Fabion sat on the bed and peeled down his snug leggings. Mattie hadn't provided Fabion with any underwear. What an old letch! After he undid his radically cool boots, Fabion shoved everything to the floor.
Yikes! Fresh hyperventilation almost set in. Frantic thoughts tumbled into Fabion's dizzy mind. Yes, I sit on the bed. I sit on Henda's totally opulent bed. My divine ass cuddles into his super-superior feather mattress. How many times did I fantasize about crawling into Henda's grand bed and letting him fuck me six times to sideways? Wwooow.
Although Fabion's usually wild imagination had missed exact details like Henda's killer carved bed being giant enough to host an elven orgy. Fabion had never imagined anyone but handsome Henda performing the honors. In his fantasy world, the free love-supporting Fabion always acted bitchin' loyal to the big dude. Cheating on anyone in Henda's stellar rank sounded brainless.
Okay, today the fucking option didn't own a chance. The disturbingly motionless Henda didn't seem capable of fucking anything, especially not death. Death needed to get fucked. Fabion did not intend to let the bony bastard steal Henda. Death needed to find his own classy king to cuddle.
Big, brave attitude helped in a fashion shoot, but how could Fabion trump Death? Challenge him to a strut-off?
Unwelcome tremors jerked Fabion's tense muscles in different directions. So not cool. He despised his nasty inadequacy. Did a loving touch activate the special, bring-back-Henda magic? The tremors intensified enough to twitch Fabion's fingers. He needed to try the simple solution.
Fabion's dancing fingers reached out and caressed firm chest flesh. Yikes! Pained surprise lashed at Fabion's senses. He jerked his fingers back and held them against his warm chest. Henda imitated an elf-shaped ice block. How wicked. What a seriously bad problem.
This poor, chilly elf needed intense warming up. Time to perform full-body contact. Fabion winced. Ugly discomfort cavorted before him in malicious glee.
Too bad. Fabion's fingers pulled away the silk sheet's light weave from Henda's pale flesh. The airy material imitated gossamer web. Classy. Yummy, those tight abs demanded praise. Reaaalll sweet. Jackpot. Fabion's sweet dreams hadn't lied. This powerful elf displayed masculine might. Luxurious, black hair framed Henda's potent cock. Super impressive. The dude even had sexy pubic hair. Fabulosity plus. The king's flawless, muscle-corded thighs deserved an award. Fabion carried a definite torch for muscular thighs, especially since his thighs dwelled on the skimpy side. Blame genetics. The sensible Fabion never appreciated exercise unless he sprawled naked and panting in bed.
This ancient dude even displayed good-looking feet. Please, how many breathing creatures sported handsome, little toes? King Henda offered Fabion total top-shelf, elven, male perfection or something along those flowery lines. Geesh, looking at Henda invited Fabion to pile on the compliments.
Enough admiring. One-two-three now go! Fabion shifted on the soft bed. He slithered close until his hip met Henda's. When Henda's cold flesh made contact with his warmth, Fabion writhed in disgust. Aiiii-yiii-yiii-ee-oo-ahh-ooo! Shiiittt! Poor Henda felt beyond frigid. How did this near-frozen elf still live?
Henda's chest moved up and down at a vastly slow rate. Fabion counted to eight between Henda's shallow breaths. Seriously bad. Deathly bad.
Thanks for reading and thanks for Edward for hosting today’s Q & A.
Who Am I?
Thirty years ago, I started writing m/m romance. My writing remained a secret lest my friends thought me a freak. Writing about men inserting tab A into slot B didn’t seem the norm for a female teenager. Reading Gordon Merrick, John Rechy and Larry Kramer helped me fill in informational gaps. Yes, I read those books only in my bedroom.
As the years progressed and I discovered my sexual path, I still wrote m/m romance, although the stories progressed from lurking in notebooks to hiding on the computer.
Now I am glad I kept the writing faith. Five published novellas and novels later, my life is a fun quandary of too many stories hindered by slow typing skills. I accept the silly challenge.
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