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.”
S.A.G.:
Fabion!
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.”
BLURB:
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?
Excerpt:
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.
Facebook:
Sandra Ann Garcia
Twitter:
@SAGarcia_Writer
