So, every year, the Torquere authors pick a charity and a theme and this year we chose Leather Bound (because leather is the gift for the 9th anniversary) and NOH8 for our charity.
:D
I'm super-tickled to have done a charity short for 5 years in a row now, and this year's it was easy to pick a couple to listen to. You see, Sam (from Roughstock: File Gumbo) has taken up a new hobby since his traumatic brain injury and he wanted y'all to know how they were doing...
Official type blurb: Beau Lafitte is happily retired from bullriding, and glad his lover Sam is recovering from a terrible injury. The problem is that with Sam taking up a new hobby, Beau is lonely. Can he get Sam to understand that what he needs are words, not leather chaps?
Excerpt:
Beau looked at Boudreaux, the big old bloodhound sitting with his head on his paws, looking pathetic as only a hound dog could. "You miss him, too, huh?"
Oh, it wasn't that Sam had left him or even gone away or nothin'. He was just down in the barn, working on a saddle commission for Balta de Silva, and Beau hadn't seen the man in five days.
Sam hadn't spoken a word out loud in ten days. It wasn't like Sam was pissed at him, hell, he got a wide grin every time he passed by the man, but it was like... It was like Sam was disappearing in the workshop in a pile of leather and punches.
Boudreaux whined, tale thumping, and Beau got up to feed all the dogs. Then he was gonna go get his man, maybe talk some turkey about taking the trailer out for the weekend. They could head up to the mountains in Arkansas for a couple three days, camp out, love on each other.
Petunia and Hallelujah dug in, both of them pregnant out to here. The boys got fed next, and he let the kenneled dogs out into the yard and vice versa. Then he put on the new belt Sam had made him, with his best buckle, and went looking.
If he didn't get Sam out of there soon, Beau was afraid Sammy'd make him leather undershorts. It was bad enough that Ace's girl was knitting the Horsemen penis cozies. When Steele had told him that, Beau had damned near busted a gut.
"Sammy? Baby? You in here?"The tap-tap-tap of the little mallet stopped and Sammy waved at him, offering him a wide, bright smile.
"Hey, baby." Beau couldn't help but smile back. Sammy made him happy, bone deep.
Balta's saddle was sitting there, all done and shiny, a pair of chaps on the marble slab now. Maybe those were for him and he could get Sam to take a break.
"Those for me?"
Sam nodded, beaming, and held them up. Sam had just started on them, the design only lightly sketched out. They were going to be full of scrollwork and stars, which he loved.Excellent. Custom chaps were so much easier to fit to his short old legs.
"Baby." He hesitated, not wanting Sam to feel bad, which he would if Beau worded things wrong. "You at a stopping point?"
Sam frowned, but nodded, standing and coming right to him. It made him feel good, knowing that Sam wasn't aggravated at him, that Sam's hands slid right over his belly. Beau knew in his heart of hearts it wasn't personal, the way Sam didn't talk, but it built up, the need to hear.
Beau grinned, leaning forward to peck a kiss on Sam's lips. "You feeling okay, Poot? You ain't said a word in days and days."
Sam nodded, kissed him back, leaning into him.
"Can you still talk?" He did worry about that sometimes.
Sam frowned, nodded again.
Now that didn't work. Beau started to panic a little, looking for bruises. "Did you hit your head?"
Sam's frown deepened, head shaking. "B...boug?" Sam's voice was barely there, rusty, like a crow's.
"Lord, baby. See what happens when you don't practice?" His heart was slamming in his chest. At least Sam could still fucking talk.
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