PG BlogFest Smut Scene!

Okay, I’d actually forgotten to do this (even though I put it on my calendar and everything), so I whipped this up at lunchtime. It’s probably a little rough around the edges, but I think it will do.

The original idea was inspired by Simon Larter, with the understanding that the scene has to meet the following requirements:

1)A short love scene between two characters (yes, two, ‘cause if it’s a threesome or better, it sure as hell ain’t PG!)

2)The reader needs to understand that the act of love is occurring, but the language must remain MG/PG.

3) You may not fade to black because that would be cheating!


I figured I’d give this a shot – though I’m not particualrly good at the PG stuff. I decided to take my characters from the YA SteamPunk thing I’m playing around with and see what they’d do. For some perverse reason, I did it in 1st person present. Though I originally intended to keep this to 500 words, I’m a word-whore, so it’s got a count of 617.  (For the record, she’s 16 and he’s 18, I think…)


So here we go:



I ignore the rats like I always do.
Justin’s hand is warm in mine, despite the thick shadows of the tunnels. Dark and looming, the rusted and decayed remnants of the SteamElders continue forever, like the bowels of some ancient mechanical monster.

He leads me past the steam vents and I duck beneath the gasping exhalation, narrowly avoiding the wash of superheated air. “Don’t touch it,” he murmurs, the words nearly lost in the clank of distressed pipes. The burning steam lifts the damp strands of hair away from my forehead
“Do you think we lost them?” I glance behind us, but there is nothing save the darkness beyond the failing glow of our lantern.  My ears ache, waiting to hear the tell-tale catch of breath, the slide of shoes upon metal grates. I’m rewarded with only a few heartbeats of silence.
He shrugs. His own hair has come loose from its usual proper queue, a tangled weave of auburn cobwebs, gleaming beneath the dust. My fingers itch to set it free, but I hesitate. He catches me staring and I flush.
One dark brow cocks up, his own gaze suddenly appraising, but he says nothing. The heat of my cheeks grows warmer and I wonder if he can tell. 
Abruptly he turns, capturing my hand again, and we start our trek anew.   His fingers weave between mine, as before, but this time it seems as though each casual brush of his thumb over my knuckle sets off a thrumming echo into my bones.  A heated rush sweeps up my arms, singing through my blood. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the tremble in my knees.
My cloak catches on a piece of scrap metal and I crouch down, fumbling with shaking hands.  The tattered wool unravels despite my best efforts.  

“Silly thing,” he mutters, kneeling down to help me, a slight nudge with his shoulder taking the sting out of his words.  I glance up, mumbling my apology, my voice falling away when I realize how close he is. The silence strains between us in a flurry of mingled breaths and then his lips brush mine, his hand tilting my chin upwards.
I don’t think about the tunnels or the guards or the sudden loss of my freedom. This moment, this heated tangle of limbs and hastily pushed aside clothing is more real to me than the shattered possibilities and broken dreams of my past.
I twist towards him, realizing he’s pulled me up. I’m now against the wall. His mouth trails down my neck. The sharp curve of a metal button presses into my belly and I squirm beneath the grinding hitch of his hips.
A burning pain.  

A shuddering sigh.
His surprised murmur.  

My hesitant nod.
Such small and careful movements. I swim in them, the depths of something larger than I know threatening to swallow me up.  And then I feel it – the pulse, pulse, pulse – like the rhythmic tabor of a sea I’ve never seen, echoed in the way Justin smiles my name against my mouth. He is whispering something to me, of stars and a bed of heather and air that doesn’t hurt to breathe – gentle and silly promises that will never come true.
I smile back anyway, his soft chuckle rumbling as he nips my ear.  And then we freeze, hearing a metallic scuffle down the tunnel, chased by a muffled curse. Our eyes meet. There is no more time. I catch the tail end of a rather languid wink before he extinguishes the lantern.  

We take flight, and I hold his promises to me like a second skin, cocooning them within the bruised edges of my heart.

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