#boymercuryx

[broodingmuscle]

Storm King, part 3/3

Excerpt:

“Hi,” I say.

“Hey, Zach.”

Brian wears a green spring jacket that’s brand new and enhances the green of his eyes.  No doubt whatever he wore last spring no longer fits. He looks like he’s put on at least twenty pounds of muscle.  His face is haggard, like he’s not been sleeping well, and it gives a rugged air to his devastatingly handsome looks.  I can’t help myself, I walk straight up to him to give him the hug he looks like he desperately needs, but he holds up a hand to stop me.

“No. I’m here to see Evan.”

“O-okay…” I say.  I don’t move back, though, and stand there with his hand on my chest. I’ve missed his touch.

He holds it there for a second, then drops it.  He licks his lips, and I can see him staring at mine. “You, uh,” he stammers, “you look good. Working out I hear.”

“I had no idea I’m such an hot topic on the high school grapevine.”

This brings a smile to his face briefly and my heart sings. “Well, what can I say,” he says, “we had a connection.”

“Had?” I say.

Brian just shrugs, steps back, and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“So,” I say, curious, “did you see Evan’s fight?”

“Yeah. I was actually talking on the phone to Senator Samuels about a summer job, and he told me that he’d be fighting today.  He kicked that asshole’s ass, huh?”

“I’ll say, haven’t seen a fight that hot since…” I trail off, feeling stupid.

Brian smirks. “Since I kicked Evan’s ass that first time?” The smirk spreads to a grin and Brian steps forward into my space again. “You like it, you get off on it don’t you,” he says, leaning in to whisper into my ear,  “driving us crazy fighting over you?”

Anger flushes my face and I push on his chest to shove him back a step, but it’s like trying to shove a parked Buick and all I manage to do is push myself off-balance, falling on my back.

At just that moment, Evan comes around the corner of the dorm, carrying my jacket and tossing his car keys in the air. “Hey baby, you left your jacket, who are you talking to…”

Read Storm King, part 3, by @boymercuryx​ and @broodingmuscle on Nifty

[proper-superhero-shit]

My Tumblr Crushes:

towritecomicsonherarms (9%)

multiplepolarityhavoc (8%)

corsolanite (6%)

flinnsey (4%)

boymercuryx (4%)

harveyfuckingwalker (4%)

scarboroughdebutante (3%)

argonauticos (3%)

why-i-love-comics (3%)

[sweenmcdervish]

Excerpt from THE LION’S SHARE by J. Mercury Jones and Sween McDervish:

“Kelly, tell him the story,” Ryan says, nodding to David.

“What story?” David asks.

“How he became The Irish Jackhammer,” Ryan answers, already squirming in anticipation.

“Nah,” Kelly begs off, but Ryan and David both lean in.

“I feel a little dizzy,” David says, feigning weakness. “I’d hate to ask you to take me to the ER, but I think I could settle in if you’d tell me the story.”

“You’re a piece of work, aren’t you?” Kelly asks the reporter, raising an eyebrow.

Ryan laughs proudly and gently nudges Kelly’s foot with his own. “Come on. We got nothing but time to kill.”

Kelly settles back in his rolling wooden desk chair. “So if you go back, I was in a band at the time.”

“A band?” David asks.

“A metal band,” Ryan interjects. “Kind of skinhead punk. ‘Punch Drunk.’”

“I was the drummer,” Kelly begins again.

“Hold on,” David interrupts with a raised hand. “You were a drummer in a punk band?”

“It was the ‘80s,” Ryan answers for his uncle, visibly wound up to share in the story with David. He pulls an athletic shoe box off a file cabinet that looks as old as Kelly and opens it to sift through its contents of old photos. He finally pulls one out and passes it to David.

The photo is a candid shot of three guys in a rough-looking band. David zeroes in immediately on one, recognizing a young Ken Kelly. Hell, he looked even more like Ryan closer to the same age. He’s got a tuft of pale blond hair on an otherwise shaved head, a sort of modified mohawk. His grin is really more of a punkish sneer, and he’s wearing a black muscle t-shirt that leaves his thick-muscled arms bare. His legs are in snug black jeans, and he wears a black leather armband on the wrist of the hand where he’s holding drumsticks.

“Holy fuck,” David says. He glances from the handsome young drummer in the photo to the rough-hewn gym owner and then back again. “Is this real? How hard did I get hit?”

“Am I telling this story here or not?” Kelly asks, plainly done being interrupted. As Ryan and David settle down again, he adds, “You two are hereby under oath. You will never repeat this story to Jameelah. Or I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass you’ll taste my toes for the rest of your lives!”

Read THE LION’S SHARE on Nifty