M A Naess Story Site

m/m Fiction Stories


Life sucks. Not an original thought I know, but true nonetheless. I hadn’t always been so pessimistic, but this morning, as I watched Brad pack his suitcase and walk out of our flat and my life I really couldn’t shake the thought off.  What had hurt the most was Brad's parting shot, aimed over his shoulder as he marched to the waiting car and new, waiting boyfriend. “Sean, you should try and act a little more normal. You're such a damned fairy.”


That had shaken me almost as much as his leaving. I knew my overt behaviour bothered him, especially when we were out in public together, but I hadn’t realised how much he wanted me to act “normal”, pretend I was something other than me. 


Sick and miserable I’d grabbed Max, my border collie, and headed to the beach, hoping a long walk on the sand with the waves lapping around my feet would help sooth me.


We’d been walking for about half an hour, with Max bounding up ahead and finding scraps of flotsam or such to bring back and dump at my feet, all doggie smiles and wagging tail. His latest offering, a large piece of tangled seaweed, was hanging in coils from his mouth. I dreaded to think what his breath would be like by the time we finished our walk. 


“Drop it Max.” I commanded, a little startled when he obeyed. 


I was even more startled when the discarded seaweed began to move and shake, but what really set me on my backside was the tiny voice that seemed to come from the seaweed itself.


“Get me out of this slimy mess and can someone shoot that monstrous hound from hell.”


I picked myself up off the sand and stared in disbelief at the little man struggling to free himself from the strands of seaweed. He looked like he would barely come up to Max’s shoulder when standing and was wearing green trousers, jacket and shoes (with shiny buckles) that blended so well with the seaweed it was difficult to see where the seaweed stopped and he began.


“What you gawpin’ at ya big lumberin’ fool. Haven’t you ever seen a Leprechaun before?” The little man sounded very grumpy, but then I suppose he was entitled, it couldn’t have been pleasant being wrapped in seaweed and carried around in Max’s mouth.


“Well, now that you mention it … no” I managed to reply.


“Well, you have now. Seeing as how you’ve captured me fair and square, or at least that great lolloping beast of yours did, I guess I’ll have to grant you your wish.”


“Wish!” I gaped, “What wish? And what are you doing here? I thought Leprechaun’s were only in Ireland ”


“Typical colonials, don’t know nothing about anything. Let’s just say we little folk get around. Can’t say I’m too happy about this place though – hot and full of flies.”


The little man finally got himself untangled. Fishing around again in the seaweed he produced a large green top hat, complete with yellow band and buckle. This he jammed on his head before staring up at me.


 “As you don’t seem to know about wishes either, I’ll tell you the deal. If you capture a Leprechaun we’re duty bound to grant you one wish – just one mind you. Now, let’s be getting on with things, places to go you know, people to see and all that. What’s your wish young man?”


I had to think about all this for a bit. The little guy seemed serious and certainly looked the part. And I had nothing to lose – did I?


“Okay, this is my wish. I want a boyfriend who suits my nature. Someone who can love me for what I am.” There, it was out, my greatest wish.


“Ah! A good choice, but a tough one. Finding the right one to suit you - well, now that may take just a wee bit o time. So, why don’t you just stay a little, maybe have a nap, while I work on it for you.


I think the old guy must have worked some kind of spell on me, because before I knew it my eyes were closing and I could feel myself drifting off to sleep.


When I opened them again two beautifully almond shaped eyes, the colour of brilliant sapphires, were staring into mine. I blinked quickly and the eyes drew back a little, giving me a view of a perfectly proportioned, sharply angled face, framed by curling green hair. That gave me a slight start, the green hair, but it looked natural, not out of a bottle, which seemed strange. I closed my eyes again and shook my head. When I opened them he was still there.


“Hello, are you all right?” The green haired stranger said


“Yes I think so.” Sitting up I looked around me, we seemed to have left the beach for some leafy green scenery. 


“Good, I’m Thorn. I found you underneath the tree, sound asleep. I couldn’t wake you up so I brought you up here, where it’s a bit safer, away from predators. There’s a big dog running around down there, barking a lot. 


“Huh! Where am I?”


“In my tree. Sorry it’s a bit untidy but I’ve been out all night. And you had better fold your wings into their casings, they can so easily get damaged if you leave them open when you’re not flying you know. It would be a pity to damage them, they are quite beautiful”


Wings? Flying? … Huh!  I turned my head to look over my shoulders and sure enough, two intricately patterned, gossamer thin wings seemed to be attached to my shoulder blades. They were quite pretty. That’s when things started to come together in my head – I remembered the Leprechaun and the wish. I wondered if my hair had turned green. 


I looked again at the strange being. He was slender, neatly dressed in tight fitting leggings and jerkin, and gorgeous.


“Hi.” I said, “My name is Sean.”


Thorn returned my look with a smile that made me feel warm inside. 


“Welcome to my home Sean.  I will make us some tea and you can tell me how you came to be asleep under my tree.”


As Thorn busied himself with teapot and cups, I began my tale and sent a silent blessing to a little Irish Leprechaun, wherever he may be.



Thorn and I are very happy together.  He’s taught me how to take care of my wings and how to fly and a lot of other things as well. Max is happy too; living at the bottom of our tree in the leafy shelter we made him. Thorn knows how to make him fade, and us to if need be, so we can’t be seen by humans.


I like being a fairy. 


Some tribal communities believe that the taking of a photograph of the living steals the soul of the one photographed. 


What if that belief is true?


Jeremiah certainly believed it was.  In fact, he knew it was. Whenever he raised his camera and snapped a photo of someone, he captured a part of them, some indefinable scrap of their essence, held in the celluloid forever. That small portion of life force belonged to him as long as he had possession of the photo.  He intended no harm and usually no harm did befall his subjects – just a small and almost imperceptible loss that was hardly missed by those he photographed but nurtured Jeremiah’s own soul and strengthened his energy and power. 


Jeremiah had made his discovery of this method of soul stealing with his first camera and first photos and thus began his accumulation of the life force of others. His favourite subjects were children, because their innocence and joy of life provided the most flavoursome of essences.


It is therefore not surprising that his most favoured haunt for the collection of photographs was the local park, complete with children’s playground. Of course he was very circumspect in his capture of the photographs – it would never do for people to think he was some kind of deviant or pervert. He frequented the park every day and very soon the parents, nannies and even the children themselves had all become accustomed to the presence of the tall, thin gentleman in the trilby hat, camera slung around his neck and carrying a tripod, who seemed to have a penchant for photographing trees, birds and play equipment. They rarely suspected his very long telephoto lens captured the children and sometimes the parents and nannies as well. 


It was on a very hot and sunny Saturday that Jeremiah discovered Nathan; playing football in the park with a boy Jeremiah later found out was Nathan’s nephew. Jeremiah had noticed the two as soon as he arrived and determined to take as many photos of the players as he could, attracted by the energy and vibrancy of their game.  Entranced, he watched as they passed the ball backwards and forwards to each other, kicking long and kicking short. Joyous shouts of “Gee you missed that easy one Nathan,” and “Not so hard Josh,” told him their names.


An ill-timed forward pass by the nephew, knocking into Jeremiah’s tripod, provided the opportunity for a face-to-face meeting with Nathan as he hurried over.


“I’m terribly sorry sir; I hope we haven’t damaged anything.”


Looking him full in the face, Jeremiah saw Nathan was a young man of surpassing beauty, with fine even features and lovely green eyes and Jeremiah fell instantly in love – as much as his borrowed energies allowed him to. But he didn’t miss a beat, “No, its fine, nothing broken. But if you wouldn’t mind I would like very much to take some photos as you play your game? I’ll provide you with copies of the best and an enlargement, suitable as a poster.”


“Oh, cool, I could stick it on my wall in my bedroom.” Josh’s enthusiasm overruled Nathan’s hesitation.


“Well, Okay, guess it would be alright.” The young man reluctantly agreed.


Jeremiah took several photos of the pair and arranged to meet them in the same place the following Saturday so he could deliver the promised copies.


Upon developing the photos, he discovered that images from a willing subject provided a life force far stronger than those taken surreptitiously from the unsuspecting subject. Not only did he have far more energy than before but also felt a curiously strong sense of power over his subjects. 


Jeremiah’s courtship of Nathan began at their very next meeting. 


“Would you like to have lunch with me today Nathan?” He enquired after the copies had been handed over and Josh was still exclaiming excitedly over the enlargement of them in action, kicking the football.


Jeremiah noted a slight hesitation from Nathan, followed by a smile of acceptance. 


“Thank you Jeremiah, that would be nice.”


After a delightful lunch and genial conversation, Jeremiah escorted Nathan to the nearest bus stop for his journey home, snapping a quick photo just as the bus arrived.


Over the next few weeks Jeremiah managed to escort Nathan to several lunches, and three movies. His accumulation of photos grew in proportion to the dates, as did his own energy and sense of power over Nathan.


At photo number seven Nathan was available to join Jeremiah whenever he called.


With photo number eight it was agreed that a weekend away, alone, together would be arranged for the following week.


After photo number nine was developed Nathan raised no objection when Jeremiah invited him to his apartment for coffee.  A night of delicious and intense lovemaking followed.


By the tenth photo Jeremiah was in full possession of Nathan – body and soul.



From ghoulies and ghosties
And long-leggedy beasties
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!

                        Traditional Scottish Prayer


I come from the ancient world, the name I bore then long forgotten - lost in the mists of time.  My taste is for the souls and flesh of young male humans.


As my human fodder traversed the world in great migrations across plains and deserts I travelled with them, sometimes with one name, sometimes with many, but always feared. 


In the old days it was easy.  They called me ghost, ghoul or devil and believed my ancient evil.  I wandered far and fed with ease, eventually arriving in the New World with those who believed themselves to be pure in name and spirit but who harboured dark thoughts of evil in their midst that enabled me to feed often on their fears.


But the centuries passed and the world became cynical.  They no longer believed in pure evil in the demon form, instead their concept of evil morphed into the horror which humans visit upon others of their own kind.   Demons became “bogey men”, caricatures of devils paraded at Halloween for the delight of children, and partying adults.


So I travelled again, venturing to another new world – one of heat, sun, surf and perpetual flies and where the seasons are reversed - seeking innocence and a less commercial way of life, where one such as me can set down new roots and seek believing souls to take and devour.   Have I found it?  I do not know ….. yet.




“Come on Pete, there’s another house at the end of the street.”  Damien hopped from foot to foot in excitement.   He already had an assortment of lollies stored in the plastic carry bag Mum had provided, clutched in his slightly grubby hand.


“Haven’t ya got enough already?” Pete said, without much hope.


“Just one more, p l e a s e,”  came the expected response, Damien looking up at his older brother with his usual pleading, you-know-you-can’t-refuse me look.


“I dunno Damien, the guy that lives there is creepy and the other kids say he’s a queer.” 


“Yeah, but Michael’s older brother is gay and he’s so way cool.  Him and his boyfriend let us use their games in our Playstations all the time.”  Damien replied with perfect 7-year-old logic.


“Alright, but stay close to me and do as I say.”  Pete was feeling a bit exasperated.  They had already been to six houses in the street and he was getting tired of knocking on their neighbour’s doors and trying to cadge sweets from them with a ridiculous “Trick or Treat”.   But Mum had insisted he go with Damien when Damien had found out about the mostly American method of obtaining sweets on Halloween night.


Pete took Damien’s hand in his, something he did very rarely in public, as they approached the old ramshackle house that stood at the corner on the very end of the street.  Built halfway through the previous century, the house was one of the original dwellings in the area, which had come under development as a housing estate only a few years ago.  As a result the two-storey building, left empty and neglected for many years, retained an air of dilapidated elegance that didn’t quite fit in with the modern bungalow style dwelling that surrounded it. 


Pete looked the house over as they stood on the path leading to the front door.  Large windows, covered in dark coloured curtains, stared back at him.  The house looked large, foreboding almost.  Pete was starting to feel uncomfortable, there was a strange tingling in the back of his neck, making the hair there prickle, almost like it was rising.  There seemed to be whispering noises filtering through the trees and echoing around the building, noises that made Pete feel uncomfortable.  And his palms were beginning to sweat.  


Damien, on the other hand, felt nothing but excitement at obtaining more goodies for his plastic bag.  Pulling his hand free from Pete’s he headed determinately up the steps to the front door.  


“Damien, wait a minute.” Pete called out.  But Damien kept going hand already raised to knock on the large, wooden door.


Pete looked at the windows again. The light reflecting back at him, the result of a suddenly dimmed sunlight seemed to be full of malevolent shadows.  Memories began to swirl through his mind of stories he’d read about un-dead creatures and Halloween night.   His stomach clenched. Then rational thought took over again, "Nah! get a grip Pete, you're loosing it." 


As Damien’s hand connected with the door it swung opened slightly.   “Hey, the door's open already.”  Damien pushed the door a little wider and lent forward slightly to peer further into the house. “Hello, trick or treat.” 


“Damien, come back here now.” Pete almost shouted the words, his unease was growing again and that whispering noise seemed to have become a soft, seductive voice.  Pete shook his head to rid himself of the noise, the voice, knowing he must be imagining things.


“Aw! Cool Pete, there’s all kinds of lollies and biscuits and stuff here.  They must’ve been expecting us.”  Damien, having completely ignored Pete’s command, now stood leaning further through the doorway.


Pete still stood near the bottom of the steps, curiosity waring with his increasing desire to turn tail and run.  Reluctantly he moved up to the next step, trying to see around Damien and into the house.  Startled, he realised he could only see part of Damien’s body, the rest of his body, the part actually inside the house, wasn’t visible at all and he certainly couldn’t see the lollies and stuff Damien had mentioned. 


Pete blinked several times trying to make sense of it all, but sense didn’t seem to be coming to him.  Instead that insistent seductive whisper flowed again, making promises he couldn’t understand but touching a deep desire in him.  Really frightened now, he took a deep breath, shut his mind to the whispering voice and tried to focus all his attention on the half of Damien he could see and the black hole beyond the doorway.


As Pete focused more of Damien started to disappear into the wide maw of the open doorway.  All he could see past Damien were shadows and darkness and perhaps bright pinpoints of light that could almost be eyes. 


Shaking himself out of his trance, the "get a grip" thought finally turning into "I'm outta here", Pete took the last steps to the doorway in one long leap, grabbed Damien by the shoulder he could still see and yanked him back down the steps.


As he dragged a loudly complaining Damien down the street towards their home Pete could have sworn he again heard that sibilant whisper glide through his mind, flowing over Damien’s protests


“Next time ….”


Water runs slowly from the ice cube held against your beautiful lips to trickle down over your stubbled chin.  You’re tongue extends to catch the stray drips from your long thin fingers.


You know what that does to me.  You know how hot you are.


You came back last night full of contrition begging me to take you back into my house, my bed, my heart.


Fool that I am I let you in, if only for the night.   Now today you try all your tricks on me again.  Doing the things you know will get me hard and eager, hoping I’ll forgive and forget. 


But this time they won’t work.  This time I haven’t waited for you to tire of the new toy you had found.   


Do you remember a boy called Joe, who you loved and left as you so easily do?


Perhaps I should tell you all about Joe now, before you get too comfortable.

Another Chance

You seem to be taking my news with deceptive calm.


“So, you and Joe are an item now.  That is interesting.”  I watch as you stretch like a lazy cat and reach for another ice cube.  What is going on behind those calculating blue eyes?


“He needed a friend and somewhere to stay after you dumped him.” Do my words sound defensive?


“And, of course, you were more than willing to oblige.”  You lean back in the chair, tilting your head and raising the ice cube to your lips, displaying a perfect throat.


I say nothing, just watch as the ice cube disappears between parted lips.  I know those lips, that mouth and the pleasures they can give.  My groin gets tighter.


“I didn’t want to hurt him,” you almost sound as if you mean it.  “But it wouldn’t have worked – Oh, you know me.  I can’t help it if I’m quick to love”


And just as quick to leave.


“But it’s always you I come back to.”


And leave again.  The circle is always complete and never ending.  You think you can get away with anything don’t you?  Maybe you can.


Finally I find my voice. “Look, Joe will be here soon.  I think you had better go.”


Suddenly he is beside me, arm wrapped around my waist, breath tickling my ear.  I’d forgotten how quick he can be, like the predator he resembles.


“What?  You won’t give me another chance?” he purrs.


His nearness is intoxicating.  The desire to reach out and touch those lips and taste that mouth again is overwhelming.   The need to ease my aching erection is immediate.  Then I look into his eyes and see the speculation there.


“No, you’ve run out of chances this time.”


The voice from the doorway startles us both.


“Justin .. wha…? Mark what’s going on, why is Justin here?"


I lie in silence and gaze at the dream catcher swaying in a slight breeze.  Vague shadows cast by moonlight shining through partly draw curtains; stirred by that same breeze, dance across the room.


The tangle of sheets and limbs on our bed intertwine so that I’m unsure which limbs are his and which are mine.  But, not wishing to disturb him, I remain still.  Memories of love and heat, sex and satisfaction drift through my mind.


A stir of limbs and an indignant voice. “Argh! I’ve got the wet spot.”


My laugh echoes in the otherwise quiet room. 


Some quick manoeuvring and adjustment of bodies and we have mutual comfort once again.


“Do you think he got the message?”  He says. 


 I look at him blankly for a moment.


“Do you think Justin’s gone for good now?”  Joe sounds anxious.


“Yes, of course.  We told him there was no point in his hanging around and he should just leave us alone.”


Joe seems satisfied and begins to drift back into slumber.


I snuggle softly into my lover.  I hadn’t wanted to tell him what had woken me - the dream of calculating blue eyes, soft lips and ice cubes. 


I hope my lover’s presence, his warm body wrapped with mine, and the swaying dream catcher will help filter away the unwanted dreams of the night.

It's Time

“Ready Michael? It’s time.”   My - our - best man, Robert looks pointedly at his watch.


“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”  I was nervous, my palms sweaty, face furrowed (I know it was furrowed because it always is when I’m anxious or worried).


“Well, come on then, everyone’s waiting.”


Dutifully I followed Robert out of the side alter door to the front of the small chapel where our guests waited. 


Christine and I are getting married.  We have been friends from childhood.  We shared our lives, cried on each others shoulders, supported each other through hard times and good.  We even went to University together, studying for the same degree.  


It seemed the wedding had taken ages to arrange and there had been times I despaired of ever getting to this point, so many stumbling blocks along the way.  When Christine had found this little chapel and the wonderful, accepting pastor that went with it, we knew that finally everything would fall into place.


I take in the sounds and smells that surround me.  The quiet murmur from friends and relatives as they wait for the ceremony to begin, the scent from the hundreds of flowers draped throughout the Chapel.  It’s hard to imagine anything as perfect as this. Finally my eyes rest on Rachel, standing upright and beautiful just across from me.  She shines with happiness as we smile at each other.


The music we had chosen - Only Time by Enya -  begins.


I turned to watch as Christine begins her walk down the isle, John by her side, their arms entwined.  They step together in perfect synchronisation, my niece Jessica leading the way, full of self importance as she scatters rose petals for the couple to walk on. 


Finally they reach the end of the Isle.  I watch as John turns towards Rachel and gently guides Christine to her side.  Then he takes his place beside me.


My best friend and I are getting married – she to her love and me to mine.


It is time.