City Falcon Release Day – Excerpt #3

August 26, 2011

As a fitting closure to this day, I’ll give you another little snippet. It’s actually one of my personal favorites. While writing this scene, I listened to Mark Knopfler’s “Sailing to Philadelphia” – I think the music fits the mood perfectly.

Without further ado, here’s to you:

They were back at runway 4L by then, standing at its very end where it jutted out into  Jamaica Bay. The landing lights were already on, and airplanes landed and took off half a mile behind them. Hunter used his field glass to scan the skies above Joco Marsh, speaking into his handheld, his voice occasionally drifting back to Mark between the roar of the planes.

Mark was leaning against the hood of his car, arms crossed, watching him. Hunter was a dark silhouette against the dramatic sky, hair and beard hued a coppery, golden red by the sun. The wind caught in the loose strands that had escaped his braid and tugged at his loose pants, outlining his long legs. He looked like something not quite from this world, some ancient spirit turned corporeal maybe, ready to leave solid ground at any moment.

He is gorgeous, thought Mark. A desire to touch, to make sure with his very own hands Hunter was solid and real, grew on Mark until he couldn’t stand it any longer.

They were all alone out here. The only ones who’d be able to see them were the pilots of the planes above, and they were supposed to be busy with other things.

He pushed off the car and closed the distance between them, enfolding Hunter in his arms from behind. Hunter lowered his field glass and leaned back into Mark’s embrace.

“I just called Greg,” he said. “We’re done here.”

Mark pressed a small kiss to the corner of Hunter’s mouth, pulling him a bit closer. “Good.”

They didn’t move, though. Mark’s hands rested on Hunter’s chest, his fingertips stroking lazily, back and forth. Hunter’s free hand covered Mark’s, thumb brushing the back of Mark’s hand. They watched the sun set in silence.

“This is beautiful,” Mark said softly, not only referring to the spectacle before them.

Hunter leaned his head back, searching for Mark’s lips. They kissed long, but gentle, without urgency, their lips barely open, painfully tender.

“You’re a romantic, Mark Bowman,” Hunter said, but he smiled as he turned his face to the horizon again.

Mark trailed his lips up and down the side of Hunter’s neck. “Is this bad?”

Hunter tilted his head to give Mark better access. “No, it is not. Not at all,” he said.

After a while, Hunter started to hum, that low, calming sound he used with the birds. He threaded his fingers through Mark’s and squeezed.

Mark wished he could stop time. He could have stood there forever, holding Hunter in his arms, with the wind caressing them, surrounded by peace.

To all of you who took the time to stop by today for my little party: Thank You! I hope you had as much fun reading through the posts as I had writing them.

If you took the quiz, come by here next week or check out my blog (http://felfaber.blogspot.com) or my Goodreads profile (http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4647473.Feliz_Faber) for the winner.


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