Bedknobs and Brimstone
By K.L. Noone
“Um,” Justin said. “Oops?”
He and Kris were both looking at the remains of their bed, which smoldered pointedly back at them. The air tasted like smoke, definitely no longer like s*x and sweetness and sweat. The large scorch-mark in the center suggested that they’d need a new mattress, and probably a whole new bed, in the very near future.
Kris ran a hand through his hair, did not sigh out loud—he’d liked that bed; he also loved his husband—and said, “Are you all right?” Justin took priority over the furniture, no matter the circumstances. The furniture knew this and did not mind.
“Honestly? I don’t know.” Justin, still naked and shaken, sat down gingerly on an unburnt corner of mattress. His hair, his faint horns, even his teeth, remained wreathed
