Title: No Flag
Series: After Everything, Book One
Author: Liz Borino
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 06/07/2021
Length: 67100
Genre: Contemporary, LGBTQIA+, contemporary, family-drama, military, war, violence, terrorists, disabilities, amputee, bartender, Dom/sub relationship, domestic discipline, OCD
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Description
Captain Mike Kelley does not ignore his intuition, so when sexy bartender Will Hayes captures his heart, Mike embarks on a mission to win him over to a Domestic Discipline relationship. Will accepts with one caveat: Mike must promise not to renew his army contract.
Mike agrees, until the army invokes the stop-loss military policy to involuntarily extend his commission and send him back overseas, rendering him powerless and threatening everything he and Will have built. Will, left alone to cope with a new café, must rely on the support of old friends who may no longer be trustworthy.
A horrific terrorist attack on Mike’s outpost changes everything, leaving them both at a loss.
Mike awakens in a hospital with a devastating injury and no recollection of the attack. As the only survivor, his memory may be the key to national security. Mike struggles to cope with his injury and Will struggles with his new role in Mike’s life.
For Mike and Will, “No Flag” meant “come home alive.” Will has Mike back rather than a folded flag, but in the aftermath of war, can they rebuild the life they had before?
No Flag
Liz Borino © 2021
All Rights Reserved
Chores
October 15, 2011
“What are you doing?” Mike asked Will one Saturday.
Will diverted his eyes from his computer to give Mike his full attention, something he had to remind himself to do. “Comparing phone models. I’m due for an upgrade at the end of the month,” he answered. “Is there something you’d rather me do?”
Mike motioned him to his feet. “Yes, it’s time to teach you more of the housework system.”
Not what Will had hoped for. “I thought I finished after I mastered the order of the kitchen.”
Sending him a sideways glance as they walked through the kitchen, Mike said, “Interesting definition of mastery. The dishwasher could have fit three more plates the last time you ran it. And the cutting boards were in descending order as opposed to the required ascending order.” Mike pointed to the cutting boards above the stove.
Will looked from Mike to the boards and back again before lightly shaking his shoulders. “Mike, there is help out there for this. People are trained to fix your particular brand of crazy.”
Mike grinned. “Nope. I like my crazy. Laundry day.”
No, please. Will cringed behind Mike’s back. Even as his boyfriend’s standards relaxed, albeit slightly—bleaching the counters after every meal was no longer obligatory—clothes remained washed, folded, and ironed. All. The. Time. Now Will had to learn it? He thought about complaining that they didn’t live together yet, but they were getting much closer, so he was not likely to get far. Especially since Will now had a few drawers here. When they stopped inside the laundry room, Will said, “I’ll collect the clothes.”
“I brought the clothes basket down already. Start by separating it into towels, darks, lights, and whites,” Mike instructed.
“Can’t lights and whites go together?”
Mike leaned on the doorway. “Whites get bleached, lights do not.”
Will hid his smile. “But do they always need to be bleached?”
“That’s how you keep whites looking new.”
“But why?”
“Why does bleach work to keep whites white? I don’t know.”
With a straight face that should have earned him an Oscar, Will questioned, “No, why do whites have to always look super white? If you’re claiming white is superior, well, that might be racist.”
“Socks, underwear, and shirts.”
Ooh! He’s getting impatient now! Fully aware that he could wind up bent over the washer with a wooden spoon hitting his raised ass, Will pressed further, “But who are you trying to impress with your socks? And why does underwear need bleach? Are there stains I don’t know about?”
“Will.”
Will laughed. “I’m done.” Probably.
“Thank you.” Mike sorted through the four piles. “Tell me what’s wrong with the lights.”
Will inspected it and shook his head. “All joking aside, I don’t see the problem.”
Mike picked up a pair of khakis. “These are too dark for this cycle.”
“But these aren’t?” Will held up an identical pair.
“Those are four shades darker,” Mike said slowly. “You need to take training seriously or you’ll earn a punishment.”
I deserve him questioning my sincerity. Will reminded himself of his earlier jokes. “I swear I don’t see the difference. I also can’t distinguish different shades of red and green.”
“Color blind?” Mike’s voice had now lost its edge.
Will shrugged. “Never diagnosed.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve always been able to accommodate for it. It hasn’t made a difference, besides killing any potential for a career in fashion.” Not that Will desired one.
Mike stared at him for a long moment. “I’ll take care of the sorting. You need to make an appointment with an eye doctor.” Will opened his mouth to protest, but Mike cut him off. “Staying healthy is a rule, and that includes eye health.”
Will watched as Mike set the water temperature and mixed in the detergent, not bothering to argue about the eye doctor. Did the color blindness get him out of laundry duty? Because that would be awesome.
“You’ll focus on the folding for the time being,” Mike said. “Eventually ironing.”
Escaping completely was a pipe dream for sure.
Mike turned the washer on and led Will out of the laundry room. “Tell me about your phone.”
“Debating an Android or an iPhone.” Will showed him the models on the website. “I’ve never been an Apple fan, but the reviews are more consistent, and I’m not in love with the Windows phone I have now.”
“I like my iPhone. I think you’d use the apps more than I do.” Mike pulled Will into his chest as they lay down.
“Is the phone research done?” Will asked, not complaining. He slipped his hand up Mike’s shirt to rest his palm on the warm skin.
Mike kissed his head. “It’s a cell phone. How much research do you need?”
Will stared at him. “This coming from you? You, who researches every ingredient in every packaged food before buying it?”
“That’s important! You have to know what’s going in your body,” Mike emphasized.
“We spent thirty minutes in the cereal aisle investigating Cheerios,” Will countered.
“You wanted to try the Apple Cinnamon. I had to find out what they added.”
Will kissed his lips. “They added apples and cinnamon.” The comment earned him a swat on the ass, which he accepted, not that he had a choice. He and Mike spent the next hour cuddling and dozing on the couch. Mike had gotten up only to put the clothes in the washer into the dryer.
When the dryer buzzed, announcing the completion of the cycle, Mike tapped Will’s butt. “Time to fold.”
“What are we giving up?” Will jumped away from his threateningly raised hand.
Mike caught him and hissed, “I don’t give up, nor will I allow you.” He smiled. “You’ll do well to remember that.” He began by demonstrating how to properly fold each type of clothing: jeans, T-shirts, oxfords, khakis, underwear, and socks.
Will tried, at least for the first five items he folded. But after Mike forced him to refold a pair of briefs seven times because the seams didn’t match, Will lost his sense of humor. “I don’t see the difference between yours and mine,” he said after the sixth attempt.
“The pair I folded is much more compact than those. Maybe ironing them would help.”
“You want to iron underwear?”
“No, of course not. You might need to iron them to better see the lines,” Mike explained. Will inhaled, and on his exhale, folded it again. “I knew you could do it.” Mike patted his back.
By the time Will finished folding the first load, the dryer buzzed again. And they started the process once more. Rarely did Will get away with good enough, but he rushed through the sheets and towels so they could eat dinner before he had to bartend. He regretted his policy of not drinking at work and had a strong feeling that he would come to despise Saturdays.
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Liz Borino has been telling stories of varying truthfulness since she was a child. As an adult, she keeps the fiction on the page. She writes stories of human connection and intimacy, in all their forms. Her books feature flawed men who often risk everything for their love.
When Liz isn’t writing, she’s waking up early to edit, travel, and explore historic prisons and insane asylums—not (usually) all in one day. Liz lives in Philadelphia with her two cats.
