by Mike Shade
High Ball: Stepping Through the Mirror
Copyright © 2006 by Mike Shade
All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Torquere Press, PO Box 4351, Grand Junction, CO 81502.
ISBN: 1-933389-54-0
Printed in the United States of America.
Torquere Press electronic edition / March 2006
Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, PO Box 4351, Grand Junction, CO 81502.
www.torquerepress.com
Chapter One
Oh, man.
Man.
Someone'd... obliterated Kantrell. Not just killed him, not hurt him. Obliterated.
Boom. Pow. SMOOSH.
Oh, man. Kantrell. Lindy. Marz. Lefter. Pool. Freis. All of them.
Gone.
Quinn ran up a long flight of stairs, heart pounding, the flaking wallpaper fluttering down around him. Okay. Okay. He could cope. He could. Okay. Six out of seven was... Was... Was...
Was damned scary when you were number seven.
He could hear the boots of the guards on the floor below, the stairs.
Okay. Okay. Mirror. He needed a mirror. He had an escape mirror set up two blocks over. Just an unbroken mirror. Big enough to step through. Unbroken.
A shadow fell across him as he ran along the hallway, large and wide and belonging to a big man stepping out of the shadows. Green eyes stood out in a square, tanned face, a severe hair cut making the man look stern, mean.
"They here for you?" the man asked, voice deep and rumbling, eyes flicking down the hall toward the stairwell.
Lord and lady help him. He scrambled backwards, hand trying each doorknob. Open one. Just one. Open. Open.
Eventually a door opened and Quinn fell through it, the big man following, carefully pushing the door closed behind them and turning the lock. It was dim in the apartment, a scant bit of light pushing in through the dirty windows. One large finger pressed against his lips, those green eyes coming close. "Shh, or they'll hear you."
Hear him? How could anybody hear anything with his heart pounding so hard? Come on. Come on, Quinn. Think. Think. Kantrell knew you could... Okay. Big mirror. Just across the room.
One warm, heavy arm dropped around his shoulders and the green-eyed man smiled down at him. "You've got something up your sleeve."
He showed long, thin arms, covered in dust and scratches from running. No. Nothing. They shifted a step closer to the mirror. "Are you going to hurt me?"
"Not today." He was given a wink, the same warm finger that had touched his lips sliding down along one arm. "Are you always so literal?"
"Mostly." He took another step toward the mirror, stopping as the footsteps got closer. "They're coming."
"Then we'd better get out of here." Those green eyes looked at him expectantly.
"We?" Lady bright, please. What to do? What to... Okay. Okay, you know where you'll end up. You know how it feels. He'll be confused. You both travel then you run.
He pulled away, already starting the spell as he pulled a handful of dust from his pocket. The mirror darkened as his eyes hit it. "Open."
"That's a nice trick." One big hand grabbed hold of his, warm, solid, not letting go.
Quinn threw the dust, letting it capture the waves of energy in the air and focus his will, the black face of the mirror beginning to swirl, sparkle, shine. Okay. Okay. "Jump."
"Just like that? Okay." The hand around his tightened, the man's muscles tensing.
He threw himself into the mirror, praying that the man got disoriented enough to let go, loosen the tight grip. The world spun, shifted, tilted and then his feet hit asphalt.
The man with him landed with a jarring thump right behind him. Those long, muscled arms came around him, and they rolled, the big body curled around him taking the brunt of the landing. The air huffed out of him, eyes just rolling, trying to find purchase, an escape.
They came up, the man still wrapped around him, moving them to a corner. "Where are we?" came the growl.
"You were supposed to let go. I have to go." He tugged, his flat was only a few blocks away. Everybody told him, if things went wrong, go home and wait.
"I didn't want you to get hurt," he was told, the muscled body releasing him, but staying close. "So where are we going?"
He shook his head, confused, the image of what used to be Kantrell's head floating up in his mind's eye, the trademark silver hair exposed where the scalp had split, the dye not seeping in that far. Lady help him. "We? But... I don't know you. They told me to go home if something went wrong. So... you should go home and I should go home."
The big man acted as if they should know each other, but they shouldn't. Should they?
"Look, I'm not even sure where we are. Take me home and give me a nice strong drink so I can sort myself out. I helped you back there -- time for you to help me now. Reciprocity, yeah?"
"Mister, I've had a really, really bad day..." Something – a premonition, a sound, a something - spooked him, made his heart flutter and he nodded. "Come on. Hurry. Move. Now. Right now."
He shot down the alley, running as fast as he could. Something was coming. Something big.
***
Bram stayed on the magician's tail, not giving the man a chance to get away as they headed east. And then west. And then north and then east again.
It amused him, the way the man was trying to hide his trail. At the same time, the magician was certainly spooked and by something other than him. Or perhaps in addition to.
Maybe it was the pretty eyes that had him following.
They entered an old building, so non-descript anyone would miss it, ignore it. Forget it. The magician whispered soft and low and the door opened, seemingly by itself, the man slipping through.
Bram stayed close, knowing magicians were tricksome creatures -- he didn't want to find himself on the wrong end of a protection spell. He followed the badly-fitted clothes and the terribly dyed hair up one set of stairs and then another. The house seemed warmer now, less dreary.
It was rather intriguing, really. He'd never observed a magician before.
"Is it far?" he asked, wondering how much of the surroundings were real.
"No. No, I'm almost home. Almost home." He got another look at those fascinating eyes.
"Excellent." Because then he could do what he’d come here to do.
"You should go to your home. I have things to do. I have to wait."
"What are you waiting for? What have you got to do?" Bram couldn't go home. Not yet.
"They're all dead. All of them. All my friends. They... they're gone." There was a growing panic in those pale eyes.
Bram licked his lips, the magician’s emotion making him feel strong, powerful. He reached out, let his fingers stroke along the magician's arm. "You're not, though."
"No. Not yet." The mage's skin was smooth, warm, soft, and a slight tingle traveled through his hand. Only his training kept him from jerking his hand back at the sensation.
"Let’s get in to your place," he muttered. He hadn't expected that.
The mage nodded. "I'll give you something to drink, but then you'll have to go. I have to try and think."
A tiny, vermillion door opened up and the man slipped inside. He followed quickly, knowing well enough a magician could have all manner of traps ready, and looked around, curious to see how a magician would decorate their home, even if it was only a temporary one.
Bright and warm, the single room teemed with plant life and color and books. The place was messy, but it looked... purposeful. It was so di
fferent from his own bare, clean rooms. He should have hated it, but instead it made him smile, feel welcome almost.
More surprises.
He should just do what he'd come for and go back to his life.
"I...I have juice. Uh. Brandywine?"
"If you'll tell me your name. I don't drink with strangers."
Those eyes really were something else and Bram wondered if they were real or part of the disguise like the badly dyed hair.
"My name? Quinn. What’s yours?"
"Bram." He held out his hand and took Quinn's arm, that tingling going through him again as he gave Quinn the traditional greeting.
"Are you doing that?" he asked.
"Doing what? And Bram? That's a very strong name. Do you want juice or wine?"
"I'll have what you're having." He ignored the other question. If Quinn wasn't doing the tingly thing and didn't feel it? Bram was keeping it to himself.
"Okay." Quinn walked over to a wall, pulled a cloth away, exposing a mirror, Then, as Bram watched, Quinn just reached through, arm disappearing.
Bram's eyes widened and he lunged for Quinn, leaping across the space between them and wrapped his arms around Quinn's legs before the man could escape. He scanned the room for intruders or dangers, or other means for Quinn to get away; he hadn’t expected Quinn to try another runner so soon.
Those pale blue eyes blinked down at him, one arm reappearing with a bottle of orange juice. "Hey! I'm getting you one! I said I would!"
He stood up, brushing off his legs, feeling sheepish. "Thank you." He scanned the room again, glowering at the plants.
"You're welcome." Another reach and a bottle of a bright blue juice appeared, Quinn unscrewing the top and drinking deep.
"I said I'd have the same as you," he noted, handing the orange juice back and reaching for the blue bottle once Quinn had finished drinking.
"But. They're both juice." Quinn looked a little overwhelmed, a lot lost.
He took a nice long swig of Quinn's juice, trying not to let that look get to him, trying to ignore the way it pulled out all his protective instincts.
Tart, sweet, sharp -- the juice was cold and good and, for a moment, Bram thought he could taste Quinn.
He was curious and intrigued by this slender, bird-like man with the strange eyes.
Just that was almost reason enough for him to kill this man like he'd been sent to do, and to do it quickly. Somehow he found himself handing the juice bottle back instead, fingers lingering on Quinn's instead of letting go, caressing instead of hurting.
Quinn offered him a shaky smile, but the man didn't shatter, didn't give in to the panic and horror Bram knew he must be feeling.
The strength there was so incongruous with the man in front of him, with the gaudy clothes and the badly done hair and everything Bram had been led to believe about the type of people Quinn hung out with.
It drew him. This man drew him. Bram wondered, just before their lips pressed together, if he'd been bewitched.
A quiet gasp sounded, those eyes flying open. That maddening tingle zipped down his spine, settling in his balls, making him need. He pressed his tongue into Quinn's open mouth, watching those pale eyes, looking for some hint that he was affecting the magician as much as he was being affected.
Those eyes were huge, bright, the light in them fascinating. Then Quinn pressed closer, kiss clumsy, but hungry.
That hunger sparked his own, made it flame into something large and eager. His fingers curled around Quinn's arms, the tingles growing, seeming to move through him and leaving warmth and need behind them. Quinn pressed close, trembling so slightly, lips open and heated and flavored with juice.
He slid one hand down to cup Quinn's ass, finding it fit nicely in his hand and felt good under his fingers. He was hard, the man and the tingle conspiring to make him need. But he wasn't alone in that need, he could feel Quinn, cock eager against his thigh.
Quinn whimpered, their lips parting. "I... I don't. I mean, you feel so good and I was so scared before, that I was going to get hurt, too."
"The soldiers aren't chasing us anymore," Bram noted. "And I think you feel good, too." Better than anything had in a very long time.
Bram dove in for another kiss, refusing to think about that or about how he was here to kill this man. Quinn groaned, kissing him back, rubbing against his thigh, the need sharp and eager.
"Do you have a bed?" he asked. "Or a sittee?" Something to lean Quinn over so he could take the sweet ass that he was holding in his hands.
Quinn nodded, "Close your eyes."
He blinked as Quinn reached behind him, tugged a curtain from a mirror and shoved him, leaving him dazed and stunned in another tiny room dominated by a bed.
He fell back onto the bed, looking up at Quinn, feeling out of control. He didn't like the feeling, but at the same it was exciting, fascinating how this little man had him so off balance.
"They say that you need to touch after something terrible happens so you know you're not the one who's dead." The cloak and too-big clothes came off, revealing a slender body, cock crowned with pure silver curls. It made the fake black curls bouncing around the magician's shoulders even more wrong.
He reached out, intrigued, ran his fingers through the soft curls and then wrapped them around Quinn's cock. "You're alive, Quinn." With those words he leaned forward and took the pretty cock into his mouth.
The cry that answered his action was stunned and sweet, Quinn's entire body going tight, hips shaking under his hands. He hummed softly and slid his mouth down until his nose was buried in Quinn's curls. There he could smell the true essence of the magician, now he had a true taste of the man.
Addictive and honest, a little sweet, a little scared -- Quinn's scent surrounded him, made him cry out.
His head started moving, hands on Quinn's hips to encourage the man to move, to slide the long cock along his tongue as he increased the suction. His own prick was hard against the fly of his leathers, pushing, wanting out, wanting Quinn. The tingles hadn't abated either, just changed as their contact had.
His hand slid around, cupped Quinn's tight ballsac, fingers just brushing against something warm and metallic hidden behind.
A shudder moved through him and his fingers reached back again, searching out what he'd felt. A ring. A fucking ring embedded in the skin between balls and hole. Quinn groaned, cock throbbing in his lips.
He took hold of the ring between his fingers and tugged as he swallowed around Quinn's cock.
Quinn jerked, come filling his mouth, hot and bittersalty, Quinn’s cry almost sweet. Bram swallowed Quinn's come, cleaning the softening cock before letting it slide from his mouth.
"You're full of surprises," he said, looking up into those strange eyes.
"Surprises? Me?" Quinn swayed a little, blinking. "You have a wonderful mouth."
Bram grinned and leaned back on the bed on his elbows. "So I've been told. Of course it has left you satisfied while I'm..." He swept his hand across his body to draw Quinn's eyes to where his cock was trying to push right through the leather of his pants.
"That's not very fair at all, is it?" Quinn reached down, stroked his cock through the leather. "Pretty pants. Are they hot?"
He pushed up into Quinn's hand with a needy, little moan. Damn, he hadn't meant to be so wanton so fast. "Nope. Leather breathes. On the other hand, they make you hot, don't they?"
Quinn nodded, working the leathers open, fingers quick and sure.
"You ready for my surprise?" Nothing like that little ring of course, but he was very well hung.
"Uh-huh. I like surprises." The pretty eyes clouded for a second. "Well, good surprises."
"It's a good surprise." Bram grinned and nodded. "Come on, open 'em up and see what I have for you."
Quinn chuckled, humming low as his cock pushed free. "Pretty." His prick was taken in two long, slender hands. The electric tingle was huge.
"Fuck!" Bram lay back against the bright comforter, b
ody arching, bucking.
"Wow. You can feel me. My magic. That's rare." Quinn whispered, eyes sharp, clear, and the sensations grew and grew. "Surprise."
"Quinn! Fuck!" His hands fisted into the sheets, his body starting to shake as the tingles threatened to shoot him into the sky; he hadn’t expected Quinn to have another surprise of his own.
"Just breathe, it gets better." The whispers got louder, filling the air, Quinn staring into his eyes.
A small part of him threatened to panic -- Bram never let anyone take control like this -- but he tamped that down, the pleasure too good to give up, too unique.
