Peter's eyelids fluttered as he awoke to the sound of the cuckoo clock doorbell. He held quite still for a moment, and then closed his eyes again, shamelessly trying to bring back the image. He reached down and touched himself tentatively under the sheets. He was hard and aching, his flesh crying out piteously for the dream's reality.
Cuckoo…cuckoo…cuckoo!
What had ever possessed his nephew to fix that dratted clock? He'd broken it with magic in a fit of annoyance once upon a time, and guiltily enjoyed the silence ever since. Guiltily, because he didn't use his magic to cause hurt; he simply didn't. Even when and where it was legal he never would.
Such as dueling magic. Wizards fighting one another in a ring, hurting and battering one another, not only with fists but with spells. How could that be legal while letting a man chance the color of his skin was not? He shook his head, waking up further as the beautiful image faded from his mind, replaced by troubling thoughts and feelings. He gave himself one last regretful stroke and gave up. Taking care of his own sexual desires was becoming difficult these days. Anxiety followed him even here. Perhaps especially here.
Peter's parents had been of the older generation who did not so much as admit that men could be attracted sexually to men, much less that it might be something less than evil if they were. Peter had repressed his feelings for a long time—and then, when he was older and alone in the world, had made the grave mistake of falling for Frederick, a man so far from admitting his own feelings that he'd ended up marrying a woman to escape what they felt for one another.
Peter still missed him sometimes, though little enough had ever happened between them. He clutched those poor scraps of memory close even to this day. But even though he'd accepted his true nature some time ago, he still often felt guilty for touching himself, much less thinking of acting on his feelings with another man.
He sighed and dragged himself out of bed, his need already disappearing, leaving him feeling unfulfilled and shamefully weak. Gone were the desperate days of his youth when he'd had to release his need with his hands. But he still had longings, and he still had desires, even if they weren't as strong as they'd been when he was young. In some ways, though, the loneliness was stronger. He had a good life, a happy life even, but sometimes it was very much a lonely life.
Well, it was his own fault. He'd curled around his grief like a wounded animal, and then healed that way too, quietly alone. He'd never searched out another relationship, and over the years, no one had pursued him. I suppose such things don't just happen more than once. You have to try to find somebody, and I didn't. Now he was old and alone and it was entirely on his own head.
He pulled on a dressing gown and walked slowly downstairs, feeling his age and emotional weariness more than he would later in the day, with some coffee in him and some magic to enjoy. For now, the loneliness hovered close, especially after that explicit dream. Lee had been so utterly enticing and his smile so encouraging, as if he could never think less of Peter for wanting to touch him. As if he would be encouraging and patient; as if they had all the time in the world…
He was still thinking about Lee when he opened the front door. The cuckoo stopped its incessant calling, and he blinked at none other than Lee on his front step.
Peter's mouth fell open.
I conjured him, he thought for one wild second. But no, Lee was real, reaching up to scratch at short brown hair, smiling apologetically. In his hand he held a small white paper parcel.
It was early, not quite dawn. Workmen, wagons, and dray horses filled the streets, clattering away to their tasks. The sunlight was just starting to turn the sky from dark gray to a paler gray.
"Um, sorry. Did I waken you? I apologize. I can come back later. I forgot not everyone gets up so early."
"No. Come in." He caught Lee's sleeve to keep him from turning away. Then he blushed and dropped it. "Please—I'm very glad to see you. Just surprised." Very glad, he thought, noticing his cock had sat up and taken notice. Traitor! "Do come in." He stepped back, holding the door open, and Lee stepped into the unlit shop.
"I'll just turn on a light." Peter hurried past, tripping on the end of his dressing gown's tie and nearly falling on his face.
"Careful!" Lee shot a hand out and caught him in a firm, sturdy grip.
"Ah, thank you." He could hardly breathe. Lee had a strong, warm hand. Tough but not rough. He released Peter slowly.
Peter moved away carefully, not daring to look back in case Lee saw his expression. He turned on a little magic light, and then another. They cast a warm glow around the pre-dawn room. Most people preferred gas, but these were easy for him to maintain and reduced the risk of fire in his crowded little shop.
He looked around at his poorly-organized shop, slightly different-looking at this early hour, and felt some of his anxiety ease. Should he open earlier in general? Perhaps some of the factory workers or dray drivers would stop on their way to work.
"What did you want?" he asked, turning to face Lee at last, more or less in control of himself. "I'm afraid your attraction spell isn't ready yet."
"Oh, ah, I assumed it wouldn't be." Now Lee was blushing; goodness, was it epidemic? He shifted slightly, tugging at his collar and avoiding looking at Peter. "I just thought… I'd bring your breakfast. Because it's rather a lot of work. I can at least feed you while you're doing it for me. I mean, while you're—" He cleared his throat. "While you're making it. Creating it. Whatever you do with magic."
Peter smiled. "You didn't need to do that, but thank you. Will you stay and eat it with me, or must you get back right away?"
Lee's smile held relief. "Yes, thanks. I can stop for a bit. Everything that will fit in the ovens is already baking, and my assistant is watching over it all. By the way, the spoons work brilliantly." He moved to the consulting desk easily and sat in his seat from yesterday. Then, carefully, he undid the white paper, revealing a fried pie, the lard crust crispy and whitish.
Peter made a pleased sound in his throat. "What a treat that looks! And fresh, too, by the smell. What's in it?" He seated himself with enthusiasm.
"Cherry," said Lee, smiling his irresistible smile, his eyes alight. He wriggled back into his seat to get comfortable and crossed one leg over his knee. "Do you mind sharing it with me, now you've seen it?"
"Of course not. I would… what was that you said yesterday? Blow up like a balloon?" He pinched off a corner of the pie, hardly able to bear another moment without tasting it. Crispy crust and tart filling set his taste buds a-dancing. It wasn't too sweet, unlike most pies. He licked his fingers, and then reached for more with his other hand.
Lee was staring at him, his lips slightly parted.
"What?" asked Peter, reaching up to cover his mouth. Had he made a mess? Were there crumbs on his face?
Lee shook his head slightly, as if bringing himself back from a daydream. "Sorry. Distracted. Um, could you make us some more of that magical coffee?" He gave Peter a big-eyed, mischievously pleading look. "Please? I'm addicted."
Peter shook his head, smiling, and rose. He moved towards the coffee pot, where he'd left it yesterday on the heating element, and took it to the sink. Just now he felt as if he could float, light on his feet and not likely to trip over even the roughest obstacle. He started the coffee easily, too.
"I like to see you work," said Lee softly. "You concentrate so beautifully, and you're so very clever. Things seem to make sense when you do them, like you make the world less chaotic." He spoke dreamily, as if he didn't realize he was talking aloud.
Peter cast him a perplexed look. "I didn't realized you'd ever watched me work."
Lee looked down at the table and drummed his fingers. "Oh, well, yes, sometimes. When I've had to wait my turn and such. Sorry, come back and help me eat this or I'll finish it on my own!"
Peter smiled and returned, and together between them they ate the fried pie down to nothing, then licked their fingers, patted the greasy paper, and ate the crumbs too.
&nb
sp; "Do you make these often? I'll have to come to your bakery for breakfast."
"Would you?" Lee straightened up, face brightening. "Yes, my assistant and I make them every morning—mix and roll out the dough. It needs to be thick. Then I make the filling while he heats the oil. I make it a little different every day, with whatever fruit I have on hand. Occasionally I make meat pie instead, if there's no fruit going for a good price. But the fruit pies are the best-selling. Workmen buy them as they walk past for breakfast, and women buy them when they come to get bread." He smiled. "I never have any left over at the end of the day, and I can't say that about even cinnamon rolls."
"Oh, I love cinnamon rolls," said Peter without thinking.
"Really?" Lee gave him an alert look. "I'll bring you some tomorrow."
"Er, sorry, I wasn't trying to hint." He scraped a hand awkwardly back through his hair, and then realized his fingers weren't quite clean from eating the pie and flushed, lowering his hand quickly.
"No, no. I didn't think you were." Lee's hand closed quickly over one of Peter's wrists, giving him a light, encouraging squeeze that left the skin warm and tingling and crying out, missing the contact instantly he moved away.
Peter cleared his throat. "Well, thank you. But I really ought to come by your shop and pay for these treats, instead of just letting you spoil me like this."
Lee's smile was unreadable. "But I like to. And…and don't forget I wouldn't get to taste your magic coffee otherwise!"
Peter got up to check on it, and to hide his discomfort and arousal. "Oh, I'll add a little magic to some beans for you, if you like. You can make it yourself."
"Would you?"
Peter jumped, and looked at Lee, who had moved quite close, and stood at his elbow now, looking at him so closely it was embarrassing.
"I mean, is that okay? And could you do the same for sugar and flour?"
Peter blinked. "Er, yes, of course. Don't you already get your flour and sugar magic'd? It can make a difference. It's all a matter of degrees, of course. One can't enchant it enough to make people eat it, but one can enhance the eating experience. Nothing addictive, but making it tastier is quite ordinary. The former is illegal, the latter something everyone uses. Or I thought everyone did." He smiled hesitantly at Lee. "Don't you?"
Lee shook his head and looked at the floor. "It's twice as expensive. I'm barely pulling even some of the time as it is. My competitors can afford better ingredients, more employees, and a better location." He shrugged. "Right now I use extra butter for more flavor. It's much cheaper than the magically enhanced flours and sugars. I thought you knew that."
Peter cleared his throat. "Oh dear. No, I didn't know." He put a hand on Lee's shoulder. "Why don't I come by and do that for you this afternoon? The butter too, and any other ingredients you have handy. It won't take me long, and it'll be easy in smallish batches. It takes a lot of magic to do a lot of flour at once; that must be why it's more expensive from the store." He supposed it was one of those things people with magic took for granted—the ability to enhance food—and other people without simply had to do without. He felt a burst of pity for Lee, and hoped it didn't show on his face.
"I suppose," mumbled Lee. "Are you certain you don't mind?"
"Of course not. Just let me try one of your cinnamon rolls."
Lee looked relieved and proud. He nodded faintly, not taking his gaze off Peter. He cleared his throat. "Will you come by this afternoon, if that's not too soon?"
"Oh, that should be fine. I'm not terribly busy on a Wednesday."
"I'll see you then. Now how about some of that coffee before I must dash?" He held out a mug, smiling impishly—a look that reminded Peter of his dream a bit too forcefully.
He turned away, clearing his throat. "Of course. And, ah, the… the attraction spell won't be ready for a few days yet."
"I perfectly understand," said Lee, speaking so close to him that his breath was warm against Peter's shoulder. "I'm in no hurry at all."
#
It was odd to be in Lee's shop behind the counter. "Mister! Mister! I want a bun!" called a little girl, standing on tiptoes and peering up at him, frowning. "You're the magic man! Are they magic buns?"
He stood frozen, uncertain how to answer her. Children didn't usually bother him in his shop. Their parents looked after them or kept them out.
"Well, mister? Are they magic?"
Then Lee was there, smiling down at the child and taking her money in exchange for a big, fat, nut-crusted bun. Her eyes grew big.
"They're not magic yet, but they will be," Lee told her seriously, and she nodded happily and walked away, her mouth full.
Peter cast Lee a perturbed look. "I didn't realize it would be so busy."
Lee laughed. "No? Well, I'm lucky, aren't I?" He gave Peter his hopeful half-smile, almost conciliatory. "I hope you know I'm not asking you to do this for free. I want you to put it on my bill."
Peter smiled, feeling almost debonair for once. "And I suppose you put all that food on my bill? Come on. Show me your stores."
"'Lead on, Macduff!'" said Lee, opening his arms theatrically wide and shooting Peter a quick, hopeful glance.
"I believe it's 'Lay on.'"
"Oh, well, that too!"
Peter tried to suppress a smile, but his mouth twitched. He had the oddest feeling that if he gave in and laughed, he'd never be able to stop. Lee saw his expression, and his smile widened, faintly smug. He put a hand on Peter's elbow, gently steering him. "Here, let me show you the stores. I can't wait to watch you work your magic."
He tingled at the touch and could barely keep back a silly, infatuated smile. Lee would be in a romantic relationship soon, probably married and having babies, and he wouldn't have time for foolishness and teasing.
But ah, it was nice to spend these few moments where Lee's attention was all for him. Peter would settle for it; of course he would.
#
That evening, after the shop was closed, Peter still worked, humming quietly to himself. Under his hands, a sprinkling of herbs and magic came together, finely tuned for the sensitive spell that would help Lee.
Strong, plain herbs, mint and sage and parsley to hold up to delicate magic, to store it securely till ready for use. Attraction spells were sensitive things; once packaged, simply ripping the paper packet open in the presence of the beloved would reveal all. Sometimes more than would be wished; he was trying to make this spell as gentle as possible, so the girl wouldn't receive a shock. Emotions could be delicate things, and care needed taken on this sort of spell.
"Hello, Uncle!" shouted his nephew, Joel. He slammed the door behind him, making the cuckoo alarm yelp and the window-glass rattle. "Miss me? I was upstate, a little on-site garden magic, when who should I meet but—oh, hello, is that an attraction spell? Mm, I love those! Who's it for, dearest uncle?" He sprang up to Peter and put an arm around his waist, spinning him around like a dance. "Has my favorite uncle finally fallen in love? Oh lord, that's almost a tongue twister!" He laughed, making his freckles dance across his face.
Peter straightened his waistcoat jacket and his askew glasses, giving Joel a pointed, disapproving look. "Less wildness in this shop, Joel."
Joel laughed and flung himself into a tattered armchair, crossing his legs at the ankle. He was a good boy generally, but he could be scattered and wild, and he chattered like a magpie. He reached up and scratched at his hair, eyes squeezing shut.
Clearly, he'd worn himself out. Likely he'd met up with school friends and partied for several days straight before remembering to come home. His mother would be annoyed, but his workplace expected no better from him at this point, which was why he worked only on commission, not salary, despite his skill with magic.
"The spell isn't for me," Peter corrected with some heat. "It's for Lee down the street."
He turned back to face the counter and continued with his delicate mixture of herbs and spices. They must all be ground together very finely as he added magic in jus
t the right, delicate quantities. Really, there was nothing quite like making a truly delicate spell for the non-magical.
For himself, he could practically snap his fingers and have magic turn cartwheels. Ah, but the challenge was to make it accessible to everyone! And what an enjoyable challenge it was. For this one, he was taking great pains and delicate care. Lee deserved the best to woo his whey-faced girl.
"Oooh dear," said Joel, in a rather affected tone, and Peter suppressed a sigh. Joel was the sort of young man who said "veddy veddy" in a fake accent and owned a top hat but nearly always forgot any sort of hat. He wore garishly colorful suits and got kicked out of restaurants for throwing bread rolls with his friends. He could be responsible when he chose—very responsible—but he rarely chose to. Veddy, veddy rarely.
"That baker?" The boy sat up; the chair creaked in protest.
He'd gotten it just today in trade from a man who couldn't afford his arthritis balm. Peter didn't want to turn him away, and besides, another chair was always good for business—somewhere for people to sit—as long as he could find a spot out of the way for it. Not everyone would, like Joel, be utterly happy to sit in the middle of the room, pulling as much attention to himself as he possibly could.
"Yes, the baker," said Peter coldly. One would think even Joel could remember the names of the people around here. He was usually in several times a week, and the neighbors were often around.
"That brown-haired man you like?"
He put down his mortar and pestle with a hard thump and turned to glare at Joel, cheeks heating. "That's enough."
Joel spread his hands. "Why? There's no one here." A grin slid up his face. "You do like him. I don't know how you can make a spell like that for him. Although…" His face grew thoughtful, and he grinned and shook his head. "No, he wouldn't be that clever, would he? Flour-apron man. Heh. That would be nice, though." He ran a hand back vainly through his red hair, giving it a little shake. Annoyingly, it fell just into place; Peter was certain he did it with magic, though he'd never mastered that sort himself. Nothing he did seemed to make him look any more appealing, or less mousy and bookish.
Magic for Lee (sweet gay romance) Page 2
