by Willa Okati
“Did not.”
“I don’t believe you. Was it the vodka? I had some vodka. Lily brought me a cup. Did you drug the drink?”
“Lily?” Martin cocked his head. “Who? And heavens, no, no drugs.”
“Damn it, you influenced me somehow. I know you did!”
“Maybe a little. A dash of enchantment. I told you I would. I also told you you’d feel wonderful when you let your walls down. And you did. Kind of easy to tell when it’s been good for a man, if you know what I mean. Like I said, it’s magic, baby.” Martin waggled his eyebrows, a move Harrison found simultaneously annoying yet sexy as hell, damn him.
“You -- you --” he sputtered.
“Me. Me.” Martin forestalled the gathering wrath of Harrison’s intended rant by grinning like an imp. “So. What do you think about magic now?”
Chapter Five
Martin didn’t wait for Harrison to answer.
“Tea?” the Magician suggested chirpily, without preamble. Light and flippant replaced blazing sexuality as easily as putting on a mask.
A mask, yes. Harrison thought he was beginning to understand a bit more about Martin. The man wore a comedy mask over something darker and probably dangerous.
Warned and wary now, he waited to see what Martin would do next.
Apparently, burble like a British grandmother. “Yes, absolutely,” Martin said, rubbing his hands together. “I do love a little pick-me-up. Tea for two. How do you take yours, cream and sugar?” He stepped lightly away, teasing Harrison with the sight of his pert ass.
Deliberately teasing. Harrison was sure of the Magician’s motivations. One quick fuck, and a man like Martin would be cock-sure certain he could lead Harrison around by a leash encircling his dick.
One quick fuck... Leash around his dick...
“God!” Harrison couldn’t stop the epithet from escaping him in a flash of tangled emotions. Pleasure and displeasure, placid acceptance and fiery anger, plus submission and rebellion were all knotted up together. “God Almighty!”
“I don’t think He’s in at the moment. Cream and sugar, yes or no?”
“No sugar, thanks. I mean -- wait -- damn it, Martin!”
“Language, language. Don’t get your tighty-whities in a bunch. Let me finish with the tea, and then we’ll have the talk you’re just about to blow a gasket over.” He turned his head just far enough for Harrison to see him wink. “Pet.”
Pet! That little... I ought to... fuck! “All right, that’s it.” Harrison gathered his courage. “Open the door, Martin. I’m leaving.”
“Hmm? Oh. The door’s unlocked. I never threw the deadbolt. Go on ahead, if you want. But you’ll look kind of silly waltzing around the club naked, won’t you?”
“Naked? I had my pants on. I...” Harrison stared down at himself. When in blue blazes had he discarded both trousers and shirt, not to mention underwear, socks, and shoes? “More of your so-called hocus pocus? Ha, ha. Funny guy, but the joke’s over. Give me back my clothes, and I mean right this second.”
Martin tapped his chin, clearly not giving the idea any serious thought. “Hmm... no, don’t think so. Why don’t you look for them? A smart man like you shouldn’t have any trouble hunting down a pair of pants and a shirt. Unless I’ve magicked them away. That’d be terribly wicked of me, wouldn’t it?”
Which Harrison supposed meant his clothes were so well hidden he didn’t have a snowball’s chance of finding them. Blasted parlor tricks!
All he could do, apparently, was wait for Martin to get tired of his games.
And that’ll happen soon, won’t it? Riiiiight.
Harrison seethed as he watched Martin head for a velvet-shrouded something-or-another in a corner. He snorted when the elaborate drape came off to reveal a dinged-up ancient microwave and a scarred dorm refrigerator. A small cabinet, too, which Martin bent to open and dig through. The man hummed all the while, cheerful as a chipmunk, totally unashamed of being nude and marked by sweat and spunk. A centerfold from Hunks of the Weird making tea. Tea!
Harrison rubbed the bridge of his nose. I have truly lost my mind. What on earth was I thinking? No, wait, I wasn’t thinking, there’s the problem. I actually had sex with this man? This near-stranger? Lord help me if this story ever gets out. Not just a stranger, a self-styled “Magician.”
Harrison recalled the stinging spanks to his ass and winced, not in pain, but at the memory of how he had, appallingly enough, enjoyed them.
Addendum: a “Magician” who seems to get off on a dab of BDSM. Who is capable of convincing others they like those sorts of games. Far too easily convinces them. I think I may be in over my head. Lord, I need to cut my losses and go home, don’t I?
Harrison hesitated. He should go home, yes.
A part of him didn’t want to.
Infuriating!
“I don’t want any tea, thank you,” Harrison said, a crisply starched edge returning to his voice. The familiar authoritative, if stiff, sound gave him a boost of self-confidence. “You’d only want to read the leaves or some such rubbish.”
“D’uh, but as it happens I’m just good and thirsty. Let’s see. Peppermint Twist or Orange Zinger? Not chamomile. I want you nice and wide awake all night long.” Martin plucked a tea bag out of a box and held it dangling by the string, eyeing the thing with impish good humor. “You know, any old two-penny fortune-teller can read tea leaves. Reading tea bags, now, that takes talent.”
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“Is it working?”
“I, for one, am not amused.”
“Pity. And there you go again, frowning and getting all high-and-mighty -- just when you were coming along so nicely a bare few minutes ago. I particularly liked the way you pleaded to spurt like your life was at stake. Mmm, a man who begs. Delicious.”
Harrison’s cheek began to tic with embarrassment and irritation. “What you witnessed was an alarming deviation that I know for damn sure you tricked me into.”
“Did I?”
“I don’t do things like what we just did.”
“Don’t you? I was there, and I seem to remember the details in living color.”
“Under normal circumstances, notice the emphasis on ‘normal,’ no, I emphatically do not. And I especially don’t have sex with strangers. You... you did... something. You’ve already admitted you lowered my inhibitions through some trick or another, even if you won’t tell me what else you did.” Harrison scowled. “Consider yourself lucky I’m not planning to sue you for sexual harassment and assault.”
Martin cackled as he dropped a tea bag into each of two mugs he hauled out of his cabinet. One read “Gay By Birth, Fabulous By Choice,” and the other bore an amazingly tacky rainbow flag. “Good luck, darling. It’s not that easy to get Amour Magique’s employees in a court of law. Besides, I know why you won’t sue. You enjoyed yourself. Didn’t you?”
Harrison’s lips tightened into a thin line.
“Thought so.” Martin opened the microwave door and popped their mugs inside. “Less than a minute on high, and voila, piping hot water. I love modern technology, don’t you? Do you remember what life was like before these little nukers? God, how did we ever get by?”
“I’m old enough to remember when these first became popular, yes. We managed just fine with stove-tops and percolators and ovens.”
“Ah, but do you remember how magical it was the first time you saw a microwave in action?” Martin sighed wistfully. “A little box with buttons. Pop in a frozen hamburger, listen to it hum, and ding! A hot dinner in a fraction of the usual time.” Apparently still content to rattle along and amuse himself, Martin laughed. “Actually, you know, the first time I got to use one all I had handy was Gatorade. I boiled the stuff and drank it. God, that was nasty. But enchanting.”
He drummed his fingers on the top of the microwave. “Magic. People from once upon a time would think our modern society is full of magic. Metal carriages traveling at astonishing speeds with no ne
ed for horses or mules. Flying machines. Television. Cell phones. iPods. Once upon an even older time, there were those who laughed at the notion that steam could drive a train engine. It’s a mad, mad, mad, mad, mad world, isn’t it?”
“Your point being?” Harrison asked suspiciously.
Martin flashed him a look of disgust. “Aren’t you paying attention? I’m talking about magic, of course. Lesson one: everything I do comes around to magic in the end. What you think cannot be real can become reality if you’re willing to believe in the power.”
“What does that have to do with microwaves and iPods?” Harrison was honestly confused.
“Technology is a case in point. What people once dreamed of, scientists have now created. Believe me, they dreamed hard before what we have came about. John Dee -- Good Queen Bess’s astrologer -- would have sold his soul for one of these babies.” Martin patted his refrigerator.
Harrison’s head began to ache. “You’re going to drive me out of my mind.”
“Blast. I thought I already had.” Martin peered across the room. “I think I see bits of it still dribbling down the wall...”
Harrison blushed. “A Magician who’s also a clown. Do you do parties?”
“Depends on what kind of party.”
“Figures. Look, do you really have to talk in circles around everything? Magic, technology -- they don’t belong together no matter what you say.”
“There’s where you’re wrong. They belong side by side. Two sides to every coin, two faces to every mirror. You’ll get the hang of it eventually. Right now, you keep on trying to pigeonhole everything into neat boxes, and that’ll give you a migraine, honest to Bob.”
The microwave dinged. Martin pulled out two steaming mugs of tea and carried them gingerly to the card-reading table. “Pull up a chair. If you behave yourself, I’ll even tell you where you can find some of your clothes.”
“One sock, probably.”
“Well, if you were creative, one sock would cover your, heh, dignity.”
Harrison grunted in disgust, but drew his chair toward the table. Up close, the wooden piece of furniture really did prove to be a work of art: elegantly shaped stones were arranged in a pattern that filled a sunken chamber beneath glass polished to mirror brightness.
Martin intercepted Harrison’s question, answering it before Harrison could ask. “Here’s a coaster.” He tossed over a cardboard square bearing the logo of a popular brand of lager, the kind you chewed rather than drank. “Now that we’re all cozy, it’s your turn to talk. Go ahead, I’m a big boy. Let me have it.” Martin took a sip of his tea, glittering with mockery and faux-interest.
Harrison opened his mouth, fully intending to let rip... then stopped. He glared at Martin, who returned his look with one of utter innocence. They held their gaze for a moment before Harrison sighed. “Oh, what’s the use?” He picked up his mug and tasted the tea. “Not bad.”
“I’m a wizard in the kitchen.” Martin chortled at his own joke while Harrison glowered. “Oh, now, put the face away. You like me, and you know it. I’m sexy and I’m entertaining, aren’t I? Come on, ’fess up. Be a good boy and I’ll tell you where your shoes are.”
Harrison considered holding out for sheer spite but knew Martin would merely find a new way to needle him. “Fine. I do like you. You’re annoying and smart-mouthed and disgustingly cheerful, not to mention probably sexually promiscuous enough to make a Vegas madam blush, but all the same -- and God knows why -- I like you.” He swallowed another gulp of tea. Really, amazingly good stuff. “The, er, Master/slave thing does need to stop, though.”
“It’ll stop when I say it stops, pet. No, don’t even try to put up a fuss over the nickname. I’ll call you ‘pet’ if I damn well feel like it. But you answered the question, so you get a reward. Your shoes are under the chair you’re sitting in. The toes are just peeping out. See?”
Harrison looked. Lo and behold, they were there. “Very helpful of you. Wingtips and a dangling willie, even if covered with a sock, ought to be acceptable dress code in Amour Magique, right?” Sarcasm dripped from his words.
Martin raised an eyebrow. “Have you been down to the dance floor? No? There are men boogieing the night away with even less on.”
“Hooray for them, more power to the naked youth, but I can’t very well walk out of here with nothing but my shoes on, and you know it, don’t you?”
“Why, Harrison, one would almost think you believed I could read your mind.”
“No. Like you or dislike you, one could believe you are a conniving, overly mischievous imp who delights in playing pranks. Either that or you’re getting major league jollies over seeing me naked and unable to do anything to spare my ‘dignity.’”
“Well, you know what they say. No shoes, no shirt, no service.” Martin paused in thought. “Those signs never do say anything about no pants.”
Harrison drummed his fingers. “Are you going to barrel off on a tangent again?”
“Naturally, pet. It’s a specialty of mine. Where was I? Ah, yes. Signs. Signs and portents, portents and signs. Does ‘STOP’ really mean ‘stop’? Not from what I’ve heard about today’s drivers. The spell-casters behind traffic signs and signals don’t know their balls from their buttocks, I swear.” Martin tilted his mug back to drain the last drops of his tea and came up with a teasing grin. “Ooh, tough room. The scorn is thick as thieves in here tonight, isn’t it? So you still don’t believe in magic, pet?”
Harrison ground his teeth together at the sound of the sobriquet. “Do you want me to be honest?”
“Absolutely, darling.”
“Then, no, I do not. Magic flies in the face of science. Everything you referred to, the technology of our modern age, is born of science, not arcane ritual. Science and reality are what I believe in.”
“Science. Bah. What you call science is more or less just adding vinegar to baking soda and watching a miniature, stinky volcano bubble up. Chemical reactions do have their own power, mind, but they’re nothing when compared with the mojo to be found in pure belief and the great force of will. This club and this world - they run on magic. Magic is in everything from great to small.”
“So you say. It’s all a big game to you. Hypnosis, sexual magnetism, hands quicker than the eye -- all you know is how to use those to your advantage. I don’t believe in magic, and I don’t believe you’re a Magician, big ‘M’ or not.”
“Sheesh!” Martin sat back and scowled at Harrison. “You’re a hella difficult nut to crack, aren’t you? I’ll keep trying, though who knows why. Here.” He held out his hand. “No need to cross my palm with silver; you already sprinkled it with spume. I’ll read your fortune for free.”
Harrison jerked both hands away, tightening them into fists. “You most certainly will not. Give me my pants.”
“Mithros give me strength. Even for such a good fuck, I’m starting to wonder if you’re worth all this trouble.”
“Meow?”
Harrison jumped so high he almost -- er -- levitated out of his chair.
Martin laughed until tears ran down his cheeks. “Don’t tell me a little cat spooked you! Hello, down there. Would you care to join us, noble lady?”
A small, sleek black cat jumped up on the table and arranged herself in a regal Egyptian pose. “Merowwl.”
“Well! This is an unexpected turn of events.” Martin inclined his head as if humbling himself before a queen. “It’s a very pleasant surprise, though, mind. Greetings, Lady. Playing at masques again, are you? I must say you look absolutely fetching in this shape.”
“What?” Harrison blurted, baffled.
Martin ignored him. “Would you like a taste of tea? I can make another cup. Oh, wait, no, cats don’t really drink tea as a rule, although I’ve known a few who did. But I digress. How about a saucer of cream, instead?”
The cat chirruped and licked her whiskers.
Harrison had, he decided, just about passed the point where he could muster up any in
dignation at Martin’s shenanigans. “You’re Dr. Doolittle now, I presume?”
“Hush.” Martin hopped up and headed back to his makeshift kitchen corner. He bent over at the waist, waggling his bare ass at Harrison blatantly as a leer, and rummaged about until he gave a grunt of satisfaction. “Here we are, Lady. Fresh cream. Full fat. You don’t need to worry about gaining weight. And look what I have up my sleeve, hey?”
“No sleeves,” Harrison interjected dryly.
“You, pet, have absolutely no sense of showmanship. Ta-da!” Martin produced an airplane complimentary-sized bottle of José Cuervo. “A nip of this in your cream, Lady?”
The cat purred with enough force that her wee compact body shook.
“I thought so.” Martin returned to the table, put down a generously sized blue saucer -- was that real china? -- poured in rich whipped cream, and added almost half the mini bottle of tequila. “Eat and enjoy. Drink and enjoy. Whichever.”
“Good heavens,” was all Harrison could say as he watched the feline go to town on her treat. “I’ve heard of cats liking alcohol, but I thought that was an urban legend.”
“Nope, not a legend in the slightest. Beer, tequila, they like it all. At least this one does.” Martin looked as if he wanted to stroke the cat, but for once in his life was choosing to keep a respectful distance. “I’m honored by her presence, to tell the truth.”
“She’s not a social sort of cat?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen her in this guise before.”
“Guise? What do you mean, ‘guise’? And she’s not your pet? Then how... no, wait, I know what you’re going to say. Magic.”
Martin tapped the side of his nose. “See? You can learn.”
Harrison said nothing. Words were useless with Martin. Resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t be getting his pants back anytime soon, he settled in to watch the cat drink her cream. Funny, really. He didn’t like cats any more than usual, but there was something peculiarly charming about this one. Familiar, as if he knew her, too.
