Miles and the Magic Flute Page 6

  But what could it be? What in the world would Terris give him, and why? Jewelry? Candy? Magic dust? Sex toys?

  Terris, as always reading Miles’s thoughts, chuckled. It was a very sexy sound.

  Miles tugged at the ribbon. But as the silver glinted in the light of a pale sun Miles had yet to see, the strange silver flute so tangled in all this flashed briefly in his mind.

  Terris’s hand slammed over the top of Miles’s own, and when Miles looked up at him, the other man’s face was hard and cold.

  “Never,” he said, his voice an angry whisper, “never so much as think of that again.”

  The frigid fury in Terris’s countenance was so great that Miles didn’t even think to question why. Nodding, he felt great relief when Terris’s hand—now ice cold—retreated.

  “I’m sorry,” Miles said, more from fear than anything else.

  Terris waved his hand in dismissal, and he smiled again as he nodded to the silver box. “Now, no more stalling. Open your present, or I’ll take it away.”

  Tugging the ribbon, Miles released it from the bow. Heart pounding in anticipation, he flicked the catch on the edge of the box and opened the lid.

  A long, thin, glittering chain lay inside.

  It was brilliantly beautiful, glinting on its purple velvet pillow, and when Miles lifted it gingerly by his fingers, it felt as if he lifted a feather. The chain was so thin he could hardly see the links, and it seemed impossible that it could be strong enough to hold up the gleaming silver-and-pearl ring that dangled from the link in the center, but it was, and it did.

  Miles shook his head, almost unable to speak. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s yours.” Terris took it carefully from Miles’s hands and lifted it. “Lean forward, darling, and I’ll drape it around you.”

  “There’s no clasp,” Miles said, but bent forward anyway, eager to have the chain around his neck.

  “It doesn’t need one,” Terris said, as he wrapped the chain around Miles’s throat. It wasn’t tight, but it was snug, and when Terris lifted his hands and sat back, Miles reached up and felt the necklace. It was so thin it felt like one chain, even when looped around the four or five times Terris had wound it. He felt the ring sitting there, and when he touched it, he felt all his worries easing out of him, his mind settling into a blissful state of calm.

  Terris smiled at him and stroked his hair. “As beautiful as you are.” He lifted the silver box. “The lid has a mirror—go on, see how lovely it looks against your skin.”

  Miles looked at himself, touching the ring and chain some more as he did so. It did make him look lovely. Like a fairy prince. It was the sort of look he’d wanted for himself when he was ten, the look that everyone had shamed out of him. Looking at himself now, adult, grown, sitting in a magic sleigh next to the most handsome man he’d ever seen, whom he’d been kissing and letting touch him like a lover—Miles swallowed hard and shook his head.

  “I don’t care that this is a dream,” he whispered. “I don’t want this to end. Ever.”

  Terris smiled and shut the box. “Then it won’t.”

  Miles knew this couldn’t be right. Nothing in life came this easy, not even in a dream, and even dreams couldn’t last. He tried to think of what cues he had missed, of what stupid mistake he had made and let himself be caught in a trap, but his mind refused to land on anything, too caught up in the way the sun danced off Terris’s hair, in the delicious weight of the necklace against his neck, in the memory of how Terris’s mouth had felt against his own and his hand on Miles’s body.

  Terris smiled his wicked smile. “Dear Miles. It need not only be a memory.” He drew Miles forward with a finger curled beneath his chin.

  It can’t be this easy, but it is for now. Miles shut his eyes as he gave himself once more to Terris.

  Chapter Four

  It does not matter how we go,

  only that you love me so.

  By shining sea, by falling star—

  take me lover, where you are.

  THE SLEIGH, AFTER gliding effortlessly across the lake, pulled itself up to the doors of the castle, which opened of their own accord as Miles and Terris approached, allowing the horses to draw them inside and land gracefully in a white marble foyer full of light.

  The light came from the hundreds of windows lining the spire above them, and from the walls flanking the split staircase curving around and landing on either side of the blood-red carpet where the sleigh had stopped. The windows up high were clear, but the ones on the stairs were stained glass, and they depicted, to Miles’s surprise, several discreet and yet highly suggestive poses by lovers. What surprised Miles was that all the couples were male.

  “Is this some sort of gay fairyland?” Miles asked as Terris helped him out of the sleigh. “Or is this more stuff I’m dreaming? Because if this is in my head, I clearly don’t realize my own creative potential.”

  “The forest is yours. The lake and this castle are not.” Terris took Miles’s arm and led him toward a pair of crystal-laden doors beneath the stairs. “Allow me to give you a tour.” When Miles glanced back at the horses, Terris gently turned him away again. “Never mind the sleigh. It will be taken care of.”

  So there were servants here after all. Except Miles had never been inside a place that felt emptier. He felt a twinge of uncertainty, but then he reached up and touched the ring on the chain of his necklace, and he eased again, especially when the crystal doors opened and Miles stepped into the wonderland that hid behind them.

  The room had high ceilings like the foyer, but this room was huge, and it was full of flowers. There were plants everywhere, most of them hanging in baskets set in tiers, forming columns that lined the gleaming black-and-white checkered floor. The flowers that bloomed from the baskets were lush, most of them boasting huge blooms that hung like trumpets or exploded in fat bunches. The flowers were of countless colors, but most of them were white, accented sometimes by pale blue flowers that looked like ice. Delicate white benches lined the sides of the room, and several velvet-lined ones were grouped around a stunning fountain in the center whose jets alternated in sequences of spray, backlit by some source Miles could not see.

  “This is the main audience room.” Terris gestured across the vast space.

  “So there are other people here?” Miles asked.

  “Not just now.” Terris reached up to a nearby basket and plucked a pale orange trumpet, then held it up to Miles’s ear.

  Miles brushed it away. “No thank you.”

  Terris clucked his tongue. “But it would so become you.” He shrugged, then tucked it behind his own ear and took Miles’s arm again. “Let me show you the rest of the palace.”

  “Whose palace is it?” Miles asked.

  “It belongs to the Lord of Dreams,” Terris said matter-of-factly. “It was he who called you here, he whom you accepted.”

  “Accepted?” Miles echoed, not liking the sound of this.

  “Yes.” Terris reached out for another flower, this one small and brilliant blue. He held it tauntingly before Miles’s face. “What about this one?”

  Why did Terris want him to wear a flower? Miles shook his head. “Who is the Lord of Dreams? What do you mean, I accepted him?”

  “The Lord of Dreams is the owner of this castle. And you accepted him.”

  “But—” Miles faltered, getting lost in this conversation. “But—I didn’t—”

  Terris sighed, then tucked the flower into one of the loops of Miles’s jeans. The motion made his fingers brush against Miles tantalizingly, and Miles stopped trying to speak and held still, enjoying the touch.

  “You’re very sensual, aren’t you?” Terris’s fingers brushed Miles’s stomach as he ran his index finger up the center of Miles’s chest. “You enjoy being touched as much as you enjoy sex itself.”

  Miles shrugged and looked away, letting his gaze fall on an urn full of violets. “Sure.”

  Terris laughed. “And shy. You shouldn�
�t be, not here, and not with me.”

  Miles shifted uncomfortably. “I just—this is all a little weird.”

  Terris laughed again. Annoyed, Miles went to the violets and stroked their petals.

  “So is this Lord of Dreams here?” Miles glanced back at Terris as a thought occurred to him. “Are you—?”

  All Terris’s amusement fled. “Absolutely not.” He glanced around, looking almost nervous for the first time. “I would never presume to claim His Lordship’s title.”

  Miles wanted to ask what this Lord was like—Was he fey, or was he some immortal being like Neil Gaiman’s Sandman?—but Terris’s uneasy expression kept him silent. When Terris recovered himself, he took Miles’s arm again.

  “Perhaps you would like to see one of the more private salons?”

  “Sure,” Miles said.

  As they passed a bed of white roses, Terris plucked one, discarded the thorns, and held it up once more to Miles’s ear.

  “You won’t rest until I wear one, will you?” Miles asked.

  In answer, Terris leaned forward and pressed an almost chaste kiss to Miles’s lips. Miles shut his eyes, drinking in the fresh summer scent of his companion, the aroma mingling now with the soft perfume of the orange trumpet hanging behind his head. When Terris drew back, Miles felt the petals of the white rose brushing against his cheek.

  Miles felt, for one moment, a sense of unease. It was as if a part of him had been crouching in the back of his own mind, watching everything that was happening, and after some consideration, it registered a verdict: Something very fishy was going on.

  Things like this don’t happen, his thoughts insisted. Not even in dreams. Not like this. Anything this good has a razor in it. Only a fool would think anything different.

  Terris’s eyes sparkled, but in a rather unpleasant way. “I thought as much.” He brushed his fingers against the rose. “Is that the sum of your objection? Anything else in there, any other warnings aching to be heard?”

  “I—I don’t—” Miles took a step backward, glancing around nervously at the flower-laden hall. Suddenly it seemed too lush, the perfume of so many flowers not exotic but thick and cloying. “It just doesn’t make sense. It can’t be good. There has to be something you aren’t telling me.”

  Terris nodded. “Would you like me to tell you now?” He crooked his finger. “Come closer.”

  Miles did.

  Terris’s eyes went completely black, and he plucked the rose from Miles’s ear.

  Miles gasped, clutching at his ear in pain. He expected to feel blood and a great gash, but there was nothing. And yet as he watched Terris twirl the flower between his fingers, he realized that something was gone, something was not in his head which had been there seconds before.

  Memories. Thoughts. He put them in the flower.

  Terris’s black eye winked. Then he dropped the rose onto the ground and crushed it ruthlessly beneath the heel of an elegant silver shoe. “And now they’re all gone,” he said.

  Miles blinked. His head didn’t hurt anymore, but he felt a little lightheaded. He looked up at Terris in confusion. “What just happened?”

  Terris smiled. “I asked if you would like me to take you into one of the salons and make love to you. But if you’d rather not, I won’t be offended.”

  Heat rushed through Miles. “No—please, I do want that.”

  Terris’s smile darkened, and he extended his hand. “Then please, allow me to lead the way.”

  Miles took his hand, feeling dizzy still, but eager and happy too. It was a funny sort of happiness, though, like bubble gum. Light and silly, ready to pop at any moment. But Terris was stroking his arm and whispering where he’d like to kiss him first, and he told himself he shouldn’t care.

  He paused at the doorway and looked back, not sure what he searched for. When he looked down and saw a ruined white rose lying there, for a moment he felt sad. But then Terris touched his hand, and he didn’t care anymore.

  As the crystal doors shut, he had a sudden flash of vision—he saw the rose again, and he saw a hairy clawed hand reaching out from beneath a veil of foliage, grabbing it and stealing the ruined petals away. But when Miles blinked, the vision was gone, as was his memory of it, and he didn’t think of it again as he followed Terris down another bright white hall.

  MILES HAD A brief view of a room full of windows and sun and silver velvet drapes, and then Terris pressed Miles back onto a padded bench, trailing open-mouthed kisses down his jaw. Miles shut his eyes and surrendered.

  Terris was everything that had ever gotten Miles in trouble with a man. The cool hauteur, the silky, wicked demeanor, even the slippery wit: every man Miles had ever wanted had been this way. They were arrogant. They were slightly twisted. They liked to play their lovers like violins and discard them like overused rosin. They were handsome and sleek and styled. But at the same time, Terris was unlike any man Miles had ever been with. The difference between them and Terris was twofold: none of them had been quite so all those things together, and not a one of them had wooed Miles like this.

  The presents, the flowers, the casual flattery, the lazy lure into letting go—it was as if Terris had a list of all the things Miles had longed for and never received and was giving them to him one by one. He had done everything but ply him with expensive champagne and chocolate on the beach beneath a starry sky. Miles hardly cared, though, because now Terris was making love to him; and just as he had met all Miles’s romantic fantasies, so was he doing in sex.

  Miles had known many, many men, and he’d slept with even more. Sometimes he felt like he was some sort of desperate fisherman, constantly casting out, trying to find that one man who could ease the ache inside him. It was ridiculously romantic and undoubtedly full of unexplored psychoses, which was why he tried not to think of it.

  Terris was unearthing those old yearnings, too, and meeting every one. He held Miles down, hard enough to thrill him but not enough to hurt him. He licked and sucked at every sensitive, aching spot, lingering on the long muscle that went taut when he arched his neck, on the divot beneath Miles’s clavicle. He slid his fingers down the planes of Miles’s chest so softly that they felt like satin against his skin, skimmed them back again and brushed teasing, tender circles around Miles’s nipples.

  “You are so lovely, Miles,” Terris whispered as he drew Miles up to peel his shirt away, then pressed him back to the bench again. His voice was sultry and soft, his lips brushing against Miles’s tender throat. “Lovely to look at, lovely to hold. Give yourself to me, Miles. Lie back and let me love you.”

  Miles had no arguments with this. He was already lying back as much as was physically possible—as a sort of compromise, he arched his back, bringing his body closer to Terris’s erotic exploration. He gasped when he felt Terris’s tongue slide down his sternum, and he trembled when the trajectory angled off toward his hard and aching nipple. But Terris, still plumbing the depths of Miles secret desires, did not hit his target right away. Rather, he teased his way home, nipping, licking, whispering incoherent endearments against Miles’s skin, brushing near the eager bud but never reaching it. He waited until Miles was crying out, alternating between tortured moans and whispered pleas, and then, only then, did he close his lips over the tiny peak.

  Once Terris claimed his prize, however, he was relentless. He swirled his tongue around, then over the bud; he suckled hard, then released, then suckled again. He drew the peak between his teeth and found the white-hot line between pain and bone-melting pleasure. And all the while, his fingers teased its companion, tugging, kneading, pinching in tandem to the torture of the one within his mouth. He brought Miles to the very edge of his endurance, until he was little more than a pulsing shaft of need—and then he lifted his head, adjusted his angle, and brought his mouth back down to give the same treatment to the other breast.

  When Terris finally let his mouth slide down the rest of the way to Miles’s waist, Miles was so lost he barely knew his own name, and
he knew no more fear. He eagerly helped Terris shed his clothing—Miles’s only, which was, of course, another secret fantasy. When Terris knelt, fully dressed, between Miles’s parted thighs, Miles lifted his head and watched, aching with pleasure as Terris slid his long, slender fingers over Miles’s red, aching cock. He shuddered as Terris traced the veins, the bulbous head, the cleft at the underside of the glans—Miles surrendered in a cascading cry of ecstasy as Terris ran his tongue along the length, circled the rim of the head, then took the whole organ through his lips, into his mouth, into his throat.

  It was the fellatio of fellatios. Just the right pressure, just the right hint of teeth without them actually being there. Tongue everywhere it should be, hands braced just right against his thighs, pressing them back and wide, opening his hole but not touching him there, hinting at what was yet to come. But even that was just a tease—this was all about cock: cock suckled, cock teased, cock worshiped, taken deep into Terris’s beautiful, beautiful mouth, his lips spread wide around it, sliding, glistening with spit and slightly swollen from their work. Every so often Miles would lift his head to take in the sight, and the perfection of it would shatter him all over again, and he would collapse back to the bench, waves of pleasure crashing over him with such regularity now he could have been a sea.

  But just as Miles was about to climb another crest, Terris stopped and lifted his head.

  “Darling,” he said, his voice teasing, crooning, and breathless, “darling, why are you still holding back? Am I doing something wrong?”

  Miles gave a weak, strangled laugh. “God no. Nothing has ever been more right.”

  “Then why—?”

  Why aren’t you coming? That was what Terris wanted to know, but Miles didn’t have an answer. He shook his head, weakly. “I don’t know. By rights I should have blown into pieces by now.” He slid a heavy hand down his abdomen and caught Terris’s hand with half-numb fingers. “It’s not you. I’m sorry—don’t be hurt.”

  “I’m not hurt,” Terris said, his tone oddly careful. “I only wish to please you, Miles. It’s very important to me.”