Magic for Lee (sweet gay romance)

by Hollis Shiloh

  The robed wizard gave Mary a rough shake and tossed her to the ground. She landed near Lee and Peter, scrambling closer, pulling all her limbs close and crouching near them. She was trembling visibly, teeth chattering, and didn't take her huge eyes off the dark-robed figure.

  "Ah, thanks, Phade," said the pimp, cheering visibly. "Kill these two for me, will you?"

  The wizard took a dangerous, commanding step closer and looked down at them with cold eyes barely visible past the darkness of his hood. "Of course. With pleasure."

  A shiver of terror ran through Lee, and into Peter.

  No time for holding back now, and no time for worrying about guns. This man was the most dangerous thing in existence at that precise moment—because he meant to kill Lee.

  Peter used his magic to snip the ropes and, at the same time, flung all the rest of the magic he'd been collecting into the dark-robed figure. It hit Phade square on, throwing him back, an odd mixture of the precision attack Peter had been weaving and all the pure, raw power he could access, thrown at once.

  The wizard screamed.

  Peter was on his feet now, vibrating and shaking hard, but refusing to look elsewhere, to even think of anything else. The ropes lay in tattered threads, the pimp was shouting, a gun went off—but he had to keep Lee safe, and this wizard had to die. He held his arms stretched out, palms forward, elbows locked, pouring and pouring. White light streamed blindingly from his hands. He felt something hit him, quite hard, and flicked it away without taking his attention elsewhere.

  The black robe was shriveling, and someone screamed, and the wizard lay in a heap, and the wooden floor was smoking around him, all around him like a little fairy circle.

  "Peter!" screamed Lee, shaking him hard. "Peter, stop!"

  He stopped. He looked around, as if seeing what was going on for the first time.

  The pimp lay on the floor, scowling hard, holding his bleeding arm. The red-haired policeman, Miles, stood over him with a gun. His partner, Lanstrom, held the other goon at gunpoint. He cast a quick, frightened gaze towards Peter, his face pure white and terror-stricken. Miles looked at Peter too, and then quickly away.

  "Come on, love," said Lee softly, tugging him away from whatever remained of the wizard. "You're…you're glowing a bit. Too much p-power I suppose." He laughed shakily, and gathered Peter into his arms.

  Mary stood by the policemen, and wiped the bit of blood off herself with a shaky hand. She took in Lee and Peter with wise, old eyes. "Found yourself a friend then, mister. Maybe you was wrong after all."

  Maybe you were too. Maybe you have a future too. He didn't say it, though; he couldn't. He just laid his tired head down on Lee's shoulder and closed his eyes, taking deep, gulping breaths.

  #

  This was the second man to pace in front of him in twenty-four hours, and Peter was not best pleased. He followed Benson with a level, annoyed gaze, till the inspector finally stopped in front of him and spoke. He looked like one measuring his words carefully.

  They'd had to go down to the police station, of course.

  Mary had fetched the constables. She was a heroine, had made a dash for it while Peter fought the wizard.

  If it could be called that. He'd killed the man, pure and simple, a quick, hard, vicious work of magic.

  If the girl hadn't hurried, if the constables hadn't been nearby—well, he didn't like to think about it. He could've gotten Lee killed by his inattention. The thought left him sick and shaky, even more so than killing the man had.

  "You've finally stopped glowing, I see," said Benson. "I'm glad. You were frightening my men."

  "Yes," said Peter quietly, looking down at the table, wishing it had whorls in it that he could trace. He pressed his fingers against the wood, feeling its sturdiness and the life that had gone into it. His whole body prickled with sensitivity to magic, an after-effect of using so much. He could even sense the faint wood-strength of the table.

  "Are you all right now?" asked Benson, moving to sit down opposite him, watching his face.

  Peter was too ashamed to return his gaze. "Yes, I-I think so. I've killed someone. Will I—will I go to jail?" He looked up, gulping, realizing it was a stupid question the moment the words came out of his mouth, but unable to shake the guilty feeling that he'd committed murder.

  Benson shook his head gently, something strange reflected in his eyes—warm and relieved and proud. "No. It was self-defense. You won't even have a hearing. We'll write reports, and you'll receive an official caution against using so much uncontained magic. That's it, by the way; you've just had your talk. You're free to go. And you're quite the hero, actually."

  "Oh, I-I thank you." He covered his face, trying to keep his eyes from leaking and his breath from hitching.

  "Here." Benson handed him a handkerchief. "Blow your nose. Your nephew is here to 'bail you out,' as he put it, but I…thought you might prefer to see your…your friend. I'll send him in, if you'd like."

  "I-I would appreciate that," said Peter in a choked voice. Best not to put it off.

  "I'd no idea you could use that much power," added Benson. "Why are you wasting yourself in such a small magic shop, making potions and spells for little old ladies and…and prostitutes?"

  He sniffed and folded the handkerchief, swallowing hard and daring a glance up. "They need me. It's not a waste. And some kinds of magic use simply make me miserable. You w-weren't wrong about the nervous breakdown. Here." He handed the handkerchief back.

  Benson smiled slightly and pocketed it. "I know. I've read our file on you, my friend. Will you be all right now? Is there anything else you need?"

  "No." He shook his head. "Just Lee." When he said it, he realized how true it was.

  Just Lee. And now I have him. Maybe.

  Benson nodded and moved away. "I'll be reading his file, too. I hope he's good enough for you—to be your friend, that is."

  "Yes sir. He is. He's…far better than I deserve."

  "Nobody could be," said Benson tenderly. "Rest now. I'll take care of everything, so don't worry. It's all a formality from here."

  The door closed quietly behind his firm, steady footsteps. And Peter wondered if there was something else he hadn't seen, all these years. His mind skidded away from the possibility; it was frightening, and a bit painful. Benson couldn't have felt anything more for him than friendship. He was married to his job….

  The door burst open and Lee hurried in. "Peter!" He skidded to a stop in front of Peter, wild-eyed and disarrayed. "A-are you all right? They've kept you here so long." He closed a hand on Peter's shoulder, and then quickly removed it, as though afraid of being burnt.

  Peter's incipient smile died. "I'm perfectly all right," he said quietly. "And you needn't stay, if you don't wish to."

  "What are you talking about?" demanded Lee, blinking at him, looking affronted. "I'm your boyfriend now, aren't I? At least, that's where I think things were heading, weren't they? Surely nothing's changed just because a madman attacked us."

  Peter felt a smile growing on his face, impossibly wide. "You're not frightened of me, then? Disgusted?"

  "No! Worried about you, maybe." He knelt in front of Peter, searching his gaze, looking grave and frightened. "Peter, I-I saw his gun go off. Aimed right at you, right before the policemen arrived. Are you certain you're not hurt?"

  "No, I—"

  Lee reached for him and gently began unbuttoning his waistcoat, and then his shirt. Peter's skin tingled, and he wondered at the appropriateness of this, but he held still; Lee's gaze was serious and intent, not that of a man trying to be sensual. Even though he was, very much so.

  The gentle capability of those hands made Peter's breath catch. He'd never thought it would possibly feel so good to be undressed by another. A modest, shy man, he'd always assumed any intimacy would involve a minimum of actual nudity—perhaps jumping into bed and turning off the lights before they could actually see one another and become too embarrassed to continue.

 
He was beginning to seriously rethink that assumption. Lee would never be ashamed of him, of either of their bodies. And perhaps Peter wouldn't be, either.

  "Lee—" He reached up to grip his boyfriend's arms. "Not—not here."

  "Just a moment. Just let me check you're not hurt. Oh. Did—Peter, are you…" His voice shook, and so did his fingers while he traced a dark red mark on Peter's flesh. "Did you…always have this scar? Only it looks terribly f-fresh." He was shaking hard now, holding Peter with trembling hands as if he was such a precious thing, and so close to having been lost.

  "Oh," said Peter, a soft exhalation of breath, and he remembered, as if in a dream, something hitting him. He'd flicked it away with magic.

  And it had been a bullet. Now he had a scar, but it should have killed him.

  He shivered. "Let's not talk about it," he said softly. "I didn't realize I could do that. I don't want to think about it right now."

  "A-all right. But promise me you won't die. Promise!" He drew Peter into his arms, shaking and fighting back tears, not entirely successfully.

  "I-I promise." He patted Lee's—his boyfriend's—back awkwardly, and bit his lip. "And it looks as though dying might be more difficult than I had thought."

  Lee gave a trembling laugh. And then he just held Peter tighter, tightly enough to make it painful to breathe.

  #

  Joel was reassuringly chatty and cheerful, arranging everything, teasing Peter and Lee about having great adventures without him, finding and paying the cab and taking Peter home.

  He dropped them off and insisted the cab needed to take him home, because it was really quite late and a boy his age shouldn't be out at this hour.

  "You'll look after him and see he gets to bed, won't you?" Joel peered innocently at Lee, who managed to look flustered but not to reply. "Good, that's taken care of! Goodnight, Uncle." For an instant, his cheery façade slipped. "I'm very glad you're okay."

  Then with a nod and a tip of his hat (he'd remembered to wear one tonight, a tall, outrageous hat made from beaver, complete with fur and tail), he leapt back into the cab and called to the driver, "Follow that man!"

  "What man?" asked the driver, frowning back at him.

  "Oh, I dunno, any man. Don't you read books?" He settled back, lounging, taking up far more room than any one person decently should.

  Lee and Peter stood on the front step of the magic shop, staring as the cab disappeared into the fog. It was strange to be out this late, to see the gas streetlamps barely cutting into the darkness, but holding their steady, feeble light all the same.

  Peter shivered. "Come on. Let's get inside." He fumbled for his key.

  "Er," said Lee. "I should…go." He gestured vaguely down the street, and then in the other direction, where his home actually lay.

  "What? No! You're finally my boyfriend, and you won't stay the night? And after we've almost been killed?" demanded Peter with uncharacteristic force.

  Lee blushed and gave him a sweet, silly grin, running his fingers back through his hair. "Well, if you want me to, of course. Wait, stop. 'Finally?'" His grin grew wider and cockier. "Finally your boyfriend!"

  It was Peter's turn to blush. "Yes, enjoy your laugh. Just come indoors with me."

  "Oh-ho. I am very glad to come in with you."

  "Oh, please don't offer any double entendres or we'll never get anywhere." He shoved the door open, and the two men stepped inside.

  He glanced around. Things had been disarrayed by the magic and the men who'd trooped through. He shivered at the remnants of the anger and power he sensed. But at least the body was gone.

  "Come on," said Lee, grasping his arm gently but firmly. "Let's get upstairs away from all this mess. We can worry about it tomorrow."

  And so they trooped up the stairs.

  Peter tried not to stare at Lee's bottom. He really did. Well, a bit.

  #

  "Are you certain?"

  Peter faced Lee across the bed, trying not to be hurt. "Why wouldn't I be?"

  "Because, well, you nearly died tonight."

  "So did you. If you're uncertain, please say so. I wouldn't want to pressure you."

  "You're—you're not pressuring me," Lee said in a strained voice. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off Peter's bare chest. It wasn't so fascinating, surely: slender, pale, nearly hairless, and with a few freckles cluttering up the skin. "My word, I don't know—I've dreamed of this for so long—"

  "You've…"

  "Yes. Naturally. And I don't want to ruin anything because we picked the wrong night. Nearly dying and…and all that magic. You're probably worn to the bone. I don't want it to be a bad experience."

  "It couldn't. And…" He walked around the bed, and stopped right in front of Lee, smiling gently. "And if it was a bad experience, why, we'd still have…still have all the tomorrows to set it right." He touched Lee's arm gently. "Why don't you take those off and get comfortable? We were going to talk about all of this, before those men showed up, weren't we?"

  "Yes," said Lee faintly. He seemed to have forgotten how his shirt buttons worked, and was more tearing than undoing them.

  "Let me help." Peter bent to the task, moving his fingers with all the nimbleness of a wizard, trying to act calm. His heart thundered in his chest, but actually, it was easier to speak like this, not having to look Lee in the eye. "I need to tell you that…well, you'll figure it out soon enough. I'm afraid I'm terribly inexperienced. I've never done very much of…of anything with another man. Barely anything, in fact, and it's been a long time…" He almost kept his voice from shaking; almost.

  Lee gripped his shoulders gently. "Well, we'll figure it out together. Is that all right? I'm not terribly skilled at this either, but it'll be all right, since we care about one another. As you said, we have time to figure it out."

  Peter heaved a sigh of relief. Yes. Time. All the time in the world. He looked up, smile shining, and gave him a small nod. And then he drew Lee into a kiss.

  Despite how exhausted they were, they stayed up almost till dawn, kissing, touching, experiencing one another's bodies with the fresh, exuberant joy of people half their age.

  Lee really wasn't experienced either. But somehow, that didn't matter. The looks he gave Peter—practically gaping at first sight of him—were so very flattering, and his kisses and touches and strong, warm arms felt so freeing, making Peter's boring old body come to life and sing with transformation, an instrument of pleasure able to give and receive love. He felt like a cocoon transformed, light as a butterfly, perfect and wildly free.

  They took a few minutes here and there to sleep, but even then couldn't keep their hands off each other. Morning found them twined together, exhausted, sticky, and still barely able to stop touching one another.

  "I'll make you coffee," said Peter, around one of Lee's kisses. "If you'll let me up."

  Lee groaned. "All right. But only if I can come too."

  Peter bit his lip to keep from making any suggestive comments. The world seemed to require them this morning, but if he started they'd never get anything done.

  Lee held his hand as they walked out into the kitchen, and leaned on the counter, watching him make coffee, resting a chin on his palm. "It's…it's real, isn't it? Not just sleep deprivation or being horny." He risked a glance at Peter, looking surprisingly shy.

  "Yes. Of course it's real." Peter touched his elbow with gentle affection. "Forever, I hope." And then he looked at Lee to see if that was what he meant, also, because they hadn't really gotten to that conversation yet.

  Lee nodded hard, looking relieved. "Yes. Yes, I—excuse me." He turned aside, brushing at his face and clearing his throat, looking embarrassed. Peter laid a hand gently on his back, and then moved away to give him a moment's privacy and to fetch the mugs.

  "Sorry about that."

  "You certainly can't be embarrassed about showing a bit of emotion, after how I was last night."

  Lee grinned, his relieved, cheeky grin. "Oh, well. That's
a bit different. Magic and everything."

  "Is it?" He put a hand over Lee's. "Thank you. For everything!"

  "Why are you thanking me?" Lee moved closer impulsively and captured him in a big, warm, naked hug. He reached up and ruffled Lee's messy hair, and pressed his face against his neck and laughed. "You're the one making coffee!"

  Epilogue

  True to his word, Benson took care of everything, including the girls. He took their testimonies and sent them away to start new lives, using police funds and private charities where he had friends.

  Mary got to say goodbye before she left. Her face was shining and clean, free from cuts and bruises, and her grin looked cocky and full of hope.

  "Going to get some more schooling," she informed Peter, reaching out to shake his hand and then changing her mind and pulling him into a tight hug. "Though I don't see why I need it. I'm just going to find me a nice sailor boy to marry!"

  "You may find it useful," said Peter awkwardly. He didn't know what to do with this affectionate, lively Mary.

  Her gaze twinkled up at him. "Thanks for everything, Mr. C. And good luck with that guy—your baker." She gave him a sloppy wink, and he blushed to his cheekbones.

  "Er, yes, well, thank you. Good day to you, Mary. I hope you will have an eminently joyful future. Oh, and I made this for you." He held out a small good-fortune trinket, a mermaid pendant with magic in it, strung on a silver chain.

  "Oh, thanks, Mr. C.! It's great." She put it around her neck immediately, and tucked it into inside the high neck of her clean new dress, and winked at him. "I can use all the good luck I can get." Her face grew suddenly serious, intense with emotion. "I'll never forget you, Mr. Magic Man. Goodbye!" And she raised a hand and dashed from the shop, gone before he could say another word.