Miles and the Magic Flute

by Heidi Cullinan

  “It’s not half-baked!” Miles whirled on Terris, then had to brace himself against the bed to stop the room from spinning. “I met Murali, Terris! I know all about it! I know that I can save Harry, and I’m going to!”

  “Harry?” Terris frowned, then choked on more laughter. “Ewart? Oh, Miles!” He held his sides as he guffawed. “Miles—oh, darling, Murali is a hopeless prankster! He’s one of the Lord’s agents! Darling—oh, no, don’t pout at me! It’s not my fault you’re so gullible!”

  “I’m not gullible!” Miles shot back. “You lie! You lie all the time! You only care about yourself! You’d leave me like you did him if it came to that—and I’m not going to let it go on!”

  “How do you know it’s me lying,” Terris asked silkily, “and not Murali?”

  And as Miles looked into Terris’s eyes, his beautiful silver eyes, he realized that he didn’t know. That there was no way to verify what was truth and what was lie. He might not be able to save Harry. He might not be able to save anyone, not even himself. This could all be one big faerie game, and he was the loser no matter what he did.

  But most important of all, he discovered he didn’t care.

  Terris realized it, too, and he drew back in shock. Then he made his face carefully blank. But it was too late; Miles had seen his reaction.

  “I don’t care,” Miles said aloud, just to drive the point home, both to Terris and to himself. “If this is all a joke, if you’re all mocking me? Fine. I don’t care. I’m going after him anyway.”

  Terris arched an elegant eyebrow. “Someone’s full of silver, I see.”

  “Yeah.” Miles stumbled sideways as he gestured at Terris. “Full of silver. Delusional, confused. Stumbling. Half-poisoned, all to save some guy I barely know, whom I’ve had one conversation with, and who I’ve just let fuck me with a cock with a fucking hook on the end. And apparently I’m bleeding to death.”

  “I stopped that part.” Terris spoke idly, but there was a strange focus in his voice. Miles had his attention.

  He wished he knew what the hell to do with it.

  “I’m going to find Harry.” He headed to the door again.

  “You won’t find him that way, Miles.”

  “I’m not listening to you, liar.”

  Miles fell down again. Terris caught him. “Miles.” There was a weariness to his voice, and a resignation. “Miles—you have to stop. You’ll find nothing out this door. You won’t even find a door if you look more carefully.”

  Miles frowned over his shoulder, and his eyes widened as he saw that Terris was right. “What the hell? Where did it go?”

  “It didn’t go anywhere,” Terris said. He was strangely patient. “It was never there.”

  “I walked through it.” Miles frowned. “Didn’t I?”

  “No.” Terris sighed and gestured to the room. “None of this is here, Miles. It never was.”

  “I don’t understand,” Miles said.

  “I told you that I was a prisoner of the Lord of Dreams. I showed you. You felt the cold. You felt my prison. Didn’t you wonder how I could be in prison and yet follow you around through your life, how I could take you through the Lord’s castle?”

  “But—” Miles said, then cut himself off in confusion.

  Terris looked sad. “I said, several times, that it was all a dream.”

  He waved his hand, and the dream faded.

  It was the dungeon again, but a different part. This was not Harry’s great cavern but a small anteroom, almost like a tomb. In the center of the room was a long marble box, strapped tight with iron bars.

  It was the coldest room Miles had ever been in that wasn’t encased in ice.

  “What is this place?” Miles asked. “Why are we here?”

  “We have always been here.” Terris looked down at the marble box, his expression full of pain. “I have, anyway.”

  Miles looked at the box again, noting the man-sized shape of it. He also noted the iron. That had been in Julie’s notes: faeries hated iron.

  A strange sorrow welled inside of Miles. “No,” he said, but he wasn’t even sure yet what he was denying.

  “I’m afraid the answer is yes. That’s me, inside there. I have iron spikes digging into my heart, my mouth, and my brain, and of course, my genitals. I worked the one out of my stomach a few centuries in, but that was the only one I could manage. After that, I focused on sending my mind outside. It seemed a better use of my talents.”

  Miles shook his head in sick bewilderment. “But—how?”

  “How what? How did my Lord do this to me? He snapped his fingers and ordered his soldiers to bind me, Miles, that’s how. They drove in the spikes, and they laughed while they did it, too, especially when I pleaded for mercy. That’s how it’s done.”

  Miles could envision it, and it was awful. “How—how did you send your mind out?”

  “With practice. I was only an amateur magician, but I had a strong base from which to build. I practiced inside my prison, and then I gathered bits of silver to help make my projection solid outside of this room. It repels the Lord of Dreams, you see, because dreams are like parasites, living off souls, and silver kills parasites. But with the Lord of Dreams, it’s more that he can’t see anyone cased in silver. It helps, too, that silver has so many other uses.” He glanced sideways at Miles. “But you truly have had too much. Don’t take in anymore, or even I won’t be able to save you.”

  Miles didn’t care about that. “But where is Harry? He’s not a dream. I know he isn’t.”

  “He’s here too. Just around the corner.”

  Miles started to leave, but Terris stopped him by grabbing his arm.

  “I want to go to him,” Miles said, trying to tug him away.

  Terris held him fast. “You’re already there, Miles. Think about it,” he said when Miles frowned. “If I’m actually in the box, but I’m standing here talking to you, then I’m not real. And if I’m able to hold onto you, this isn’t the real you, either.”

  Miles was lost. “Where am I, then?”

  Terris looked hard into his eyes. “The Lord of Dreams won’t let him go. You can still leave. He cannot.”

  “You’re lying again,” Miles shot back.

  Terris shook his head. “The Lord will trick you, Miles. That’s what faeries do. Trust nothing he says. Enjoy your moment with Ewart, but then it’s over. Go home.” He withdrew a silver pill from his pocket. “Squeeze this hard between your fingers. You’ll fly straight home and forget all about us.” He tucked the pill behind Miles’s ear, but it wasn’t there when he reached up to pull it away.

  “Let me go to him,” Miles demanded through clenched teeth.

  “As I have said, you’re already there.”

  The scene changed again. This time it was dark, and dank, and very cold. But Miles felt very warm, in part because his body was flushed with silver, and in part because he was in someone’s arms.

  “Miles—Miles—come back to me, Miles!”

  Miles opened his eyes and looked up into a kind, handsome, bearded face. It was Harry. He was awake. He was alive.

  He was a man.

  “HARRY!” MILES REACHED up and touched his face tentatively, afraid he might not be real. He stroked his smooth, beautiful skin, and he laughed, his heart tight within his chest. “Harry—you’re alive!”

  “I could say the same for you,” Harry replied gruffly. He stroked Miles’s hair, looking worried. “You were so still and so pale. You still are. Your skin is gray, Miles.”

  “I took silver. I gave it to you because Murali said it would cure you, and he was right.” He touched Harry’s cheeks, his nose, his lips, still caught up in the wonder of his beauty. “Did you know your real name is Ewart? You’re from England. Very, very old England.”

  “I don’t remember any of it,” Harry said, without concern. “I’m content to be your Harry.” He cradled Miles’s cheek in his hand and looked at him with a stunned expression. “Why did you do all this for me? I�
�m moved, but—Miles, why?”

  Why did everyone keep asking him this? “Because it isn’t right, what happened to you,” Miles replied. “Because you deserve to be free.”

  “He’s not going to let me go, Miles. You need to leave before he finds out you’ve restored me. I’m grateful for this moment, but it will be fleeting.”

  “I’m not leaving without you,” Miles said.

  Harry pressed a kiss against Miles’s forehead. “I’m not going to argue with you, not now. Not when I’m finally holding you in my arms.”

  Miles shut his eyes against the tenderness of the kiss and slid his hands down Harry’s chest. Harry’s naked chest, he amended, sliding his fingers through the soft down. He skimmed the slope of his shoulders, too, and the lines of muscle on his arms. He was so fit, which surprised him, but then he realized that would make sense, if he’d been spending all this time running and hunting in faerie land. He looked, in fact, much like he always had, except he didn’t have horns, and he didn’t have quite so much hair. He was still a hairy man, yes—he still had a beard, and it was longer than Miles would normally care for, but it suited him, as did the curly mess of brown hair that covered his head and curled around his ears. But he was a man now, with a man’s body, and a man’s mind. When Miles looked into his eyes, he didn’t see a wild, mad beast in pain—he saw Harry.

  “You’re so beautiful,” Miles whispered, still touching him.

  Harry smiled, stroked Miles’s chin, then leaned down and kissed him softly. Even the brief touch of those soft lips was enough to make Miles melt.

  “You’re the one who is beautiful, your soul as well as your body.” His face shuttered. “Miles, I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

  “I don’t care—it was worth it to help you.” Miles skimmed his hands up Harry’s body again, his thumbs pausing at Harry’s nipples. “I don’t hurt anymore, anywhere. I feel a little dizzy from the silver, but seeing you like this—Harry, I could fly.” He hesitated, then added, his eyes still on Harry’s chest, “I love you, Harry.”

  His heart was pounding nervously, and it fluttered when he felt Harry’s tender kiss at his temple. He shut his eyes.

  “Why?” Harry whispered, his voice soft, and gruff, sounding almost like the beast’s again. “How? I was a monster—”

  Miles pressed his fingers against Harry’s mouth, quieting him. “I was too. I just didn’t look like one on the outside.” He traced the seam of Harry’s lips. “I was so selfish, so self-centered.”

  “That isn’t true,” Harry said, defensive. “You were kind to me from the moment you saw me. You keep coming back here for me. You’ve saved me, Miles, in more ways than one.”

  Miles tipped his head back and looked him in the eye. “But it was you that taught me I could be that way. So we’re even, because you saved me too.”

  Harry smiled, then briefly nipped at one of Miles’s fingers. “We should find a way to thank each other.”

  Oh, Miles had some pretty specific ways in mind. But he glanced nervously around the room. “How often does the Lord of Dreams come to you?”

  “A few times a century.” Harry’s hand drifted down Miles’s naked back. “And I just saw him a few hours ago.”

  “But he knows I’m here, and he’s looking for me,” Miles pointed out. Harry’s fingers drifted toward the cleft of his backside, and he gasped. “Harry.”

  “He still has a hold on me. I’ll know when he’s close by.” Harry’s head dipped, and he placed a soft, open-mouthed kiss against Miles’s neck. “Right now he’s on the other side of the universe.”

  “I want to get you out of here,” Miles whispered, but he tipped his head to the side to give Harry better access.

  Harry nibbled his way down Miles’s collarbone. “How are you planning to do that?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Miles shuddered and let his head fall back as Harry’s fingers found his nipple and pinched with a force that both surprised and aroused him. “Oh.”

  “Mmm. If you don’t mind, I’ll just keep myself occupied here while you do your thinking.”

  His mouth closed over Miles’s other nipple, suckling, then nipping at the peak as he tormented the other with his fingers. Miles gasped and clutched at his hair. “I can’t think when you do that!”

  “Then don’t think. Miles, you’ve seen me shamed and you’ve seen me broken. You’ve known me as a man and as a beast. If you can free me from the Lord of Dreams, I will go anywhere with you. But what I want right now is to know you as the man I am, whole and sane and strong once more. I want to love you as that man, so that the Harry you say you love is not a figure of pity but of strength, and desire.”

  “I do love you.”

  “Then let me love you back.” Harry lowered his mouth again.

  Miles arched toward Harry.

  In so many ways, this felt like the first time. Instead of seducing the beast-Harry into a kiss and trying to manipulate their coupling so that he didn’t get hurt, Miles was now yielding, opening to the same man, who in many ways was just as forceful and strong as the beast. His hand skidded down and took Harry’s cock into his hand. Big cock, still. But Harry’s mind was here now, which had the odd effect of allowing Miles to let his go. He would call Murali and Terris and demand they tell him how to set Harry free, but for now he would give himself this release, this moment with his lover, in case he failed and it was the only one he had.

  He ran his fingers through Harry’s hair, over his ears, and down his back. When Harry slid his mouth down Miles’s sternum, anchoring his palms against Miles’s hips, Miles opened his legs and invited him in, thrusting toward Harry’s mouth as his lips parted wide. But Harry only teased Miles’s cock, trailing his tongue down the thick vein at its back. He suckled Miles’s balls, then pushed Miles’s legs, bending them at his knees, pressing his heels against the backs of his thighs as he opened Miles to his gaze.

  For a long time, he simply stared down at Miles, and Miles held still, letting him.

  “I remembered this,” he said gruffly, still staring at the puckered opening. “Even when the madness returned, I remembered you, standing inside your circle, displaying yourself for me. It filled me with such lust, but with such tenderness, too, that you would do this for the beast that I was. Even that act alone would have been enough to lift my spirit for seven centuries, Miles. But now—”

  He let go of one of Miles’s legs, reaching down to touch Miles’s anus, which was already gaping eagerly, waiting to take him in. He pressed his thumb against it, and they both shuddered.

  “Oh, Miles, I cannot tell you what a joy it is to simply look at you. To touch you.” His thumb pressed carefully inside, and his eyes darkened. “So hot inside. Sweet heaven, Miles, but I want to bury myself in you. I want to taste you, touch you. I want to hear you cry out as I claim you. I want to feel you convulse around me as I drive you to your pleasure.”

  Miles was very dizzy now, but it had little to do with the silver. “That,” he whispered, grabbing his thighs and spreading himself farther open. “Do all that to me, Harry—please!”

  Harry gave him a wicked, beast-like grin. Then he bent his head, pulled his thumb down hard, and thrust his tongue in beside it.

  Harry made love to Miles like a man who had taken several thousand years to anticipate the pleasure. He took his time with every aspect of his attentions, and he was achingly thorough. He spent what felt like years at Miles’s ass, fingering him deep, stretching him with several fingers, pausing occasionally to insert one from each hand, opening him wide, and fucking him roughly with his tongue. He returned to this often, sometimes switching from tender, exploring caresses to an almost brutal claiming with so little warning that Miles cried out in ecstatic surprise every time. But he liked, too, when Harry would suckle his cock, one hand toying with Miles’s balls while the other pushed as many fingers deep within him as Miles’s increasingly elastic ass would handle. When Miles couldn’t stand it any longer, he tugged Harry sideways to lie be
side him, and as Harry continued his erotic exploration of the land below Miles’s waist, Miles stroked Harry’s cock and balls, then took his beautiful shaft deep into his mouth. It was so big, so wide; he moaned when the thickness slipped into his throat, and he suckled hard, clutching at Harry’s muscled cheeks as he tried to take more and more of his lover.

  He soon had himself worked into a frenzy, and when he felt Murali’s faerie lotion on the ground beside him—apparently Murali was still nudging things along, because Miles hadn’t brought it—he didn’t pause, just squeezed some into his hand and used it to work his own fingers inside Harry.

  Harry groaned appreciatively, but didn’t let Miles linger there long. Withdrawing from Miles’s mouth, Harry sat up, taking the oil from him. “I’m going to use this on you. I want you to know nothing but pleasure this time.”

  Miles held himself open, his arousal thickening as he watched Harry grease his fingers, then push two of them inside. Miles gasped in pleasure, pushed against them to draw them deeper, and pulled his legs open wider.

  “More,” he whispered.

  Harry gave him a third and pushed deeper, twisting his fingers, making Miles groan.

  “More,” Miles pleaded again.

  Harry added some grease, then gave Miles what he wanted. Miles shut his eyes and tipped his head back, reveling at the fullness inside his body. He heard Harry’s short, arousal-roughened breaths, and they drove him higher and higher inside his own need. He could feel the anchor of Harry’s thumb between his cheeks, but the oil was heating him, driving him higher. It wasn’t enough.

  “More,” he demanded. Harry hesitated. He pushed a little deeper, moved a little faster, but it wasn’t enough. Miles shook his head and pushed up toward him, desperate. “Harry—Harry, please!”

  Harry tucked in his thumb and pushed deep, deep inside.

  Miles cried out, gasping, keening in exquisite pleasure as Harry thrust as Murali had, but it was different with Harry. Murali had been preparing him. Harry was loving him.