"About bleeding TIME he came home," Raistlin muttered, watching Dalamar
trot up to the tower's front step. He wiped his feet on the pink-flowered
welcome-mat and stepped inside. Raistlin crossed his arms.
"He better have brought me something this time," Raistlin said, a little poutily. "After being left alone for a week with nothing but GhostWriter re- runs on TV..." he shuddered. It had been horrible. But now, with Dalamar back, life was looking up again. There was a bottle of wine chilling in the bedroom, fresh black satin sheets on the bed, and Raistlin had even carefully placed a few bouquets around, having gone to the trouble of stealing a couple dozen roses from the live ones' flower garden that morning. Raistlin put his hands on his hips and sighed briskly, satisfied.
"Now to change," he said cheerfully, bustling off into the bedroom.
* * *
It had been a long week, Dalamar thought, pausing for a moment at the Tower's front door. His robes were tattered, nearly falling off one shoulder, and the distinct musk of cheap cologne emanated from his tousled hair. He rubbed at his sore neck and cursed quietly when he noticed the bright smudge of lipstick smeared across his fingertips. He must still have a few lip-prints on his neck, missed when he'd cleaned himself up. He shuddered vaguely, remembering where the clashing cosmetics had come from. That last night in Wayreth had been terrible indeed.
"Don't be like that, my little elven toaster-strudel," Par-Salian had purred, advancing on Dalamar in a rather suggestive way. Dalamar had quickly backed away, eyes wide. "What, don't you like me like this?" the gray-haired white-robe had asked with a mock-pout.
"If by 'like this,' " Dalamar had said, eyeing him with a slightly pained expression on his face, "you mean the white thong and the blue body- glitter, then I guess the answer would have to be... ah... no." The words had come out in a squeak; Par-Salian had quickly minced across the room, sapphire stilettos clicking across the floor.
"But, my pointy-eared cupcake," Par-Salian had said, his voice grating in what he meant to be seductive growl, "I did this all just for you! It's why I summoned you here, muffin, after all." Dalamar had swallowed uncomfortably.
"Could we, ah, cut down on the food references?" Dalamar had asked, a little weakly. A wave of bad cologne fumes rolled over the elf as Par- Salian advanced on him, heels tapping a sultry rhythm. Dalamar's knees nearly buckled, whether from the horror of the sight itself or the smell, he wasn't quite sure.
"But why," Par-Salian asked with a dangerous smile, "why should I, when I've got such a scrumptious little specimen of chocolate-covered elf in front of me?" He'd pounced, then, and it had taken everything Dalamar had in him to fight his way out of those shabbily French-manicured claws, down the tower steps -- all four-hundred-something of them -- and through Wayreth Forest with the mewling, groping Par-Salian attacking him all the way.
Dalamar sighed; he'd be grateful to get out of these robes and into something more comfortable. Like, for instance, nothing at all. He smiled, wondering whether Raistlin knew he was home yet or not.
* * *
Raistlin had slipped into something black, slinky, and fur-trimmed for the occasion. He'd turned off the clap-lights and gone around lighting votive candles, mostly his own "Rose Petals and Death" brand, a favorite of his since Dalamar had once said he thought the smell of cinnamon and decay was a turn-on. Now Raistlin sat on the bed, legs crossed demurely, his Melissa Etheridge CD turned down low to provide some background music.
Raistlin heard the door to their suite open and he smiled. Dalamar was almost here! He heard footsteps enter quickly and then pause, as if in surprise.
"He didn't expect the roses!" Raistlin murmured, feeling a little giddy with all the excitement. Like being a little tipsy.
Tipsy! He suddenly realized he hadn't poured the wine! He dashed across the room and pulled the cork out with one red-painted nail, quickly grabbing two glasses and pouring them full of Silvanesti Red -- a very good vintage. The footsteps got louder and then the door opened.
"I'm home," Dalamar said. In a fit of inspiration, he'd grabbed one of the roses on the way in and now had the stem held firmly between his teeth, so the words were more like, "I'm oome." But you get the picture.
Raistlin smiled. "Hello, lover," he said in his most sultry whisper and turned around slowly. When he took one look at Dalamar, however, his smile disappeared. The wine glasses and bottle all slipped from nerveless golden fingers.
Dalamar almost choked on the rose stem. He managed to spit it out, only pricking his tongue on the thorns in a couple places, and shouted something in the language of magic and the glasses and bottle settled slowly down onto the black tile floor. He looked up at Raistlin, eyebrows raised in amazement.
"Raisty, darling, that's a very good vintage!" he said, mildly confused.
"Don't you 'Raisty' me!" Raistlin growled. He emphatically reached down, picked up the bottle, and threw it back down. Dalamar cringed as it shattered, wine and glass flying everywhere.
"But, love, please--" Dalamar started.
"Go back to her, Dalamar!" Raistlin snarled. "I'll bet she -- whoever she was -- can afford better!" Raistlin advanced on Dalamar, golden fingers balled into fists at his sides. "Couldn't she? A rich little Wayreth slut, wasn't she?" Dalamar backed up until his shoulders hit the wall. Raistlin leaned forward, inches away, golden skin flushed an angry copper. "Wasn't she?!"
"Actually," Dalamar said a little weakly, " 'she' was a 'he.' " Raistlin's hourglass eyes flew wide.
"You cheated on me with another MAN??" Raistlin squeaked. He staggered backwards, eyelids fluttering, fanning at himself with one manicured hand. "You... you..."
"Raisty, no, it wasn't like that!" Dalamar said quickly, rushing forward. Raistlin shook his head.
"After everything... (gasp) ...I've done for you..." Raistlin's knees gave out and he collapsed on the bed, still fanning frantically. Dalamar leapt over the broken glass and came to a skidding halt at the edge of the bed.
"Darling, please!" Dalamar tried. "You don't understand!"
Raistlin sat up, eyes glowing. "Don't understand?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "I. Don't UNDERSTAND...?" Dalamar, not seeing the danger, stepped into it with arms open wide.
"Right!" Dalamar said, nodding eagerly. "If you'll just let me explain, I'm sure..."
"Explain THIS!" Raistlin shouted. He grabbed the collar of Dalamar's much- abused robes in one hand and thrust the other through a hole, placing his fingers firmly across the elf's chest.
"Raisty, love, what're you doing?" Dalamar, asked, trying to squirm away. Raistlin closed his eyes and started chanting. "Raistlin!" Dalamar gasped, eyes wide. He'd recognized a few of the words, and if he were right, then Raistlin was casting...
"Raistlin!" Dalamar shouted, wriggling with all his might. Raistlin's golden fingers stayed closed tight, however, and the casting didn't waver. Little wisps of steam started curling away from Raistlin's fingers. "Raistlin, please, don't do this--"
And then there came a scream.
* * *
Dalamar sighed contentedly and set the empty bowl aside.
"I think I'd like some bread now," he said musingly. "Oh Raisty..."
Raistlin stood up from his perch on the edge of Dalamar's sickbed. He muttered something rather not complementary about where he'd like to PUT Dalamar's bread and started for the pantry in the next room. Dalamar laughed, delighted.
"Oh, come now, love," he called to Raistlin, "it's the only way I'll get well." The elf grinned. "And besides, it was your own fault for not listening to me until AFTER you put a handprint in my chest." He scratched at the edges of the bandages criss-crossing his chest, and smiled smugly as Raistlin returned, half a loaf of bread held in his hands.
"Oh, shove it," Raistlin growled. He threw the bread at Dalamar rather harder than was really necessary. It slipped through the elf's slender fingers and bounced off his chest before landing in his lap. Raistlin sat back down in the chair, filing smugly at his nails.
"Bloody hell!" Dalamar gasped. His gritted his teeth until the pain subsided, then glared at Raistlin, who prettily blew him a kiss. "Thanks," he said, a little bitterly.
" 'Hell hath no anger like that of a magi scorned,' " Raistlin said with a little smile.
"He better have brought me something this time," Raistlin said, a little poutily. "After being left alone for a week with nothing but GhostWriter re- runs on TV..." he shuddered. It had been horrible. But now, with Dalamar back, life was looking up again. There was a bottle of wine chilling in the bedroom, fresh black satin sheets on the bed, and Raistlin had even carefully placed a few bouquets around, having gone to the trouble of stealing a couple dozen roses from the live ones' flower garden that morning. Raistlin put his hands on his hips and sighed briskly, satisfied.
"Now to change," he said cheerfully, bustling off into the bedroom.
* * *
It had been a long week, Dalamar thought, pausing for a moment at the Tower's front door. His robes were tattered, nearly falling off one shoulder, and the distinct musk of cheap cologne emanated from his tousled hair. He rubbed at his sore neck and cursed quietly when he noticed the bright smudge of lipstick smeared across his fingertips. He must still have a few lip-prints on his neck, missed when he'd cleaned himself up. He shuddered vaguely, remembering where the clashing cosmetics had come from. That last night in Wayreth had been terrible indeed.
"Don't be like that, my little elven toaster-strudel," Par-Salian had purred, advancing on Dalamar in a rather suggestive way. Dalamar had quickly backed away, eyes wide. "What, don't you like me like this?" the gray-haired white-robe had asked with a mock-pout.
"If by 'like this,' " Dalamar had said, eyeing him with a slightly pained expression on his face, "you mean the white thong and the blue body- glitter, then I guess the answer would have to be... ah... no." The words had come out in a squeak; Par-Salian had quickly minced across the room, sapphire stilettos clicking across the floor.
"But, my pointy-eared cupcake," Par-Salian had said, his voice grating in what he meant to be seductive growl, "I did this all just for you! It's why I summoned you here, muffin, after all." Dalamar had swallowed uncomfortably.
"Could we, ah, cut down on the food references?" Dalamar had asked, a little weakly. A wave of bad cologne fumes rolled over the elf as Par- Salian advanced on him, heels tapping a sultry rhythm. Dalamar's knees nearly buckled, whether from the horror of the sight itself or the smell, he wasn't quite sure.
"But why," Par-Salian asked with a dangerous smile, "why should I, when I've got such a scrumptious little specimen of chocolate-covered elf in front of me?" He'd pounced, then, and it had taken everything Dalamar had in him to fight his way out of those shabbily French-manicured claws, down the tower steps -- all four-hundred-something of them -- and through Wayreth Forest with the mewling, groping Par-Salian attacking him all the way.
Dalamar sighed; he'd be grateful to get out of these robes and into something more comfortable. Like, for instance, nothing at all. He smiled, wondering whether Raistlin knew he was home yet or not.
* * *
Raistlin had slipped into something black, slinky, and fur-trimmed for the occasion. He'd turned off the clap-lights and gone around lighting votive candles, mostly his own "Rose Petals and Death" brand, a favorite of his since Dalamar had once said he thought the smell of cinnamon and decay was a turn-on. Now Raistlin sat on the bed, legs crossed demurely, his Melissa Etheridge CD turned down low to provide some background music.
Raistlin heard the door to their suite open and he smiled. Dalamar was almost here! He heard footsteps enter quickly and then pause, as if in surprise.
"He didn't expect the roses!" Raistlin murmured, feeling a little giddy with all the excitement. Like being a little tipsy.
Tipsy! He suddenly realized he hadn't poured the wine! He dashed across the room and pulled the cork out with one red-painted nail, quickly grabbing two glasses and pouring them full of Silvanesti Red -- a very good vintage. The footsteps got louder and then the door opened.
"I'm home," Dalamar said. In a fit of inspiration, he'd grabbed one of the roses on the way in and now had the stem held firmly between his teeth, so the words were more like, "I'm oome." But you get the picture.
Raistlin smiled. "Hello, lover," he said in his most sultry whisper and turned around slowly. When he took one look at Dalamar, however, his smile disappeared. The wine glasses and bottle all slipped from nerveless golden fingers.
Dalamar almost choked on the rose stem. He managed to spit it out, only pricking his tongue on the thorns in a couple places, and shouted something in the language of magic and the glasses and bottle settled slowly down onto the black tile floor. He looked up at Raistlin, eyebrows raised in amazement.
"Raisty, darling, that's a very good vintage!" he said, mildly confused.
"Don't you 'Raisty' me!" Raistlin growled. He emphatically reached down, picked up the bottle, and threw it back down. Dalamar cringed as it shattered, wine and glass flying everywhere.
"But, love, please--" Dalamar started.
"Go back to her, Dalamar!" Raistlin snarled. "I'll bet she -- whoever she was -- can afford better!" Raistlin advanced on Dalamar, golden fingers balled into fists at his sides. "Couldn't she? A rich little Wayreth slut, wasn't she?" Dalamar backed up until his shoulders hit the wall. Raistlin leaned forward, inches away, golden skin flushed an angry copper. "Wasn't she?!"
"Actually," Dalamar said a little weakly, " 'she' was a 'he.' " Raistlin's hourglass eyes flew wide.
"You cheated on me with another MAN??" Raistlin squeaked. He staggered backwards, eyelids fluttering, fanning at himself with one manicured hand. "You... you..."
"Raisty, no, it wasn't like that!" Dalamar said quickly, rushing forward. Raistlin shook his head.
"After everything... (gasp) ...I've done for you..." Raistlin's knees gave out and he collapsed on the bed, still fanning frantically. Dalamar leapt over the broken glass and came to a skidding halt at the edge of the bed.
"Darling, please!" Dalamar tried. "You don't understand!"
Raistlin sat up, eyes glowing. "Don't understand?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "I. Don't UNDERSTAND...?" Dalamar, not seeing the danger, stepped into it with arms open wide.
"Right!" Dalamar said, nodding eagerly. "If you'll just let me explain, I'm sure..."
"Explain THIS!" Raistlin shouted. He grabbed the collar of Dalamar's much- abused robes in one hand and thrust the other through a hole, placing his fingers firmly across the elf's chest.
"Raisty, love, what're you doing?" Dalamar, asked, trying to squirm away. Raistlin closed his eyes and started chanting. "Raistlin!" Dalamar gasped, eyes wide. He'd recognized a few of the words, and if he were right, then Raistlin was casting...
"Raistlin!" Dalamar shouted, wriggling with all his might. Raistlin's golden fingers stayed closed tight, however, and the casting didn't waver. Little wisps of steam started curling away from Raistlin's fingers. "Raistlin, please, don't do this--"
And then there came a scream.
* * *
Dalamar sighed contentedly and set the empty bowl aside.
"I think I'd like some bread now," he said musingly. "Oh Raisty..."
Raistlin stood up from his perch on the edge of Dalamar's sickbed. He muttered something rather not complementary about where he'd like to PUT Dalamar's bread and started for the pantry in the next room. Dalamar laughed, delighted.
"Oh, come now, love," he called to Raistlin, "it's the only way I'll get well." The elf grinned. "And besides, it was your own fault for not listening to me until AFTER you put a handprint in my chest." He scratched at the edges of the bandages criss-crossing his chest, and smiled smugly as Raistlin returned, half a loaf of bread held in his hands.
"Oh, shove it," Raistlin growled. He threw the bread at Dalamar rather harder than was really necessary. It slipped through the elf's slender fingers and bounced off his chest before landing in his lap. Raistlin sat back down in the chair, filing smugly at his nails.
"Bloody hell!" Dalamar gasped. His gritted his teeth until the pain subsided, then glared at Raistlin, who prettily blew him a kiss. "Thanks," he said, a little bitterly.
" 'Hell hath no anger like that of a magi scorned,' " Raistlin said with a little smile.