Gris’s phone was ringing. He really liked the song he set for his ringtone, but now it grated on him in ways it had never done before. Why didn’t he know a spell to silence his phone in the middle of the night?
Oh, yeah, he could have just turned the ringer off. He rolled over in bed, groping for the phone, his eyes barely working as he tried to read the display, to check the time, and the god-awful person who was calling him at…one thirty in the morning. Someone’d better be cursed.
He didn’t recognize the number. Fumbling with the phone, he tried his best to silence it, but accidentally answered it instead. “Fuuu…” His fingers felt fat, and he couldn’t make his eyes focus, not without his contacts.
“Jack Griswold?”
“Who’s this?” he growled, angry at the general concept of being awake at this time when it wasn’t by his own doing.
“Jack Griswold?” the voice asked again. He thought it sounded familiar, but his brain was having a hard time resetting enough to be cognizant. “Jack Griswold, are ya there? It’s me, Lysstor. From the farmer’s market.”
Lysstor??? Why was Lysstor calling him? Wait, why did Lysstor have his number? How did Lysstor have his number? His brain tried to put together words, concepts, but the ends wouldn’t meet.
“I can hear ya breathing Jack Griswold, say something.”
“Lysstor?” he asked, feeling slow.
“Yes, it’s me. Where are ya right now?”
“Huh?” he asked, sitting up. “How do you have my number?”
“Were ya sleeping? Are ya home?” Lysstor sounded…off. Weird.
“Why are you calling me? Yes, I was sleeping. It’s, like, the middle of the night. On a Wednesday. Most people are sleepin’. Normal people are sleepin’. What’s wrong, is sumthin wrong?” he slurred, not awake enough to annunciate.
Lysstor sighed. “Whazz your address?”
“Huh?” he replied. The conversation was all over the place. “What’s wrong with you? Sumthin’ wrong? Do’ya need help?” Why would Lysstor call him? He would have to have been the last person on his list to call in an emergency, something really bad must have happened. Suddenly he was very wide awake. “Are you hurt? What happened?”
“I’m drunk,” Lysstor said dramatically. “I wanna come over.”
“You’re…drunk? Wait, what?” he asked, unable to comprehend what was happening. “You want to come over? Like, to my house?”
“Yeah,” Lysstor agreed. “I wanna come over. I’m drunk, and I wanna, I mean, I think, ah, where’d’ya live?”
“I’ll text you the address if you promise to call a cab. Don’t drive, Lysstor, promise me you won’t drive.”
Lysstor laughed. “I don’t have a car. I wrecked Anri’s car, and I don’t have one, anyway.”
“You wrecked a car, like tonight?”
Lysstor snorted. “No, of course not tonight. I’m drunk tonight. That was before, when we were, ah, doing other stuff. Yeah. No, not tonight. I don’t have a car.”
“I’ll come get you. Where are you, Lysstor?” he said, trying to be firm with him.
“Nah, text it to me, I’ll get a car ta drive me if it’s too far,” Lysstor insisted.
Gris was up out of bed, looking for a hoodie by the light of his phone. “Where are you?”
Lysstor sighed again. “Nevermind. I thought, ya know, if I was drunk I could… But nevermind. I’m sorry, Jack Griswold. I woke ya up. I’m sorry for a lotta things.”
“Lysstor, listen to me, Lyss. Can I call you Lyss?”
There was a pause. “Yeah, I guess. I think…Godwin told me where ya lived, I made Anri do me a favor. I thought I was almost there, but everything looks the same here…”
“You know Godwin? Who’s Anri?” he asked, jealousy rising up in his throat though he had absolutely no right to be jealous at all. He groped on his bed stand for his glasses, he didn’t have time to put in his contacts. He found them, and slipped them on, but his eyes were still tired and blurry.
“Godwin’s the incubus ya know! Anri knows him, sort of. Anri…he’s a friend. Married ta my brother’s best friend, bonded and wed,” Lysstor explained. He sounded out of breath. “I’m a proper detective!”
“Are you walking? What street are you on?” Gris asked him, running through the dark to his front door. He nearly ran outside before grabbing his keys, pulling himself back to grab them. He could reset the wards, but he never quite got the hang of telekinesis, which he would need to unlock the doors if he forgot his keys. Nox was always better at the physical stuff than him.
“Montgomery,” Lysstor read. “I’m on Montgomery Street.”
“What other street?” Gris demanded.
“Hold on, I’ll walk down and check,” Lysstor said, moving again.
“No, no, no, stay right there, just stay right there, I’m coming to get you. Don’t move,” he demanded firmly.
“You’re really bossy when you’re grumpy,” Lysstor noted.
“I think you’re probably like two blocks away,” Gris told him, ignoring his comment. “What are you doing here?”
Lysstor sighed heavily. “I brought sake. I love sake, there’s no rice in the Feywilds, did ya know that? Won’t grow there. Nothing quite like it, either, and there’s something so tricky and smooth and satisfying about sake. Seth won’t let me drink it, cause it gets me drunk really fast. I broughtcha some. You’re drinking with me.”
Gris could hear him now, both on the phone and nearby. “Drinking with you? You said you’re already drunk. Hold on, I think I hear you. Make some noise.”
“Jack Griswold!” Lysstor called out loud. “Grissswooold!”
“Shut up! You’re gonna get the cops called on us!” he chided, secretly loving hearing Lysstor yell his name.
“You’re the one who told me ta make noise,” Lysstor giggled. He giggled. It was the most adorable thing he’d ever heard, and he blushed at the thought. The next second he was kicking himself, he had to keep this from getting his hopes up. Lysstor was straight, he’d never look at him the way he looked at Lysstor. Besides, Lysstor was out of his league, hell, they weren’t even playing the same game.
“Oh, haaaay,” Lysstor said as Gris turned the corner. Lysstor trotted over to him, his phone still held to his head. “Jack Griswold!”
“Shh!” he hushed. “Shut up! You’re so loud!”
“Hey, Jack Griswold, I have a whole bag full a alcohol. Do ya have glasses? I forgot ta buy them, the glasses,” Lysstor said, stopping as he got closer. “Ya look tired. Ya have glasses!”
Gris sighed. “I am tired, I was asleep. No time to put in the contacts.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry ‘bout that, but I wanted to, ah…” Lysstor trailed off, a conflicted look crossing his face.
“Oh man, come on, let’s go. My house’s this way, come on now,” he said, turning to head back. He checked over his shoulder but Lysstor stood on the sidewalk, looking down, forcing him to stop.
“Why’da all these double houses look the same?”
“They’re called duplexes. They were all built with some big housing project back in the day. Come on, we’re almost there.” Lysstor hesitated and Gris looked back. “You okay?”
He looked up, then smiled, and Gris’s heart flipped. “Yeah, sure, I’m fine.” He trotted up to walk beside him, and Gris lead the way to his house.
“So, ah, hey,” he said, not sure where to start. “Are you, I mean, no offense meant, but…why me? I’m sure there’s lots of people you could drink with, you know, if you wanted someone to drink with.” He ran his hands over his scalp, the bristle of hair scratching his hand. God, he didn’t want to say something stupid, he hoped he could keep his stupid mouth shut. Lysstor had come here, to drink with him.
“Hmm,” Lysstor said thoughtfully. “I wonder.”
Gris chuckled uncomfortably, unsure what to say. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but… “I just, I guess I don’t understand why you’re here.”
“Here?” Lysstor asked, looking at him in the dark. Gris was glad it was so dark, Lysstor wouldn’t be able to see him blush. He hated it, his whole head turned red when he blushed.
“Yeah, I mean, with me. Why here, at my house? Lots of people to choose from before you get to me on the list, I’m sure. You know? I mean, other than the farmer’s market we don’t, I mean, you’re nice to me, but, it’s not like we’re friends.”
“We’re not friends? Oh. I didn’t realize. I thoughtcha wanted ta be friends,” Lysstor said, scrunching up his face to one side like he did when he was thoughtful.
“No, no, I do, I do want to be friends, I didn’t think you thought we were friends, you know, cause we’ve only really done stuff a few times, and the once wasn’t really your choice.”
Lysstor nodded. “I think that one time’s why. I mean, I wasn’t feeling well, and ya-”
Gris blushed again, waving the comment away with his hands. “It was nothing, anyone would have helped you.”
“That isn’t true. Ya have a big heart, and that day, ya stayed with me, even when I toldja ta get lost,” Lysstor said as they approached the outside wooden steps attached to the side of the house that lead to his second floor apartment. “Oh, nice wards!”
“Thanks,” Gris replied automatically. “Wait, you can see them?”
“You know I’m Fey,” Lysstor reminded, nudging him with his shoulder. The touch sent a bolt of excitement down his spine. Lysstor was taller than him, by at least a head, and he looked up, but Lysstor was eyeing his ward work.
“Oh, yeah, I guess so. I’m good at wards and bubbles, it’s kinda my thing, other than being the components guy. My magic isn’t that strong, I’m probably the weakest in our coven. They only keep me around because I have steady hands and make strong wards and bubbles,” he said, feeling a little down now that he said it out loud.
“Pfft,” Lysstor scoffed. “This ward is one a the best wards I’ve seen, true story. This is your apartment? Didja say ya had cups?”
“Thanks,” he said, blushing hard. “Yeah, mine, I live on the second floor up there. Come on.” He lead them up the steps, feeling embarrassed as he slid his key into the door. “I’m sure I have cups.”
“Wait, no, ya need special little cups, they can’t be just any cups!”
“Come on, you drunk,” Gris said, leading the way into his narrow row house without touching him, actively dropping his wards for a moment. “Welcome to my home.”
Lysstor nodded, following him. “Seriously, ya do have cups, right? We need these tiny little cups, like for little kids. I have no idea why the’re so small, but that’s how ya drink sake. Like, it’s a rule or something.”
“I have normal cups, I don’t have sake cups,” Gris admitted, hoping it wouldn’t drive Lysstor out again. He kicked his shoes off in the doorway, and debated on whether or not to ask Lysstor do to the same, not wanting to be rude.
Lysstor watched Gris, his stare heavy, and then followed suit, kicking off his shoes, which were actually much more like a running shoe mixed with a sandal. He wasn’t wearing socks. Lysstor took a deep breath, looking around, then a huge smile broke out on his face. “You’re like an apothecary! You have everything. It smells,” he took another deep huff, “amazing in here.”
Gris looked around the front room, ashamed at the mess. Boxes and crates were stacked everywhere, filled with rare and common components alike, anything he found. Dozens of different herbs were drying on the wall in this room alone, hung between posters for movies and bands. To say it was cluttered would be an understatement. The boxes and crates made a pathway that split off in three directions, one to his kitchen, one to the hall back to the bedrooms and bathroom, and one actually into his living room, which was walled off with the crates.
“I don’t have everything,” he muttered. “Sorry it’s a mess. Sorry it smells. Honestly I can’t even smell it anymore.”
“By the blood, that’s a shame, it is.” Lysstor shook his head, then swayed. Gris caught him and steadied him, the touch of his skin to Lysstor’s sending a shock of excitement straight to his manhood. I’m so stupid, he chided himself internally. He had to stop pretending this had even the most remote chance to turn into something it wouldn’t.
Lysstor laughed, and he loved the sound of it. “Whatever, Magic-man. Ya have a ton, I can smell, man, it smells so good in here. I thought I could smell this on ya, all these different components, they smell so good together. Reminds me of my tutor, when I was as kid. God, I loved going there, it smelled like this, like magic. I thoughtcha smelled like this that time, obviously ya did! Ya don’t have little cups? My buzz is wearing off, I don’t have time ta go get some.” He pouted, dipping his head down like a child. “It’s time to drink, Jack Griswold!”
“Please, call me Gris. And, it’s, like, one in the morning, Lyss, no where would be open anyway. I have shot glasses, maybe those would work?”
Lysstor lit up. “Oh, yes, perfect! Those will work, go get those, and ya hafta do three shots in a row, ya need ta catch up!”
“I’m not getting trashed, Lyss, I have to work tomorrow.” Technically he didn’t have to work until 11, but still, he had to work, and if he stayed up all night drinking, he wouldn’t have time to sober up beforehand.
“Gris, you need ta lighten up!” That Lysstor gave him a nickname had his heart beat rising.
He laughed, trying to push his desire away. “Says the most uptight guy I know. Seriously, before now, if someone asked me if you ever relaxed, I woulda said no.”
“I’m not that bad,” Lysstor insisted.
Gris shrugged. “Well, I don’t really know you that well, but you always seem so tense. Anyway, I’ll go get the shot glasses, sit down and make yourself comfortable. You want something to eat?”
“Oh, shit, I forgot the snacks! Anri made these kickass blueberry muffins, I shoulda brought ‘em,” Lysstor called after him as he slipped into the kitchen.
“I have snacks. Anri, you live with him?” Gris asked, taking a guess, trying not to be jealous.
Lysstor snorted. “More like he and Seth live with me. Everyone else moved out, but those two…well, it’s a big place, so it’s not so bad. I don’t see them that much, actually, since Anri works nights and Seth’s on his schedule until school starts again. And… ta be honest, it’s nice not ta be alone all the time.”
Gris returned with two shot glasses, one from Key West, a present from one of his coven mates, and one with a logo of the gym he worked at, and why they sold shot glasses at a fitness place he would never understand. Still, it’d been free, so he took it. He couldn’t pass up free, even if he didn’t use it very often. Actually, this was the first time he’d ever used it. “Here’s the cups,” he said, placing them on the coffee table by Lysstor.
Lysstor perked up and was pouring sake from a round, black bottle before Gris was seated. “This is the best, it’s my favorite, but it’s kinda pricey. So, drink up, what’d I say, three? Yeah, three.”
Gris shook his head, taking the small cup from Lysstor. “I’m not catching up. I’ll pace you now, but I have to work tomorrow. Wait,” he said, something from Lysstor’s conversation earlier catching in his mind. “You said Anri and…Seth?”
“Yeah, do’ya know them?” Lysstor asked, interested, glass raised to his lips. “No, you drink first, I’ll drink after ya.”
Gris sighed, then drank the sake like a shot. “Better?”
“No, man, ya sip it, savor it!” Lysstor lamented. “Do it again, but this time do it better.”
Gris laughed, but held his glass out. Lysstor swayed, but somehow he didn’t spill a drop. He felt Lysstor’s magic, a slight touch of it, keeping the fluid where he wanted it. “Why don’t you just pour it with magic, I mean, if you’re going to use it anyway?”
Lysstor blushed. “Wasn’t trying ta show off, just didn’t wanna spill it, ya’know? Not as coordinated as normal.”
Lysstor’s accent seemed heavier than normal, and try as he might, he couldn’t put his finger on quite where it was from. He smiled, enjoying this intimate moment with Lysstor, even if he was also trying hard to stamp down any hint of a chance. Why did he always fall for straight guys?
“You said Seth and Anri. Are, ah, neither of those sound like feminine names, but you said their bonded and wed?” Gris inquired, trying not to seem too interested, but totally curious about Lysstor’s attitude towards homosexuality, especially if his roommates were gay.
“Seth and Anri? No, both guys,” Lysstor confirmed, sipping his sake. He sighed contentedly, leaning back into the sofa. He took another deep breath, closing his eyes. “Gris, I love your home.”
Gris beat his fluttering heart into submission, but it wouldn’t desist, caught on the word love even remotely related to him. “Thanks,” he said, blushing, hiding behind a sip of the simple yet floral tasting alcohol. “You don’t, ah, mind? That they’re, ah, you know?”
Lysstor pried one eye open, still slouching on his couch. “Why would I?”
Gris shook his head. “No reason, I mean, some people are just, you know, weird by it or something.”
“Weird by what?” Lysstor said, closing his eye again.
“By, ah, two men, I mean, um, together, like that,” Gris said, growing more flustered with each syllable.
Lysstor snorted. “I’m not weird by it or anything. I mean, ah, well, no, I’m not weird by it. Love’s love, and all that.”
There were a few moments of silence. Lysstor’s eyes remained closed, but when Gris’s glass was empty, sake poured itself into his glass, refilling without Lysstor even cracking an eye.
“Man, you’re really strong, magically,” Gris commented. “You didn’t even look.”
“That’s easy,” Lysstor said, sounding sleepy. He opened his eyes, sitting up, then frowned. “Well, maybe I was showing off a little, just after I said I wouldn’t. Sorry. I, I mean, I like it here, your place. It feels so… I don’t know the word in english, I don’t think there is one. Kinda nostalgic, reminiscent.”
Gris bit his lip, proud and embarrassed. This flicker of hope in his gut was not a good thing. “Well, I’m glad that you feel comfortable here.”
Lysstor poured himself another cup of sake, the regular way. “So, ya mentioned, ah…” Lysstor trailed off, sipping his drink. Was he blushing?
“I mentioned?” Gris pushed when he didn’t continue.
“Being weird that way,” Lysstor said, looking down into his cup. “You’re like that, too, right? Like Seth n’ Anri?”
Gris nearly choked on his sip of sake, then downed the rest of it like a shot, holding it out for another refill. Lysstor obliged. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Lysstor narrowed his eyes. “You’re gay, aren’tcha? I mean, I really thought ya were, your friends seemed ta imply it yesterday…”
Gris shifted uncomfortably, staring a hole in the table, so afraid to look at Lysstor, afraid to see the disgust on his face that the must be feeling towards him being gay. “Sorry. I mean, they coulda just been fucking around, right?”
Lysstor’s skeptical look was adorable, and had his heart in tatters. “They coulda, but I woulda guessed ya were even before that.”
Gria swallowed hard. “How?” he asked.
Lysstor snorted. “The way ya look at me, mostly. Anri watches Seth like that, too.”
“Sorry,” Gris choked out. “I didn’t mean to, I mean, I know you’re not into guys, and I didn’t, I didn’t think, I mean, I wouldn’t ever act on it, I’m just, you’re so beautiful, and I mean, I wouldn’t, I swear it, I’m sorry!” Goddess, he wished he could just slip into the couch and disappear. How’d he find out? He thought he’d been so careful not to be obvious.
“That’s why I’m here, actually, least a lil’ bit,” Lysstor said, tucking his feet under him on the couch. “How’dja know you’re gay?”
Gris couldn’t speak for a moment. “Huh?”
“How’d ya know ya were gay?” he asked again, sucking his lower lip.
“I, ah, I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking me…”
Lysstor sighed, then poured more sake for both of them, the bottle moving under his magical influence. “I want ta know what made ya know ya were gay. Like, know know.”
“Why?” Gris asked, narrowing his eyes distrustfully. Was this some way to shame him?
“You’re gay, right? I mean, ya know why you’re gay, and I wanna know. Anri talked about it once ta me, about how he turned. He wasn’t gay, neither of ‘em were, not before they met each other. Now they’re inseparable, so sickening in love it makes me… well, when I asked Anri again, like, when he knew he was gay, what made him gay, he told me ta go fuck myself. Maybe I’m not asking it the right way. I was too embarrassed ta ask Seth,” Lysstor said.
“This feels like a trap, Lyss. No offence, but being gay, it’s not usually a good thing. People don’t, ah…well, you know. I feel like you’re just gonna start making fun of me any minute,” Gris said, attempting to diffuse the situation.
Lysstor looked up, and Gris met his eyes, even though he didn’t want to. There was something there, some type of need, and he knew Lysstor wouldn’t intentionally hurt him with this information, that Lysstor was searching for something.
Gris blew out the breath he had been holding. “Fine, sorry, I mean, it’s a pretty touchy subject. So, ah, I’ve never been attracted to girls, not for as long as I can remember. I mean, girls are great, I like girls, but I never actually liked girls, not like that. My first crushes were on Orlando Bloom and David Bowie from Labyrinth. Seriously, the first time I fantasized about a man, I knew I could never ever tell my mom, but she knew. She already knew, but she was like that. Hell, I didn’t come out to my best friend Nox until I was seventeen, but he says he always knew. Nox’s perceptive like that, too. Actually, Nox is pretty awesome all around.”
“Orlando Bloom?” Lysstor asked, a sly smile on his face. “Like, Legolas?”
Gris blushed, realizing again that Lysstor was Fey. “Ah, I mean, he’s hot, no matter what movie he’s in… I didn’t know any Fey back then.”
“Well, ya do now. How do we compare?” Lysstor asked, sounding playful.
Gris felt like his face was on fire, sure this was a trap, but he couldn’t stop himself. “You’re better.” He wriggled uncomfortably on the chair, so embarrassed he could die. “I mean, no one wants to hear that a gay man finds them hot, do they? Sorry, I’m sorry, forget I said anything, but honestly, you’re so much better than Orlando as Legolas.”
Lysstor laughed, and it was a refreshing breeze on a stifling day. “My brother Lance was always more like Legolas, I mean, what kinda elf am I? I don’t even have long hair.”
“You’re an elf? Like not just Fey, but an actual elf? I didn’t want to assume, I mean, Annabel in my coven is brownie-kin, but you can’t tell just from looking,” he asked, trying to shift the conversation away from himself.
“Oh, yes, purebreed elf, pretty much can’t get more elf than me and my brother,” Lysstor laughed, but it sounded forced. “I don’t wanna ruin the night talking about it. Wait, wait, wait, hold up. Ya really didn’t? Know, I mean. I thought ya knew who I am, when ya helped me that day. Ya said something about Fey…”
“I can feel the Fey-ness of your magic, because I know what Annabel’s magic feels like. Yours is different, really a ton stronger, but I recognized it, and when you lost consciousness, your glamorie slipped and I saw your ears,” Gris explained.
“So ya don’t…” Lysstor said, looking at him skeptically. “Ya really don’t know who I am?”
“Ah, I know your name is Lysstor, and I know you’re Fey, and I know you know the difference between chamomile and pellitory,” he explained. “I mean, how else would I know you? I never met you before the farmer’s market, did I?”
Lysstor exhaled loudly, then began to laugh, placing his glass down as he lost himself to his laughter. Gris stared, uncomfortable and confused, unsure what had set the elf off.
Oh, Goddess, he had an actual elf, pure blood elf in his living room! What was he doing? He needed, shit, he had no idea what he needed. He stood up quickly, rushing to the kitchen, trying to find something worth offering Lysstor to eat. Goddess, he had really messed this up.
“Where’re ya goin?” Lysstor called after him, his laughter still hitching his voice.
“Snacks,” Gris called back. “What do you want? You can have anything, as long as I have it.”
Lysstor laughed again. “Milk and honey.”
Gris frowned, feeling like Lysstor was teasing him. “Ah…okay,” he said, worried to death that he was messing this up beyond belief. His head was spinning with the direction the night had been going.
He returned to the living room, dodging the boxes of components in the way as his sake caught up to him. “Honey,” he said, putting down a bear-shaped bottle of local honey, “and milk.” The quart milk jug made an audible thunk as he placed it on the table. He threw down a bag of chips, too, lightly salted kettle chips. “Oh, and chips, in case you were making fun of me.”
Lysstor’s look was playful, and Gris looked away. “Didja bring a bowl?”
“For what? The chips? We can just eat them outta the bag, I was thinking.”
Lysstor laughed again. “That’s fine, for the chips, I don’t care. I meant the milk and honey.”
”The milk and honey?! You can’t be serious,” Gris snapped. “You’re just making fun of me, I knew it.”
Lysstor frowned, then threw his head back, drinking down the sake left in his cup. “I’m not,” he insisted. “I may be drunk, but I’m not making fun a ya, Jack Griswold. What’s your full name?”
“You can’t be serious. I mean it, Lyss, stop, please don’t,” he begged, hist stomach dropping as he realized where this might be going.
“You’re the one who said I always seem serious,” Lysstor reminded him. “What’s your middle name?”
Gris danced in his seat. “You’re…you’re acting like I’m gonna summon you or something, but you’re already here, and I’d never summon you, Lyss! I couldn’t be that rude!”
“Do it,” Lysstor goaded. “Summon me, Jack Griswold. I wantcha to. Make me an offering.” Lysstor’s eyes shimmered and Gris thought he could see his glamoire flickering. He handed his empty shot glass across the table, motioning for Gris to take it.
“This doesn’t make any sense!” Gris complained, eyeing the shot glass like a snake. “You’re already here! I don’t need to summon you.”
“Don’t be a wimp, Gris. Summon me, make me an offering of milk and honey, and call for me.”
For real? Gris had no idea what was going on, and he was still too tired for his mind to be fully functional. “I don’t know your name,” Gris said, his throat feeling tight, rubbing his tired eyes. Lysstor was serious, he could feel it, and it made him exceptionally excited, and afraid. “Why’re you doing this?” Why was he playing along? He couldn’t help it, he’d do just about anything Lysstor told him to do. Goddess, he was stupid.
“Cause I’m drunk and curious, I guess. My name is Lysstor Janius Aradel. Come on, Magic-man. Show me your magic. I wanna see who ya really are.”
“I already told you I’m weak, you don’t need to rub it in!”
Lysstor laughed. “You’re not weak, not with those wards. Not with how good it smells in here. You’re not weak, Magic-man.” Lysstor gestured for him to take the shot glass again. “Let me prove it to ya.”
Gris swallowed hard, but he couldn’t help himself as he took the shot glass from Lysstor’s fingers, carefully avoiding contact. Goddess, Lyss was so attractive. Hell, he couldn’t tell him no, even though his brain was screaming at him that this was a bad idea. His hands were shaking, he couldn’t help himself as he poured in a small amount of milk, then squeezed out the golden honey. It sank into the cloudy beverage, disappearing until it pooled at the bottom of the glass. “Do I need to mix it together?”
“Stop procrastinating, Jack! Summon me. Call me, ask me for a boon, do it!” Lysstor demanded, dancing in his seat with anticipation. He was getting excited, and his eyes had taken on a wildness that had him terrified, but also nervously anticipatory. He had no idea what Lysstor wanted from him, but the attention was driving him to distraction.
His sleepy brain finally caught up to him, recalling what he needed to summon a Fey. Shit, no salt circle, nothing iron, nothing. He wasn’t prepared, didn’t remember how to do it properly. “I don’t remember, Lyss! I don’t have all the materials together, I haven’t even set a circle. Please, you’re scaring me.”
Lysstor frowned, leaning back into a sitting position. He had been kneeling forward eagerly. “I wantcha to, Gris. I…I’ll teach ya, I’ll walk ya through it. Summon me, please?”
“Why?” Gris asked, moving off the couch to kneel on the floor. “I don’t understand. I don’t have salt or iron, either, I can’t do it right.”
“I won’t hurt ya, Jack Griswold. Ya don’t need salt or iron. I won’t hurt ya, I promise. Call me, it’s easy. Focus your intention, call me by my name and give me your offering.”
Gris’s hand was shaking as he closed his eyes, his fingers gripping the shot glass of milk and honey tightly. He opened his mouth, then cleared his throat and took another sip of sake. “This is a bad idea, Lyss,” he said, staring Lysstor in the eyes.
There was a wildness to him, so primal and dangerous, yet free and playful, like the wind, that Gris lost himself for a moment, hypnotized by the wild magic he could see in Lysstor’s eyes.
“Dealing with Fey always is,” Lysstor agreed, and even his voice had taken on a wild, magical cadence, almost songlike.
Gris sighed, then finished his sake. “Yeah, okay.” He coiled his magic, pulled it together inside him, thought of it collecting like dew on the petals of his lotus flower inside his mind’s eye. He picked up the glass with the milk and honey again, and held it over the table, offering it to Lysstor. Before he could lose his nerve, he let his magic flow into his words. “Lysstor Janius Aradel, I call you. I summon you here, heed my call. I have prepared the offering you desire, show yourself to me!”
Power spun around him like wind, but the air didn’t move. He opened his eyes and Lysstor’s face was lit up with excitement, his glamoire completely gone, radiantly shining. “Yes, I was right!” Lysstor breathed, closing his eyes, so blue they looked like the sky on a perfect day. “Gimmie your offering.”
Gris’s hands shook so bad the milk was splashing over the side. Something about this felt incredible, the power he was channelling felt like he was with the coven, channelling the full power of six witches together, not just himself. Why hadn’t he set a bubble to contain this magic? If it got loose, there was no way he’d be able to control it. Lysstor was really powerful, this was a mistake, but Lysstor told him to do it. Lysstor encouraged him to do it. He shook his head, letting it go, focusing on the flow of the wild magic around him and the stunning man across the table from him.
“Lysstor Junius Aradel, please accept my offer of honey and milk, and heed my call. Grant me a boon, as is my right,” Gris said, the power charging his soul like a battery.
Lysstor bowed slightly, kneeling on the other side of the table, then accepted the shot glass of milk and honey. He took it like a shot, and when he put his glass down, the blue in his eyes flowed like ocean waves. “I accept your offering,” Lysstor said, smiling widely. “What is your name, full name, he who summons me?”
Gris’s throat swelled up, making it hard for him to find his voice. “Jackson Marshall Griswold,” he croaked.
“Perfect,” Lysstor breathed. “Shall we play a game, Jackson Marshall Griswold?”
Dreadfully Erotic 