The Professionals Circuit Archive - Bringer of Light and Magic      
Bringer of Light and Magic

 

by Jane

  
 The audience had been wild, in the palm of the magician's hand. It was
the kind of show Galen imagined a performer must dream about, but for all
the joy of being loved by the faceless mass, there was a price to be paid
for that love.

Before Zax, the audience was helpless. 

Before his audience, the magician was often just as helpless. The crowd
gave him the adoration usually reserved for a messiah, and in return it
made demands. More, MORE. Much of the performance was sleight of hand,
showmanship, Zax trading on his sensuality, the "magic" of his face and
body.... But there was more to it than that. 

He gave of himself, too, seeming to produce the magic out of the very air
around him.... Firestarter.... Bringer of light.... And then, the empty
space, the folding cloak, the magician gone from the stage. 

Magic, Galen thought as he watched Zax pay the price for his performance.
It had been incredible tonight, encore after encore, the crowd refusing to
be appeased. In the wings, Galen had stood with a smile, watching with a
pride that, once, he would have scorned.... Magic. 

Oh, it existed; Zax was the living proof of it, and how great its toll
could be on the magician. The pale, slight body was still in sleep, only
the steady rise and fall of the softly furry chest attesting to the fact
that he was alive at all. 

Costume discarded, warpaint washed away, Zax was human again, small and
deceptively thin. On stage there was the aura of the supernatural about
him, the more-than-human; but here, in the peace and haven of their bed,
he was-- 

A man, Galen thought, reaching out to caress one slim arm; special,
strange--often hard to live with and impossible to understand--but a man.
The magician stirred in his sleep without waking and as Galen watched a
pale gold nimbus gathered about him, tendrils of light streaming from the
quiescent fingers that lay on the quilt. 

He was dreaming. 

Now, Galen just smiled. Once, the aura would have frightened him or
spurred him to the anger of affronted logic, as his every wit sought to
deny the possibility that any such thing as magic could exist. He basked
in Zax's dream- nimbus now, wondering what his lover was dreaming about,
thinking back to the way it had all begun-- 

A poor quality tape, green eyes seeking him out, the impossible light of
recognition-- 

The burned-out shell of a man, broken in body and mind, limping from his
injuries, helpless. Galen remembered his near inability to believe that
this pitiful creature was the magician he had travelled across the world
and into danger to find; the memories of the following weeks, on the road
as fugitives, were painfully keen; he remembered every taunt with which he
had tormented Zax as he watched the healing begin. 

Slowly, so slowly...healing, impotent and empty-eyed, not living but
existing, waiting for the morning when he had woken, and it had begun to
come back. Galen smiled at the memory; making love, Zax hot with arousal
for the first time, not rejecting the offered caresses. And later, lazing
the day away, plucking cigarettes casually out of the air, as yet unaware
of what he was doing.... 

These fingers, Galen thought, knitting them into his own, noticing for the
thousandth time how different they were. Slender, white, nimble, cool and
lax in his hand, from the tips, streamers of hazy mauve mixing with the
gold of the dream-nimbus. Sweet dreams, Galen hoped--there was little
enough in Zax's life that had been sweet. 

Silver in his hair attested to the harshness of his life; laugh lines
about his eyes suggested how he had survived. Galen studied the magician's
profile, half-seen, illuminated by the nimbus and the firelight. Cherub or
fallen angel? It depended on Zax's mood at the time! Galen stooped forward
and kissed the silvered temple. His lover had slept for hours--it was not
much short of dawn. 

Abruptly, the nimbus changed colour, gold becoming green, as green as the
magician's eyes. He was waking, and as Galen watched, the light faded. 

One deep breath, another, a luxurious stretch, and lashes fluttered on a
pale cheek. Galen smiled, leaning over to kiss him awake, wanting him with
a gentle hunger that seemed to grow stronger with time. The soft lips
parted at once; generosity, affection; and Zax's tongue curled about
Galen's own. A husky purr, and the slender arms circled the bigger, more
muscular frame. 

"Mm," Zax murmured against Galen's mouth. "Nicest way to wake I know.
Beats an alarm clock, hands down." 

Galen chuckled richly. "Sweet dreams, were they?" 

"Sweet...?" Zax blinked up at him, sleepy and gentled by affection. 

"The room was full of light," Galen explained. "You were dreaming." He
grinned. "I can always tell when you're dreaming--I can READ by you." 

"Oh." Zax rubbed his back on the sheets. "Nice dreams, yeah.... You and
me. What else?" 

"Making love, were we?" Galen kissed the pale shoulder closest to him. 

"No, just walking. I remember grass and trees, your hand in mine." The
magician wriggled under the kisses, which were growing more determined.
"You didn't wake me to talk over old times, did you?" 

"Complaining?" Galen looked into the deep, green eyes and saw them smile.
"The show was fantastic. The others were celebrating before you got off
the stage--" 

"I thought they'd never let me go," Zax admitted. 

"--and I'd have ravished you in the wings, but you were out on your feet."
Galen paused, manufacturing a hopeful expression. "Feeling better now?" 

Zax gave the earthy chuckle Galen loved to hear. "You mean, am I feeling
up to a bit of ravishing?" 

Galen merely nodded, his attention devoted to the magician's warm chest,
his lips busy at nipples that were hard now. 

A lush sigh passed Zax's lips, then arms that always surprised Galen with
their strength were pulling the bigger man down, enfolding him. Zax's
long, slender legs wrapped about him too, and the magician chuckled again.
"You're getting heavier, mate. Have to go on a diet soon, or you'll squash
me." 

"So you lie on top," Galen suggested, kissing his lover's face a square
inch at a time. 

"Sometimes," Zax whispered. "Oi," he added as Galen began to nip, "it's
too early for breakfast, and in any case I'm not edible!" 

"Moot point," Galen said, smacking his lips. Zax gave a ribald giggle,
undignified, reassuringly human; Galen kissed his mouth softly. "We're
supposed to be celebrating the best show we ever staged," he reminded. 

"Thought we were," Zax said dreamily, bucking his hips. "Best crowd we
ever drew.... Like the old days, almost." 

"They loved you," Galen whispered, beginning to move against his lover,
unable to be still a moment longer. 

"Like the old days," Zax sighed, moving with him. 

"And I love you," Galen whispered. Odd, that once it had been so hard to
say those words. Even to think them. 

A pale gold haze haloed them as Zax smiled. "Do you?" His mouth was
claimed again, plundered until he was begging for air. "Yes, you DO!" 

"Disbeliever," Galen accused, his rhythm becoming a little urgent, speech
becoming harder, the word indistinct. 

Zax had not even heard it. He was still depleted by the energies he had
expended to please an insatiable audience, content to let Galen take the
lead and do most of the work. Galen was pleased to oblige. It was all too
seldom that Zax was like this, soft, pliant; submissive? The thought was
enough to make Galen chuckle. 

Manipulative, domineering, capricious-- 

Vulnerable, tender, generous-- 

In love, Galen concluded as he felt Zax tense beneath him, strung out with
need, waiting to be made the gift of release, little haloes and rainbows
dancing about him as his nerves raced beyond his control.... 

Wet heat, splashing between them; one throaty cry echoed by another;
peace, drowsy contentment. Galen rolled over onto his back, taking the
magician with him. Hard, bony, Zax lay on his chest, almost asleep again. 

"Oi." Galen gave him a sharp dig in the ribs. "Not passin' out on me
already, are you?" 

His reply was a handful of stardust which glittered in the air over the
bed and littered the quilt, and a sleepy snuffle, damp against his neck. 

"Well, before you do," Galen said resignedly, cradling the smaller man
against him, "warm the place up, it's getting cold in here!" 

The warmth came up at once, waves of almost-hot air lapping about the bed.
Galen patted the smooth, white back. 

"Who needs a central-heating system when they've got you?" 

The witticism was lost on Zax; a soft snore was Galen's only reply, and he
smiled, letting Zax return to his dreams. 

The show had been classic, the best they had ever arranged.... Sorcerer's
Apprentice, Galen thought in a moment's self-mockery. Once, he would have
looked upon the name as an insult. Now? There had been a time of
learning--a bitter time, but one he valued, for out of it had come a
greater knowledge.... 

Magic. 

The people who swore it did not exist swore so because they had never met
a magician. Even now, most members of the audience believed they were
seeing merely a great entertainer. Galen knew better. Slung over a chair
in the corner of the room were the trappings of the entertainer--cloak,
wig, white bow tie abandoned carelessly on black silk pants, make- up box
on the floor, firelight shimmering on the gold of the medallion the
magician's father had given to his five-year-old son.... THAT was the Zax
of the stage, Galen thought, the Zax adored by the masses. 

Here, drowsing in his arms, was the MAGICIAN-- not the illusionist, the
conjuror, whose tricks enthralled the crowd, but the man from whose body
flowed magic itself. Galen luxuriated in the Zax-generated warmth,
remembering the shivers of light as his lover surged up toward climax.
Comfortable with it all now, Galen took delight in such displays, and Zax
had relaxed, allowing them to happen, unintended, like the nimbus which
sometimes flared out of his dreams. 

Galen hugged him close, unconsciously protective of the smaller man who
was so vulnerable in ways ordinary mortals would never be. THIS was the
magician. "And you're mine," Galen murmured. The audience adored their
idol, their conjuror, but here, with the trappings of the stage discarded,
the REAL man lay at peace.... "Mine." 

Bringer of light and magic.... Bringer of love. 

Galen closed his eyes on the thought, and slept. 

-- THE END --

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