This week, Dallas in Wonderland continues, as we find out how Dallas extracts the foot he placed in his mouth last week! Don't forget to check out the other Silver Flashers, whose links follow my story. Enjoy! And welcome another Flash virgin - Mathilde Watson!
Dallas felt his face go redder than his late grandfather’s Union suit, the only article of clothing the eccentric old man would wear while in his declining years. His embarrassment extended all the way from his red cheeks to his no doubt red balls.
“Thank you.” Dr. Levi bowed very elegantly from the waist. Dallas couldn’t help but notice the hint of fire in the other man’s eyes. Dare he hope it was directed toward him? He pushed the thought away as absurd.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… That is, I meant… Er, you aren’t…” Dallas stammered his way into silence, prepared to bite his own tongue in order to stem the tide of stupidities. How did Dr. Levi manage to make him feel so out of balance with the world?
At that moment, the cavalry arrived to save the day in the guise of Oz, who stared raptly at the doctor, eyes wide. “Is that a dress?” he asked, point-blank.
Before Dallas could get a word in edgewise—and God knows what that word might have been—the good Doctor intervened. One moment he was standing, the next he was seated beside Dallas, igniting an even greater fire inside of him. He could feel the heat of the doctor’s presence beside him; he focused on his own breathing, growing dizzier by the minute.
“No, it is a cheongsam,” Dr. Levi gravely explained to the child. “It is a Chinese garment. The name originally meant long shirt or dress.”
“Are you Chinese?” Oz cocked his head, regarding the doctor.
“I am not. But I have spent a great deal of time there. On the mainland, as well as in Hong Kong.”
Oz seemed to take this information in, considering it, analyzing it, before continuing, “In Scotland, men wear kilts. They’re not dresses either, are they? They’re not even skirts.”
“Indeed not. Very observant of you.”
Dallas felt himself warm at Dr. Levi’s praise, even though it was directed toward his nephew.
“People often misinterpret things, Oz, because of gender bias. For example, there are some people who would say that you play with dolls. I, on the other hand, know that you do not. Tell me, who is that in your hand?”
“D’Artagnan,” Oz replied proudly. “He was a friend of the Three Musketeers. But he wasn’t one of them. Not at first.”
“No, you are very right. He wasn’t. But he was the King’s man, wasn’t he? Very much so.”
Oz nodded his agreement.
Dallas listened intently to the conversation, but his eyes were drawn elsewhere; down along the doctor’s slender body, encased in the golden satin material which clung so seductively; down along the slim legs to the brocade slippers which he wore on his surprisingly small feet. Dallas couldn’t help but remember his dream, the one in which the doctor wore scrubs and fishnet stockings. His gaze rose upwards, settling on the doctor’s groin. He forced himself to look away.
While he was sightseeing, he’d lost track of what they were saying. Had someone just said Hari Krishna? Somehow he doubted it; he blamed his wandering mind for the blatant misinterpretation of undoubtedly innocent words. Whatever they might have actually been.
When he looked up again, Oz was gone, seated once more with his full complement of musketeers, engaged in some sort of sortie. Against the Cardinal’s men, no doubt.
“He’s a very bright boy,” Doctor Levi observed.
“Yes, he is. I’m very proud of him.”
“As you should be.”
Dallas felt the fingers before he saw them. The hand lay lightly upon his thigh, the fingers gently stroked the material of his trousers. Dallas felt his dizziness returning full-force, his head reeling with lust. He wished he could feel those digits upon his naked flesh, those lips upon his swollen… He swallowed. Hard.
“Are you still reading The Shining?”
Dallas forced his mind back to the present. He was startled that the other man remembered the name of the book he’d been reading the night they’d met. He had a great predilection for details obviously. It took him a moment to realize he hadn’t answered the question.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized for his rudeness. “I am not. I finished that. Now I’m re-reading The Stand. Are you a fan of Stephen King’s?”
“I honestly cannot say that I am, having never read any of his books. Perhaps I can rectify that, if you’ll permit me to borrow one of yours?”
Something in that voice shot straight up Dallas’ spine. His neck tingled again, the hairs standing on end. His cock was beginning to swell, pressing against the zipper. He was sitting at a very awkward angle, he noticed. He shifted his position as well as he could without dislodging Dr. Levi’s hand, suppressing a whimper which attempted to rise from the back of his throat.
“Perhaps you might read one to me.” The doctor had moved closer; his breath was warm upon Dallas’ ear. For a second, Dallas thought he felt the tip of his tongue flick out, touching the rim. Good Lord, if he kept that up, Dallas was about to have an embarrassing accident right there on the bench.
“There’s something very sensual about having a sexy man read to you. Don’t you think?”
Question. Yes, that was a question. One aimed at Dallas. Now he was expected to reply. Focus, Dallas, focus. On the words. Not the man’s cock, no matter how inviting that idea might be.
“If you’d like me to,” he heard himself say, before realizing he’d answered the wrong question. “I mean yes, I think so. I guess so. I’ve never been read to. By a man, that is. Not since my mother. I mean, she wasn’t a man… I mean…” He shut up then. As much because he’d run out of words as because Dr. Levi’s lips had just claimed his.
What had he been saying?
Oh fuck it, who cared?
to be continued
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♥ Julie
