Last week, as you'll recall, Dallas and Campbell decided to force Quentin to get them to Wonderland. See how that's working for them in this week's episode. Then don't forget to visit the other Briefers and see what wonderful stories they've concocted! Their links follow my tale!
Dallas in Wonderland II: Chapter Eleven
Things didn’t work out quite the way they wanted, but it could have been worse. Quentin wanted to meet them in public, at a bar of his own choosing. Campbell reasoned that could be a good way to start. Give Quentin a false sense of security before they invited him into their lair. Maybe entice him with the prospect of having them both.
Dallas shuddered at the very idea. But when Campbell reminded him it wasn’t going to happen, except in Quentin’s mind, he reluctantly acquiesced.
The hole in the wall Quentin chose had all of the ambience of a rat’s nest, with only half the charm. It was called the Pied Piper, and Dallas couldn’t even begin to fathom what his ex saw in the place.
The three of them sat at a rickety table that tried to list to one side, until Campbell slid a matchbook underneath one of the legs. Quentin offered to buy the first round of drinks, which sounded like more of a generous offer than it really was as he placed the order himself, and they ended up with three draft beers, the cheapest thing in the place. Served in three dirty glasses.
Dallas grimaced inwardly but put a good face on it for the sake of their plan. When Quentin wasn’t looking, he poured part of his beer into Quentin’s glass with a shudder, as he removed a dead fly.
When Quentin drained his glass (and most of Dallas’ and Campbell’s glasses, unbeknownst to him), Campbell spoke up. “Next round’s on me!” he announced cheerily. Naturally, Quentin didn’t object. “Be right back!” Campbell promised before he sashayed to the bar. Dallas noticed Quentin’s eyes never left Campbell’s ass.
Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched. You may just end up with egg on your face.
“I like your neighbor,” Quentin commented. He leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers against his face—a gesture Dallas recognized as belonging to Samuel, which tore at his heart—and gave Dallas a piercing look. “Please tell me you’re hitting that.”
Dallas counted to ten before he dared reply. “Not yet,” he said, forcing a brightness into his voice. He and Campbell had decided to tease him with the idea of being the first person to see them together. Dallas knew Quentin would love that, both as a voyeur and a participant.
What a slug he was, Dallas thought.
“That’s a shame,” Quentin commented. “Can’t get it up for him?”
Before Dallas could make a retort—or punch his ex in the nose, whichever came first—Campbell returned with three very orange drinks that he carefully laid before them. Off of each glass hung a dispirited cherry, daggered with a listless slice of orange.
“That’s very pretty, Campbell,” Quentin smirked. “Just like you.”
Campbell tittered, and Dallas had to refrain from rolling his eyes. “You’re so sweet, Quentin. However did Dallas let you get away?”
“That’s what I ask myself every night when I look in the mirror.”
Dallas thought he might just be sick.
“What are those you have there, sweet thing?” Quentin asked, gesturing at the drinks.
“Something I made up,” Campbell said proudly, batting his eyes so fast Dallas swore he could feel a breeze. “I call it a Catch Me If You Can.”
“Ooh, I do like the sound of that.” Quentin raised his drink and took a dainty sip through the straw. “Tastes yummy, do I detect a little cinnamon?”
“Yes indeed you do. You’re good,” Campbell praised him. “A little vanilla too.”
“Mmm, it’s smooth going down. It has cream, doesn’t it?”
“Can’t fool you, can I?” Campbell turned his chair about, so it faced backward, and straddled it. “Yummy, is it?”
“Deliciously yummy,” Quentin concurred.
Dallas looked at the drink and looked at his ex. His instinct said not to touch it. He glanced toward Campbell for some sort of guidance. When Campbell “accidentally” dropped a cocktail napkin on the floor, they both ended up diving for it.
“It’s safe to drink,” Campbell whispered quickly in Dallas’ ear. “We have the virgin versions.”
Ah, now he understood. Quentin would be the one getting plastered, while they kept their wits about them. What a great plan. On impulse, Dallas pressed a soft kiss against Campbell’s lips. They both hastily emerged from beneath the table. Quentin was just finishing his drink.
“Let me get you another,” Campbell offered. Before Quentin could protest—although Dallas was pretty sure he wouldn’t argue about having his drinks bought—Campbell blew Quentin an air kiss and waltzed off again.
And so the evening went. Drink after drink after drink. Where was the man putting them all? Campbell had taken advantage of Quentin’s seeing a man about a horse to tell Dallas there were two kinds of rum, as well as vodka, and Grand Marnier in each drink.
“Let’s get him out of here before he passes out on us,” Dallas suggested, and Campbell agreed.
They left together in Dallas’ car. Campbell sat with Quentin in the back seat, while Dallas drove. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he saw his ex putting the moves on Campbell, and not being very subtle about it.
Quentin Mandrake had a distinct lack of couth and no sense of decency to be so frisky in front of his ex lover. Even though Dallas knew Campbell was only playing along, he was still steamed, his vanity touched.
They reached Dallas’ apartment and headed to the third floor. Campbell laughingly vetoed Quentin’s suggestion that they head to the bedroom. “Let’s have a little foreplay,” he suggested with a wink.
“Sounds kinky to me.” Quentin laughed. Dallas saw his hand reach out and he grabbed Campbell’s ass, squeezing. Campbell giggled again.
Quentin, you have so much to atone for.
They sat in Dallas’ living room, on his couch, forming a Quentin sandwich, with Dallas and Campbell on either side.
Suddenly, Campbell straddled Quentin’s lap, leaned in, and hissed, “Take us to Wonderland, motherfucker.”
to be continued
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