Poor Dallas doesn't know whether he's coming or go. Is Samuel helping or hurting? Find out in this week's episode of Dallas in Wonderland II! And don't forget to visit the other Briefers and receive their flash fiction offerings!
Dallas’ head was decidedly spinning. Samuel’s logic was...
not logical. “What are you saying? He caused me to hallucinate seeing him in
your office? With you?” That didn’t even make sense. “Why would he want to do
that?”
Dallas was not vain enough to believe Quentin was pining for
him. Quentin Mandrake was only in love with himself. He had no room in his ego
for anyone else. And Dallas refused to entertain the notion that Quentin had
even the semblance of a heart.
Dallas decided to start on a new tack. This one was getting
him nowhere fast.
“Samuel, what about the trial?”
“The trial?” Samuel echoed, a smirk upon his too-kissable
lips. Dallas fought hard to keep focused on the matter at hand.
“Yes, the trial. Remember that? You were put on trial by
Queen Quentin, for stealing his tart, and sentenced to death...”
Samuel’s eyebrows quirked. “A death sentence for the theft
of a pastry? Bit harsh, don’t you think?”
“No, no, not that kind of tart.” Dallas’ face heated. He
tried not to look at either Samuel or Campbell. “Me,” he managed to get out at
last. “He said you stole his tart, meaning me...” And wasn’t that the pot
calling the kettle black, he thought bitterly. Especially since he’d never once
cheated on Quentin. Not ever.
“And just what do you do here in Wonderland, Dr. Levi?”
Campbell interjected. Dallas silently blessed him for changing the embarrassing
subject.
“That which you only wish to do,” Samuel replied obliquely.
Why did the man persist in talking in riddles? And why did Dallas find him so
damn attractive?
“You know nothing about me,” Campbell retorted in a flat
voice. “And I don’t think you much Dallas very well, either. Or you would
appreciate him more. And not treat him the way you do.”
“What do you know of my relationship with Dallas?” Samuel’s
voice never rose in pitch or intensity, maintaining its usual even tone. “How
long have you been an expert on
Dallas Crosby?”
“Longer than you.”
Samuel’s smirk grew broader, his copper eyes gleaming, his
expression unfathomable. “Does that mean you are as familiar with his body as I
am, Campbell?”
Campbell remained silent, and Dallas ached for him. Why
couldn’t Samuel leave him alone? He didn’t deserve this. Neither of them did.
He prayed that Samuel wouldn’t persist. But obviously, no one was home in
Prayer Central at the moment.
Samuel slid his hand down Dallas’ body, coming to rest
against his groin. Dallas couldn’t help the moan that elicited, as Samuel
cupped him familiarly.
“Do you know how he feels? Do you know what pleases him?
What turns him on so much he practically begs for it? And do you know how good
he is in bed, how eager to please?” Samuel’s other hand snaked around and
cupped poor Dallas’ ass. Another moan.
“Don’t, Samuel,” he protested feebly, his voice barely above
a whisper. Samuel’s touch was... disturbing to him. At least in this contest.
In front of Campbell. That had never been the case before. Why now? He knew
damn well the things he and Samuel had done.
Why did they suddenly feel so dirty?
“I know you are no gentleman.” Campbell was distraught,
despite outward appearances, and Dallas felt it.
“Samuel, please,” he began to beg. “Don’t do this to me. Why
are you doing this?” His eyes beseeched Campbell’s understanding... and more.
“Leave him alone,” Campbell protested. “What has he done to
deserve such treatment? What are you thinking?” Campbell took a step toward
them. He reached for Dallas, but a rich booming laugh drew him up short. The
laughter was Samuel’s.
“You know,” Samuel drawled, once he grew serious once more,
“I wouldn’t give two cents for whatever you’re thinking. It’s as plain as the
nose on your face. You want him for yourself. What makes you any better than me
in that regard, hmmm?”
Dallas watched the flush that crept across Campbell’s beautiful
skin, but he never lost his temper, never stooped to Samuel’s level. “What
makes me better than you is that I care about him as a person, something you
obviously don’t. Or you would not treat him in this way. Release him now, Dr.
Levi.”
“Well, well, the little Southern worm turns.” He cast an
amused glance between the two men. “Looks like you need to choose, Dallas.
Although I have every confidence in what your choice will be. Or should I say
who?”
Choose? Choose what? Choose who? His heart hammered in his
chest. Samuel’s hands on his body wasn’t helping one iota.
“I want... I want...” But before he could get the name out,
Samuel’s mouth had descended on his, locking whatever he’d been about to say
deep in his throat. Dallas’ eyes closed involuntarily, and he felt his
cowardice most distinctly.
No, don’t... fight...
Something in him told him not to give in, to struggle against the doctor. He
closed his hands into fists and pushed against Samuel’s chest. The man was
strong, and didn’t budge.
“Let go of him!” That was Campbell’s voice. Dallas’ eyes
flew open at the sound. He saw Campbell yanking at Samuel’s arm. Ineffectively.
But still he persisted. Fighting for Dallas. Fighting for Dallas’ dignity.
Something Samuel seemed incapable of, apparently.
Samuel didn’t seem to be disturbed in the slightest. He
maintained his hold on Dallas, and effortlessly held Campbell at bay. Dallas
couldn’t help but wonder how this bizarre Mexican stand-off would end? Not
well, he was afraid.
Samuel’s glanced seemed to reach beyond Campbell, for some
reason. What was he looking at?”
Too late, Dallas followed his line of sight, only to find
someone sneaking up behind Campbell, a large club in his hand.
“Campbell, watch out!” Dallas cried.
Too late. The club descended on Campbell’s head, and he
dropped to the ground with a soft moan.
“Fuck you, Penn!” Dallas screamed at the assailant, who only
grinned at him, then stuck out his tongue.
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