The Professionals Circuit Archive - Sorcerer's Apprentice	 
Sorcerer's Apprentice

 

by Alys (Rachael Sabotini) 

  
 *CYA: All standard disclaimers apply: I don't own these guys, though
Iwish I did. I make no money; I mean no harm. This story carries an
"R-ish" rating on my somewhat random scale. Please ignore all the
Americanisms, I beg of you. I plead the 'innocence of youth' for what I
did to this fandom.*

******

There were rats in the soufflé again. Bodie stared at them, dreading what
Cowley would say. The old magician was very particular about his food, and
a rat-and-cheese soufflé wouldn't meet standards.

With a sigh, Bodie tossed the whole thing into the dustbin, rats
protesting all the way down. With practiced ease, he ignored them, not
even wincing as they squeaked out derogatory comments about the amount of
salt in his cooking.

Prepared to try again, he looked around the lab, only to grow more
depressed. The place was a mess: bowls broken and the shards strewn across
every flat surface in sight, knives nicked and dulled beyond hope of
repair, salt spread from floor to ceiling, and all of it his fault. Five
attempts at soufflé, five rat-filled disasters.

You'd think there was an easier way to become a magician.

He racked his brain trying to see where he'd gone wrong. Sweat broke out
on his brow as he remembered that he'd borrowed some of the ingredients
from groundskeeper Eustance. A man who scavenged other people's garbage. A
man who enjoyed working fertilizer into the garden with his bare hands. A
man who never bathed.

He minutely examined the tiny piles of flour and cheese left from the last
spell. Sure enough, there were rat hairs in them.

He slammed his fist against the wooden table, disturbing a couple of rats.
They stared at him a moment, then went back to licking the salt. He could
almost hear his master's lecture now.

"A charm is like a fine single-malt scotch," Cowley would say. "You can
tell the minute you try it if the maker cut any corners." Then he would
fix one of his light-blue eyes on his apprentice and repeat, "Any
corners."

Bodie grimaced and glanced out the window. Early afternoon still. Plenty
of time to buy some new components, get the soufflé finished, and clean
the cottage before Cowley returned from council.

He looked at the room again. Yeah, right.

******

People thronged through the market, determined to make their purchases
before dusk. No one wanted to be on the road after dark; strange creatures
left from the wizard-wars ranged close to the city once the sun set.

Bodie spotted what he wanted in a small stall just this side of the river:
a large Gouda cheese wrapped in the original red wax. It would give a
spark of flavor to the soufflé *and* give him something to snack on the
rest of the week. He rushed, but another customer spotted it at the same
time he did. Their hands locked over the cheese, squishing it into an
egg-shaped lump.

"Excuse me, but that's my cheese," Bodie tried charmingly.

The other man pulled back, giving him a cold-eyed stare that sparked with
a suspicious glitter. "I saw it same time as you. And don't try that charm
stuff on me; my grandmother warned me about good-looking strangers years
ago. Even gave me a charm to ward off your beguiling eyes." He lifted up a
Trojan soldier at the end of a silver chain, then let it fall back against
his neck. "She always told me to be prepared." His bright green eyes
glittered with amusement.

Bodie stared back, lust searing its way through his body to leave little
room for thought.

The vendor garumphed, effectively breaking up the mutual admiration
society before Bodie could ask just how prepared the stranger was. The
vendor glared at both of them and pointed to the sign board behind him.
The Gouda turned out to be a rare import from the Southwest: Bodie gulped
at the amount.

"Why don't we split it? I don't need that much."

By this time, the curly-haired gentleman had also noticed the listed
price. "Right. Sounds fair to me." He put down his half of the money and
stepped back, offering his hand. "Ray Doyle."

"Bodie."

He sized up the stranger, liking what he saw. He caught himself holding
his breath as Doyle looked him over as well, until it was obvious that the
other man felt the same way. Bodie couldn't help but notice the large
basket on Doyle, though it seemed impolite to say anything. He quickly
turned away, taking out his wallet to pay the grumpy shopkeeper.

Doyle watched over his shoulder, and tapped the identification card.
"CI-5, huh? That's the conjurers & illusionists guild, right?" His gaze
made Bodie aware that he still had egg stuck on his face from when the
first soufflé had exploded. "Always wanted to ask: what happened to the
first four?"

Bodie tried to surreptitiously comb some of the egg out of his hair,
regretting his decision to shower after finishing the soufflé. After all,
Doyle was a good-lookin' lad, and you never could tell. "They blew
themselves up during the mage wars."

"Ah." Doyle blinked.

The shopkeeper grumbled and Bodie quickly put down his share of the price.
The man scooped up the money, tossed them the cheese, and then
emphatically dropped the curtain that kept his shop open.

Bodie picked up the Gouda, dusted it off and shrugged.

Doyle dropped into step with him on the way back to Cowley's place. "So,
how long have you been a magician's apprentice? Hope you don't mind me
askin,' but you seem a mite old for that sort of work."

Bodie blushed. "Knocked around the world for a bit; only just discovered I
had any sort of power. What about you?"

Doyle stopped and adjusted his basket, a move which required some unique
hip gyrations. "I'm a student, but wanted to be a cook. See, at my birth,
the local witch prophesied that my future would be found in books.
Grandmother swore he said cooks, but the rest of the family overruled
her." He grinned. "Guess a student was less of a disappointment than a
'domestic artist'."

Bodie noticed that Doyle had the most gorgeous green eyeshe shook himself.
"So why the cheese?"

Doyle shifted his basket again, doing that thing with his hips.

Bodie stopped. "Here, you want me to carry that for you?"

"If you don't mind." Doyle slung the basket off his back and exchanged it
for the cheese.

Bodie had to put it down almost instantly; the thing had to weigh five
stone. He got a better grip on it and the two of them trundled off. Bodie
was intensely grateful that Cowley didn't live far from the market.

His companion continued. "Well, the king is looking for a new cook. I
figured I could get myself hired if I showed up dish in hand."

Bodie whistled. "You're that good?" The king had had his last cook whipped
for serving an overdone roast. They had finally reached the cottage, and
Bodie threw open the door. He stumbled inside, trying to lift the basket
onto the front room table and stood panting while Doyle closed the door
behind them.

Ray looked around, staring wide-eyed at the shelf upon shelf of books.
"Don't know, never cooked anything before."

Bodie gave a strangled gasp. "Soufflés can be tricky things."

Doyle put his finger beside his nose, tapping it. "I know what happened to
the old cook, but I've got an angle." He went to the basket and opened it,
searching its depths. He surfaced with a cry of triumph and held aloft a
gray tome. "You see, the witch left me this book." He tapped it
confidently. "Tells everything you need to know about cooking."

Bodie nodded dubiously. Ray Doyle was mad. Best not to let him out of the
house until Cowley came back and dealt with the situation. Undoubtedly,
the old wizard had worked with loonies before. Come to think of it, isn't
that the way he described the high council? "Say, why don't you make the
soufflé here? That way you won't have to worry about finding a kitchen to
rent."

Doyle glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, most of his attention
still on his books. "What about your soufflé? Won't you need the kitchen?"

"I don't use one."

"Ah. Magician. Right." He closed the book. "If you're sure it's no
bother."

Bodie tried to smile gently, which made him look like a tiger with gas.
"No trouble at all."

******

Bodie straightened, his back creaking like a charwoman's, and threw the
sponge into the wash basin. The lab was finally clean. His soufflé rested
in the center of the work table, as perfect as a picture. He still wasn't
sure if it was edible, but there weren't any rats this time and the pot
hadn't exploded. A definite improvement, if he did say so himself. Cowley
would be pleased. He hoped.

His nose wrinkled as he caught a whiff of himself. A bath was the next
priority. He wondered if Doyle wanted to share the tub, then thought
better of it. Best not to take advantage of those whom the gods have
touched.

In Doyle's case, make that those whom the gods have bashed over the head.
He chuckled again, thinking about it. A cook's book. No one in his right
mind would believe that.

He wandered into the kitchen to check on Doyle before drawing the bath.
Cowley would be home soon, and he wanted the place to look perfect. Which
is why he did his fish imitation when he opened the door and saw Ray
standing naked in a pile of eggshells and cheese gratings with flour
covering most of the kitchen. The lab had looked better before he'd
cleaned it.

"What the hell are you doing?" He strode over to Ray and turned him
around.

Doyle jerked his arm out of Bodie's hand and brought a finger to his lips.
"Shhh.. You'll flatten it." He pointed at the oven.

Bodie's voice dropped to a whisper. "What the hell do you *think* you're
doing?"

"Baking a soufflé."

"But what about the mess?" He sank into the nearest chair, not even
bothering to dust it off first. "My master will kill me when he gets
home."

"Oh." Doyle gazed at the walls, ceiling and floor while nibbling on his
lower lip. "I've got a book of *Practical Household Charms*. Haven't got
any talent myself, but maybe you could manage it?"

Bodie snorted. "Of course."

Ray started for the front room.

"Wait." Bodie threw him a towel. "Dust yourself off first. I don't want to
have to clean the library as well."

Ray smiled, bending over to scrub off his legs.

Bodie tried not to notice the way Doyle's cock bounced as he hopped about
dusting himself off or the way his lithe body moved with the play of
muscle upon muscle. Might as well have tried to ignore an iceberg in the
desert with all the luck he had at it. He refused to adjust himself until
Doyle left the room.

His pants almost fit normally by the time Ray returned with the new book.

"Here." Doyle handed him a rich burgundy-leather-bound volume and hoisted
himself up on the table next to Bodie's chair. "Try about page thirty or
so."

Bodie turned the pages, fascinated by the varieties of language and script
displayed. He caught a few phrases he knew here and there Marsh Dialect,
Eastern Seas, Primitive Separatist but there were far more that he
couldn't read. "Do you know all these languages?"

"Most." Bodie could feel Doyle's breath on the back of his neck, making
the small hairs there stand on end. "Those I can't read outright, I can
usually derive."

Doyle slid his hand down Bodie's arm, sending a shiver through the larger
man's body. He pointed to a serpentine script enshrined on page 28.
"That's Najarii. They use brushes made from the hair of newly-ordained
priests to write with." His hand left the page to feather through Bodie's
hair. "Your hair would be highly prized; most of the Najarii hair is thick
and coarse. Yours is as fine as an infant's." His hand drifted down
Bodie's scalp to the base of the neck. "Actually, it's more like painting
than writing: the finer the brush, the better the hand."

Bodie's body responded strongly to the intimate touch. Hell. Doyle was
putting him through hell. He forced himself not to groan as the fingertips
skittered lightly across the back of his neck. Cowley would kill him if
the cottage was a mess after council.

With trembling fingers he found the right page and stared unseeingly at
it. Ray rubbed his shoulders enticingly, and Bodie no longer cared a rat's
ass what Cowley would say.

A seductive whisper begged at his ear. "If you hurry, we'll have time to
look at another book. A Najarii meditation epic."

What the fuck did Ray want to look at another book for! "Meditation."

He was pulled closer to that tempting, warm naked body. "Najarii believe
that sex is the purest form of communion with the gods." Doyle's voice
dropped to the barest whisper. "Their priests screw each other like
crazy."

Bodie's mouth went dry. He forced himself to look at the spell. Not too
tough, really. Out came the candles, vinegar, cloth and pane of glass. He
lit the candles, shook a couple of drops of vinegar on to the cloth, and
wiped the glass while reciting the necessary rhyme. The energy swirled
around him, and he found himself focusing it more quickly then ever
before; all it took was the right motivation. A whirlwind formed around
him; the kitchen was spotless within thirty seconds.

"Nice, that," said Doyle. "Very nice."

Three things immediately occurred to Bodie: First, he was dog-tired.
Second, he realized that instead of just cleaning the kitchen, he'd also
cleaned them both. And third, his clothing was now gone.

Doyle moved forward, running his hands down Bodie's chest to the thick,
upthrust cock. He tugged at it: once gently, and the second time harder.
He slid his hand down its length and sank to his knees before it. He
smiled up at Bodie, who was still panting from the energy he'd expended.
Doyle grabbed the seeking shaft, his fingers tightly encircling the base,
regulating the flow of blood. He licked its length, sending a shiver
through his partner's body.

"I lied, Bodie." Ray blew on the still wet cock. "I wasn't just a student.
I was almost a Najarii priest." His mouth engulfed the weeping head, and
Bodie's body arched with renewed inner electricity.

He never recalled precisely what happened next; instead his memories were
like flashes of lightning during a winter storm: sharp and clear for an
instant, then fading into darkness. Doyle's hands running down his thighs
and around the back to squeeze his ass, forcing his body to arch against
the table. Those same hands pulling him down to kneel before him, minister
and acolyte. The feel of Doyle's tongue against his during their first
kiss. The taste of Doyle's cock in his own mouth. His shock as Doyle's
lapped against his anus, ringing the edge with spit, followed by the feel
of those tutored fingers sliding into him and then out again, deeper and
faster with each passing minute.

Touching him.

Stroking him.

Fucking him.

They lay in a heap on the kitchen floor, scattered drops of their own
sweat and semen pooling around them. Bodie's vision cleared enough to see
the damp tendrils of hair curled around his companion's face. He brushed
them out of the way. "And you said you had no talent."

******

"Bodie." The sound of Cowley's voice echoed throughout the cottage. His
apprentice gave a quick glance at the dining room table where both
soufflés sat enthroned in the center. A minor adjustment in the lay of the
silverware, and everything looked perfect. He left Ray there and marched
into the front room. "Evening, sir."

"Bodie, whose books are these?"

Damn. He'd forgotten about the books. Not that he could have hidden them
from Cowley, of course. The old man's nose for leather binding was almost
as discerning as his palate for pure malt scotch. "Student friend of mine,
sir. Ray Doyle."

The ice-blue eyes fixed on him, just as Bodie knew they would. "Picked him
up in the market, did you? Odd place to find a Najarii priest. Ah, well.
He has fine taste in books." He put down the volume he'd been looking at.
"I'll have to ask him if I can borrow some. How long is he staying?"

"He wants to be a cook sir. Plans on getting a post with the king."

"A cook, you say?" He strode past his apprentice into the kitchen. "Two
soufflés? Very commendable."

"One of them's Doyle's, sir. Though I don't remember which one."

Ray came out of the bedroom, dressed in Bodie's clothes. "Mine's the one
on the right. It's got a touch of garlic in it as well."

"In that case." Cowley brought out a knife, and with quick, efficient
stokes, cut a slice from each soufflé. Two sets of eyes eagerly watched as
the mage took his first bite of Bodie's creation. "Not bad, but less salt
next time."

Bodie nodded, pleased. At least it was edible; last one Cowley had spit
out in the sink.

The mage cleared his palate with a glass of water and a bit of scotch
before trying Doyle's. His eyes widened, and Bodie wondered if the old man
was going to lose it then and there. Cowley finally swallowed.

"Lad, you don't want to work for the king! That pompous fool doesn't know
good food when it's set before him." He looked Doyle up and down. "You'll
stay here, and cook for the Wizard's council. They know how to appreciate
good cooking; most of them have had several apprentices."

He turned to Doyle. "I'll give you food and board, same as Bodie. You can
share his room."

"Wizards sound much more interesting than kings anyway."

"Good. Bodie, you'll take over the laundry. My taste-buds have suffered
enough abuse as it is."

"But, sir!"

"Bodie," Cowley replied, eyes spearing his apprentice to the ground.
"Good. I expect everyone to take over their new positions starting
tomorrow. In the meantime, would either of you care to try this marvelous
soufflé?"

As they sampled the remains of the dish, Bodie whispered to Doyle, "Does
that Household Charms book have anything in it about laundry?"

Doyle shrugged. "Not that I know of. You might try one of the others."

******

On Friday, Cowley's underwear demanded a vacation.

-- THE END --

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