Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy, Tag: Tristan

[samuel ichabod]

My Tarot card had burned in my pocket not quarter an hour ago, making me sweat bricks while I tried to gain the courage to look at it. Since Callahan had taken my finger and tortured me, I was wary of anything the Tarot might want. I gingerly drew my card from the pocket of my waistcoat, holding it between my thumb and forefinger like it might explode at any second, and peered at it.

Sam. Come to HQ. No harm will come to you, I swear it. Tristan.

I relaxed a little. Tristan, despite his high standing in the Tarot, had always been kind to me. To tell you the truth, I thought he might be into me, and that thought did not disturb me in the slightest. He was a very, very attractive man. If he tried to hurt me, however, that would be it. I'd make myself learn to like the cold, and move to Greenland.

I tucked the card back into my waistcoat, and checked my reflection before I stepped into the fireplace to floo to New Orleans. I looked okay, so long as he didn't look too close and see the fresh, shiny scar on my hand where my pinkie used to be, or if he looked at my bare arm and noticed to not-quite-healed cuts and scratches where Callahan had literally pinned me to the chair. Not like Tristan would be looking at my bare skin anyway.

I stepped into the fireplace, dropping Floo Powder into the flames and clearly speaking my destination. Despite my faith in Tristan, I was still nervous. I hadn't been back since Death and Justice had decided that I was their new victim, and I was (understandably, I felt) a bit wary. I made my way to the room I knew Tristan used there, and knocked, grateful for the absence of Drusilla and Byron LeFanu. Perhaps it was too early in the evening for those two.

"Tristan?" I called out. "I mean... Judgement?"

[tristan feardorcha]

It was rather late in the evening of a horribly long day. My students had given me a particularly bothersome headache, that took no less than two vile pain remedies to put a dent it in the pain. But this was the price of teaching, and though it was far beyond me, I enjoyed my job.

He will not come, Tristan. Not here... I thought to myself. The Tarot was yet to have their meeting, and I could not get him out of my mind. Sam. Perhaps it was impulsive to ask him to come here, even dangerous. For the love of Merlin I couldn't help myself, the man had a way about him. Even the simplest grin set the world right.

The house elves had set up a warm dinner in the corner, stew and bread. Wine. The crackling fire put off a warm glow. Making a more comfortable environment out of the harsh marbles and dark leather furnishing. Maybe he would come and have dinner, some conversation about things other than work. Maybe I've gone completely mental... "Enter.." answering in a deep, extra manly voice as Sam's voice rang out. Standing there in Jeans, flannel and a icy cold brew in my hand.

[samuel ichabod]

There was a moment of trepidation as my palm hovered over the door handle. What if this was an elaborate trap, a set-up to lure me back into the headquarters so Callahan could cut off another finger, or worse? I hesitated, but hearing Tristan's voice gave me all the motivation I needed to turn that handle and walk inside. For some bizarre reason, I trusted him, and I had no idea why. Maybe it was just as I feared, and blue eyes and cheekbones like Tristan's would always make me lose what little sense I possessed. Men with blue eyes, women with red hair... they would always be my greatest weakness, and Tristan had eyes like a summer sky - carefree, untroubled, perfect.

I closed the door behind me and looked around, blinking in surprise. To say I was confused was putting it mildly. It looked like I was about to disturb an intimate dinner for two in Tristan's quarters. The food smelled unbelievably inviting, especially when I hadn't eaten a damn thing since Callahan mentioned his preferred meal. Tristan had asked me to stop by, hadn't he? Or had he meant that summons for somebody else? "Am I interruptin' somethin' here?" I asked, looking at him. The fire limned his features with a soft, warm light, making his hair look almost coppery.

I licked my suddenly too dry lips and said more quietly, "You did call me here... right, Tristan?" I took a step closer to him. I should have glanced around the room, made sure we were alone, but I couldn't take my eyes off him.

[tristan feardorcha]

I could not help but smile, the man was infectious. "Relax Sam. I promised no harm would come to you." It was obviousness from the time the man entered, he was very uneasy. And with damn good reason. The Cannibal, just the thought of him made my gut turn. Sam had been subjected to that monster, and lost a finger. I felt for him, and deep down wished there had been something more I could have done to stop it.

"No, I was just about to have dinner. Join me? It's nothing fancy, stew and.." drink in hand I motion toward the nicely set table. 'Well.. the elves misunderstood that I was having a romantic evening, apparently, the candles are a bit overkill I will admit..." Really couldn't help but laugh. What Sam must be thinking right now.

"I did ask you here for a reason, but that we can get to later. Right now I have one blazing headache and would like nothing more than conversation with a friend, and good food." and with a smirk I lazily made my way over to the table, checking to see is Sam was actually going to stay, or be frozen in place by the utter confusion of it all.

[samuel ichabod]

I laughed softly, and tried to relax a little. "I'm sorry. Just a lil' bit tense. Last time I was here... but yeah, let's not get into that," I said, smiling right back at him. He had an amazing smile, toothy and almost mischievous. It was hard not to smile back, even if he put me in mind of a strangely adorable shark.

I raised an eyebrow and laughed. Romantic evening? Mon Dieu, maybe I had been worried for no reason at all. "I'd love to," I said. The food smelled amazing, and my stomach was starting to rumble. "Misunderstood you, huh?" I asked, giving him my best cheeky grin. "Yes, indeed. You jus' told them you were invitin' me over to dinner, an' they assumed it was somethin' romantic, no? Mon Dieu, has my reputation even reached the elves here?" I laughed a bit, and followed him over to the table.

"Headache? Let me guess, you had fourth years for class today, no? Eh merde, they're the worst... So hyperactive an' loud!" I said with feeling, knowing his pain. Normally, they were a great bunch of kids, but fourth years tended to be the most troublesome bunch in the school. They were gaining confidence at magic, without the stress of impending O.W.L. or N.E.W.T.s to help reign in their insane, over-the-top hyperactive behaviour, so they were the group most likely to end up in the infirmary, or with unusual curse effects like antlers.

"Mind if I drink?" I asked, taking my hip flask and shaking it a little. "Just a nice Bourbon. You may even persuade me to share it," I added with a grin.

[tristan feardorcha]

"Loud, whiny, lazy. Mr. Feardorcha this, Mr. Feardorcha that. Most days I am left with this crippling terror for our future." I muse. In all honestly, the children were not all that bad. Yes, they had their days. But one good detention fixed them right up. "Drink to your hearts content, I know I will."

It was refreshing to see Sam outside of work. I'd grown fond of the man, which was not altogether hard to do. Sam was talented, full of life, and there was that sideways grin. And accent that reminded me of home. At first getting to know him was an order given by Sid. Befriend Ichabod, get close, get information. Before too long it made my heart burn with guilt what I was doing.

And I found myself wanting to make it up to him in any way I could. It felt like my fault Sam lost his finger, had I gotten what Sid wanted maybe The Cannibal would have been involved. Anyhow, what was done was done, in the here and now was all that mattered. I could not help but ooze giddiness, with a smirk on my face I sit at the sort of romantic table. "Now you tease, it's been forever since I've had Bourbon from home."

[samuel ichabod]

"Aww, poor baby," I mocked him gently."An' here I thought you'd find it easy to wrap the kiddies around your lil' finger... or at least, the girls. I know a few of them are sweet on you. Besides, you got two lil' fingers to wrap 'em around. I only got the one!" I laughed, finally making an honest joke about my missing digit.

What the hell was going on? Up until an hour ago, I was having palpitations merely at the thought of the incident, now I was cracking jokes? Jesus... either I was finally losing the few marbles I had left, or Tristan really did just make me feel that comfortable. I went a bit red at the thought, and scratched the back of my neck. I looked nervously at him, wondering if he'd notice the blush or be kind enough to ignore it. Christ, his lips were distracting. Every time I looked at him, my gaze would wander to that mouth, the perfect cupid's bow of his upper lip, and the downward slope in the centre of his lower lip.

My blush intensified, and I looked away from him. "It's a bit warm in here, ain't it? Don't get me wrong, I like the heat, but the fire's a bit much, no?" I lied, trying to act as though the heat in the room were to blame for the color in my cheeks. I ran a finger along the inside of my collar. It felt almost constrictive all of a sudden. I had to remember to behave myself. Just because I was a deviant who didn't give a damn about gender didn't mean Tristan was. A man like that could have any woman he wanted, so why he'd even look twice at me was a mystery. I wasn't anything special, just a Louisiana drunkard with more charm than was good for him, and a bit of a slutty bent to his behavior. Nah, Tristan could definitely do better than me.

I sat down opposite him and took a sip from my hip flask, the taste of the Bourbon coating my lips and throat with a pleasant burning sensation. I held the flask out to him and grinned. "It's the least I can do. You're givin' me this fine meal, so I may as well share my booze. It's either that or you'll be expectin' me to perform some desperate act of passion on the dinner table afterwards as payment, no?" I teased. I was only joking, but if he suggested something more I'd certainly be up for it. Mentally, I slapped myself. I had sworn barely a fortnight ago that I was done with love and romance. Women, specifically, my treacherous brain reminded me. This wasn't romance. This was just a meal with a friend and colleague, that could appear romantic to the untrained eye. That was all. I should stop reading into it at once. Right.

[tristan feardorcha]

"Is that better?" I replied in a deep, sly tone. Leaning in my chair, wand aimed at the fire. Sam was blaming the heat of the flame on his blushing cheeks. They were the most brilliant shade of delicate rose, had I not been so fond of green.. it may have become my new favorite colour. "The elves are so accustomed to keeping my room warm, you know me and how I am constantly freezing." It was true, all year round you would find me in long sleeves, jackets, sweaters. My mother would poke fun, saying I had no blood.

Then laughing I took the flask from his hands, looking very forward to having a taste of home. Everything Sam did brought him back, the accent, the food. I press the cold metal to my lips, sip, and groan. Merlin, the deep sweet flavor was to die for. "Absolutely perfect." I clear the burn from my throat and lean in hand the flask back to him. Chuckling at the table comment. "No, no my boy. This baby is an import, the most rare wood one can come by. Don't ask what it's called though."

"Anyhow, there is a perfect look bed for such passions. Rather comfortable if I do say so myself, like sleeping on a cloud." Oh the images running trough my mind, it was criminal.

[samuel ichabod]

I wasn't sure if he had lowered or increased the temperature of the fire, but it certainly felt as though the heat had been cranked up to eleven. His voice practically purred as he spoke, and I crossed my legs under the table. Sweet Jesus, I was in trouble. So much for my decision not to misbehave. I managed a crooked grin, and said, "Freezin', huh? Reckon I could warm you up, no?" Mentally, I facepalmed. There was subtle flirting, and then there was me, Sam Ichabod, all but making suggestive comments about how flaming I was.

Watching him wrap his lips around the mouth of my hip flask was temptation and torment in one go, and I made a somewhat inhuman noise of want. I took the flask from him, my fingertips brushing his as he passed it back. I'm no lightweight, by any stretch of the imagination, but alcohol has been known to make me forget my good intentions, and go sprinting toward whatever temptation I've been eyeing up.

His comment about the bed instead of the table made my eyes widen. He was not flirting with me. It couldn't be possible. Regardless of how likely it was that Tristan Feardorcha would flirt with me, I was starting to have some very inappropriate thoughts about what I'd do to him if I got him to a bed, and then the much more intimate thought of what exactly he'd look like in the morning, sleepy and sunlit and curled up beside me. Oh, merde, this was bad. I should have ran right then and there, but instead, I leaned a little closer to him and said, "Is that an invitation, Tristan?"

[tristan feardorcha]

I slid the flask across the table, snaking it around candlesticks and dishes of food. Not once taking my eyes from the man in front of me. "I am fairly certain you could.." I was sure my cheeks were aflame as well now. Of course I could not claim the heat, having just given myself away. What was it about Sam that caused all inhibitions to be to be not only tossed out the window, but hurled with force. And told never to return.

"An invitation?" I chuckled, mulling this over in my head.

What to do, what to say. I was always so conflicted when it came to relationships, when and how to approach them, when there were lines meant not for crossing. Usually my need for physical human contact landed me in a heap of trouble. I had issues with commitment, not to mention a fear of rejection. All of these emotions left me baffled and unsure if I even wanted to bother.

There was not a single trace of the battle going on in my head, just a slowly rising eyebrow and sideways smile. I decided not to worry, not with Sam. "And if it was?" the words flowed from my lips like a purr.

[samuel ichabod]

He blushed. Damn, damn, damn... I was lost now. I had worked with this guy for years, both at Salem and the Tarot, and this was the first time I had ever seen his face flush. It suited him. I thought how I'd like to make him blush some more, maybe in some other way, and licked my lips. It was really inconsiderate of him to be this attractive if he wasn't planning on ravishing me, especially given his response to my line about warming him up.

Lately, the only action I've had is thanks to me being more than a little smashed on Bourbon. It's gotten me into a whole heap of trouble, too, but at the time I would have given anything to just lose myself in another person, just for one night. Looking at Tristan, hearing the definite invitation in his voice even as he teased me, I knew this was one experience I would prefer to have without alcohol. Something told me I would want to remember this.

I met his blue eyes and held his gaze for a heartbeat before standing, and walking around the table to stand before him. "Well, if it ain't an invitation, you're probably gonn' kick my ass for this, an' if it was an invitation, you won't mind in the slightest," I said. There was no hesitation now. I caressed his cheekbone with my thumb, and lowered my head, leaning in close so I could press my lips to his in a kiss that was a lot softer and far more tender than I had planned. I broke the kiss, but didn't move away, or take my hand from his cheek. I whispered, my lips hovering over his, "Eh merde, I'm hopin' that really was an invitation!"

[tristan feardorcha]

Everything suddenly became very, very hot as Sam walked over. What... what on earth what he doing! My body froze, eyes wide with puzzlement. My face felt like it was on fire, Merlin I was blushing. It was the booze, yes, surely I wasn't swooning like a boy of my own accord. This feeling was different, not being totally in control of my reactions.

His caress, those lips. Both soft, and warm. The kiss was feather light and only made me want more. A deep chuckle escaped my lips as we parted, oh Sam. "...it is now." I stood up, chest to chest, looked deep into his dark eyes and kissed him well. Caressing the nape of his neck, groaning slightly. "Merde.." I breathe hotly the phrase Sam was known for.

[samuel ichabod]

I hadn't prepared for this. I had anticipated him pushing me away, or just leaving the kiss at that. This enthusiastic response was very unexpected, but not unwelcome. Oh no, not unwelcome at all! His soft, breathy laugh ghosted across my lips, so close I could almost taste his mouth on mine. Something shivered up my spine. For a heartbeat, the world stood still, and then he was pressed against me, kissing me like I had only dreamed of being kissed in all my life.

"Thank Jesus for that, then!" I murmured against his mouth, his stubbled chin grazing against my lower lip as I hastened to close the gap between us. Our hips bumped, and it was all I could do not to push him to the floor and fall on top of him. Thought you swore off love, Ichabod, my treacherous brain reminded me. Mercifully, the human male only has enough blood to function one thinking organ at a time, so my brain soon shut up.

He swore in beautiful, perfect French, and I almost growled in response. I had said I wanted to hear his New Orleans accent, I hadn't expected him to speak my language quite so literally. I managed to break the kiss long enough to ask in a heated whisper, "Where's that bed you were talkin' about, Tris?" Before he could even give an answer, my lips were on his again, my hands gripping his hips and pulling him close to me.

[tristan feardorcha]

I nearly chuckled, the situations I happened upon never ceased to amaze me. Of course, this was not so much an accident. I did invite Sam over, in the back of my mind always pondering the possibilities. At the mention of the man upstairs, I did smirk and add, with a mock oblivious tone.. "Who? should I be jealous?"

Sam always had a way of making my blood boil, even in the way he walked, that creole accent that reminded me of home, how his hair sometimes fell down in his eyes and he did this smolder thing with his eyes. And that sly grin when he was up to something. "Right over there, are you tired already, Sam? Here I thought you were a spry young man.."

I was fighting with every fiber not to become.. too, excited. His hand on my hips, testosterone racing. My body felt as if it were on fire, I just wanted to thrown him against a wall and... no... no... I mustn't. Think about kittens, and nice old ladies... pace yourself old boy.

[samuel ichabod]

If I had known all it would take to finally drum up the courage to snog Tris would be to lose my pinkie, I would have chopped the damn thing off myself. His smirk was taunting and encouraging both, and I nipped at his lower lip in response. "Jealous? Never knew you cared, Tristan," I said, my hands going to his belt and unbuckling it slowly. I had all night with him. I wanted to take my time.

I glanced over my shoulder and grinned crookedly. "I'm thinkin' you need to take a load off, an' I should join you. An' you needn't worry your head about me. I can go all night, trust me," I said, pulling him toward the bed by his belt. Normally you wouldn't catch me dead spending longer in the Tarot than was strictly necessary, but now I had a very good reason, and he was within kissing distance.

As much as I wanted to take my time with him, my body didn't want to wait. I had wanted him for so long that my brain was barely in control any more. My lips met his, kissing him deeply and slowly as I backed up, pulling him with me. I felt the backs of my legs hit the bed. "I want you," I said softly, barely lifting my lips from his to speak. My hands skimmed the hem of his shirt, lifting it just enough that I could let my fingertips run across his bare flesh.