thatrcooper: (natalie wood natalie wood by teh gandu)
Where have I been?

Uh. Well. I have mood issues anyway that tend to get in the way, but I guess I had a really productive year, and the past two months my brain decided to take a vacation. Not entirely sure it's fully back online, but I finally (FINALLY) wrote a little something the other day, and I feel so much better about everything. I might even submit Tulip this month if I can find the time.

Although, you guys might have things to say about that one. If anybody is still reading the Beings by that point (months from now, if it gets accepted), you are most likely to going to demand stuff about the side characters. One or two in particular. Ahem.

In other news, both Dancing Lessons (out in January) and The Winter Prince (out in February, I think) have covers. AND Little Wolf (that little punkbutt) is getting an audiobook. Pity the narrator who has to read all that mate on mate werewolf action. Poor man.

Wanna see the covers?








I'm partial to the Dancing Lessons one, although I am most eager for The Winter Prince to come out, because I wantneedwantneed to talk about it with people. I don't know why. But Razin is a precious cinnamon bun. (Before you ask me, it's Rha-seen. Like the softest pronunciation ever. Because he is a cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure.)

Also Tulip. (Tentative title is A Dandelion for Tulip) Ah. Tulip. So patient. So shiny.

I should really stop writing stories about mutual pining but you can't make me, so there.

That's really it with me right now. Tryng to get through the holidays, wondering what will inspire me next. Will it be Zarrin the dragon and Joe, the hot barista who continues to pretend he doesn't know who Zarrin is even though he is a dragon and it's TERRIBLE? Will it Flor? Or Clem? Two very, very different fairies who need love? Albert? Will my brain want to skip the beings for a while and go on to Space Boyfriends? (Have I talked to you guys about Space Boyfriends? It was a Tumblr thing.) Hmm Flor is another cinnamon bun. I'm not sure who is good enough for him. Decisions!

The point is: I never know. But hopefully I will be back in the swing of things soon. And oh, I will try to edit that silly Will and Charlie Alternate Universe Christmas story I did last year so it's more readable.)

((And before I go, I just need to say, to one person on GR and Tumblr you know who you are... *hugs. because FEELINGS oh god so many feelings and now I run away*))
thatrcooper: (elizabeth hug by someone)
You guys. Honestly. You guys. You wonderful goobs who ran out and read The Firebird and Other Stories right away, and then asked me all the nerdy awesome questions about it! :):):) <3 I hope the love outweighs any trauma. And as always, if you really want to know something, or just want to ALL CAPS TALK ABOUT SIMON'S FASHION CHOICES OR RENNET MY DARLING OR YELL AT ME FOR DESTROYING SOULS, or whatever, feel free to message me. I'm available basically everywhere but Twitter.

In other news, The Winter Prince was accepted. Yaaaay! This is basically a fairy tale, about a prince who gave away his heart to a magical creature, and now has to get it back, or he will freeze to death without its warmth. (It helps that he has the court wizard along, who might be, you know, the kind of person who would make him feel things if he still had a heart.) So that should be out next year. I don't have specific dates yet, but Dancing Lessons should come out in January (ish) and then The Winter Prince in February or March.

No, neither of those stories involve beings. But in a way, they both involve fairy tales, so there is that. (Dancing Lessons is contemporary. About emotionally fragile Chico (Sheeco) with his big brown eyes, and clever, shameless Rafael, the dance teacher who would really, really like to love him.)

I, um, also wrote a short thing to release on Amazon for autumn/Halloween. It's pretty simple. I wanted a fluffy story about pumpkins and crunchy leaves, but what I got is a powerful, lonely witch and this dork who may or may not love him. There might also be a ghost and a talking raven.

There is definitely a ghost and a talking raven.

Yeah. So that will be around in the beginning of October. Probably just on Amazon at first, because they make covers for you, and I can't afford to pay an artist what they are worth.

Anyway. This is mostly for the seven of you who like me. (I feel like Sally Field right now, if that's not too old of a reference to make.) Thank you! You guys are awesome! Your reactions to the Firebird are truly fantastic. <3
thatrcooper: (pye pye pyewacket by rani)
Sorry I've been so lacking in updates! I was working feverishly to finish two different projects. (And I did, so yay me! The Winter Prince, a fairy tale, and a story for Halloween that I was going to put on Amazon, but it turned out a little different than I was expecting. So we'll see about that one. But it's so gonna have a familiar pun in the title. Because puns! Overly Familiar sounds good, right? Something.)

But this post isn't about them. This post is about some stories about Beings. Specifically a handful of short stories about Beings throughout the last century, from shortly after they first came out of hiding, to about now. You may have heard me mention these shorts before. I've been working on different ones for *years* now. And now here they are. Eeeee!



The Firebird and Other Stories

Magical creatures known as beings emerged from hiding amid the destruction of the First World War. Since then they’ve lived on the margins of the human world as misunderstood objects of fear and desire. Some are beautiful, others fearsome and powerful. Yet for all their magic and strength, they are as vulnerable as anyone when it comes to matters of the heart.

A firebird in 1930s Paris is drawn to a writer with a haunted past. Upon returning from fighting in the Pacific, a jaguar shifter finds a third-gender human on his doorstep. Early rock ‘n’ roll DJ Hyacinth the fairy shocks his listeners with his admiration for his quiet assistant. During the AIDS crisis, a gruff, leather-wearing troll dreams of a settled life with a mixed-species elf across the bar. An imp, who remembers only too well how cruel the world can be, tells himself he’s content to stay behind the scenes—if only his chaotic, impish magic would stop getting in the way. And a shy human tending his poisonous and carnivorous plants is convinced no one will ever want him, certainly not the handsome werewolf grieving for a lost mate. Human or being, all must overcome fear to reach for love.


Guys, I can't even tell you how cool it is, and how honored I am, that Dreamspinner agreed to publish a book made up entirely of short stories about my magical failboats in love. This is something I would never have dreamed of. In a way, it's my own little book of fairy tales and I am a super giddy dork about it. (No, really. I was distracting myself with writing projects, and now they are done, and I am basically flitting around giggling about this to myself. Like a weirdo.)

To celebrate the release day, Friday, September 18th, (a day, sadly, I will be working at the day job) I have queued up a whole bunch of interesting pictures and songs and posts of subjects relating to the short stories. I've queued up so many, in fact, they will probably last into Saturday as well. If you're interested, check out my Tumblr.  That's me, sweetfirebird. (ahaha my name will finally make sense to people.)

In addition to that nerdy party, on Saturday night (the 19th) I will be on Tumblr to answer any questions people might have, or if they just wanna hang out, or talk about non Beings things. I might even be tipsy on champagne, so obviously that is when people should ask anything they want to know. ;) Chatting on Tumblr is odd because of the format, but you can easily visit my askbox and say hello. It's the link that says Ask Me Anything. (But FYI I live in California, so I am on Pacific Coast time.)

In addition to *that*, you can always ask me stuff on Goodreads at the Ask the Author link. Just keep in mind that Goodreads does not notify me of questions in a timely way, so sometimes my responses will be slow unless I have Goodreads open in a tab--which I likely will that Saturday and Sunday.

This is so exciting!

And ooooh before I forget, Some Kind of Magic is now available on audiobook! SO MANY BEINGS! WE'RE SURROUNDED! Nerdy Beings party! History dorkiness! and Kazimir! My diva!

:)

Yeah okay. I will try to calm down now.
thatrcooper: (charlie and will)
First of all, congratulations to the giveaway winner, Ben! Hopefully USPS does not let us down.

Meanwhile, I asked for prompts for snippets over on my Tumblr. These are all Alternate Universe for existing stories. I did not include the Wicklow's Odyssey high school AU because it's more notes and squealing than a story, and the GODRIC AND BERTIE STAR-CROSSED LOVERS AU MADE ME SAD AND DOES NOT EXIST EXCEPT IN MY HEART.

Anyway. Thanks to everyone who keeps reading my stuff and who cares enough to give me fun prompts for the characters they like.

(Okay and LJ made me cut off one story because LJ sucks-so expect another snippet of Cory and Vincent later.... or remind me to post it.  I may forget. And the Checking Out Love one as well)


(the AU in which Tommy and Tavio from Medium, Sweet, Extra Shot of Geek, meet at a party)

Read more... )
thatrcooper: (natalie wood natalie wood by teh gandu)
For anyone with a Goodreads account (I think. I'm not sure. Maybe anyone can go?) I am doing a Meet The Author chat thing this Saturday.

Here's the link Meet R. Cooper which is kind of a weird thing since anyone here has technically "met" me already. But you know. That's what it's called.

It will be at the GR Dreamspinner group, for three hours. 1:30-4:30 July 12. Pacific Time. (For those in other countries, this means go by San Francisco time on the world clock on your phone. Not that I am in San Francisco, but I can see the Pacific Ocean from here... okay. I can see the bay from here, not that actual ocean ocean. Not gonna lie. I wish I could see it though.)

You can ask me questions about Wicklow and Rhoades (or, say, Amelia, Louis, or Pilar) or any other character you want. I will be posting excerpts from current things and hopefully soon to be published things, maybe talking about my love of random alternate universe versions of my own stories, and oh hey, there will be a coupon offer. I might do a giveaway, although I have no idea how to do that, so.

(Such a clueless dork, you have no idea. My third grade teacher actually told my mother I would never get far in life without a secretary to handle basic things for me. This has proven to be true. But how does one get a secretary before one is a success, I ask you?)

If no one feels like asking me questions, I might just ramble on about steampunk or fairies for three hours. Or werewolves. Or imps. Or dragons. Or lonely ex-cops who are afraid to reach out for the love being offered them.

To recap, got questions about upcoming or current stories of mine? Then come over to Goodreads on Saturday and take pity on me. There's a coupon! Excerpts! Nervous babbling! It'll be fun. (Hopefully).
thatrcooper: (paris by cunningcroft)
For everyone as broke as me--COUPONS! You get a coupon! And you get a coupon! I'm throwing coupons at you!

They're for stories up on Smashwords, but still, coupons. (And remember, there are free stories up on Smashwords too. FREE! THE BEST THING!)

Treat yo' self! Personally I have a hard time spending money on myself. Sometimes it helps when there is a sale. In this case, 50% off! *sings like Donna and Tom Haverford* Treat Yo Self 2013!

Coupon Code for With Everything I Have is CH88S

Coupon Code for Ideas of Sin (for the brave who are into pirateses and rough sex and 1600s religious debate and things) is LD78Q

Both good until January 6, because I like the sound of Twelfth Night. And don't forget the free ones. Freeeee! Have fun.

Meanwhile, people, so all I seem to want to do is write short stories about Wicklow and Rhoades and that is no fun for anyone since I don't even know if Dreamspinner wants them. (ah the nervewracking wait for a response) What should I do if they don't? Smashwords them? Amazon? Hmm I also kind of want to write a cracky alternate universe story with Tim and Nathaniel where Tim in a prince(ss) trapped in a very tall tower (until he escapes) and Nathaniel is the long suffering knight trying to help him/get laid.

Poor Nathaniel, he never gets laid. At least not by Tim.

I am really failing at short stories for the Christmas season. Hmm... maybe John and Rennet at Christmastime? Oh shit. I don't think anyone knows John and Rennet either. Well boo. I swear I've been writing. Just... I've been working on long things and short stories that don't really have a home. (yet) Sorry. Have an excerpt while I continue to plug away.


A little bit of Kazimir the Firebird.


Read more... )

"That was quite a show," remarked a voice from the shadows, and Kazimir angled his head toward his audience. His head still ached, but he kept his chin up while the man came forward until his toes were on the edge of Kazimir's soft circle of light. His audience was a man of average height, handsome, though part of his face was hidden by an unfashionable growth of beard and a small mustache. Curls of brown fell into his face where they were not tucked behind his ears, and glasses hid his eye color, but his clothes were plain, a shirt and pants, with braces, or suspenders as Americans called them. He was American too, though his French accent was better. Kazimir had the impression of a direct gaze before the man glanced away again. His lips were full and pliant.

"At the theater tonight, or what just took place on my balcony?" Kazimir stared at him, waiting for the man to look at him again, wondering why he would look anywhere else with Kazimir in the room with him.

"That." The emphasis in the word was almost amusing. "What just took place. Though I also thought your performance tonight was incredible. Not everyone gets an opera written for them, not everyone deserves it."

He implied that Kazimir did, which Kazimir already knew. But Kazimir nodded after a moment, and the man took a drink from his own glass. It held something brown, with ice. The man swallowed with evident pleasure and then said nothing, continuing to keep his eyes from Kazimir.

"You should not capture a Firebird," Kazimir addressed the topic at hand, and watched soft lips open on what could have been a silent laugh. His glow was flattering to the man's cheekbones, the light olive tone to his cheeks.

"Should not?" The stranger moved and Kazimir got a hint of dark eyes narrowed in thought. "Was that act for his benefit then?"

"If not his then for the next creature he tries to buy." Kazimir shrugged and sighed loudly at the stillness from the man opposite him. "You have more to say? You think I was cruel? That he did not deserve rejection?"

The man considered him over the wire rim of his glasses, direct and indirect at once. Kazimir knew he was being studied, and yet could not catch the man's gaze. The strange, somewhat insolent human took another drink of his brown booze. "You didn't have much respect for his feelings."

Kazimir surprised himself by letting out a short, icy laugh "He should have had respect for mine."

"Were yours clear?" If possible, the man seemed equally amused, though Kazimir did not understand why he should be, unless he found Kazimir himself funny. The human could have been one of those men who feigned disgust at things like magic or the blended world that magical creatures lived in, where human morals and customs did not apply. He barely looked over thirty, but it was not only old men who regarded fairies and demons with hatred and loathing. Lately many seemed to, as if the problems of the world were to be laid at their door, as if beings of magic had been the ones destroying banks and dividing countries up into arbitrary pieces.

Kazimir drew himself up and curled one hand into a fist, two remaining pearls hard in his palm. "What responsibility is it of mine to make my feelings clear? My feelings are mine." His voice was clear, the little American would not argue. Kazimir kept on. "He was told no. It is not my fault he did not listen."

He let out a puff of air and wished for more vodka. It was a long time before he thought of speaking again, but when the American did not say a word, he chose to answer with silence, and so they stood. Then the American shifted forward again, coming further into Kazimir's light but stopping before Kazimir had to step back. Kazimir wondered if the man had seen him shudder away earlier, or if this human had simply been raised with better manners. He inclined his head, as though granting Kazimir the point, but did not admit his fault aloud.

Kazimir felt something, not altogether fear, slide down his back. He frowned and made his smile cold. "Human men in general do not give ground until forced to," he pronounced, bitter and unsurprised, and wondered if a mere glimpse of his neck would be enough to undo this one, or if more would be required.

The American stared to the side for a moment longer, then took another drink. He gave Kazimir a short look, then snorted and spoke in English. "Fucking true enough," he remarked, "we will defend to the last man salients of no value to avoid the appearance of retreat."

It was a confusing statement, one Kazimir was not entirely sure he translated correctly. Before he could ask, the American went on, growing warmer at the subject or from his liquor. "Not to say you have no value, or that you are a piece of land. Merely agreeing with you. It's difficult to let go. It can be difficult." He scowled down at his glass.

"You are drunk." Kazimir was neither amused or shocked, though he was not certain why he bothered commenting. His guests were currently swimming in gin.

"Usually," the American hummed a little, a piece from the opera tonight, "I usually am, when not working. May I ask you something?" He paused. "Did you not like the pearls? The gesture was beautifully executed, and I applauded, but outside of this apartment people are hungry."

"And the inhuman creature throws away pearls while the bread lines grow." Kazimir looked down to straighten his robe and when he raised his eyes, the American was looking right back at him. It took him too long to speak again. "Perhaps I prefer diamonds." He held the man's gaze even with the touch of electricity down his back and the ache in his bones. "Do you have diamonds?" he ducked his head to inhale greedily, and glanced up, an unrivalled courtesan. He swept a look over the American's clothes, noting the lack of starch in the shirt as if it had been worn a few times since its last cleaning. It might be the man's only dress shirt. Kazimir clucked his tongue pityingly and straightened. "I don't think you do," he sighed as if bored and waited. When insulted, some dogs licked your hand, others bit.

This dog tilted his head to one side. "You want diamonds? Common diamonds?" He seemed unwilling to admit the possibility that anyone would see a diamond as anything other than a shiny stone, though he returned the same sweeping look Kazimir had given him.

Kazimir felt himself go still. The human pretended not to see, though he must have.

"No, rubies surely. You must have been offered rubies too," the American went on, then wrinkled his nose and gave Kazimir another of his brief, searching looks. "Forgive me but as much as I can see you in jewels, your own natural beauty would render them redundant. You're handsome, yes, your jaw, your shoulders, your tapered waist and straight nose, but mostly… beautiful. Beautiful is the only word that suits you, or, I should say, it is the only word that comes to mind that wouldn't embarrass me."

"So you offer me no jewels at all?" Kazimir could have played coy, accepted the compliment and whatever money the man did have. He intended to, but the words came escaped him in a lilt, a graceful humming note when there should have been a blast of sound.

"Flowers. Those I would give you, if I had the money to, which I don't." The American nodded and took another drink. Kazimir could not tell if he meant it at all; the man looked at him in the same way as before, direct and then from the side, strangely shy. He was a schoolboy until he spoke.

"Roses?" Kazimir angled his head up and let out a pointed, light yawn. His heart would not slow. "Orchids?"

"Mere weeds!" the American scoffed, serious or playful, Kazimir could not determine, and did not allow himself to react though the American went on, "painted blooms in paper coffins, cut and wrapped and stuffed into a vase for display. No, not those. Not for you."

"What then?" Kazimir leaned back against a wrought-iron stand, velvety fern fronds tickling his bare skin. He put his wrist to his forehead like a film actress. The American's breath seemed to leave him in a rush, and when Kazimir looked, the man was watching him, earnestly now, if he had not been before.

"Wild flowers, the kind I have only ever seen in fields in Belgium. The kinds that grow on this continent no matter what is done to the land. Cascading colors so bright they're obscene. Blooms so beautiful they make you forget that even flowers fight for survival. Wild flowers, hardier than anything grown in a nursery. I'd make you a crown of them."

"Free flowers then?" Kazimir countered, his hand falling to his throat, though the weight of the pearls was long gone. The American threw his head back and laughed. It was too loud from drink, but still a rich, pleased sound that drew attention. A few people stopped at the doorway to peek at them.

"No jewels and no flowers will please you, Monsieur Firebird?" He was charming now suddenly, this American, leaving Kazimir to stare and wonder where his shyness had gone.

"I have never asked for them," he insisted, still with his hand at his throat, and the man dropped his crooked smile before Kazimir had even fully realized it was there.

"So you throw them away as though they are nothing?" He was gruff but quiet, and once again Kazimir could not tell if he was joking. He could not ask any more than he could ask for stories of these fields where wild flowers grew. He had traveled by train many years ago but had never stopped to look out at farmland turned grey with trenches and rain. He took a breath.

"That is no way to talk, Monsieur L'Américain, not if you wish to win a firebird." He was not drunk, but he sang it out, so sweetly it seemed a mockery.

The American frowned. "You said I should not--" he started, but was cut off by the arrival of Michel, who turned on the lights as he strode in. The American shut his eyes for a moment and swore, in the crude manner that seemed his habit. "Fuck."

Kazimir took a moment to study him in the light, from the shine in his brown curls to the dull scuff of his shoes. His trousers were recently ironed, but frayed, and a tarnished watch was ready to fall from his pocket. His lips were indeed yielding and pink, but held lines at the corners that spoke of pain. He was no schoolboy, but older than thirty, though not much. He was thin, and his skin had a tint of its own, as if good food and sun were all that were needed to make him beautiful, and perhaps a shave. He was not a picture of health. His skin was dotted with sweat despite the chill, like a human, a tipsy human without much money who had not eaten a solid meal in some time.
thatrcooper: (paris by cunningcroft)
Note: This short was a birthday gift to the lovely Yolandaash.

Summary: Frangipani is a fairy with a problem; he has a found a human that shines like no other, but he can't seem to get that human to notice him.


Frangipani and the Very Shiny Boy


Read more... )


"Hey there," Frangipani began, only to immediately fall silent, because wow, way to sound like an idiot. Thankfully, there wasn't so much as a twitch from the boy he'd been trying to talk to, the impossibly cute human boy deeply engrossed in his book, so if Frangi wanted, he could slip away right now in a flutter of wings and humiliation.



He would have, if that hadn't been what he'd done last time, and the time before that, and the time before that. Just thinking of it made Frangi let out a small whimper and slink back to his wrought-iron table in the café's patio, where his vanilla-caramel-mocha with a dash of praline syrup was waiting for him. It was his sixth of the morning, and at this rate, he was going to burn through his college money in coffee alone.



Maybe if the shiniest human he had ever laid eyes on didn't come to this coffee shop everyday for what must be his downtime between classes, and maybe if that human didn't sit outside so the breeze could stir his light hair and make it fall in front of his eyes so he would absently brush it away as he kept reading, and maybe if he didn't always get the cheapest drip coffee to save money but then drop a quarter in the tip jar, then Frangi could give up and fly away and get his sugar somewhere else.



But he wasn't so lucky. In fact, he'd swear he'd been cursed with this. This, this condition, as he was starting to call it. The stuttering tongue, the cold uncertainty in his stomach, the heat in his cheeks. He knew what humans called this, but he wasn't human, and he knew that couldn't be the case. The human was simply very shiny, so shiny that Frangi was kind of amazed that every other Being on campus wasn't as drawn to him as he was. It was strange enough to him that the other humans didn't seem to see anything special about this boy.



Frangi thought him beautiful. Handsome, yeah, but Frangi had always had a weakness for a human male with a strong jaw. He fluttered a little closer at the thought, trying to display his body as best he could despite shivering every few moments. The fall days were colder than he liked. Most fairies did not take well to cold, and Frangi's kind, used to tropical climates, suffered more than most. Winter was on its way, but he did not want to think of that now, and stretched in the open air to feel the sun soak into his skin.



The sun perked him up more than his morning's intake of sugar and he raised his face toward it, stilling his wings and then extending them to absorb the heat. His wings were sheer white, tipped with a yellow-gold, the same yellow-gold that swirled through his brown eyes and tinted his black hair. He had tucked a white flower behind his ear that morning, full of hope and determination that today would be the day he got this human's attention.



Sure, okay, he'd swiped the flower from a professor's garden, but if the humans didn't want fairies taking their flowers, they should allow gardens in the on-campus housing. And the flower made him look good.



Better. It made him look better. Fairies already looked good, especially to humans, and Frangipani was no exception. If past experience was anything to go by, Frangipani was even more of a draw to these mainland humans with his warm brown skin and sunny smile. Humans, all humans, liked him.



Except this one. The shiniest one. The one who did not smile, but wore ragged, thin jeans, ratty sneakers, and thick glasses with a scratch in the lens. The one who had a pink mouth and kind eyes, and skin that burned in the sun, and who shined, shined so brightly that silver lights streaked around him when he moved. He was different, that shine said, he was special, and Frangipani wanted him.



He wanted him so much he had accepted this daily shame of coming here to stare at him, which was something fairies did not do, because they did not have to do it. They were beautiful, and the beautiful do not pine.



His sister, the Lit major back at the University of Hawai'i might disagree, and quote a fairy poem of longing at him, but he could never tell her about this. She would never let him hear the end of it.



Frangi let out a sigh and dropped his head. The boy, his boy, looked up, giving him one startled, blue-eyed glance that said clearly he thought he'd been alone out on the chilly patio, then swept a look over Frangi's bare chest before quickly ducking back down over his book.



Frangipani sighed again and flopped down in the nearest chair. He put his chin in his hands and stared morosely at the rosy color painting the human's cheeks, which was a positively lovely sight. Frangi must have embarrassed him. Yes, it was a little cold to be walking around bare-chested, but anyone who had been around fairies before should be used to that, and Frangi had a very nice chest.



A sweatshirt would have been nice though. The one his boy was wearing seemed especially comfortable. Frangi wanted to sit on his lap and slide his hands underneath it to feel bare skin. He could apologize for his cold fingers with a kiss, something soft, just there, under the human's ear, and laugh if it tickled and he finally got the boy to smile. The boy rarely smiled. Obviously he was working hard at school, but if he had friends, Frangi never saw them. He'd pulled out a phone a few times and texted back and forth, but Frangi had never heard it ring, or overheard him make plans on a Friday night. He'd never even heard him laugh out loud.



"I bet your laugh is amazing," Frangipani told him softly, unsurprised when that got no response. The boy continued to frown down at a gigantic chem text. Frangi was half a second away from doing the Bend and Snap out of desperation, and wouldn't his roommates think that was hilarious? Rooming with other fairies had its downside, even if they did understand his lack of a sleep schedule and inability to stay dressed for the periods of time that humans seemed to need to stay dressed.



Clothing wasn't natural; there was no way around it. But Frangi looked at the boy's university sweatshirt again and imagined it draped over him in the library while he waited for the boy to finish his studying so they could go out.



Which was a thought that made him pause, because he wanted to roll around naked with this human. He didn't want to date him. He didn’t even know him, and anyway, he was too young to be settling down. Frangi had decades before he had to start considering settling down, especially with a human. But then he wondered if the boy liked flowers, or boys, or fairies.



"Can’t you just look up and see me and drag me away for sex?" Frangipani asked, though there was no one around. If the boy was shy, as humans tended to be when it came to things like public fucking, than they could go somewhere else, but Frangi would have been fine out here on the patio, slipping down to suck him off under the table, or straddling his lap to kiss him, or bending him over a table to trust between his pale, skinny thighs until they were rosy too. Maybe the boy liked to top, maybe he was fierce and strong and he'd kiss back hard and tug Frangi close by his hair. Maybe….



What was the use, Frangi thought, and stood up, loudly scraping his chair against the cement and stalking back over to his coffee, which he drained in a gulp while wishing he could get drunk and forget everything the way humans did.



He gathered up his things and slung his bag over one shoulder and decided that no matter how tempted he was, tomorrow he'd get his coffee somewhere else. The pastries weren't even that good here. He had to pour sugar on top of his donuts to make them edible.



Of course, feeling so resolved didn't keep him from turning around to get one last look at the shiny boy--or from jumping in surprise to find the shiny boy standing a foot away and looking right at him.



Frangi made an embarrassingly squeaky noise and flew backwards into the table, knocking his paper cup to the ground, though he didn't risk bending over to get it. At this rate he'd probably fall on his ass.



His wings were racing faster than the rush of his heart, but he did his best to lean against his wobbling table and look like a graceful fairy of legend, or at least like a sexy potential hook up at a bar. His stomach flipped uncontrollably, but he ignored it, and smiled widely.



The boy's lips parted at his smile, but he frowned without smiling back. He focused on Frangipani's mouth for a moment, his eyebrows in a tight line, and then he raised a hand. Between two of his fingers was the flower Frangi had tucked behind his ear that morning. Frangi reached up automatically to feel for it at his ear, but realized it was gone. He hadn't really expected a haole from the mainland to understand what he was trying to say with that flower, but he still felt stupid to know that it must have fallen to the ground sometime during today's attempt to get the guy's attention.



"Sorry," he mumbled, feeling even more like a dumbass when the guy frowned harder at him. But he accepted the flower with the lightest, most careful touch he could manage with the boy this close. Despite his efforts, their fingers touched. He shivered, and thought it was his imagination that the silver, shining light around the boy seemed to flare brighter.



That was the sun playing with his aura of fairy glitter, he told himself, but held his breath when the boy didn't move away. There was still that pink blush in his cheeks, slowly spreading to his ears the longer he stood there. Frangipani hesitated with the flower in his hand, then slipped it over his ear, only to be completely taken aback when the boy stared at it with wide eyes and then at Frangi's mouth a second before he dropped his head. His blush went from pink to red, and he was so close it felt like sunlight. Frangi cupped his cheek without thinking then remembered he was dealing with a human, and humans tended to be awkward about that kind of thing, the way they were about clothes, and sugar, and the natural beauty that fairies had to offer. He pulled his hand away and then stood there, waiting for the boy look back at him.



He could do this. He could speak. "Howzit? I mean, hi! I mean, nice day," he blurted, and briefly closed his eyes at his own stupidity. "I sound like an idiot," he complained a second later. "Talking isn't something I have much practice with, not to get someone to sleep with me. That makes me sound like a jerk, doesn't it?" He pushed out a breath and wondered why his human was glancing from his mouth to his eyes with such startled intensity. "Maybe you just don't like fairies, huh?" he pondered aloud, more to himself since the guy still hadn't answered him. "Or maybe you want a fairy who is less of a dork. My sister always called me a dork. And the kids in high school. Maybe it's true." Frangipani huffed at the memory and got his wings under control at last. He looked deep into ocean blue eyes, past the scratch in the right lens of the guy's glasses. "I still talk plenty though, eh? Sorry."



"No!" The human burst out, almost too loud for just the two of them, and frowned so deeply that Frangipani wanted to apologize again. He must have had a weird look on his face anyway, because the boy shook his head and wet his lips before speaking again. "No, but please speak slower," he enunciated, still loud, and watched Frangi's mouth.



The frown on the boy's face wasn't going anywhere. Frangi studied him, totally confused, until he realized what was going on. His smile returned and he bounced back to life, extending his wings with a flash of gold glitter.



"Thank you for my flower," he said, as slowly as he could, making sure the boy could read his lips as well as his sincerity, and was warmed all over by the boy's answering grin.



The human ducked his head for a moment, like he was shy and delicious after all, but when his gaze came up it was bold and bright. "You haven't worn it before." This time he moved his hands as he spoke, using Signs, which Frangipani could only wish he understood.



Frangipani reached up to touch the petals without thinking. His wings were creating a breeze of their own, stirring the boy's hair and sending it into his eyes.



"You noticed?" Frangi nearly panted it, a dork to the core. "I mean," he tried to stay cool, "I mean, my name is..." Hesitant over the unusual word, he paused, then leaned in, "Frangipani." They were close enough to kiss. He wondered if the boy would mind and flicked a look up into his eyes, which were wide and stunned and really pretty, for a human, for anyone.



The boy's hands curled, skittering out like he had a thought he didn't share, so Frangi said it again. "Frangipani," he pronounced, then shrugged, "or just Frangi. Like most fairies, I got stuck with a flower name."



"Adam," the boy volunteered and brushed his hair impatiently from his eyes. Frangipani had wanted to do that for him, but only sighed and inched in closer.



"Adam," Frangi repeated, liking the quick, happy grin that appeared in Adam's serious face, "Hey there."





The End

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