Mischievious fairy

His wildest fantasies had not prepared him for it. Frances kept his fingers trapped in between hers, kneeling in front of him with catlike grace. Then her eyes met his, full of mischief. Tristan gulped, then stifled a cry when her lips engulfed him without preamble. Sweet, hot mouth taking him like a piece of candy, then pulling away with a smile.

— "Frances", he rasped. "You don't have to"

She was offering such an intimate gesture, one that had rarely been bestowed upon him in his fifteen years of sexual life. As significant as it was tiresome; he was afraid of her motives. Afraid she would do this to prove she wasn't so inexperienced.

— "Do you want me to stop ?", she asked, titling her face up to watch him in the eyes.

And, gaze firmly planted into his, she took him once more, head bobbing twice before releasing his throbbing member. Playing with his heart, the little minx ! Tristan's head landed upon the tile with a thud. Surrender.

— "Gods no !", he rasped.

His hands found her hair, the hot water spray washing it down as she worked his body. He had been so aroused in the first place that it didn't take long. Legs buckling, Tristan couldn't keep his moans inside. He could tell she enjoyed it immensely, the sight of him undone, the sounds constricting his throat and echoing in the tiled room. The way his fingers tightened around her head when the implosion threatened to overtake him. He didn't want to drown her and clenched his fist to keep from coming, but she refused to relent. Frances looped an arm around his waist when he eventually gave up, crumbling against the wall as his hips bucked. He cried out this time, her name mingled in between incoherent words, knees giving way as pleasure overcame his body mercilessly. Still, she didn't let go, accompanying him until he was thoroughly and entirely finished. When Frances released his body, Tristan could do nothing more but sag against the wall, panting like a marathonian.

The young woman stood, then draped her body over his to drop a kiss upon his parted lips, looking smug.

— "Spent, beloved ?"

Tristan smirked; so he had underestimated her. Right. Lesson learned.

— "You just enjoy undoing me", he murmured in her ear.

— "That I did."

He exited the shower ten minutes afterwards, refreshed and clean, hair slicked back until it decided to escape again and fall over his forehead. Then, as Frances stayed behind to brush her long hair, he strode to the room and assessed the space. This couldn't do. So he pushed the bed in a corner, the desk and nightstand in another, and pulled the curtains wide open. The shining sun of mid afternoon flooded the room and he was satisfied.

When Frances emerged from the bathroom, she froze. He choose this moment to put the music on – Postcards from Paraguay - and extended his hand.

— "Will my lady care to dance ?"

She dropped her dirty clothes in a corner before accepting his hand.

— "Keeping your promises already ?"

— "I'll show you how to dance this piece properly this time"

A smile bloomed on her face, getting his point; yesterday, at the concert, there wasn't enough space to perform such a latino rhythm. But now that he had cleared the furniture away… Tristan's hand snaked around her waist, pulling her close. And then he was gone, already attuned to the music. Those rhythms allowed free souls almost anything as long as the partner was willing, and skilled enough. Sliding his left leg between hers, Tristan felt his body warm up instantly. There would be no such fioritures today, only a good deal and intimacy for his hips already rolled to the music. Hers followed, her eyes closed to understand how she was supposed to sway.

He didn't give her any kind of leeway, leading strongly, relishing in the way her body had to mould to his to keep in synch with his moves. She followed him… so easily, it was nearly frightening, sometimes, how she trusted him. He would have to be careful in the future. For the moment though, he just rolled and rolled, legs encasing hers, chest to chest, her hand firmly set in his, a smile lifting the corner his lips. And she watched him, mesmerised, aware that her body wasn't really her own but enjoying it all the same. Just like she had followed him at the school dance… and ended up against the classroom wall.

Speaking of which, now that the guitar riffs were about to die, he owed her a little bit of sport. So he turned her around, again and again in an endless spin until she hid her face into his chest and laughed all the same. Tristan struggled to keep his foot planted into the ground to keep the spin even until the music stopped. Then he gathered Frances in his arms and threw her upon the bed. She squealed, and he took advantage of her disorientation to crawl above her. Her breaths came in short pants, and he smirked.

— "Spent, beloved ?", he asked.

She laughed as he plunged to nuzzle her neck, very aware that she had sent the very same words to him not half an hour before. When his mouth eventually reached her lips, Frances pulled back to look at his face. Cheeks flushed, chest heaving, she couldn't hide the gleam in her eyes as she asked:

— "Now what ?"

— "Now I'll be having my wicked way with you, minx."

Frances lifted an eyebrow in the perfect impersonation of Lord Elrond.

— "Relatiation ?"

Pursing his lips, Tristan squinted his eyes.

— "Payback will be more like it"

And he captured her mouth before she could even protest. This evening, they nearly forgot dinner. Exhausted from the day, they instead ordered room service and ate on the terrasse, watching the sun set behind the rolling hills.

The next morning

She awoke in a cocoon of warmth and softness, curled on her side. Her dreams had been sweet again, the feeling of his arms around hers, of his loving presence more vivid than usual. Frances tried to grasp at the tendrils of those heart-warming feelings before they fled. Light flooded the room, yet she refused to open her eyes in fear of loosing her blissful state. To plunge into the dim reality once more where Tristan was but a memory. A warmth breath caressed her face. Frances hummed, imagining that it was him, laying beside her, ready to embrace her once more.

The sound of a soft shuffle caused her attention to shift, the titling of the mattress her eyes to snap open. Then… she found him. Facing her, his head supported over his bulky biceps, sheet barely covering his chest as glorious sunrays warmed his skin from behind. Frances blinked, stunned; anytime now, he would disappear. But he didn't, and his special smile greeted her owlish gaze. His free hand lifted to caress her cheekbone. Relief flooded her so sharply that she nearly broke down into tears. Instead, Frances closed her eyes and marvelled at the softness of his caress. The contact of his fingers caused her skin to tingle in its wake

— "You're so beautiful", he whispered.

Her cheeks reddened and she blinked the moist away, her own gaze starved for him.

— "Are you for real?", she blurted out.

Tristan chuckled, a deep sound that filled her with joy. Perhaps he found her lovely, but nothing could hold a candle to him, sprawled in the bed with is head set upon his folded arm. Did he not see how perfectly handsome he looked with the sun creating a halo of his blondish hair, his silhouette outlined by the morning rays ? Tristan – Mr Kristiansen was a man from another life – smiled, the secretive quirk of his lips softening his features as he brushed a strand away from her face.

— "Even more so when you are blushing."

Frances bit her lip, escaping his intense gaze just a moment to look for the right words. They didn't come, so she kept her gratitude simple. For here, surrounded by the hotel's pristine sheets crumpled after a passionate night, she felt so happy, so carefree that her heart threatened to burst.

— "Thank you"

— "No need for thanks, Frances. I am only stating what my eyes see"

— "You, sir, are a smooth talker"

She knew he wasn't the type to charm his way into a situation, but his comment had her so flustered that words had fled on their own. Tristan, however, didn't balk.

— "Honest. I'm always honest"

The mattress slightly sunk as he shifted. His fingers slid in her hair, diving in the loose strands with purpose as a warm mouth captured hers. The slow, sensual kiss allowed him to scoot closer, his legs sliding beside hers, the warmth of his chest radiating under the sheets. She melted into him easily; an instinct, for whenever his body called, she was helpless. Her free hand slid over his toned waist, exploring warm skin so eagerly that he purred in her mouth. Fortunately, he wasn't done with the interrogation as he pulled away. Frances opened her eyes to find a serious look upon his chiselled features.

— "How do you feel, waking up beside a crumpled man. Do you miss your teacher ?"

It was an important question, one loaded with many layers. Did she like him because of his status ? Had she lost herself to the oedipal transfer without her knowledge ? Had she seen – and liked – the man within ? All those questions, left unsaid, only mingled together in her head in an unhelpful blob of emotions. Just how far the fantasy of undressing her good looking teacher had gone ? She watched him; the slight crease of the sheet upon his cheek, the five o'clock shadow and ruffled hair. She could easily imagine how handsome he would look at forty, even fifty. Laugh lines more pronounced, a claim of how much joy had populated his life.

To put some order in her thoughts, Frances chose to put out feelers.

— "You mean, the cleanly combed hair and your usual classy style ?"

Tristan nodded, a gleam of uncertainty passing in his eyes. Waiting. So Frances reached for his hand and slid her fingers between his; a declaration.

— "No. The teacher is just another piece of you. I know bits, more intimate, of course, and genuine as well. I see a good man, ruggedly handsome, and I am looking forward to learning the rest."

Was it relief that flooded his face ? Immediately hidden, of course, but she understood; he had taken quite the risk, to bare his heart to a student. She needed to be up to the task, to seek him rather than to see the teacher. Would he be able to reciprocate? She had so much to learn… so inexperienced, barely out of her parent's skirts. Would he be patient enough ?

— "I am glad that you liked the 'jeans and t-shirt rocking man' you met yesterday", he murmured in her ear.

Warmth flooded her veins and Frances planted her eyes into his grey ones. Lost, for a moment, within their depths before she remembered her purpose. Her hand settled upon his chest, fingers splayed over his heart.

— "I had already met him. He's there, within, but not hidden enough that I couldn't see. And I can honestly say that you, naked, is the greatest present I could ever ask for."

— "So hairy chest is allright ?"

Her smile widened, head bobbing up and down as she watched his yummy skin covered with brownish hair. Yes, it definitely was allright, and she was now eying him like a piece of candy.

— "More than allright", she hummed, remembering how his scent lingered in the hollow of his sternum.

It was a little frightening, really, to find him so edible. But who was she kidding ? The man looked like a model and the girls had been gossiping about his ass and figure for months. It was difficult to miss.

— "You look positively inspiring without those layers of clothes"

Tristan lifted an eyebrow, and she marvelled at how they barely created a shadow over his stormy eyes.

— "Inspiring ?"

Incredulous and curious at the same time, the man within expected an explanation of her vision. She obliged pleasantly, wishing him to see through her eyes.

— "Yes. If I knew how to draw, I would make a portrait of you right now. You are… so beautiful with your hair hanging over your forehead and your stubble, I don't think I can ever get used to it. I feel like the luckiest woman alive."

Woman? Yes, woman. She was a woman now, definitely, for she wanted that man by her side. His hand tightened around her waist, warm and soft, inviting.

— "I was wondering the same", he eventually said.

— "About ?", she asked.

Tristan's gaze roamed around her face, his knuckles caressing her cheekbone again, disbelief deeply buried in his stormy eyes.

— "About if I'll ever get used to waking up beside you"

Her lips quirked up in a soft smile.

— "Let us find out, then"

Tristan's rolled Frances around to press her back to his front, his arm pulling her close as he settled behind her. She was warm and soft, pulling his arm over her chest to kiss his knuckles. Sleep claimed them anew, only for the sake of waking up, once more, together.