Sweet Clematis

by R. Cooper

  Flor kept kissing him, lips soft, breathing ragged. His pace stuttered for a moment as he brought a hand between them, and then he was squeezing Clematis’s cock and thumbing the head as he pressed closer.

  Flor’s gaze found his, swirling, sparkling black intent on his face as he fucked deeper and stroked him and whispered, “Clematis,” in a surprised, hungry voice.

  Clematis pulled Flor’s hair too hard and shut his eyes, but he could hear it. “Clematis,” again, and “Sweetheart,” running together until he panted, “Flor, I need—”

  Flor made him come with his cock deep and his hand tight, his eyes watching. “Perfect,” he rasped as Clematis shivered and shot over his stomach. He lowered his head, eyes still open, to give Clematis a kiss, and then waited, very, very still, except for his beautiful wings.

  Clematis gazed at him and the golden haze that had only grown lovelier. “Flor.”

  “I’ve got you,” Flor said immediately, pulling out, which Clematis did not want, and then rocking against Clematis’s hip for a few moments before shuddering and going still. “Was close,” he offered faintly a while after that. Despite the come on their stomachs, he wriggled upward to bury his face in Clematis’s shoulder.

  He sighed, long and satisfied before propping his head up. “Are your wings okay?” he asked first, and didn’t seem to know what to do when Clematis nodded but then stared at him, eyes wide. “Next time, we can draw that out, if you like,” Flor tacked on, frowning a bit now as he caught his breath. “Clematis? Are you really okay?”

  Clematis was stinging and warm and breathing hard. He was sticky and tacky with lube and come. Flor was a solid if not heavy weight on top of him, comfortingly out of breath too. Their hearts were pounding. They’d stained the expensive but marked-down sheets.

  Clematis was so full of light that it came out of his mouth when he spoke. “Is your flower still there?”

  Flor’s face was split in two by the force of his smile. “Is your flower still there? Yes. That’s something someone should paint. Not the forest prince. That’s something worth trying for.” He dropped his head back down, his cheek against Clematis’s shoulder. “Give me a minute. Then riding. Tying you up. Dinner. Movie. Whatever.”

  “I’m in no hurry,” Clematis pronounced slowly. He wasn’t going anywhere. “But we do need to change the sheets and clean up.”

  “Laundry,” Flor groaned. “You’re too practical sometimes, buttercup.”

  “Someone has to do it,” Clematis pointed out. “If I don’t, it won’t get done.”

  Flor raised his head again. “Yeah,” he said, drawing it out. He looked at Clematis like he had on the grass that afternoon, like he was familiar and new. “We could do it together, though?” His fairy healing should have begun by now. He shouldn’t still be out of breath. “It doesn’t have to be just you. We could go to the laundry room right now, get some dinner, then go get the clean, dry sheets. You can set a reminder. I’ll get you, like, a million sundaes and fries from the dollar menu.”

  Clematis realized his hands were on Flor’s back, but Flor didn’t seem to mind. “A million?” he questioned first. “You aren’t worried about running into David? Is Tulip not home?”

  Flor pursed his lips. “Like a million sundaes and fries,” he repeated. “You in?”

  Running into Tulip was not something either of them wanted. But if Flor wasn’t worried, Clematis shouldn’t be either. The damage had already been done. It wasn’t as though Tulip could curse him again. Maybe Tulip would even take pity on him and lift it.

  He finally nodded. “I’m in.”

  Flor stretched to touch their noses together. “And all the cookies you want too,” he promised, grinning so much Clematis had to smile back.

  Chapter 12

  CLEMATIS STOPPED in the break room on his way out of work to collect his jam. He’d need it if he was going to stick to his plan of trying to eat more like the others when at work. He’d thought of the idea when Sasha had brought a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for his lunch. If that was acceptable human food, Clematis could eat that, and show Mr. Harbaugh and the others that he wasn’t immature or thoughtless enough to bring candy down into the archives anymore.

  It wasn’t a terrible meal, although the bread and peanut butter stuck in his throat, and eating only one apple with it was not very satisfying. Sasha had eaten his with a carton of plain, cold milk, which seemed revolting, but Clematis made a note to get some small pints of chocolate milk like they used to give him in school when Anise had remembered to pay for his school lunches.

  He smiled at several of the students as they went by, and then again at the reception desk when Collette loudly cleared her throat.

  He didn’t want to stop. He’d arrived to work half an hour early and had worn a buttoned shirt with pants, shoes, and a belt for far too long already. And he was hungry. But Collette glanced around, then crooked a finger at him to indicate he should come closer.

  She had her puzzle books in front of her and a pen in one hand, but she put the pen down to lean forward on her arms. “Look,” she hissed, like this was a secret conference, “this place isn’t for you.”

  “Fairies can work in offices,” Clematis defended himself in a tight voice. “During the Second World War, fairies and elves were often typists and switchboard operators.”

  “I said, ‘this place.’ Not all offices.” Collette rolled her eyes. “There’ve been some changes around here. You might have noticed.”

  He clutched his bag. “I can work harder.”

  Collette blinked twice as if she hadn’t expected that, then sighed. “If they left you in the sun and gave you candy regularly, you could work harder than all of them,” she agreed. “They probably know that. But they aren’t going to do it. It’s not about the work.”

  It pierced him, made his eyes sting. “You know that for sure?” he asked, looking down at his sneakers for a moment. “Are you a seer?”

  It made her blink again, thrown. “My aunt had the sight,” Collette finally answered. “But me? I just have sense. And so do you. I know you can read the writing on the wall, because, well, look at you. Next you’ll show up in a blazer and bow tie, but it won’t matter. You know it won’t.”

  “I can be better,” Clematis insisted anyway. “If I’m good—”

  The pity on Collette’s face made him go silent. “Good? You could be beyond amazing, never make a mistake, and it wouldn’t even register to these assholes. You can’t destroy yourself to make someone care about you. Even if it worked, there would be nothing left of you.” She scoffed but kept her voice down. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you that? The new regime here? Not interested in having a fairy in the place. You can wear nicer shirts, do as you’re told, starve yourself, but it’s not going to make them want to keep you around.”

  He flinched. He didn’t mean to and had no way to hide it standing that close to her desk.

  Collette paused, then sighed again. Her tone grew softer. “It probably never even had anything to do with you personally, and everything to do with either some issue they had with the old boss or those pretty wings of yours and how some fairy once broke their hearts.”

  For a few seconds, his hands were fists. “I can’t help what other fairies did,” he declared shakily. “That’s not my fault.”

  “Maybe those fairies didn’t do anything either.” Collette picked up her pen just to tap the desk forcefully. “That’s my point. You could be the greatest gift to this institute, and they’d still treat you like this because of their own bullshit. I’d tell you to be careful, but would you listen? Now, me? I believe in documenting everything.” She tapped one of her puzzle books this time, which perhaps was not entirely filled with word games and cryptograms after all. She smiled coolly. “You never know when you’re going to need proof. Or a lawyer.”

  “What…?” Clematis’s mouth was dry. “What did they do to you?”

  “Me?” Collette looked down at her book. “This instit
ute used to be about helping people. This is not that. Let me know if you wise up.” She started writing or playing a game, acting as though he was already gone.

  Clematis stared at her for another few seconds, but when she didn’t speak to him or even acknowledge him again, he shivered and tiptoed to the doors.

  He left his shirt and belt on while in the parking lot, but then stripped them off farther down the street, to the amusement of some teenagers at a bus stop.

  Collette didn’t necessarily know anything. She’d never spoken to him before, not in any personal way. The fact that her colors hadn’t changed didn’t mean anything about her intentions. But she believed what she said.

  He took a side street and avoided the university. He could try harder. Maybe they wouldn’t keep him around forever, but he could stay longer. They might get a new boss eventually. Things might go back to the way they were. He could come in earlier and stay later, and smile when he saw Mr. Harbaugh although he didn’t want to. He’d avoid Sasha at lunch, even though… even though days he worked with Sasha were his best days there now. If he did all that, he might get to keep this just a little bit longer.

  “I could,” he whispered to himself as he slipped past a human leaving Sugarbuns.

  “Where did the smiles go?” Lis demanded the second she saw him. She left her entire tray of pastries on a table occupied by a confused human couple and waved dismissively when they questioned it. “Have ’em. On the house.”

  Clematis slumped onto a stool by the espresso bar and dropped his bag on the floor. “What? I’m smiling, see?” He summoned a smile for the dusting of orange and brown freckles across her nose.

  Lis peered at him as she came closer. “Thank you, Dollface. But this morning, you were like a walking good mood, and now you’re weak and pale and your sparkles have left the building.”

  “My sparkles are always like this,” he reminded her, then dropped down to rest his head on the counter. Randolph slid a blended caramel drink in front of him. “Thank you, Randolph.”

  “Hmph.” With that, Lis left the subject of his sparkles alone. “Randolph, make him another one. He needs more sugar. Ooh, make me one too, please.”

  “Your wish, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.” Randolph was already making them.

  Lis sat down next to him and bumped their shoulders. “Tell me.”

  Clematis chewed the end of his straw the way Flor did when playing a video game. Then he had a sip. “I got to help some students today, briefly. They needed someone else to watch over them during recess.” That had been a bright point. Some of the kids said they’d missed him. “This is really good, Randolph,” he added. “Did you add extra caramel just for me? I’ve been had for less.” He winked. Randolph almost dropped his cup of ice.

  Lis sighed noisily and bumped his shoulder again. “Tell me, or I’ll worry about it all day.”

  “Have you ever eaten peanut butter and jelly with milk?” Clematis asked. “Is regular milk better than chocolate?”

  “Are you feeding human children?” Lis was confused. “That’s, like, 50 percent of a human child’s diet. Cal would have his little human friend over, and Bennie would want hot dogs, chicken nuggets, or PB&Js, but only with grape jelly.”

  “It’s what I had for lunch today. Human food.” Clematis pulled out his straw to use it to scoop whipped cream directly into his mouth. “I don’t know if anyone noticed, though.”

  “Oh.” Lis accepted her coffee drink with a nod at Randolph. “Do you know, I tried to fit in with humans once? Not to simply live with them, but tried to be like them. I thought it would make things easier. There was this group of wives… anyway. It didn’t. It made me miserable, and it made me feel even more different. I don’t recommend it, Dollface. Not that everyone should stick to their own kind or anything like that. Ugh. That makes me sound like one of those pundits who should learn to keep their mouth shut. But I couldn’t be me and also be someone else just to please people who wanted some other version of me.”

  Clematis swallowed. “Everyone keeps saying that,” he said quietly before replacing his straw and concentrating on finishing his first drink so he could start on his second.

  “I was awesome the way I was. I was happy and loved.” Lis ruffled his hair. “You’re awesome too. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah, he is,” Flor announced to anyone within earshot and put both arms around him. He rested his cheek on Clematis’s shoulder. “Aw, you got here before me. I was going to buy you a drink.”

  Clematis trembled, then lifted his head. Flor released him to slide onto the stool at his other side. He was in his work coveralls. He must have had a long day to still be in them, but he was grinning. “Hey, you.”

  “Hey,” Clematis replied, although a thousand words popped into his head and stuck in his throat. “You seem happy.”

  Flor had a white flower with a dark center in the front pocket of his coveralls, and a very pleased glint in his eye. “I wonder why that could be,” he said with a hum before dramatically taking the flower out and handing it to him. “I debated getting a purple one,” he admitted, while Clematis took it delicately between his fingers. “But I thought white would look nice against your hair.”

  “It would,” Lis agreed, albeit in a wondering, only slightly teasing tone. “Are you going to put it in his hair, Flor?”

  “If he asks me to.” The ruddy color in Flor’s cheeks was so pretty. Clematis nodded jerkily, and then Flor was leaning over to arrange the single flower in his hair, just so. “Anemone,” Flor explained. “In the same family as clematis. Their meaning can change with the color of the flower. Some cultures think of dark purple as a negative, I guess. But white is usually hopeful. Like anticipation.”

  “Excuse me,” Lis said, only to get up and go behind the counter so she could stare at them from directly in front of them.

  “Flor’s teaching me flower language,” Clematis told her. “I think I’ve seen flowers like this in paintings.”

  “In an art history class?” Flor finally arranged the anemone to his satisfaction and sat back.

  “In a museum. Certain days it’s free to get in.” Clematis pushed the untouched coffee drink toward him.

  “You’re so smart,” Flor sighed happily but pushed the drink toward Clematis again. “Oh no, you need this. You never get enough sugar.”

  “This is… flower language lessons?” Lis sounded doubtful and a little suspicious. Randolph chuckled but stifled it when Lis raised one finger in warning.

  Flor turned toward her eagerly. “Lis, do you know the traditions?”

  “Yes.” Lis looked right at Flor and slowly, slowly sank down until she was a small, fragile fairy with her feet on the ground. Then her wings snapped back to life with a flourish of extra glitter. She gave them an odd, slightly sad smile. “Do you know how it feels to see the toughest, sharpest human man in a world of tough, sharp men accept a posy of blue and white violets and wear it with pride?”

  Clematis shook his head, because of course he didn’t, but he knew her human was no longer in her life.

  Flor put an elbow on the counter to stare dreamily at her. “No, but I bet it was wonderful.”

  “It was.” She brightened at the words. “My love had only one fear. But sometimes one is enough. He’s smart and brave and an idiot.” She narrowed her eyes in a way that seemed directed at Flor. “Some are like that.”

  “Why violets?” Flor questioned, distracted or too interested in flowers and traditions. “Something personal?”

  “Human-beings marriages were legal here by then, provided the couple was male-female. But it would have hurt his career to be married to a fairy.” Lis briefly closed her eyes. “He offered. Of course he did. That was not his fear. I was the one who said no. But I gave him those instead.”

  Flor put a hand over Clematis’s on the counter, then stretched over to lean against him. “Violets for faithfulness,” he whispered, “like a promise. White violets to say she was happy with him
.”

  “Oh,” Clematis murmured with Flor close to him and Lis watching them with unshed tears making her eyes glimmer like jewels. Happiness to a fairy was a very big deal. “You were still married.”

  Lis sniffled and cleared her throat. “I wasn’t wrong to put my faith in him,” she insisted softly. “But I didn’t think of other human frailties, like pride. Some people can’t understand that they are loved no matter what.”

  Flor frowned and opened his mouth, but shut it when Clematis barely shook his head.

  For another moment, Lis’s gaze was faraway. Then she abruptly focused on the two of them. “I’m going to go take care of some tables and get Clematis here something to eat.” She raised her eyebrows at Clematis. “Don’t do anything reckless while I’m gone.”

  “Reckless?” Flor made a rude noise. “When are you ever reckless, you utter nerd?” He nuzzled closer, his nose brushing Clematis’s cheek. “What happened with Lis’s human?”

  Speaking calmly was difficult. Clematis closed his eyes. “He worried she wouldn’t want him as he aged, or that it would hurt her to watch his body deteriorate over time. Something like that. So he asked her to leave.”

  “Asshole,” Flor exhaled. “Does he still love her?”

  “Probably.” Clematis had never met or even seen him, but he knew Lis. She wouldn’t have chosen a fool. “How could he not?”

  “Sweetest.” Flor bestowed a kiss on his cheekbone, making Clematis open his eyes. “Humans are always such a struggle to deal with. They are so very fragile.” Flor collapsed back onto his stool at that, then looked up in surprise when Randolph set an iced latte in front of him.

  “Keep it up, flower boy,” Randolph told him before scowling and returning to whatever he’d been doing.

  “Thanks!” Flor called out, confused, but had a drink. “Speaking of humans, I have to see David.” He toyed with his straw, stabbing it farther down into the cup before taking another sip. “He’s so tricky, sometimes. I don’t quite know what he’s going to say.”

  “You’re worried?” Clematis asked after a minute or so, the remnants of his first drink melting in front of him. His stomach was cold and too full. He didn’t want anything else.