There was a faery sitting at a table in the far back of my bar, and ye gods, wasn't he *beautiful* in his own wild way? Oh, those with less sight, i.e. *everyone*, only saw one of the legion of weirdoes New York has to offer, but I saw beyond that mask to what truly lay beyond his glamour.
His hair, a mass of midnight black lay around his face and shoulders, strands of it flying artlessly up and about in a wind-thrown mane. His face was angular in shape, with perfect cheekbones, a long straight nose, and a marvelously sculpted mouth frowning pensively at the whiskey glass in his long-fingered hand. He was dressed in a black vest and odd white, skin-tight trousers that buttoned at the fly...very early 19th century. He wore with these a long gray coat, a pair of black finger-less gloves, and a pair of heeled knee-high boots that buckled on the sides up to the knee.
The clothes and hair might be found on any young malcontent looking to improve his or her dull life with a dash of mystery, but I could see his ears, rising from that tousled mane, their tips tapering to delicate points. Not very long, but longer than mortal ears. Longer than a tamer fae's as well. No, what I had here was a *wild* fae, and he was so beautiful to these eyes that I could only stare.
I wanted to see his eyes. I was overridden by this desire, to see his eyes. I wanted this almost as much as I wanted to simply tear off my clothes and dive into his lap, to take his face in my hands and claim those wonderful lips for my own. But I kept it under control-although a show like that might have improved business. My poor pub did not attract many patrons, and I feared I would have to close its doors all too soon. It would be a shame. I loved this, having my own place to watch people laugh and find a few hours' enjoyment in this vale of tears...
He'd had a whiskey: Bushmills. I quickly reached for a bottle and a glass and poured another, then walked to his table before my nerve broke. I could feel the puzzled stare of the other bartender on my back as I went, but I ignored him. My eyes were only for the fae staring into his empty glass as if it were a crystal ball.
He looked up as I stopped at his side, and my breath caught in my throat at my first look into his eyes. Thickly lashed they were, thick and long, perfect frames for eyes the same color as a burgundy wine. The corners were tilted, making him look at exotic as possible...even if he hadn't been fae, he would have drawn any woman's attention with those eyes...if he let anyone see them.
Mutely, I held out the glass to him, knowing I had to look like a dying fish, all gaped mouth and wide, staring eyes. I gave myself a mental shake and finally managed to say, "On the house."
"Thankee," he murmured, and oh, wasn't that voice like the darkest chocolate and just as sinful? "You must be a mind-reader."
Then he reached up to take the glass, and those long fingers met mine. I froze, unable to think of anything but the fact that he had *touched me*. I certainly couldn't think to let go of the glass, and he finally had to lift it out of my hand. His eyes met mine suddenly, and a sly, knowing smile slid over his beautiful face. The heat that came into those wine red eyes sent a heat of my own flushing over my body, and I turned and fairly fled back to the bar. I could feel his eyes on me every step of the way, and it was all I could do not to grab my partner's shirt and shake him while demanding the time. Instead, I politely asked him while keeping a death grip on the edge of the bar.
"About one, why?" was his not so puzzled reply.
Instead of answering, I lifted my head and bellowed, "LAST CALL!" * * * *
"Night, Robert," I said firmly, shoving my partner out the door.
"But there's still one guy left," he hissed, grabbing the doorframe. "I can't just leave you here-"
"Yes, you can," I insisted with one final shove that sent him nearly sprawling out on the sidewalk. "Good *night*, Robert."
I shut the door firmly in his hurt face and locked it.
"This is a very nice pub you run," said the faery from his table. "It has a cozy, welcome feel to it. Like inns back in the old days, where it wasn't so much the drinkin' that sent you there, but the people."
I leaned against the door, listening to him talk, and wondered how the hell I was going to get him upstairs to my room without seeming like a gigantic slut. But then those long-fingered hands were sliding their way down my bare arms to rest atop my own that lay splayed against the heavy oak of the door, and I could feel the warmth of his chest pressing heavily against my back.
"Do you have a room here, beauty? Or shall I simply *ravish* you on that wonderful bar of yours? Beautiful carving on that, by the by. Did you do it yourself?"
I nodded breathlessly as he leaned forward, resting his cheek against mine. I felt him smile and closed my eyes as I tried to get a hold on the emotions swirling like a maelstrom within me. *No one* had ever affected me like this piece of magic behind me, and though a small part of me knew that's what most of this was...magic...the rest of me simply didn't care. After so many unfulfilling romances and affairs, I was more than willing to take a bit of faery glamour to finally feel this way in a man's arms. Of course, he wasn't a man, but I wasn't splitting hairs now!
"And here," he murmured, moving one hand to trace the leaf patterns that covered the doorframe. "You're a talented one, beauty. But I have my talents as well. Shall I show you?"
Oh, *gods*!
I spun around between his arms and leaned against the door, staring wordlessly into mischief-filled eyes as I silently willed him to start already! His hands slid up to cup my face, those eyes searching me for any sign of reluctance...
...and then his mouth came down on mine, and the world seemed to shrink down to the size of two bodies pressed together.
