Haley Thistle
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Finch the Fae (rough draft)
🕑 Added 2023-02-04 21:00:02 +0000 UTCUp on a hill, hidden by maple trees, was an old cottage. The place had been in your family for ages, and countless summers had been spent there. Repairs and renovations had taken place countless times since you were young, but the place still maintained the same feeling and isolation it always had. Even now as ivy grew over the mesh of the screened in porch, creating a whole new room to itself, the place felt like that hidden oasis you loved as a kid.
“I don’t remember my back hurting so much from the car trip though,” you told your mother over the phone. You had to give her the report you made it there alive, and hopefully your signal would remain strong.
You went through the cottage, inspecting old rooms and reminiscing about what had taken place in each one. As you went to the back porch you saw the peaks of the Green House over the foliage.
“Yeah, I brought enough food to last me while I’m here. If not, the Old Mercantile probably still sells overpriced canned soup.” You huffed. “Don’t worry Mom. I’m probably safer in the wild than anywhere at college. At least I know if I piss off a wild animal it’s probably my fault.”
The Green House was a mansion hidden amongst the countryside where your family cottage was located. It was hidden up a hill, but as children you and some cousins had found a path connecting your cottage to the house. It was a game of seeing who could sneak closer to the empty mansion, as you all concocted the idea it was haunted. The old weathervane on top of the Green House twisted and then a breeze came fluttering towards you.
“I should be able to get this thesis done by the end of the month,” you said as your eyes focused on the twisting of that weathervane. “Well, I have to get it done before then. Don’t really have a choice on due dates.” You went back inside the house, wandering back towards your bags.
“I’ve gotta unpack, I’ll call you later.” You hung up the phone and phone, looking around the old place, sunbleached pictures on the wall unchanged even after so many years.
You took out your camera, deciding to go ahead and take some pictures so you could get working right away the following morning. Your thesis for school was going to be a collection of watercolors all focused on the local wildlife and vegetation. It also so happened that an art block had hit you a few weeks back. So life was a struggle at the moment.
The backyard was a bit overgrown, perfect at least for what you needed. You took pictures of the trees, wild flowers, and managed to get a few bugs while you were at it. As you were going through the footage, you noticed towards the back of the yard, where the picket fence had been taken over by vines and tall grass, a glimpse at what could be a hole.
You turned towards the location, seeing the wind blow through the grass and open up around the escape route.
“No way, it’s still there!” You knelt down before the fence, pulling away weeds and grass to see the entrance you and your cousins took to the Green House. You could even make out the path still worn into the earth.
You eyed it with awe, having expected it all to have vanished by now. You thought an uncle had repaired the fence years ago. You slipped through the hole, barely managing to fit your grown body through it.
As children, you and your cousins had taken that path so many times. You wandered through the surrounding woods collecting acorns and making fairy houses in the roots of trees, or digging holes for reasons you really can’t recall. You would also spy upon the Green House, making up tall tales about why it was empty.
“I dare you to knock on the door,” a cousin dared you.
“What? No way! You go and knock,” you fussed.
“Chicken!” The cousin mocked. “Bawk, bawk, bawk, you got chicken legs!”
You were sensitive about your skinny legs, even as a child. Sometimes it was still a raw spot you didn’t like being poked at. “Am not!”
“Chicken’s walk on chicken legs! Chicken legs just run away!” Your cousin sang in a mocking tune.
You growled and jumped up, leaving your watching spot and storming towards the house. You were close to it when you realized what you were doing. You turned around, seeing your cousin was gone. You looked back up at the house and you gasped when you saw a light in one of the windows. You were so fixated on it, you didn’t realize your cousin was sneaking up on you. They screamed while grabbing you, so you screamed and grabbed them back. It turned into a mess and both of you went running back home.
Now as an adult, you popped out of the path and in front of the Green House. It hadn’t changed at all. No paint was peeling, no grass had grown taller than your knees, no vines scaled the walls. Was someone living here now?
You walked along the side of the house and looked towards the window where you had seen that light as a child. Just as you were looking up, something shined in the corner of your eye. It was a massive glass greenhouse. Without thinking you walked up to it. The door was opened, so you took a few steps to look inside. The place was filled with all sorts of flowers and plants, everything was lush and green.
“Wow,” you gasped and grabbed hold of your camera. “Perfect.” You started snapping pictures. You became so engrossed with inspiration you lost track of time. You were giddily taking pictures, whenall of a sudden, the door slammed shut. Outside, you saw a glimmering light.
You dropped down, hiding behind the plants and tables. The light wandered around the side of the building, and you slowly inched back towards the door. The light vanished, and you made your get away back towards the path.
Squeezing through the hole in the fence again, you took a moment to breathe. Your heart was pounding, and you had to giggle. “I did get some good shots though so-” You patted yourself looking for your camera. But it wasn’t anywhere on you.
“Oh no,” you whined. “No. No. No. No!” You poked back out of the hole in the fence to make sure it hadn’t fallen off while you forced through, but there was nothing. “Oh shit! I must have dropped it in the greenhouse.” You glanced back up the hill, seeing the weathervane twist before the moon.
“I’m screwed.” You muttered as you sat down on one of the old wicker chairs on the back porch. “Ugh! I’m such an-” The old, rotted wicker gave way and you were sucked into the seat of the chair.
“Great,” you mumbled, legs splayed out akimbo to add to your humiliation.
You resign yourself to bed, realizing the more you try to thin this through the more you’d probably sink.
You wake to the sound of the old doorbell being rung over and over in quick succession. You snort as you wake, sitting up and hurriedly trying to put your glasses back on. The doorbell turns to hard knocks upon the door. You slip on a jacket to cover your pajamas and right as you get to the door, the noise stops. You stand still for a moment, holding your breath in and waiting. There was no car outside you could see from the window. You began to lean further towards the window to try and see by the door, but the doorbell rang again, but just once.
You swallowed your nerves and slowly crack the door open, peeking out to see the lens of your camera.
“Is this yours,” a slightly haughty voice asked.
You opened the door a bit more. “Yes. I am-” You stopped dead in your tracks. The man standing before you, clutching your camera in his elegant hand, was quite possibly the most beautiful person you had ever seen.
His brow arched as he looked you over. His eyes looked pink for the briefest of moments, but a second later they looked pale brown.
“I uhm-” You floundered with an open mouth.
“Were you or were you not in my garden?” he sniffed. “Answer me.”
You looked at your camera and back at him. “I think it’s obvious I was.”
His frown deepened and he held your camera back. “Trying to steal my secrets? You wouldn’t be the first.”
“No just…” You weren’t sure how to talk to him yet. His sudden appearance had made it difficult to think, and you weren’t exactly a morning person either. “Who are you?”
He gave you a stare then sighed in disappointment. He pushed his hair back from his face, slicking it back as he chuckled. “I’m the owner of the house you broke into. So I don’t think you get to ask questions.”
“Look, I’m sorry,” you started. “I was having a look around and your greenhouse was so beautiful-”
“I know what my greenhouse is. You don’t have to tell me that. But why were you in there at all? Huh? Has no one ever taught you manners?” He shook his head. “Such a sorry state this world is in.”
“I wasn’t doing anything with malice,” you replied with a hint of agitation. “I’m working on my thesis for school, and your greenhouse had just what I needed to-”
He looked you up and down. “What you needed?”
You rolled your eyes. “Just pictures. I didn’t steal anything. I wasn’t even thinking of stealing anything. And I certainly wasn’t aiming to get any secrets. All I was thinking was how beautiful it was and how I wanted to paint it.”
His whole expression and demeanor changed. “Paint it?”
You nodded. “That’s my thesis. I want to paint local wildlife and plant life. I’m sorry I snuck into your greenhouse, I really am. Now, please, can I have my camera back if I promise to never do it again.” you extended your hand out in hopes he’d hand the camera back.
“Prove it.”
Your frown escaped. “Prove what?”
“That you paint.”
You grunted and rubbed your face. “This is really too early for this. I haven’t even had breakfast yet. Fine!” You waved him in. “Can I at least know your name?”
“Finch.” His eyes darted around the cottage, a superior glint to his eyes.
You opened one of your bags and pulled out a watercolor tablet with sketches and paintings all through it. “Is this proof enough?”
He tucked your camera under his arm as he looked through the pages. “Not half bad,” he murmured.
You were trying to remain cordial. “I need that camera back.”
Finch’s eyes looked pink again, in fact, it looked like the freckles on his face were beginning to glow as well. He then looked up at you, eyes and freckles back to a soft brown shade.
“And you want to paint my greenhouse?”
“Yes, although I understand if you want me to stay off your property.”
His eyes narrowed. “Would you paint me as well?”
“Why would I-” You stopped, realizing what he was hinting at. “Do you want me to or something?”
Finch closed the tablet then held out your camera. “I have breakfast at eight, lunch by one, and by seven I am retired for the evening. I usually enjoy mornings in the greenhouse as it is cooler, but I do take plants inside as well. I only permit you to be around my garden if I am there.”
You were silent, trying to process this, a slight disbelieving smile on your face. “Okay,” you said because nothing better came to mind.
He turned, stopping briefly before looking back at you. “Are you coming?”
“Now?” You blurted.
“I am heading to the greenhouse,” he replied. “Why not?”
“Because I’m still in my pajamas!” You pointed down at yourself, revealing the state of your attire. “I’m not going anywhere like this. Can you wait?”
Finch took a few steps back closer, peering inside and looking around. “I suppose,” he murmured. He walked into the cottage with a strange look upon his face. “Quaint little place.”
You walked on ahead, going back towards the bedroom to put on some clothes.
“I’ve always wondered what became of this place,” you heard Finch continue on from outside. “It used to be part of my family’s property.”
“Fascinating,” you grunted as you tied on a bandana over your head.
“It was like a guest house for guests we didn’t like.”
You sighed as you turned to leave. As you went around the corner of the hallway, you saw Finch standing there with gossamer-like wings on his back. The wing flicked and sparkled, and even his skin looked paler than before. As he inspected knickknacks and pictures on the wall, he didn’t suspect you standing there.
You had heard fae roamed the countryside, but they never showed themselves to humans. So the Green House wasn’t haunted, it was just inhabited by the fae!
You stepped out, going towards Finch. His wings twitched and he turned towards you with bright pink eyes.
“Ready now?” he asked.
Finch really was beautiful to look at, too bad he had a bratty attitude. He gave you a look, unaware you were taking in his fairy visage. “Well?” he huffed.
“Yeah,” you cleared your throat. “Yes, I‘m ready now.” You grabbed your bag of art supplies and followed him to the Green House.
At first, Finch just allowed you into the greenhouse to sketch. He barely talked to you, and whatever he did say was mainly to himself. After a while, he began asking you about the plants, how they looked, what you thought, looking for praise. It seemed as soon as you filled the quota for compliments, he invited you into the Green House.
“You tried getting in once, remember?” He said with a smirk.
You stalled just inside the back entrance, hesitating for a moment as an iridescent glow shimmer over his body while he stood in shadow.
“When I was little…I was dared…” You murmured.
Finch just smirked. “Children think this place is haunted,” he said with pride. “Not that I’ve tried making myself known in the community.” He led you into the kitchen, which was filled with more plants. Lots of herbs and succulent types mostly.
“You’ve known who I was all this time?” You asked.
Finch opened the fridge, pulling out glass bottles of sparkling water. “Not the whole time. Just until I saw you walking up the hill the other day.” he handed out a bottle towards you. “You have a very particular walk.”
You frowned slightly. “I suppose fairy notice those sorts of things,” you tossed out, wondering if he would catch on.
“You would be surprised what we notice about you humans-” He jolted to a stop, staring at you then letting loose a wide smile. He cracked open his water, taking a lingering sip before speaking again. “I’m not used to hosting humans. Suppose I let some things slip.”
You took out your sketch pad and flipped to a certain page and then showed it to him. The scene depicted Finch knelt over his plants, a gentle look on his face. His antena bent on his forehead and down towards a blossom. His wings stood high, grazing against vines hanging down from the ceiling.
Finch looked it over and nodded. “Will you be painting this?”
“Maybe,” you shrugged. “I really have to finish my thesis work before I tackle a portrait like that.”
“There are at least ten plants in this drawing,” Finch huffed. “Wouldn’t that be sufficient for your education?”
You smirked at him. “Not in the sense of academia.”
Finch rolled his eyes. “If you could call what humans do such a thing.”
You held in a laugh. “Are you suggesting that painting you would be much more educational?”
Finch’s lips hovered around the mouth of the bottle. He set the drink aside and posed himself at the edge of the counter in a rather sultry way. “Isn’t that part of being an artist?”
You couldn’t hold your laugh back. You giggled and cupped your hand around your smile, catching Finch’s indigent gaze, which made you snicker and laugh more. You had to turn away from him.
Finch’s hand slid around your waist from behind, and he leaned over your shoulder. “Just what the hell are you laughing at?” he snatched your waist, pulling you back into him. “Am I the joke?” His hand slipped around your neck and grabbed hold of your jaw and chin.
You swallowed and kept yourself still. “Not a joke. I find you entertaining, that’s all.”
Finch sniffed, tilting your head back so you looked up at him. You were tall, so this was new to you.
“I want to show you something,” Finch whispered. He released you, but he grabbed hold of your hand. He led you through the manor, sweeping you through rooms and halls until you went up stairs and into a study.
Bookshelves and framed portraits covered the walls. Finch proudly stood there, flourishing his hand out for you to inspect.
“Many fine artists have painted me, some calling me their muse.”
You bit back a laugh again. There was some stunning work, but you noticed each painting that there was something off about Finch. They weren’t quite right. They weren’t truly him.
“You see it, don’t you?” Finch asked.
You nodded. “What happened?”
Finch shook his head. “Maybe its because I never really liked the artist.” His pink eyes cut to you. “Until now.”
You barked out a laugh and held it. “Sorry.” You covered your mouth with your hand. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
Finch approached you again, pulling your hand away. “Odd little human,” he whispered. “If you even are human. I’ve never liked one before.” He looked you up and down, tilting his head to the side as he drew closer.
“I’ve never liked a fairy before either,” you retorted.
A wicked smirk grew on Finch's face. “Everyone likes me.”
You shrugged.
Finch pushed away from you, a pout on his face. “You will paint me.”
He was so strangely entertaining. Usually someone so spoiled and confident would ruin the mood. But there was something about Finch that made you want to see what he would do next. “So confident. What makes you think I will?”
“I just know.”
You clicked your tongue and nodded your head. “My thesis is more important. I have to finish it first.”
“Fine by me.” Finch approached you again. “Finish it, and once you have, come back here and show me. After all, it’s my own hard work you are painting.” His hand slipped around the back of your neck and pulled you in. He kissed you, taking you by surprise for a moment. You leaned into the kiss, pressing back and giving him a shock as well.
As you pulled back, you gave him a sharp look. “It could be a few days.”
Finch cleared his throat. “Humans are slow, I’m not surprised.”
You went home to finish your work, hoping the effort would push Finch from you mind. Except that every time you worked on a painting, the subject took you back to him. Painting the Pallas’ Wallflower you could hear Finch talking sweetly to his plants. Mixing colors for the Showy Orchids you could hear him exposing how hard it was to maintain orchids. Strangely enough, you found yourself missing Finch.
After finishing the paintings you took care to give them a day to fully dry. You then gathered them up, putting them in their own protective bag and you decided to venture back up to the Green House.
You enter the manor without knocking, stepping in through the main entrance. It felt strange, especially since it was what you failed to do during childhood. It was dark as you came in and the light from the doorway showed dust floating through the air. Faint music came from upstairs.
“Hello?” You called out. “Finch, it’s just me.” You shut the door behind you. You stepped further inside, still hearing the soft music. “Finch?” You went deeper inside, heading towards the stairs to reach his study.
The music stopped as you came to the top of the stairs. To the side, Finch stepped out of the doorway and looked at you.
“It’s about time,” he said. His hair was disheveled, and his clothes were less form fitting than normal.
“I told you it would take me a few days.” You approached him and nodded into the study. “They’re all done now if you still want to see them.”
Finch pouted as he led you into the study. “It’s rude to make people wiat,” he huffed.
“Oh excuse me.” You set your bag down. “Bu I thought you were well aware of how long art takes.”
Finch sat upon the sofa and waved his hand. “Go ahead, show me what you’ve got.”
You looked him over, taking in his pose sitting there on the sofa. You furrowed your brow, wondering just who he thought he was. You felt silly for missing him, but you also still had that desire to be near him.
“In a second,” you said.
Finch got an indigent look on his face. “Excuse me?”
You walked over to him, standing before him and towering over him. A look flickered through his pink eyes and he fidgeted in his seat. You knelt down, placing your hands upon the back of the couch just over his shoulders. His eyes flicked to your arms and slowly back to your eyes.
“What are you doing?” He grumbled.
“Do you still want me to paint you?”
His eyes lit up. “Of course.”
You moved your hand, tugging up his shirt to expose his chest. His flinched at first then held still, holding his breath as your hand slid down his slightly sparkly skin. “What is this?” He whispered.
“I like to study what I’m going to paint. Same as with your plants.” You stroked your hand down his skin, feeling him tremble at your touch. “I like to see every angle. Make sure I get every shadow and color.”
“Unhand me,” his voice quivered.
You grabbed his chin tilting his face up towards you. “Strip.”
His eyes widened, brows arching. His full lips even parted to let out a happy little gasp. “You…you can’t tell me what to do.”
You motioned to the paintings hanging around you. “If you want a painting of the true you, I suggest you do.”
Finch swallowed again, breathing in deep as you stepped back. He seemed all to eager to remove his clothes, only catching himself and putting on a bratty pout. “To think, I was looking forward to seeing your work.”
While he undressed, you took out the paintings and lined them upon a shelf. Each one featured Finch’s hands holding them and touching them gently. A shimmering pink glow rose to Finch’s cheeks once he saw them. He approached the paintings naked and a dewyness came to his eyes.
You stroked your hand up the center of his back, kissing his shoulder which made him moan.
“Please, let me look at them for a moment.” His voice was weak despite his need to argue.
You smirked, brushing your finger under his wings when caused a visible spasm in his back. He held back a moan, but it only made you want to touch him more. You groped his ass, kneading into the perfectly sculpted flesh.
“Do you need to do this to study me?” Finch puffed.
“Not exactly,” you giggled. “Have you had a good enough look?”
Finch took slow, purposeful breaths to try and calm himself. “Not enough. But for now, it will do.” He cut his eyes at you. “I want them when your so called education is over.”
“Fine.” You pointed back to the sofa. “Go sit.”
Finch’s lip curled, but he did as you commanded. He sat upon the sofa, placing his hand over his lap. You stood there watching him, seeing the flush to his cheeks, the warmth in his eyes, and the slight awkwardness of his posture.
You pulled out his desk chair then took out your sketchpad and pencils. You began drawing him, making sure to pay extra attention.
Finch cleared his throat and fidgeted in his seat.
“Don’t move,” you fussed.
“I can’t help it, I’m uncomfortable.” His hips were what mainly seemed to need adjusted. So did his hand which covered his groin.
You glanced up from your sketch to see he was trying to conceal his growing desire. You licked your lips, squeezing your thighs together to relieve some of your own. “You can hold still a few moments longer.”
Finch frowned in frustration, fidgeting again despite your warnings.
You sighed and set your pad aside. “Fine. Show me what’s so uncomfortable.” You snatched his hand away, revealing his cock rising up from his lap. “This?” You reached down, taking his length into your palm.
“Hey!” He snapped, then melted back, letting out a moan. He bit his lip, trying to conceal it.
You stroked him slowly. “What made you so hard, Finch? Do you like being gazed at? Being the center of attention?” You leaned in closer. “Your so hard too. You must have been enjoying yourself a bit too much.”
“Unhand me,” he whimpered weakly. “My cock is too good for the likes of humans.”
You smirked, clicking your tongue. “It’s a cock, Finch.” You looked down upon it, letting it go. His reaction was instant, almost pathetic. He arched his back, trying to place himself back into your palm.
“I see,” you said in triumph.
“I just need some relief. Then I can pose again,” he murmured. He reached out, grabbing hold of your hips. “Just…just a little, that’s all.”
You stepped away from him, just out of reach. You stripepd off your clothes, seeing his expression grow soft and longing. His lids fluttered and a dewiness came to his lips. It was nice to be gazed upon like that.You were quite tall and thin, with barely any curves, so you weren’t exactly the first to be looked at much.
You sat down on his desk chair and beckoned him with your finger. “On your knees.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” You leaned back in the chair, pushing your hips out then opening your legs. “If you want some relief, you have to take care of me first.”
Finch got down from the sofa and crawled on all fours. His wings twitched as he came to your feet. He knelt before the chair, kissing your legs as he rose up.
You grabbed the back of his head, clutching tight and pulling at his chair. You pushed him in, pressing his lips and the bridge of his nose against you. His wings shuddered then vibrated and you felt his warm tongue against you.
You moaned, throwing your head back a bit. “That’s it, good boy.”
Finch whimpered against you, licking and kissing.
You let out a breath, sucking it back in deeply. “There, right there.”
His tongue circled around your clit, then his lips puckered abou it, sucking until it felt like you couldn’t breathe. He lapped at you again, letting the bridge of his nose rub against you.
“Stop-” You yanked him back when you could barely stand it. His lips were wet and glossy, as was his chin. You saw the hazy look in his eyes.
“Go sit,” you panted. “Now.”
Finch did as he commanded, taking his seat back on the sofa. He reached for you,grabbing hold as you took your seat upon his lap.
“Sit still,” you huffed. You took hold of his cock and held it in place as you lowered yourself down, taking him inside.
Finch’s expression was melting, he was enjoying himself beyond what you expected. You grabbed hold of his face, making him look you in the eye.
“What was too good for humans?” You sneered.
Finch shook his head. “Nothing.”
You moaned and arched your back. “Good.” You bounced in his lap, slow and gentle at first. He felt nice inside, slightly curved so he pressed deeper against the sensitive spot inside. Finch moaned, his hands gripping hard upon your hips. He moved his hips, going slightly deeper inside you.
“I told you to sit still,” you panted.
“Please, it’s so good,” Finch whimpered.
You pushed your hands against his shoulders, going slightly harder. You bounced against him, feeling yourself coming closer to the end.
“I’m coming!” Finch whined loudly.
“Hold still,” you cried out. “Not yet. Hold still!”
Finch whimpered, throwing his head back upon the sofa. “You feel so good! I want to cum!”
“Be quiet!” You kissed him, hard. You moaned against his lips, tasting him and feeling his long, soft tongue against your own. You pulled back, feeling that end fast approaching. You cried out, arching your back as Finch’s fingers dug harder into your skin, jerking and panting. There was a moment when everything went to white, then slowly faded in dazzling pink light. Your breath is ragged, your body limp. You sank into Finch, both of you not moving for your spots.
“I knew it,” Finch breathed. “I knew you wanted me.”
“Be quiet.” You kissed him and he wrapped you up in a tight embrace.
Years later, the children of the rural community now whispered about the witch who lived inside the haunted house. They spoke of pink lights that flickered from her cauldron, and how she captivated the ghosts that haunted the Green House.
