Summary: I always threatened / promised Finn that if she insisted on not paying attention to my plaintive Tristan and Matty shipping I would have to write some T&M slash of my own. This started as a present for Finn, but she is kind enough to not mind me posting and going completely off canon :-D There are 3 chapters, but the last 2 are two alternative endings. You can chose which you prefer !!! Unashamedly sappy slash here !!!
Categories: St Scholastika's House, St Mildred's House Characters: OC
School Period: None
School Name: None
Genre: Romance, Slash
Chapters: 3 Completed: Yes
Word count: 1212 Read: 2311
Published: 27 Dec 2012 Updated: 27 Dec 2012
This is completely off Canon for Tea and Miltancy !!
1. Mistletoe by Beecharmer
2. Choice One by Beecharmer
3. Choice Two by Beecharmer
It had been a long day, and Matty had feasted well, and drunk more than he perhaps intended, his irritation with Susie now faded to a sibling's respect for a trick well played. He had been nursing a late night drink for some time, trying to decide if he wanted to finish it and get another, when Tristan returned to the room quite suddenly, and sat down beside him, nursing his own glass, and saying nothing bar a brief hello.
Matty felt a spark run through him, that buzz of alertness, adrenaline, that feeling that he kept trying to fool himself was an illusion, a fuzziness that hit him now whenever Tristan was nearby. The very fact of him being in the room was hard enough to ignore, but now, he was sitting beside him, his indefinable smell and sound tantalizingly close. How could a man smell of sheet music, and pianos? Violin resin, and somehow a slight whiff of chalk, despite the fact that he hadn't been near a school room for days. Brandy and the slight sweetness of christmas itself mixed with Tristan's own smell, and Matty knew all at once that he had had too much, that he was not sufficiently in control of his emotions to be this close to Denny.
He ought to remove himself, go to bed, he wouldn't be able to hide his feelings after this much wine and brandy. Yet he stayed, unable to make himself break the spell, unwilling to leave this tiny bit of intimacy so soon. He tried to focus on something else, to stop his mind from wandering, his senses from telling him to move even closer. There was no way that he could do that, despite the aching of his body, the buzzing of his brain. He was paralysed by fact, a fact he was trying to ignore- that Tristan had come back to be here with him, had sat down so close and not said anything yet. After all, his drunken brain continued, Denny could be trying to send a message, after all the room was empty, there were many other chairs to chose.
Matty felt himself automatically wanting to check the emotional weather on Tristan's face, but torn between needing to know if his instincts were playing tricks on him, and not wanting to lose the tiny hope he had, this warm feeling of closeness. He couldn't trust that the longing he felt wouldn't show, and much as he wanted his feelings to be right, he was depressingly sure that they weren't, that Tristan wanted only friendship.
He searched his mind in panic for a topic of conversation that was sufficiently light, but couldn't make his voice begin anything. The companionable silence between them, Tristan's closeness, the family feeling of the day. They all combined to make Matty feel a longing he had done his best to ignore, had pushed a long way back in his mind.
He had to switch his point of gaze, and tipped his head back, briefly looking upwards, then colouring. He was sitting beneath the mistletoe. All his joking, all the banter through the day, and now, here he was, alone, below the mistletoe and beside the one person he would have most wanted to kiss. He quickly looked away in confusion, but his movements appeared to have woken Tristan from being so deep in thought, and he looked up, coloured himself, and obviously registered the position they were in. Matty was determinedly looking elsewhere, so only sensed the fact, he didn't dare look at his friend. He felt uncontrollably drunk and stone cold sober all at the same time. This was dangerous, and he needed to establish a safer situation, but he just couldn't bring himself to do so. This should be the point where Tristan got up and left, or sat forward at least, made the gap between them larger. Made a comment about the lateness of the hour, stood up to stretch, and say goodnight. This should be the point that one of them did that.
There wasn't a rush of cold air, an awkward collection of words. There wasn't a clearing of a throat, a deepening of the voice, subconscious projection of more masculinity to send a message. All there was, was a pause, a sense of that warmth, that smell getting nearer, and then lips, soft and gentle on his cheek. Hair brushing against his face and a rush of feelings too complicated to explain. Matty wanted to turn his mouth, change the peck to more, but the shock was almost too much, then the face was gone, the warm body next to him had left, as if catapulted away.
Susie looked down at her brother with affectionate exasperation. He was sprawled out on his bed, fulled clothed, and clearly had merely dropped there upon leaving the party downstairs. She lifted his dangling legs up onto the bed, and pulled the covers over. Matty muttered in his sleep, and she wondered what he was dreaming about. He was dead to the world, that was plain to see. She gave up on the idea of getting him undressed, he was old enough to have the consequence of sleeping in his one decent outfit. They'd both done their fair share of drunken snoring in the past, and she knew that she wouldn't want him to undress her, so it went both ways.
He smiled in his sleep and muttered again, and she decided that was enough, she didn't want to risk waking him, not in as nice a dream as he seemed to be happening. She would have to tease him about it in the morning, ask who he had been thinking of to have such a grin appear. She tucked him in, taken back all at once to looking after the younger ones in her childhood. She shook herself, but couldn't stop herself from giving him an automatic peck on the cheek, before turning off the light and making her way downstairs.
Tristan reached his room, and shut the door to, staggering to the bed with his eyes shut. Had he really just done that? He threw himself down and lay with arm over his eyes, not sure whether he was afraid or excited by his sudden, drunken action. He had been so sure that it was Susie that he loved, and she did have a power over him, a sense of bewitchment. But that was romance, that was platonic emotional love, he knew that now in the rush of feelings, of desire that he had had for Matty as they sat there, so close, so tense together. Matty, with whom he had gelled so quickly, so deeply bonded that they talked through the night almost as soon as they met. Matty, who made him laugh, almost forget his shattered state, almost forget the war, and Eddie. Almost immediately he had felt that love, that kinship with the young man, found that spark he hadn't seen since his schooldays. In the meeting of minds, he had known they matched well, but it was friendship, that was all. He wasn't built the same way Matty was, he wasn't a man to look at other men that way.
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