Wednesdays, if he was being honest, were by far his least favourite days of the week. He gave class on Tuesdays and Wednesdays and spent the night in between at the castle, and it always left him feeling exhausted. Teaching was not his thing, never had been and never would be, and if it weren't for the many perks the position brought with it he would have quit some time ago. He would admit that there were a few students that weren't terrible; some were even good -such as Darien and Odessa- but... well, he didn't have the patience to teach. He was teaching the basics of alchemy and he had to do that at a slow pace and had to dim down his passion for the subject because otherwise he lost the students mid-lecture. Oriel didn't enjoy it, but he tried his best.

Of course, he knew that his passion for alchemy had been achieved only a while after he'd started studying it, and mostly as a side-effect of the initial desperation that had driven him to the subject in the first place. He hoped for his students that they would never be in the situation he had been, because it had only served to augment his obsessive nature. Not only that; it had been for nothing. The goal he'd had when delving into alchemy in the first place hadn't been completed and never would be.

But the point was that he hated Wednesdays. Last week he'd spent his Wednesday night at his father's place, not feeling like spending the first night after the... incident by himself or at the school. He admitted that he'd been thoroughly shaken and that he'd needed his father. Oriel was, for all intents and purposes, a muggleborn, and he'd only heard stories and read about what the Death Eaters had done to 'his kind'. To see the mark of such people in a place that supposed to be safe was... more than a bit unnerving. But he hadn't wanted to worry his father, so he hadn't told him anything of what had Oriel so disturbed. It had been the wrong call, clearly, because Charlie had spent the first half hour after his son's arrival examining him top to toe for bruises. He knew about his son's questionable judgement and luck when it came to partners, and the fact that he did broke Oriel's heart every time he remembered it.

This week, however, he'd decided to spend his Wednesday night in another manner, and had sent Jaxon Jameson Cole an owl. He'd sent it in the morning, asking if the Quidditch player was free that afternoon and night and if Oriel might drop by. Since the gala almost a month ago, they'd only seen each other once. Oriel hadn't felt like owning him as often as he had before their... disagreement. While he had forgiven Jaxon and was once again comfortable with the casual fling they had going on, he felt like the frequent owning might be just the quickest route to losing the ability to keeping things casual. For some reason, Oriel was loath to do something like that, something that might upset or anger Jaxon to the point of cutting this whole thing off. He knew next to nothing about his old schoolmate, but he knew that the man was too warm and too fascinating and pleasing to the eye to lose sight of just yet. Also, even if he didn't know Jaxon well, that didn't mean he hadn't grown partial to him.

So when he'd gotten an affirmative answer, Oriel had been glad. He enjoyed the other man's company; relaxing around him was easy. Plus, there was something he'd been meaning to do. There was no denying that Jaxon was good-looking, but there was something other than his face and physique which Oriel found compelling, and he couldn't exactly put his finger on what it was. The energy around him, perhaps, the controlled roughness and burning intensity. Whatever it was, the artist wanted to accurately capture it, not with a camera but with charcoal. He wanted to reproduce the grace, the predatory glint, the aura of being uncontainable that Jaxon had. Drawing him was, in Oriel's opinion, much more intimate and personal and accurate than taking a picture. 

After his office hours were done, he'd shed his teaching robes, picked up a satchel with all the things he wanted to take home from Hogwarts, and made his way to Hogsmeade. From there he aparated to the door of Cole Cabin and knocked on the door.

outfit

April the twentieth--holiday of stoners everywhere and the birthday of one southern gentleman seeker. Jaxon was not really one to make a big deal for his name day, though. Which meant, this Wednesday was a lowkey sort of day. His mom had work, obviously--as she was a secondary school teacher. But she had still required his presence for his usual birthday breakfast. They had had to skip the tradition his years at Hogwarts, but every year leading up to his schooling and in the years since his graduation, she had made him a birthday breakfast. In his youth, the menu had been less protein based, with chocolate chip pancakes starring as the main attraction.

But these days, he was enjoying the full English breakfast--with both American and the more traditional back bacon. The baked beans he could have lived without, because they were so much effort, but his mother loved them--and he did agree that they were freaking delicious. He'd even managed to get her to let him help a bit with the preparations; Jax had fired up the charcoal grill and prepared the tomatoes over the open flame. It had all been delightful--and after gluttoning himself on sausage, bacon, eggs, beans, tomatoes, and fried mushrooms, potatoes, and bread, Jaxon had retired to his cabin to laze away the rest of the day.

His more fanatical fans would know today was his birthday, but most of the world would not. None of his lovers would likely be aware--and that was the way he wanted it. He kept them all at arms length--letting someone share a birthday celebration with him could lead to the wrong sorts of thoughts and attachments. Attachments a werewolf should not be making with someone who did not also suffer from the same unfortunate affliction. Even then, he wasn't sure if he thought it was a good idea--it was just one that could make a bit more sense to him. There was always so much danger associated with be a solitary unregistered were- would it grow exponentially at the addition of another such creature? or would the increase in overall danger be minimal? He couldn't say, truly--but he wondered about such things.

After breakfast had finally settled enough to allow him to move from the couch and engage in actual physical activity, the seeker had chosen to entertain himself with a swim in the lake below the cabin. His seemingly rickety shack (or so as it looked on the outside) clung to the top of rocky cliff; the creek that ran past the east side of the house went over the cliff in a lovely waterfall down into the lake below. An owl found him as he lounged on the bank, letting the sun dry his dark skin. This was not the first time Jaxon had seen the bird, but it was the first time the creature had been sent to him in quite some time. He and Oriel had taken to exchanging owls fairly regularly before the full moon little incident, but that had not resumed even after their reconcilatory talk at the Count's gala. Not that Jaxon had been worried--he hadn't. He was confident that he and Oriel were both on the same page and happy with their casual arrangement.

Oriel's missive had not contained any reference to Jaxon's birthday--and the seeker had no reason to believe that the other man had any idea that today was in any way significant. So, when Oriel had asked if he had any plans for the afternoon, Jaxon had confirmed he was, in fact, available and welcomed the photographer's company at his cabin later that day.

Much of the rest of the day was spent as the morning had been--lazing around with the excuse that it was his birthday and so he could do as he pleased...and doing nothing was quite pleasing to the man. While Jaxon was driven, dedicated, and, okay, yes, obsessive when it came to Quidditch, in life overall--the man was laidback and even a little lazy. He liked sitting out on his back porch, just listening to the sounds of nature around him. There was no city sound pollution way out here. The only sounds were those of the creek babbling along, wind whipping the leaves of the trees, and the birds chattering amoung themselves.

The knock at the front door carried through the open cavern of the living room to where Jaxon sat on the back porch. The cabin was mostly open space--only his bedroom and its bath were sectioned off on the first floor. The kitchen and his little cellar were down below, carved into the stone of the cliff. He meandered through from one side of the cabin to the other to open the door. The only guest he was expecting was the artistic academic, so it was no suprise to find Oriel waiting there when he pulled back the heavy plank of oak. Jaxon hadn't dressed up for his company--hell, he hadn't even put on shoes or a shirt. His Hufflepuff sweatpants sat low on his hips, showing off the dip of his pelvic bone. He was just casual and comfortable, not attempting to be sexy--even if, his arrogance gave him the impression that he was always sexy.

When he opened the door, Jaxon flashed Oriel a wolfish grin. His dimple winking to say hello to the long-haired academic. "Hey there, handsome," Jaxon drawled. His gravelly bass was warm and welcoming. The seeker stepped aside to let Oriel enter. "Come on in," he instructed. The words came out so country. It was clear that he'd spent some time that day talking to some of his State-side family. His Southern American twang always became more pronounced after a phone call to his cousins or especially his paternal grandfather. It'd been the latter that he'd spent nearly an hour talking with just before Oriel arrived. The old man was getting way up in years now--and though Jaxon could not see him as much as he might have liked to, the seeker did not slack on calling and checking in regularly. No matter how many times the elder Cole wanted to tell Jax the same stories about when either Jax or his father was a boy, Jaxon was happy to listen--even if he knew every word by heart. He was mature enough to see that telling those old stories wasn't just for him, but for his grandpa, too--to revisit the warm memories of what had once been, before his son (Jaxon's father) had passed.

"I was just bein' lazy out on the back porch. Ya wanna sit a spell? Or--did you have somethang else in mind?" A glint of mischief flashed in the country boy's deep mahogany eyes as he tacked on the latter question. Hints of sexual innuendo had grafted their way into the few simple words. Jax was insatiable that way--always ready for a bit of fun...but he wasn't going to assume that the only reason O had reached out to him was to just hook-up, even if sex was the common thread in the majority of the times the two of them had spent any length of time together--they did do other things, too, just usually before or after they'd found their way to Jaxon's bed.

outfit

It didn't take long for the door to open, revealing one of the few people Oriel bothered to get out of his office or apartment for. Jaxon smiled at him, prompting the same response from the academic. It was hard not to, since the player's warm attitude was contagious and Oriel was not a cold person in the first place. Sure, he could become pretty cold, but it was something that was easily placated. In this moment, there was nothing cold about him, particularly when he chuckled at the greeting. Jaxon's accent was particularly strong today, and he didn't know if he found it more amusive or alluring. It was certainly something different, here in England. Few people maintained their accents for long, in they were native English speakers, but somehow Jaxon had managed it. He shouldn't be surprised; he doubted anything would ever make the other man do anything he didn't want to, even subconsciously. 

"Hey yourself." He greeted, walking into the living room.

It was the same it'd been the time before, warm and stylish and casual, and also like it'd been the time before that. But he pushed those thoughts away and went to one of the couches, leaning against it as he listened to Jaxon talk. Of course Jaxon could never get enough. Something told him that even if it was just physical contact, the other man would revel in it. He basked in attention, in being taken care of, yet he was here, completely alone. It was none of Oriel's business but to him it seemed counterproductive.

With a smirk he pushed off the couch, getting closer to the other man until there was barely a foot between them, but he didn't touch. It wasn't that he thought he wasn't allowed or anything like that, it was that he too liked contact and he liked being paid attention to. And Jaxon had more lovers. Oriel just liked confirming that he was wanted too, even if he logically knew that the other man wouldn't bother with him if he wasn't. 

"Actually, I had something else in mind first, something I've wanted to do for a while. Though it's fine if you don't want to, you know." His smirked grew into a smile as he dug a hand into his satchel and pulled out a slender stick of charcoal."Can I draw you? You can keep lounging and being lazy on the porch while I do."

Having Oriel at the house again was nice--it promised that things were not actually weird or awkward between them...not that any socialization was ever really weird or uncomfortable for Jaxon.  Even after being bitten, he was still a very laid-back guy; his temper just got the best of him sometimes.   There had not actually been any physical contact yet between the two of them.  Keeping his hands to himself was an achievement of sorts for the seeker.  But the flirtatious little game they were playing was fun enough---for now.  

Jaxon mirrored the smirk on the artist's face.  His confidence emanated off him--his shirtless state and complete comfort in his body made it easy for the seeker to flaunt what years of daily exercise had given him.   Curiosity caused one dark brow to quirk upward as Oriel began to speak about something he had been interested in doing for awhile-- a million ideas ran through the seeker's mind...the vast majority of them indecent in the brief moments between Oriel's words and the artistic academic pulling out a stick of charcoal.  

And then the question came---could Oriel draw him?  It wasn't something Jaxon would have ever thought of---but the request did serve as a delicious stroke to his ego. He grinned widely.  "Of course, you can.  It'd be an injustice to deny you the opportunity to immortalize this perfection," Jaxon drawled out, gesturing down his body as he spoke.  He tacked on a wink--his dimple replicating the motion of his long inky lashes as his grin grew wider.  "Come on outside then--" his country twang drew out the few syllables into several long seconds.  His long slender fingers rolled as he beckoned Oriel to follow him.  

The seeker led the way out on the deck.  The afternoon air was warm, but a light breeze carried to them over the water making the porch quite comfortable.  Jaxon dropped back on the suspended lounge swing he'd been laying on before, leaving a chair, table, and another stationary chaise lounge available for Oriel.  "You wanna a drink or anythang, O?"  The seeker offered, realizing he might have been rude not to offer earlier.  A pitcher of water charmed to stay cold was on the table, he had a half drank glass near him already, and a few other glasses were stacked next to the pitcher.  But if Oriel wanted something more, the seeker probably had some pumpkin juice, a few different brews of beer, some firewhisky and scotch, and that'd be about it.  There might be a bottle of champagne somewhere, but he doubted that either of them were looking for a glass of bubbly today.   Jaxon mostly drank water himself, unless he was drinking drinking--then it was beer or whisky (or whatever Joe decided to make him).  He didn't actually know what Oriel's personal preferences were.  He faintly recalled the other man had ordered pumpkin juice at the Three Broomsticks when they'd had lunch--or so he thought.  He hadn't really been paying that much attention...his mind was occupied with the Puddlemere news and then eventually with bedroom fantasizing.  

It would be wrong to say that Oriel was relaxed, just like it would be wrong to say that he was wound tight. He was obsessive when it came to art, when it came to alchemy, but he was relaxed when it came to people, when it came to safety measures. More often than not, Damion would say that he was a bit too relaxed with safety measures, but he didn't mind it. He'd survived this long, and he would continue to do so. There were also times, however, when Oriel was both relaxed and wound tight at the same time. Many of those times took place when he was around Jaxon. It had nothing to do with him making O nervous, as the other man made him feel comfortable and wanted, but there was always something tight coiling in his stomach. That was both positive and negative. The positive part was the part that was pure desire, and that was the largest part, but there was that tiny negative part which was the constant reminder that Oriel, like all the rest of Jaxon's lovers, was temporary and ultimately unimportant to him. There would be no regret on the other man's part when this undoubtedly ended, and while Oriel harboured no romantic feelings for him -it was impossible to feel that way for a man he knew next to nothing about- he did feel like he could. At some point, if he allowed himself, he could have felt that way for Jaxon.

And that made him uncertain, because it was always just his luck to set his sights on people who hurt him. When this ended, Jaxon would undoubtedly hurt him, because Oriel was a fool and Oriel knew that even if he kept this casual, losing sight of this bright, bright person would upset him. Then again, he was easily upset, and his eyes were easily pleased. He was an artist like that, adored too quickly and too much, and felt too deeply. 

Jaxon agreed to his request, making a bright smile graze Oriel's features. The man, however, moved to the porch without touching him, and O almost pouted. Well, he knew he was wanted, could see the darkness in the other's eyes. If he wanted to play this game, he would play along. 

"Well, aren't you confident?" He laughed lightly as he followed the man outside. Some could find egotism to be annoying, though not many minded it when it came from Jaxon. He was right, and he was charming. Oriel sure didn't mind, in fact, he liked it. "I'll make sure to use my good parchment so you can stare at yourself longer."

He sat on a chair, putting his satchel on the table and taking out a large pad with a small box of charcoals wrapped in old newspaper strips. Half a dozen rolls of parchment fell out of his bag, essays from his students, and rolled off the table. With a slight curse he bent over to pick them up.

"Oh, I'm fine with water, thanks." He told Jaxon without looking up. 

Then he straightened up, reading the names on the edges of the rolls and starting to arrange them in alphabetical order again. Mumbling to himself he started stuffing them in his bag. "Cunningham, DiTraverso, Hill, Parkinson, Summers, Swanson. Good, all there." Then he closed the bag again and reached out to serve himself a glass of cold water.

When Oriel teased him for his confidence, the seeker just smirked at the other man. A shrug of a strong shoulder said he had no shame over his ego. "Hey, flaunt it if you got it, right? Nothang is worse than someone who obviously looks good talkin' about how they are ugly or fat or whatever. Just fishin' for compliments--and hell, feel free to compliment any time, but I ain't gonna lose confidence if ye don't." Jaxon sent Oriel a wink, as he rambled on. His diction was so slow--it drug out the few sentences much longer than if they had been spoken by someone with his country drawl.

Oriel pulled some things out of his bag. Jaxon didn't know shit about art supplies, but even he could recognize charcoal. Or what he thought was charcoal... Papers also managed to escape the man's satchel. Seeing them was a reminder that the artist was a teacher. It was easy for Jaxon to forget that side of the photographer. Jax had gotten to know Oriel as an artist, not as an academic. The man read off the names of the students each page belonged to-- Jaxon was only half paying attention, but none of the surnames stuck out to him. His mind had wandered to thoughts of how much he had hated school--and how he didn't miss revision or assignments even the tiniest bit. He had barely managed to graduate. Academics were not the athlete's strong suit. That was obviously athletics and socializing. There wasn't a soul Jaxon had met that he had not managed an easy conversation with. He was just the friendly, outgoing sort that could always be just charming enough to get himself in the door. It was easy from there.

Jaxon's confidence was one of the things Oriel appreciated most about it. Without it, Jaxon would still be attractive and skilled and kind, but O wouldn't recognise him. It was a good thing that he was charming and nice, because otherwise if would get old really fast. However, as he knew the seeker, he didn't think he would ever get bored of him. That was just not something he could imagine happening. He could see himself being hurt or getting angry or just not wanting to do this anymore, but he couldn't see himself ever growing bored of this bright, burning person. Because sometimes Oriel thought that a spark was all he would need to catch fire himself, only he would be turned to ashes. Yet, that would never happen if he knew next to nothing about this person.

Which made it all the more ironic that he wasn't exactly doing his best to quell his curiosity about Jaxon. Still, he respected the boundaries that the other man had very clearly set. 

Twirling a bit of charcoal between his fingers, he took a sip of his water. Then he set down the glass and got closer to Jax, an easy smile on his face. Really, Oriel was an easy going person. In the past, he'd even been a bit too easy going, but now he liked to think he kept a good eye on that. Of course, to have a good eye one would have to be all right in the head, and no one who had ever seen his office had ever claimed that he was. 

"Have you been dallying about all day? What a life you stars have." The fingers of his free hand lightly traced over the other man's chest, Oriel's slender form stopping less than a foot away from Jaxon's. Heat radiated from the other man, a sensation he was used to by now, and it made him almost close his eyes in contentment. He liked warmth, always had. So he pressed a soft kiss to his lips before pulling back with a smirk. "Want to lay down for me, Jax? You can even keep on napping if you like."

The artist's question made him laugh. "Nahhh," he drawled out. The single syllable stretched over several seconds by his deep bass. "I ain't that lazy now, O." Jaxon countered. He didn't show any signs of offense, though. Every word from his mouth was friendly and warm. He didn't feel as if Oriel was trying to imply anything bad about him--it was all just friendly banter. "Ran and swam and flew for a damn long while today. Wore me out." Jax laid back, getting comfortable--stretching out his tall, muscular body over the wicker piece of furniture that made its home on his deck. Plush pillows propped him up and he grinned at Oriel. The athlete shifted his back and arms, flexing and unflexing the muscles of his upper body to alleviate some of the lingering soreness. Swimming was one of the best exercises he knew of---it could be both cardio and strength training. He'd spent a good long while plowing through the water--he favored the butterfly stroke at the highest intensity possible in spurts---that built the most muscle mass. Jax would swim up against the current as fast as he could, using maximum force, til he got to the base of the waterfall and then he'd let the river carry him back down its path until he reached the point where he'd head back up again.

"Me and Ma had breakfast, too--was real nice. You know, she teaches, too. I'unno if you ev'r heard o' muggle chemistry--but she teaches that. It's kinda like potions, I guess. She always was real interested in my potions work--gotta give her all the credit for being half decent in front of a cauldron. " Jaxon had not made a habit of sharing much about himself, but he hadn't really thought about that when the thought registered in his mind that both the man before him and the remarkable Lacy Black were both molding and shaping young minds.

O had taken a seat, slightly more and than arm's length away, and had grabbed a piece of charcoal. The tips of his fingers turned black with that mere contact, but he didn't mind it. The thin black powder that came lose felt smooth and familiar on his skin and he liked it, though he knew that it was always a huge hassle to clean it all from under his nails. Still, it was his favourite material to work with and it allowed him to create great depth with only the slight angling of the stick. A sketch could easily turn into a finished work with only a few added strokes. He also had enough control over his hands and supplies and knew the planes of Jaxon's body well enough to actually pay attention to what the Quidditch player was saying.

The sudden outburst of personal information surprised O, enough that his hand stilled mid-stroke. But he quickly continued, eyes snapping from the paper to the other man's body. A body honed by hours upon hours of exercise, sun kissed and strong, relaxed and controlled. Jaxon was an arrogant man, when it came to his looks. It was something that was understandable, and with his good humour it was difficult to mind it. Oriel certainly didn't, he found Jaxon too enticing to be bothered.

"I have heard of muggle chemistry. I'm muggleborn, after all." Or, at least he thought he was. He was adopted, so he really didn't know anything about his parentage. As far as he was concerned, the muggle couple that adopted him were his parents. "It's fascinating, very much like alchemy. I've dabbled with it a bit but not too much." He chuckled. "Your mother sounds like a lovely woman, and it looks like she did a good job with you."

It wasn't painful anymore to him, to talk about mothers. As long as one didn't ask him about his. It was still a sore spot.