by Avon Gale
Sebastian raised his eyebrows. “Your parents are farmers?”
“Yeah. They have an eight-hundred-acre spread. We grow soybeans and corn.” Tristan fiddled with the remote as he watched Sebastian’s expression. He wasn’t sure if a weekend getaway might be too couple-y for what they were doing. They hadn’t exactly quantified their relationship. For now it was simply two guys enjoying each other’s company and having lots of great sex. Maybe Sebastian would prefer to keep it that way. “I wouldn’t expect you to come to the farm. I thought maybe we could rent a cabin on Lake Wisconsin for a few days, maybe spend a night in Indianapolis or Chicago on the way up. I can go see my family afterward.”
“Hmm. Me, you, and a cabin on a lake.” Sebastian’s dirty smile spoke volumes. “Let’s do it.” He leaned forward and bit sharply at Tristan’s lower lip. “Your car or mine?”
In the end, they decided on Sebastian’s GTO instead of Tristan’s more fuel-efficient Jeep Grand Cherokee. Sebastian loved to drive his car, and Tristan couldn’t blame him. Also, he’d been fantasizing about the various ways Sebastian could debauch him in the car, or over the hood, ever since the time Sebastian had roared up to his apartment building to pick him up for their first lunch date.
He’d be making one of those fantasies a reality when they got to the lake. The owner of the property he’d rented had assured Tristan they’d have complete privacy, and he hoped it was true. He’d insisted on reserving the cabin and paying for their stay, since Sebastian would be putting hundreds of miles on his car and making the return trip alone. Sebastian agreed, with the caveat that he’d buy all the food, and they’d decided to split the cost of gas on the way up to Wisconsin.
They left on a Wednesday morning. For the first half of the drive, Tristan served as both navigator and DJ. The GTO’s radio had been upgraded to one that looked original but could stream MP3s through either Bluetooth or an auxiliary cable without sacrificing the aesthetic of the dash. Tristan scrolled through Sebastian’s playlists, commenting whenever he found something he liked. Their tastes were almost identical. Sebastian’s playlists consisted mainly of songs by The Beatles, The Who, The Rolling Stones, Grateful Dead, The Doors, Kansas, Led Zeppelin, and, of course, Pink Floyd. But a collection of Spanish titles made Tristan pause. He eyed the artist names curiously. Don Omar. Daddy Yankee. Wisin & Yandel. Tego Calderón. He didn’t recognize any of them.
“What is reggaeton?” he asked, stumbling over the pronunciation.
Sebastian snorted. “It’s reh-geh-tohn. And, to put it simply, it’s a blend of salsa, dancehall, and hip-hop. It originated in Puerto Rico.”
“So, it’s like Spanish reggae?”
“Not exactly. Reggae en Español is its own separate genre. It’s basically reggae but in Spanish, without blending in the hip-hop or salsa.” Sebastian shot him a sideways look. “You’ve seriously never heard of Daddy Yankee?”
Tristan shrugged. “No. I mostly listen to the bands I already know. I couldn’t even tell you what’s popular right now. I mean, of course I know about people like Britney Spears and Justin Bieber because they’re part of pop culture or whatever, but I’m a classic-rock guy. You know that already.” Tristan grinned at Sebastian before returning his attention to the playlist. He couldn’t tell what any of the titles meant. Apparently recollecting the Spanish he’d learned in high school wasn’t like riding a bicycle. “I’m curious now. Which song should I put on?”
“Try ‘Danza Kuduro.’ It was fairly popular a few years ago. You might have heard it without knowing what it was.”
Tristan started the song and listened for a couple of minutes. He didn’t feel an inkling of recognition, which wasn’t surprising. What did surprise him was how badly it made him want to move his hips. He didn’t do much more than sway or mime along with guitar or drum solos when he attended concerts or listened to music on his own. Dancing had never been his strong suit. Sadly, he pretty much defined the rhythmless white boy stereotype. He knew his limitations, and normally he wasn’t bothered. Now he wondered if Sebastian could dance and how it might feel to press their bodies together and move along to the beat. The idea made him hot, and he sent Sebastian an appreciative once-over.
Sebastian’s attention was focused on the road, as it should be, but the fingers of one hand were tapping on the steering wheel and his lips were moving subtly as he sang along.
When the song ended, Tristan paused the playlist before it skipped to another. “I liked it. Makes me wish I knew what they were saying. Do you speak Spanish?”
Sebastian maneuvered around a slow-moving truck, and Tristan took a moment to admire his corded forearms and the easy, confident way he handled the car. “Yes,” Sebastian answered. “Fluently. It’s all my parents ever spoke at home.”
“You said things got awkward with them after you came out, but are you guys still close?”
Sebastian lifted one shoulder. “We’re okay. My sexuality is something we never discuss. Out of sight, out of mind. I try to call my mom a few times a month. I listen to her talk about church and the people she works for and she tells me how my father is doing. She doesn’t ask about my love life, and I don’t volunteer any information. Everyone stays happy.” He looked over at Tristan. “What about you? I’m gathering you’re close to your family if you’re going to visit them. Do they know you’re gay?”
Tristan hesitated, biting his lip. Eventually, he stopped gnawing on his flesh and sighed. “No.”
Sebastian didn’t ask why, but Tristan knew he was probably wondering. Given that they were dating, or something close to it, Tristan felt he deserved an explanation. “I... I don’t know why I haven’t told them. They’re good people, and they love me. I guess it’s the what-ifs, you know? What if it changes how they think about me? What if it messes up our relationship? What if they surprise me in a bad way? I know I’m probably not being very fair to them by keeping it a secret, but...” Tristan sighed again and rubbed the back of his neck.
“I understand,” Sebastian said softly. “I didn’t tell my parents at first for the same reasons. But as I got older, I realized I wanted to live openly. I wanted them to know who I am. They could accept me or not. Approve of me or not. I refused to allow them to stay blissful in their ignorance or to continue pressuring me about marrying a woman—not if it meant I had to hide and pretend for the rest of my life. Sure, it cost me some friends, and there are a few aunts and uncles I don’t speak to anymore. Or rather, they don’t speak to me. But to hell with them. This is my truth, and I’m proud. But I know the what-ifs are scary. Everyone has to come out on their own terms.”
Tristan nodded, although if he were honest, Sebastian’s self-assurance made him feel like a coward. His parents had never given him any reason to suspect they’d reject him for being gay. They were easygoing, salt-of-the-earth type of people. They’d probably be hurt to know how long he’d kept his sexuality from them for fear of their disapproval.
But how often had Tristan heard stories about other gay men whose families didn’t seem to have a problem with homosexuality until it was in their own home, their own backyard? Until it was their son or brother or father? Maybe some of those people even truly believed themselves to be open-minded—until they had to face the reality of having a gay relative. Then came the worry about appearances and what friends or neighbors or their church might think. In those situations, a person’s true colors oozed to the surface, and sometimes those colors were ugly.
Tristan didn’t think he’d be able to stand it if that happened with his own family. He didn’t think he could face the pain, the crushing disappointment of having everyone he knew turn their backs on him.
He shook his head, as if the motion could banish the thought from his mind as easily as erasing a picture on an Etch A Sketch.
“So when we leave tomorrow, will you let me drive your baby?” Tristan asked. They were about an hour away from Indianapolis and ha
d reserved a room there for the night. In the morning, they’d continue to Lake Wisconsin.
As an attempt to change the subject, the question was obvious and clumsy, but Sebastian only said, “Sure.” After a few seconds, he added, “Why don’t you put the music back on? Let’s complete your reggaeton education. Try ‘Gasolina.’ There’s actually a bit of a debate about the meaning of that song.”
Relief unknotted the ball of tension that had formed in Tristan’s stomach. “Oh, yeah?” he asked as he searched for it on the playlist.
“Yes. Some people think he’s referring to women who love skeet or jizz, whatever slang term you prefer. But in an interview, Daddy Yankee himself said it was about women who liked to go out and cruise the streets.”
Tristan laughed and turned to Sebastian. “What do you think?”
Sebastian shot him a quick smile before refocusing on the road. “I think it’s ridiculous, but I can’t stop myself from singing along.”
* * *
They got an early start the next morning. Of course, Sebastian was too much of a control freak to sit quietly while Tristan drove. It wasn’t long before the corrections started.
“Ease up on the clutch,” he said when Tristan was being a bit heavy-footed. Tristan had told Sebastian he knew how to drive a stick shift, and it was true—but he left out the part about how he hadn’t done it on anything other than farm equipment in years.
“Switch gears now!” Sebastian snapped when the engine started getting noisier and Tristan didn’t respond quickly enough.
Tristan should’ve been annoyed by the back seat driving. Instead, perversely, it started to turn him on. He slowed the car down to hear Sebastian bark out a reminder about the speed limit. He sped up so Sebastian would tell him to stop being a lead foot and ask if he hadn’t noticed the state trooper.
After another “mistake” he glanced over to find Sebastian staring at him with a dark, knowing expression.
“Pull off at the next rest stop,” Sebastian said. “Behave until then.”
Tristan focused on the road and tried to convince Sebastian he really did know what he was doing. Sebastian put a hand on his thigh, a few inches shy of Tristan’s stiff cock, which strained the material of his sweatpants.
When they got to the rest stop and parked, Sebastian ordered him out of the car. Tristan’s hard-on was doing an outstanding impersonation of a flagpole as it attempted to break free of his jock, but thankfully, there was no one around to notice. He followed Sebastian into the men’s room and trembled when Sebastian grabbed him and forced him into the nearest stall. Sebastian spun them so Tristan was pressed face-first to the closed door and leaned up to grind his cock against Tristan’s ass.
“Are you trying to make me lose my temper?” Sebastian asked, a fierce whisper in Tristan’s ear. “Or do you just like having me correct you?”
Tristan pushed his hips back and moaned softly. “You know which one it is.”
Sebastian grabbed his hair, yanking Tristan’s head to the side. He bit at Tristan’s earlobe, sharply enough that Tristan sucked in a quick breath. “You didn’t get enough last night?”
Tristan moaned again. Before they’d gone to bed, Sebastian had fucked him right against the window in their hotel room with the curtains wide open. They’d been on one of the upper levels and most of the lights had been off, save for the one by the door, which had left them as nothing more than silhouettes from the outside. But knowing their actions would be unmistakable to anyone watching had made Tristan leak pre-come all over the glass. Afterward, when Sebastian had instructed him to wipe up his mess, not leave it for the housekeeping staff, it had humiliated and thrilled Tristan in equal measure. Out of sheer Midwestern politeness, he would’ve never left it to some poor cleaning lady to scrub his dried come from the window—but there was something about having Sebastian command him to do it in his sharp professor voice that made Tristan flush, both from embarrassment and the eagerness to please.
“It’ll never be enough,” Tristan said, and he already sounded wrecked to his own ears, simply from the memory of the night before. “Want you constantly. I’d stay on my knees all day for you if I could.”
Sebastian released his hair and stepped back. “Then get down there. Be a good little cocksucker. Get on that filthy floor and suck my dick.”
The words made Tristan’s face burn hot, but his cock grew harder than ever as he easily went to his knees and undid Sebastian’s fly with shaky fingers. He pulled the briefs out of the way to free Sebastian’s thick cock and swiped his tongue across the tip, humming in pleasure at the tang of salt and the warm musk of Sebastian’s skin. It was more than enough to distract Tristan from the stench of the restroom or wondering about the contents of the suspicious puddle he’d found himself kneeling in.
Tristan licked again, but before he could take Sebastian into his mouth, Sebastian cupped his chin and tipped Tristan’s head up so their gazes could meet. Sebastian studied him for a moment, a question in his dark eyes. They hadn’t done anything quite like this yet, and Tristan knew Sebastian was checking on him, ensuring Tristan fully approved of the situation before it went any further.
Tristan nodded slightly and brushed a kiss across Sebastian’s palm. “All good, Professor Cruz.”
Sebastian moved his hand along Tristan’s jaw in a soft caress. Then he buried his fingers in Tristan’s hair and gave him a broad, dirty grin that made Tristan wish they were already in Wisconsin so they could find a bed and lock themselves away for days.
He returned the grin, allowing Sebastian to guide his movements, parting his lips wide to accept the insistent push of Sebastian’s thick cock. After a couple of slow thrusts, Sebastian withdrew and held Tristan still as he smacked his wet dick against Tristan’s cheek. “You look good with my cock in your mouth,” he said idly, dragging the tip across Tristan’s lips, smearing spit and pre-come. “You’d look better choking on it.”
Tristan shivered hard. He turned his head, tearing his hair out of Sebastian’s grasp to capture Sebastian’s cock again. He grabbed Sebastian’s ass and yanked him forward, gripping tight while Sebastian really fucked his throat. It was rough, fast, and sloppy, and maybe, just maybe, Tristan played up the gagging while staring up at Sebastian with wide, pleading eyes because he’d learned Sebastian got off on hearing and seeing his need.
Hunger and approval blended into a perfectly tortured expression on Sebastian’s face. Tristan moaned to witness it, aroused to the point where he felt feverish with lust.
By the time Sebastian came, his low grunt a sound Tristan felt deep in his balls, Tristan’s jaw ached and he had spit dripping liberally down his chin. Sebastian helped him to his feet and shoved a hand into Tristan’s sweatpants. He pushed the jock aside and took Tristan’s cock in a firm grip. A few tugs was all Tristan needed to reach his peak, and of course, the men’s room door swung open noisily right as he started shaking and spilling over Sebastian’s fingers.
Tristan buried his face against Sebastian’s shoulder and bit down on a mouthful of his shirt to muffle his groan. They were hidden inside the stall, but their feet would be visible to anyone who looked, and Tristan battled awkwardness and nerves as he fought to stay quiet. Sebastian stroked his hair, murmuring soothingly, his other hand still wrapped around Tristan’s softening dick.
Once the guy left and the room was silent, Sebastian stepped back. He used a handful of toilet paper to clean Tristan off. His movements were gentle, and he kept looking up into Tristan’s face.
Tristan leaned in to kiss him. “I’m okay.”
Sebastian nodded, and they went out to the sinks. Tristan winced when he saw his reflection. Dark splotches stained his sweatpants at the knees, his hair stuck up in messy spikes, and his shirt collar was wet from spit.
“I need to change,” he said. No way could he tolerate staying like this until they got to Lake Wisconsin. Part of him even
considered tossing the filthy sweatpants. Who the hell knew what was in that mystery puddle?
Sebastian washed his hands, his eyes crinkled in amusement. When he finished, he pulled Tristan close for another short kiss. “Stay here. I’ll go get you a change of clothes.”
* * *
Their time at the cabin was as close to perfect as Tristan could have hoped for. They spent hours swimming in the lake and sunning themselves on the private dock. They took morning runs together, and Tristan learned his muscled hockey thighs were no match for Sebastian’s long, sinewy legs. They made out in the hot tub until their skin turned pruney and Tristan’s head went dizzy from the heat. They had sex on nearly every flat surface, and late one night, Tristan lived out his fantasy about being fucked over the hood of the GTO to a symphony played out by crickets and cicadas. He didn’t even care that he ended up with a mosquito bite on his balls. Afterward, all he could think was, Worth it.
Before Sebastian dropped him off at the rental facility where Tristan had reserved a sedan to drive to his parents’ place, they shared several deep, lingering kisses. Tristan arrived at the farm still wearing a self-satisfied smile he couldn’t seem to rein in. His brother teased him about how he must be getting some. His mother asked if he had anyone special in his life. Tristan played coy and said, “Maybe,” which his mother accepted without pressuring him for more information, though she laughed giddily and gave him an exuberant hug that smelled of cinnamon from the pie she was baking.
The two classes he’d registered for were online, which meant he didn’t have to rush home for the beginning of the fall semester. He had his MacBook and could do whatever needed to be done while at his parents’ house. So for a couple of weeks, he did chores around the farm, caught a few baseball games with his dad, spent time with his siblings, and stuffed himself full of his mother’s familiar home cooking.