Michael digested this, wondering what to say, wanting to say the perfect thing even though his heart was breaking. This was why he rarely dated men who weren’t already openly gay, he thought briefly.
“You got off with a guy ‑‑ you didn’t start a civil war. Nothing we did tonight is anything you haven’t already done with a girl. You said it yourself, right? Different holes. You haven’t been invaded, you haven’t…well, you just haven’t.” He closed his mouth, thinking that was probably his best option at this point. Regrets…well, they happened, didn’t they?
He got up to light the stove and take the chill off the air, and because it gave him something to do. It was a gas log, so all he had to do was turn a key and light it with a stick lighter. When he returned to Tristan, the boy had tears running down his face. Shit.
“Oh, hey, Tristan,” he sighed. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t…I shouldn’t have…”
“Shut up, will you? I’m having a moment here.” He burrowed back into Michael’s arms, and Michael held him, his chin on Tristan’s head.
“I can move to the couch,” said Michael. “Or set you up in there.”
“You aren’t going anywhere.” Tristan tightened his hold on Michael.
“Okay…well. Can we have your moment together, then? I’m in the dark here.” Michael sighed.
“Sorry.” Tristan looked over at the nightstand. “Is that food?” He crawled over to take the plate and a bottle of water. He rearranged the pillows and sat with his back to the headboard, still wrapped in the blankets. Holding out the second bottle of water, he motioned Michael over. Warily, Michael came to him, sitting next to Tristan, their shoulders touching. Tristan smiled at him around a piece of sharp cheddar cheese, and he was reminded why he’d taken a chance with him in the first place.
“”What’s going on in that head of yours, and how can I help?” he said finally, giving in to the urge to take a couple of carrots and some celery for himself.
“Didn’t you have a moment?” Tristan asked him. “Didn’t it all yawn out widely before you that the path you chose was leading you someplace completely foreign?” This time he staked claim to a bite of salami. “If I eat this, will you still kiss me?”
Michael snorted. “Yep.”
“So, anyway, I’m thinking, okay, there goes the wedding, the kids, the grandkids, and most of the public displays of affection. There goes that shot at socially sanctioned relationships, married filing jointly, being a soccer dad, watching my babies get born.” His eyes glistened with tears that began to fall just as he said the word babies. “I saw my little brothers get born.”
Michael put an arm around him. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, Sparky. It’s just one night.”
“But it does mean something. That’s why it was so… This didn’t happen to you?” he asked again, his beautiful blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears.
“You mean, like, did I all of a sudden realize there goes my seventy-fifth wedding anniversary shout-out from Willard Scott?”
Tristan made a disgusting noise and snagged another piece of salami. “Well, did it? Happen to you?”
“Not all at once, no,” said Michael, thinking back. “I doubt I ever did anything as…suddenly as you seem to. I have to say, I think you may be smarter than me. You think more moves ahead. Plus, I grew up in an unconventional family.”
“Ah,” said Tristan. “I see.” The silence between them lengthened, during which they heard only the hissing and crackling of the gas log.
Tristan turned to him suddenly. “I’ll never be sorry, ever,” he said simply.
Michael listened to what Tristan said and tried to understand its meaning. He took a long, slow swallow of water. “I guess when you want me to know what that means, you’ll tell me.”
Tristan’s hand smoothed over the column of Michael’s throat before resting lightly on his Adam’s apple. It fluttered there briefly and then slid down to caress a shoulder. “Can we…do you think we can slam the door on Willard Scott?” He put the food back on the nightstand. “Will you… I want you. I want it to be you…”
Michael understood what he meant, but he needed the words. “Sparky?”
“I want you inside me, Michael, I want you.” Tristan lowered his lashes. “I want… Tonight’s been like magic. I want it to be you, tonight. Will you?”
Michael bit back the flip reply that came readily to his lips. He wanted time to think, to consider the consequences. He for sure didn’t want to be the cause of anyone’s tears or regrets. Hadn’t been, as far as he knew, up till now. He rubbed his face with both hands, giving himself a minute. He didn’t feel Tristan stiffen next to him, didn’t see the deep flush burn his cheeks, so he was wholly unprepared for what came next.
“Shit,” said Tristan, tossing off the covers. “Where are my clothes? Maybe I should have made it a multiple choice question.”
“Hey,” said Michael. “Hey!” He threw his legs over the side of the bed, his feet hitting the wood floor with a slap.
“I’m sorry I took a brief time out of your evening to ponder my life. Won’t happen again. TMI, I know.” Tristan stalked out of the room toward the sound of the dryer.
“Look, you’re overreacting to a pause in the conversation. Can you just stop?” Michael took Tristan’s shoulders and spun him around to face him. “You opened the dialogue ‑‑ at least be man enough to stay and see where it goes. Come back to bed where you’re not cold.” Michael pulled Tristan along the hall by the hand and pushed him gently back into the bed.
Tristan just looked at him, still flushed and stiff. “What?”
“Look, you’ve got to know, you’re the first person who’s ever cried after having sex with me. That’s a little intimidating.” He sighed. “I just needed time to think. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have.”
“You haven’t hurt me; when did you hurt me?”
“I just thought, maybe, if we took it a little slower… That whole crying thing? Never again, man.” He touched Tristan’s face lightly. “I was just trying to think how I’d feel if you regretted it later. If you felt bad about it, whether I wanted to live with that. Surprise, Sparky ‑‑ it’s not just about you.”
“I’m sorry.” Tristan hung his head.
“Are you gay?” asked Michael with a sigh. “Is that your truth?”
“Mmmhmm,” Tristan said into the night. “Yep. Totally gay. And I’m apparently a chick too, because here we are, talking instead of screwing.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “Come here.” He slid his arms around Tristan, laughing a little. “You wouldn’t believe how much I like you right now.”
“Yep, nothing like a ‑‑” He was kissed out of that thought, and didn’t have many more before Michael slid his hands along his back and stimulated his skin to goose bumps. “Oh,” he breathed.
“You taste sweet,” said Michael. “Don’t ever be afraid to talk to me, and don’t run away when you don’t get the answer you want… I want you to be happy.”
“Okay,” said Tristan in a small voice as Michael found a sensitive spot on his hipbone with his lips. “In that case…”
Michael stopped what he was doing and gave him his full attention. “What?”
“When it’s dark, when it’s just us, would you please call me by my given name?” he asked, his eyes serious. “It’s important to me. It makes me feel like we’re…” He was going to say “lovers,” but lost his nerve.
“That’s fine, Tristan,” said Michael seriously. “You won’t hold it against me if I slip every now and then till it becomes a habit?”
“No.”
“Thank you for telling me,” he murmured going back to Tristan’s skin with his lips. “It’s nice when I know what you want.”
“I want you,” Tristan said breathlessly.
Michael smiled against his most sensitive skin, rubbing his face in the crisp red curls he found there. He hummed a little next to Tristan’s balls, earning a moan. “Could you
hand me the lube?” he asked, right next to Tristan’s cock.
Shaking fingers passed a small bottle to him.
“You’re sure, Sp ‑‑ Tristan?” he asked one final time.
“Yes,” whispered Tristan. Michael nodded. He touched, tasted, and explored every inch of Tristan’s most private real estate, until Tristan writhed beneath him. When he slid a lube-slicked finger tentatively into Tristan’s tightly puckered hole, Tristan stiffened against the invasion, then willed himself to relax. Michael gently moved the finger, stroking Tristan’s thigh with his free hand, and little by little, slid it in.
“Lift your knees a little,” he said, and Tristan felt another finger moving tentatively at his entrance. At the invasion, Tristan shifted restlessly and sucked in a lungful of air. “Don’t forget to breathe out as well.” Michael smiled.
“It feels…I…” Michael found Tristan’s gland and ran a finger over it gently. “Oh, shit!” cried Tristan, jerking up, eyes wide. Michael did it again. Tristan was melting mentally, incapable of speech when Michael added a third finger. He pushed back against Michael’s hand, numbly reaching for pleasure.
“Turn over,” said Michael, his fingers still scissoring inside Tristan’s hole. Tristan began to protest, but Michael merely helped him turn, saying, “Trust me?”
Tristan nodded, unable to speak. He felt full and dizzy and so damn needy. He wanted to say something, to protest not being able to see Michael, but then he heard a condom package open and felt Michael moving up behind him. Michael gently lifted Tristan’s hips and slid a couple of pillows under them, nudging Tristan’s legs apart as far as they would go. He lifted him to his knees, and then…Tristan felt him at his back, his hard cock ready to slide into his most private place. He began holding his breath then, partly from fear and partly excitement.
Everything Michael had done so far, touching him and filling him, had made him burn with need. He wanted to feel it all again, wanted that jolt of erotic lightning when Michael touched him just the right way. He was mindless with it, brainless, boneless. When Michael gathered himself to slide his slickly lubricated and gloved-up cock into Tristan’s tight channel, he went slowly and very deliberately, as if totally focused on any movement or sound from his partner. Tristan felt the burn, then a searing kind of pain that frightened him and made his dick go limp. He heard himself hiss and gasp at the same time, vaguely wondering how that was possible.
“Michael,” he cried out. “It’s…it hurts…I…” Even as he said it, Michael was kissing his back, caressing his skin, soothing him, and the burn began to fade so he could think again.
“So tight,” Michael said hoarsely. “I’m sorry. Breathe for me, okay? Deep breaths.”
Tristan gave little nervous laugh. “That’s your cop voice, Officer Helmet.” He still sounded shallow, shocked. “I feel like I should be having a baby.”
“Shh,” said Michael, feeling Tristan’s small laugh in the flutter around his cock. “Just breathe, okay?” He reached around and began to stroke Tristan’s cock, going lower to fondle his balls. Tristan’s body was still full of him, still shocked, but slowly loosened up, trusting him. The thought filled him with awe, that his Sparky trusted him with this.
Tristan dropped his head down to the pillow, and Michael knew when Tristan tentatively rocked his hips that the pleasure had started to chase away the pain. “Oh, Michael,” he cried out when Michael started pumping Tristan’s cock lazily, still not moving inside him. “Oh!” he cried the first time Michael moved, a short withdrawal, a slow slide back. “That feels…oh, damn…”
Michael took that as permission to move, and move he did, starting with slow, gentle thrusts, pumping Tristan’s cock at the same time, finding a rhythm, then changing it as he felt himself racing toward release too soon. Tristan had begun to moan into the pillow, his butt coming up, pushing back, looking for more. Michael changed his angle, sitting up on his knees and taking Tristan’s hips in his hands, curling his toes for traction. Michael pushed hard into Tristan’s perfect ass, nailing his gland and slapping the fronts of his thighs against the backs of Tristan’s as his lover, on all fours before him, took all of him and more. Tristan was shaking, melting around Michael’s cock, almost keening into the pillow.
“Touch yourself, Tristan,” said Michael, between thrusts. He was still bringing himself to the brink, then backing off. Sweat ran into his eyes, and he doubted he could hold off much longer. He began to make long, sweeping strokes, each one brushing by Tristan’s gland, and he felt Tristan’s orgasm when it came, in his stiffening body and the clamping of his asshole around Michael’s cock, the sweet ass jerking beneath him with each thrust as he rode the waves of his release. He heard Tristan scream his name into the pillow. Michael grinned. Noisy. Michael let himself go right then, the sight of Tristan’s body filled with pleasure, the smell of him, the noises he was making, all setting off a chain reaction of mini explosions that started in his balls and the base of his spine, and traveled through his body to his brain until he saw spots. He thought he might have shouted and hoped he called out Tristan and not Sparky.
They stayed rocking like that, on their knees, with Michael draped over Tristan’s back and Tristan still probably biting the pillow, until Michael softened and slid out of Tristan’s body. He removed and tied off the condom, tossing it toward the trash, and pulled Tristan with him. Michael rolled onto his side, spooning up to Tristan in a more comfortable, sleepable parody of how they’d made love.
Tristan said nothing, and oddly, this didn’t worry Michael much. Maybe it was the way that Tristan snuggled back into him, or maybe it was the way he pressed Michael’s hands to his body, or the fact that he hooked his foot around Michael’s ankle and rubbed Michael’s calf with it that made Michael think Tristan would be okay till he drifted off to sleep again.
Michael lay there wondering what morning would bring. That morning, or rather, now it was yesterday morning, he realized, he sure the hell hadn’t known he’d be here like this, loving the boy for whom he’d written his first citation. He grinned into the darkness, circling the thinner man’s waist with both arms. Sometimes good things did come if you waited long enough.
Chapter Eight
Monday morning Tristan went with two of his friends from school to Diho Bakery, a Taiwanese place close to UCI that made hot, fresh meat buns and sweet bean-curd pastries. He laughed and joked and played like always, but every so often he’d remember the previous Friday night and get caught up in it. His face flushed, and he worried his friends could read the new knowledge there. He’d eaten breakfast with Michael the previous Saturday after spending the night, straddling his lap and feeding him cereal, and being fed fruit in return. They’d shared coffee and then skin, showering and sliding together until the water turned cold. Tristan couldn’t take his eyes or his hands off his new lover, and apparently, he couldn’t get his mind off him, either.
“Hey, Tris,” said Jonathon for the third time. “Dude, you deaf or what?”
“No, sorry,” said Tristan, mastering his thought processes. It was midterms, and if he didn’t get a grip, his test scores would be low and his social life nonexistent for the rest of the quarter. “What?”
“I asked, are you seeing Viper again, or did you find someone new? You’re marked, man; it’s like you’re dating a Hoover.”
“Oh.” He slapped a hand to the side of his neck where it met his shoulder. He knew he should have left his hair down. His mom had noticed too and given him a hard stare that morning before he took the boys to school. “No, not Viper, I met someone.”
“As usual, you work fast. Have you forgotten geeks aren’t supposed to get laid? It’s like a natural law or something. We’re supposed to languish undiscovered in our labs while our jock buddies get all the goodies.”
Daniel spoke up. “Our boy Tristan here is a jock and a geek. Slap a skateboard under any one of us, gentleman, and you’d have ‑‑”
“Broken bones,” interrupted Tristan, choosing a
cream bun for breakfast and a pork bun for lunch. “I’ve got to study more, or I’m hosed. How are you doing? I’m working on a paper comparing and contrasting Heisenberg and Schrödinger, and I’ve got three midterms, including one in German, which I will fail unless I give it adequate time.”
“That hardly leaves any time for us to live vicariously through your mad ninja love skills. When are you going to see her again?” asked Jonathon as they walked to Daniel’s car. “We can get together for poker afterward and dish.”
“Seriously, dude,” said Tristan. “Did you just say dish?” He got into the back seat with his pastries.
“I’ve got too many sisters, but you know what I mean; it’s the only way I’ll even get close to getting laid this year.” Jonathan looked disgusted. “Michelle’s at NYU, and I won’t see her until her winter break. Poker is good though, right? How about Friday?”
“I’m going out on Friday after I take my sister Lily to a party and make sure it’s kosher,” said Tristan. “She’s gotten invited to some big Halloween thing by a girl from work, but the kids are college age, and the only way my mom will let her go is if I take her and check it out for a while to make sure it’s not going to turn into one big orgy. Afterward, I’m meeting someone at another party.” Michael. “Saturday’s good, though.”
“How does your mom let you out of the house if she has standards?” asked Daniel, nodding toward Tristan’s neck.
“I guess she has substantially lowered expectations where I’m concerned. I think she’s just relieved I survived the whole high school skateboard thing. She trusts my judgment,” he said, privately thinking, Not for long. He would be seeing Michael after the party, meeting him at a dinner hosted by some of Michael’s friends, and he worried, not for the first time, whether he’d fit in. No way. He sighed. “I don’t know about that party after Lily’s, though…” He imagined a room full of cops glaring at him.
“Aren’t you looking forward to it?” asked Jonathon.
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