Crossing Borders

by Z. A. Maxfield

  As soon as he walked in the door he noticed that the alarm wasn’t on, and he could smell a fire going. He smiled. He hoped it wasn’t a burglar, because he didn’t have his weapon drawn as he walked into the living room. Tristan had a candle going that smelled just like a pumpkin pie and was asleep on the futon in front of the fire.

  Michael leaned over him, trying to decide whether he should shower first or wake Tristan and see if he’d like to take a bath. He stroked along the side of Tristan’s face with a finger. “Hey, Sparky.”

  “Hey,” said Tristan sleepily, his face coming up from the pillow with little sheet wrinkles on it. “It’s about time you got home.”

  “Miss me?” Michael asked, content to gaze at him.

  “Yes.” Tristan sat up. He took a long, hard look at Michael, concern in his eyes. “Bad night?”

  “Kind of,” said Michael. “No fatalities, thank God. A kid was hit by a car while crossing the street. That one was touch and go. I think he’ll make it. I hope he will. It was a mess.” He could still hear the kid’s mother screaming.

  “Oh, baby,” said Tristan, reaching out. He held Michael, running his hands in his hair. “What can I do?”

  “You’re doing it. I’ve never been happier to see anyone in my life.” He sighed. “Take a bath with me?”

  “Sure.” Tristan got up from the futon and followed him. “I parked down the street. I was trying to surprise you.” He blew out the candle on the way to the bath.

  Michael smiled. “I’m glad, except you have to watch out when you surprise police officers, Sparky. I saw the alarm was turned off and guessed it was you, but I didn’t see your car. I could have come in here with my weapon drawn.”

  “Not a good beginning,” agreed Tristan. “Note to self: Never surprise an armed man.”

  Michael turned on the water and added something that smelled like herbs. “I’m going to go put my stuff away,” he said, leaving the bathroom for a minute.

  Michael left Tristan where he was, enjoying the sound of his boy humming from the other room while he put his weapon away. When he re-entered the steamy room, Tristan had the candles lit and was just slipping into the tub.

  “Now that’s therapy.” Tristan had put his hair up in a rubber band and for some reason, it appealed to Michael that way. Parts of it floated around his face like feathers.

  “What are you looking at?” teased Tristan.

  “I can’t figure out…” began Michael. “No, it’s nothing.”

  “What? You can’t just say something like that and leave it hanging,” said Tristan, as Michael got in behind him. He laid his head on Michael’s shoulder.

  “I was just thinking that you set a standard for masculine beauty.”

  “Wow,” said Tristan, going still.

  “But it’s weird, because you do all these things” ‑‑ he flipped Tristan’s ponytail ‑‑ “that I think of as feminine. It’s not something I’ve ever gone for before.”

  “Really? What’s your usual type?”

  “I don’t know that I’ve had a particular type,” Michael said, but knew he was lying even as he said it. Biker wasn’t his type actually, but it seemed to typify the men he’d dated. He was positive they mostly chose him and not the other way around. Plus there was that whole proximity thing. He biked with his mom on his time off, and that’s where he met guys.

  “I don’t think I do, either. I mean, I didn’t start out with the idea of a type. I was going for willing. Maybe able. Maybe even just breathing.”

  “Thanks, Sparky, high praise indeed,” said Michael dryly. He was looking at the candles as he stirred the water with his hand.

  “Okay, I was going to say that if I had a type, you’d be it, but now you’ve gone and ruined the moment.” He smiled and kissed Michael’s neck where he could reach it. “You know how I feel about you.”

  Michael smiled. “I know.”

  “I’m going to soak as long as you need to, and then I’m going to be your sex slave until seven-thirty, when I have to leave to get the boys to school. Let me know what you need, okay?” he sighed, pulling Michael’s arms around him. They sat like that for a long time, the water lapping against them, the quiet cocooning them in warmth.

  “Sometimes I need someone to tell me what I need,” said Michael very quietly, as though he were going way out on a limb. He held Tristan while he thought this over.

  “I see,” said Tristan.

  “I wonder if you do.” Michael stroked him from his chest to his balls.

  “Sometimes you need to give up control.”

  “Yes,” hissed Michael, feeling stupid. Feeling like he was giving this baby- handed boy the security code to his soul. “Yes. Sometimes. I like to be the one who…”

  “I see.”

  Michael said nothing. He just continued to stroke Tristan’s torso thoughtfully, as though he had all the time in the world.

  “And I don’t exactly fit the profile of the guy who can take you there.” Tristan sighed.

  “It’s not that I need to go anywhere,” said Michael brusquely. “Forget I said anything about it. I just…”

  Tristan turned in Michael’s arms, the water in the tub swirling around him, his cock and balls bobbing as they came to rest against Michael’s. Michael gasped at the sudden sensation, and the grinding that Tristan was doing against him had him hard in an instant.

  “But make no mistake, Michael. I can and will take you where you need to go and protect you when you get there.” He took Michael’s lips in a punishing kiss that left no doubt that he could fulfill his promise.

  Michael had trouble catching his breath.

  Tristan pulled the plug on the water, and it started down the drain. “Oh, damn, it’s like you said the secret word or something.” He rubbed against Michael, holding him tightly, keeping him still.

  “What do I get?” asked Michael between panting breaths.

  “What do you think?” Tristan rose from the tub and handed him a towel. “Blow out the candles and meet me in the living room,” he added, sauntering from the room naked. Michael briefly worried about getting what you wished for and creating monsters and things like that. Then he dried off quickly, blew out the candles, and followed his boy.

  Telling Tristan about that secret part of him was only natural, especially after seeing Ron again, but Tristan thinking he had to be a guy like Ron somehow just didn’t feel right. He thought he ought to clarify when he found Tristan on his knees adding more wood to the fire. Tristan looked so…damn. He was closing the chain curtain when he turned back to look at Michael. Once again the fire gave the illusion that Tristan was lit from within. Or maybe he just was. Probably he just was.

  Michael kneeled on the futon, just looking at Tristan, holding himself still and quiet. “Hey there, Tristan.”

  Tristan didn’t move. “Hey there.”

  Oh, thought Michael, a serious Tristan. Lucky, lucky me.

  Tristan came to him then, sort of slid into him, his red hair draping down over his shoulders, teasing the skin on Michael’s thighs as he pushed his face into Michael’s groin. He hummed against Michael’s balls, the vibration of his lips making Michael weak. Michael started to take Tristan’s hair in his hands.

  “Put your hands behind your back.” He waited until Michael complied. “Don’t move your hands unless I tell you to.”

  “Yes,” acknowledged Michael. He had no idea what to expect from Tristan, didn’t know if he played games.

  “Spread your legs and let me see you.”

  “Yes,” said Michael. He complied, allowing the towel to drop and his legs to spread wide, leaving his cock and balls and a hint of the skin behind them exposed.

  “Oh, my,” said Tristan. “Such a beautiful man.” He looked at Michael, from the top of his head to his knees on the ground and repeated, “A beautiful man.” He smiled, returning to Michael’s balls, licking and caressing them, holding one in his mouth, then the other, as Michael squirmed. He licked up the long vei
n under Michael’s shaft and captured the head in his mouth, stroking the tip and its small slit while he cupped Michael’s balls with his hand. He took his mouth away long enough to put a condom on Michael’s cock.

  Michael knelt with his hands behind his back, allowing Tristan to touch him and to play. He wasn’t certain how long he would be able to sit motionless like that. Tristan’s mouth was hot, and his tongue was doing such good, good things. He gripped his own wrists with the opposite hands and held on. Tristan was now licking his fingers, spreading him wider to have access to his ass. Michael closed his eyes as he felt the invasion, but as soon as it came and he began to melt into it, it disappeared.

  “Keep your eyes open. Hands behind your back,” Tristan reminded him. “And eyes on me. Can you do that?”

  “Yes,” said Michael, his breath hitching.

  “Is there something you want?” asked Tristan.

  “Yes.”

  “What is it?” asked Tristan, hands and mouth completely still now, waiting.

  “Suck me.”

  “Suck you, what?” said Tristan, the little shit.

  “Suck me, please.” The throbbing in Michael’s dick echoed all over his body and into his head.

  Tristan went back to his cock, wrapping his lips around the head and using his tongue piercing to punish the slit in the tip. The bead rubbed on the head and under the crown, two places he’d discovered Michael liked to feel the pinch and push of the metal against his flesh. While Michael watched his every move, he left his cock and lubed his fingers, slipping them into Michael’s tight hole, one at a time, as he fondled Michael’s balls with his mouth. He curved his fingers and searched for the sweet spot, and when Michael jumped, still keeping his hands behind his back, Tristan returned his mouth to Michael’s cock and swallowed it.

  Michael was sweating, his eyes wide open, as Tristan took his cock. Any time he began to look like he was going to close his eyes more than just to blink moisture back into them, Tristan stopped everything he was doing, leaving Michael crazy and desperate. Tristan continued to tease him, taking him to the brink and backing off, sometimes leaving his cock completely to lick a drop of sweat from Michael’s chest. Once he bit Michael’s nipple hard, and Michael almost came then and there.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Michael watched, eyes wide, as Tristan’s head bobbed up and down, feeling the beginnings of his orgasm deep in his balls and the base of his spine as he tightened up and shot, filling the latex in Tristan’s mouth. Tristan kept sucking until Michael was relaxed and flaccid in his mouth, and then he removed the condom and tied it off, tossing it in the general direction of the trash.

  Without saying a word, Tristan rose up behind him and pushed Michael down on all fours. He continued to finger Michael’s hole while he opened another condom packet with his teeth, slipping it on his cock one-handed. He removed his fingers and took Michael’s ass in both hands, squeezing hard. “I want to give you what you need, Michael,” said Tristan, positioning himself. “What do you want?”

  “Your cock,” said Michael. “Please.”

  “Uhn,” groaned Tristan as he eased himself in. “So hot…”

  Michael cried out as Tristan grasped his shoulder and held him down. Tristan slid out, then in again, hard and fast, the rhythm changing a little as he shifted to find the place that would send Michael flying. “Going to give you everything, Michael,” he said, hitting the sweet spot over and over again as Michael keened below him. Michael was getting hard again, and Tristan captured his cock as he held Michael’s head down with the other, pumping his cock into him hard and fast. “Come on, baby,” he murmured into Michael’s back. “You’ve gotta give it up again; I’m waiting for you.”

  “Yes,” said Michael, grinding his teeth, his heart pounding and his body flying. “Yes.” He bit his lip. Tristan was holding him down hard; he couldn’t move. Tristan’s thrusts pushed Michael, literally pounding him into the futon as he reached toward something he could hardly imagine. He held his breath and let himself go completely as he felt his body go wild beneath Tristan’s, his balls drawing up tight. His cock slipped through Tristan’s fist, and the friction burned so good and so bad and too much. After a while he just soared, flying beneath Tristan, part of him. Safe. Loved. Home.

  Tristan’s body began its inexorable slide into orgasm, his fluid motions becoming jerky as his cock took over and his brain shut down. He thought he might be affecting the rotation of the earth, slamming into Michael’s ass so hard, but he couldn’t make himself stop.

  “Come on, baby.” He tried to hold back. “Give it up.” He was moving on sheer instinct and primitive self-gratification, his cock pounding Michael’s hole, the long thrusts slapping his balls against Michael’s ass. “Come on, baby,” he said, as he suddenly felt wet heat splash from Michael’s cock onto his hand. He jerked one last time, sending his cock so far into Michael’s ass he didn’t know where it could possibly be; he just knew he shot buckets into the latex, pushing and grinding until all his spasms subsided, and his breathing began to return to normal.

  Tristan pulled off the condom and tied it, tossing it to the side with the other one. When he turned to look, Michael was still face down, his ass in the air a little. “Hey, where’d you go?” he said, running a hand up Michael’s back into his hair. “Michael?” he murmured into his ear.

  Michael said nothing, just hid his face in the pillow and stayed there, his shoulders tense from the awkward way he had his hands bunched under it.

  “Come here, baby.” Tristan gathered Michael close. “Come here,” he crooned to the man as he settled in beneath him. “Talk to me.”

  Michael didn’t say anything for a long time. He just rested his head on Tristan’s chest, his lover’s arms around him.

  “That was good, Tristan,” said Michael, finally, as Tristan continued to stroke his hair. “Really, really good.”

  “You were good, Michael,” said Tristan.

  “If you say, ‘good boy,’ I’ll slap the shit out of you,” said Michael, lazily licking the sweat off Tristan’s chest to take the sting out of his words.

  “Okay,” said Tristan sleepily. “Boundaries are helpful.” He curled around Michael and held him, drifting off to sleep. His phone was set to go off at six-thirty, theoretically enough time for a quickie and to get Randy and Devon to school on time. He sighed, holding Michael close.

  “Love you,” said Michael, catching a ribbon of Tristan’s hair and holding it to his face like a blanket.

  “Love you,” sighed Tristan.

  “Best Halloween ever,” said Michael.

  “Me too.” Tristan fell asleep a few seconds later with a smile on his face.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Michael parked the squad car in front of his mother’s house and let himself in the front door with his key. He had a minute and decided to let her know about the chimney cleaner appointment in person, intending to write it on her white board calendar so she wouldn’t forget.

  “Mama?” he called, hearing voices in the kitchen. “Mama, I let myself in. I wanted to tell you about ‑‑” Michael stopped when he saw Ron in his mother’s kitchen with his large hands wrapped around a coffee mug.

  “Hey, baby,” said his mother, automatically coming for a kiss, then getting another mug from the open shelving along the wall of the kitchen. “Have time for a cup of coffee?”

  “Sure. Yeah, I’d like that.” He took a seat at the kitchen table. “Ron,” he acknowledged the man’s presence.

  “Ron stopped by to say hi and to ask if we were going on the Thanksgiving ride to Taos.” Michael watched his mother as she poured him a cup of coffee, bringing the sugar and creamer to the table with it and setting it before him.

  “Still drinking your coffee like a little girl?”

  “Yep,” said Michael, loading it up. “I like it chunky.”

  “So, boy, are you coming to Taos? Should be a good ride. Some of the guys are going, and Elizabeth’s going, Emma; you
two always got along.”

  “What do you think?” asked Emma, looking at Michael.

  “I wanted to talk to you about that, Mama. Tristan’s family invited us for dinner on Thanksgiving. I think it’s important to him.” He looked at his mother, knowing that she’d do whatever he wanted.

  “Well, that’s fine, then. It looks like we’re busy that weekend, Ron. Maybe next time.” She sipped her coffee and smiled.

  “Tristan?”

  “Yeah, you remember, the guy I was with when I saw you at Apple Annie’s,” said Michael, although he knew perfectly well that Ron remembered. In fact, he thought that was probably why Ron was here with his mother now.

  “Oh, yeah, the Boy Scout with the red hair.” Ron looked at his coffee. “I’m surprised at you. What is he…thirteen? And you a cop and all.”

  Michael pursed his lips. “He’s legal,” he said. To his mother, he added, “I’m thinking we should teach him to ride.”

  She smiled back at him, a knowing look in her eyes. “I’m thinking he likes riding behind you.”

  “Him?” Ron snorted. “He needs a sidecar.” He looked at Michael, a serious question on his rugged face: What do you see in him? “Or a pet carrier.”

  “Hey, don’t disrespect the redhead,” growled Michael. “You’ll be seeing him around a lot.”

  “Yeah, until you need a real man.”

  “Ron.” Emma shot Ron a warning look.

  “Don’t worry, Mama. I know a real man when I see one,” said Michael. “Even though they’re scarce on the ground these days.” He got up. “I just came by to tell you the chimney cleaner is going to come by Thursday between eight and ten a.m.” He took the dry-erase marker down and wrote the appointment on her calendar. “And he’s doing both houses, so be here to let him in, okay? I’ll be working a double shift like today.”

  “Sure, baby,” said Emma, leaning her cheek out for a kiss.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” he said. “Nice seeing you, Ron.” As he left the house, he found himself surprised that he meant it. Ron was a nice guy, if a little rough around the edges. He’d been there for his mom and him, had taught him woodworking and carpentry when he was young, and had revealed that he wanted to teach him something else entirely when he came of age. That Ron was a dominant man had appealed to Michael in the first few months of their new relationship, but he was too young then and too naive to see that Ron’s playfully sadistic bent was entirely unacceptable to him. It had been confusing and painful, and left him feeling defective for a time.