“Something fading?” she asked, looking down at his ankle, which was bare.
“No,” he said, in such an odd way that Tristan looked up to see what was on his face. “It’s not that. I just want to put something over it.”
“You mean change the whole design?” she asked.
“No, just add a name. I want you to put a name over it and make it part of the design. Can you do that?” asked Michael.
“Sure,” she said. “Let’s do it.” She looked Tristan over, giving him a dimpled smile that said she was curious, but not going to ask.
“Good, do you have time now?” Michael asked.
“Sure.” She motioned him to a table. While they worked out what he wanted, Tristan looked over the various types of tattoos and piercings available. It was true he had a tongue piercing, but he’d never cared much for the other kinds. He thought of his tongue as a kind of secret weapon now, knowing how Michael responded to being teased by it, and he got an erotic thrill every time he used it to pleasure him. He’d thought about tattoos, though, and especially after seeing Michael’s, he’d considered getting one like it. Tristan didn’t want it to be something that reminded Michael of his time with Ron though, and he wondered what Michael was going to do to his tattoo, now that he was here.
“Sparky?” said Michael, pulling his wallet out. “Do you mind going to the bakery around the corner on Commonwealth and getting us some coffee and something to eat?”
“No, of course not. I’ll go.” Tristan collected the cash and gave Michael a squeeze on the shoulder. “Do you want anything in particular?”
“Amuse yourself,” said Michael, smiling. “This might take a while.”
“Okay,” said Tristan, leaving the small shop. He walked down the busy street, looking in the windows, painted now with snowmen and wreaths and all kinds of holiday designs.
Tristan had been on this street a thousand times, but everything seemed new this day and a little too shiny. He’d been screwed so completely he could still feel it. His legs rang with little shocks as he put one foot in front of the other, and the light of day seemed overly bright. The traffic moved a little too fast for him. He found things he normally took for granted confusing, as every cell in his body vibrated with an electric sexual energy that he was afraid spilled out of him and bled into the street. He found it frightening to take in the whole of his life at once and had the absurd urge to run back…to reconnect with Michael…to touch him as though he were the only true and safe thing in the world.
Someone was trying to get his attention. “Hey, did you want something?” asked the girl behind the bakery counter.
“Hm, what?” Tristan said, startled out of his thoughts. “Yes, oh. Yes, I’d like two large coffees and some of the cheese Danish, please. And two cinnamon rolls.” He paid as if on autopilot and gathered his coffees and the bag of pastries. The idea of going back into that boutique where Michael was having jets of ink drilled into his skin didn’t appeal, but he squared his shoulders and started back, because strangely, he was beginning to panic. Something about even the air crackling around him seemed foreign and different and fundamentally changed as he made his way back to I.N.KD.
If his breathing remained deep and even, Tristan found he could keep calm, even in the face of the disorientation. Michael was safety. Michael was equilibrium. Michael was home. He focused on Michael as he walked back into I.N.KD and saw the man getting work done on his ankle. Tristan sat beside him, and something on his face must have given away his unease, because Michael looked at him with concern.
“Something wrong?” he asked. He watched as Tristan put sugar and creamer in both coffees, adding quite a lot more to the one he handed over with a smile.
“No,” said Tristan. “Well, I was feeling…different. Like I’ve seen everything before, but it felt more vivid today. I don’t know.” He looked around the small shop and spoke softly in Michael’s ear. “I just felt like I had to get back to you or nothing would make sense anymore.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “Stupid, huh?”
“No,” said Michael. “I know that feeling.” He put his arm around Tristan’s shoulders and brought him close enough to whisper, “Like the whole world’s changed, and there’s only one person in it.”
“And if you can’t get to that person and touch them, it will all swallow you whole. Never felt that before,” Tristan whispered, looking down at his hands. “Never felt a lot of things before.” He sipped his coffee, idly picking at a cheese Danish.
“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not,” said Michael, brushing the hair out of Tristan’s eyes. “Not sorry at all. I’m keeping you, love.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Whatever he expected to find on Michael’s ankle as Meghan finished up her work, placed a bandage on the site, and gave Michael aftercare instructions, he did not expect to see his given name, Tristan. A little padlock attached to the open part of the “a,” making the whole band seem more like a manacle than ever. And that definitely violated the don’t-do-anything-to-make-me-cry-in-public rule Tristan thought he’d firmly established.
Michael laughed as Tristan blinked back tears. “I thought probably” ‑‑ Tristan swallowed hard ‑‑ “probably you’d put Sparky.”
“Sparky’s not your name,” said Michael gently. “It’s just something dumb I call you, like love, or baby. Names are powerful juju.”
“I know that; why do you think I asked you to say my name when we make love?” Tristan realized belatedly that they were walking down a busy street together. His head swiveled side to side.
“Don’t worry about it.” Michael waited for him to catch up. “Don’t worry about watching your tongue every minute of every day.”
“I’m sorry,” said Tristan. “There’s something about today, Michael. I feel slow and stupid. Maybe I’m coming down with something.”
Michael laughed. “Yeah, a bad case of ‘I came out to my whole family on Thanksgiving and now what?’”
“You really think that’s it?” asked Tristan. “Like buyer’s remorse?”
“What do you think? You’ve been edgy since we came out this afternoon. Nothing’s different. It’s just you and me.”
“I know. I know that, but…”
“Cards on the table, but maybe I should have asked you before I got your name inked on my ankle,” said Michael, turning to him. “Am I still your guy?” He looked into Tristan’s clear blue eyes. Tristan thought he saw him flinch a little.
“Yes,” said Tristan in a rush of breath. “Yes, yes, yes.” He reached out for Michael’s arm. “Don’t be stupid. Yes.” They continued walking, shoulders pressed together.
“Then what? Tell me so I can understand. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this uncertain about anything.” He used his remote to unlock his truck, then gingerly got into the driver’s side while Tristan got in the passenger door. “Crap, I forgot this stings.”
“I don’t know what it is. This morning…you rocked my world, Michael. I’ve never, ever been screwed like that.” Tristan put his face in his hands.
“Oh,” said Michael, his cheeks catching fire. “Oh.” Michael started the truck and edged it out into traffic. They drove along familiar streets for a while in silence.
Tristan tried to explain himself again. “It may seem like we’ve been together for a while, and we’ve made love a lot, in different ways. But what we did this morning…just…damn, baby,” said Tristan shaking his head.
“Damn good, or damn bad?” said Michael.
“Just damn, Michael,” said Tristan. “I was…completely out of myself.”
“You lost control,” said Michael suddenly.
“Yeah. But I would have given it up willingly. It wasn’t a bad thing. Just a scary new thing.” He peeked at Michael’s face.
“Should I just not…”
“No,” said Tristan firmly. “You were awesome. I didn’t know it could be like that, is all. I should have. I hoped. But I didn’t know it could be like
that between us. I love your gentleness. I love your generosity. But, Michael, I swear when you held me like that and…just damn.”
“It’s okay that way, sometimes, don’t you think?” He pulled into the driveway and parked behind Tristan’s car.
“Yes,” said Tristan. “Yes, it is. It’s a part of you that I never saw before, and it unleashed something deep inside me that I didn’t know was there. It scared me.”
“I see,” said Michael.
“It opened something up I can’t close.” Tristan got out of the truck, followed Michael to the small back porch, and waited while he unlocked the door. He preceded Michael into the kitchen, automatically going to the stove to make tea. He looked up to see Michael leaning against the wall, staring at him.
“There’s something you don’t understand,” Michael said, so softly Tristan barely heard it over the hiss of the gas from the stove.
“What?” asked Tristan, going to him, leaning into him against the wall. He pressed his forehead to Michael’s, enjoying the contact.
“The minute I met you, from the first moment I laid eyes on you, I felt the very same way.” Michael took Tristan into his arms for a deep kiss. He brushed Tristan’s hair aside and cupped his face between his hands, taking his mouth. “I didn’t mean to frighten you; I just wanted to love you,” he said, pulling him close.
“Have you been holding back?” Tristan whispered.
“Yes,” said Michael, color flooding his face. “A little.”
“Don’t.” Tristan calmly walked to the stove and turned it off. “Just don’t.” He left the kitchen, heading for the living room and their bed by the fire.
Michael followed him.
When he got to the living room, Tristan wasted no time shucking off his clothes and starting a fire in the fireplace, crawling into the bed to watch Michael take off his clothes piece by piece.
“You’re awesome, Michael,” said Tristan, appreciating the show.
Michael smiled in the dim light. He kneeled on the futon, sliding to recline next to Tristan. When his face was inches away, he stroked the silky red hair back off Tristan’s face. “When we first…” He seemed to be choosing his words with care. “When you came here with me from Borders, I didn’t want to overwhelm you. I had the feeling that maybe you thought you could just change partners and dance.”
“What?”
“Remember all that stupid talk about different holes?” Michael’s lips twitched. “Just whose holes were you thinking of?”
“Well,” said Tristan. “Oh.”
“See? I wasn’t sure you wanted to…well…give up, you know, control. And it’s been established that I do. Sometimes.”
“Yeah,” said Tristan. “But not this morning.”
“No, not this morning.”
“That was hot.” Tristan sighed and turned to him. “I liked that. A lot.”
“Yeah?” Michael ran his hand over Tristan’s firm abs. “What did you like?”
“Mm,” said Tristan, molding himself to Michael. “Everything.”
“Tristan?”
“Hm?”
Michael looked at him with blue eyes lit by the firelight. “Want to play?”
“Yes,” said Tristan, without thinking. “Absolutely.
Michael smiled and left the futon, going to the other room. When he returned, he had an old-fashioned glass filled with an amber liquid.
“What’s that?” Tristan asked as Michael lay down beside him again. He rolled Tristan onto his back.
“Whiskey.” Michael held the crystal tumbler, not drinking from it.
“Okay.”
“Put your hands over your head,” said Michael, putting the drink down to fold one of Tristan’s hands over the other as if he were going to catch a ball. Tristan’s arms were bent at the elbows, his hands cupped above his head.
Tristan smiled. “What are you up to?”
“Just stay there.” Michael placed the tumbler in his hands. “And whatever you do, don’t spill any, okay?”
“Okay,” said Tristan, the heavy glass resting on his open palms on the floor. “I won’t.”
“No matter what I do.” Michael pinched his nipple in a hard, not unpleasant way, and followed it up with a lick of his slick tongue.
“Oh.” Tristan suddenly realized that holding the drink still might take some concentration.
Michael slid over Tristan, slipping his body between Tristan’s legs. He held himself up on his elbows as he took his time kissing Tristan in a slow, sensuous dance of tongues and teeth and lips that trailed down to Tristan’s neck and found the hollow at the base of his throat.
“I can feel your pulse beat against my lips,” said Michael, nipping at the skin there, sliding his unshaven cheek along it and abrading it a little with his beard. “Love the flavor of you,” said Michael. “You taste red.”
“Red?” said Tristan, holding the glass in his hands still, feeling the liquor warm from the heat of his palms.
“Mmmhmm. Or maybe pink. Tasty,” whispered Michael, working his way down to Tristan’s nipples, lavishing attention on first one and then the other, until they stood out in stiff, warm peaks on Tristan’s chest.
“Oh.” Tristan bit his lip and concentrated on keeping the glass upright as his hands began to shake.
“Yeah.” Michael kissed a burning path past the taut muscles on Tristan’s chest to his abs. Michael tongued his navel thoroughly, while Tristan struggled, his muscles clenched to stay focused on his task. “Don’t spill my drink, Sparky,” he warned.
“Tristan,” he gasped, his arms trembling. “Call me Tristan.”
“Tristan,” whispered Michael. He deliberately worked his way down Tristan’s body, teasing first his cock, then his balls, and then his hole with a slick tongue, mounting an all-out assault on Tristan’s senses, looking to melt the glass in his hands and catch the liquor in it on fire.
“Michael,” breathed Tristan, gripping the glass like it held the cure for cancer. “I…”
“Shh,” said Michael. “I need you.”
“Take what you need. Not going to spill it.” Tristan bit his lip on a grin as he issued the challenge, dissolving into a moan as Michael put his mouth on his cock.
Michael hummed a little as he swallowed Tristan’s cock, working it with the muscles in the back of this throat. He cupped Tristan’s balls in his hand and squeezed lightly, just enough to make him jump.
“You’re sure of that?” he asked, licking his fingers and pushing into Tristan’s tight, puckered channel with two of them, just hard enough to be forceful, to get Tristan’s attention.
“Mm,” said Tristan, meaning to say “yes,” but incapable of forming the words. He writhed under Michael’s assault, his hips moving, the muscles in his back arching all out of his control, but he held the glass in his hands still by sheer force of will.
Sliding further down on the futon, Michael searched for and found a condom and lube, tossed carelessly in the bedding earlier. He nudged Tristan’s legs as far apart as they would go, rolling the condom down his aching cock. “Want you so much,” he said, lifting Tristan’s knees to expose him completely. He bent down once more to lap at Tristan’s hole, now relaxing a little for him as he thrust his tongue deep.
“Damn,” cried Tristan, the contents of the glass he held sloshing dangerously around, a drop sliding to his cupped hands.
“Don’t spill,” commanded Michael as he pushed two lubed fingers into Tristan, making him pant between thrusts to hold onto the glass. He searched for and found Tristan’s sweet spot, hitting it, making Tristan jerk and clench his teeth.
“Not going to.” Tristan’s every cell was rippling with the erotic, electric shocks generated by Michael’s talented fingers.
Michael slid his arms under Tristan’s knees, bringing his legs up like a pair of suspenders, one at a time, to his strong shoulders as he took what he needed, entering Tristan with a strong thrust of his cock.
“Feels so good, baby,” he sighed
when he was in balls deep and rocking in slow circles, not moving yet. He got a shuddering sigh from Tristan, who breathed deeply and accommodated his body, his arms going rigid above his head.
Fully joined like that, Michael kissed Tristan hard and deep. A man’s kiss. A plundering kiss that left no doubt that Michael knew he would get what he wanted from Tristan’s body with the ease of long practice.
“Michael,” breathed Tristan in awe as Michael moved within him.
“Come on, baby,” said Michael, burying his face in Tristan’s neck, his ear pressed to Tristan’s throat. Tristan made inarticulate moaning sounds in time with his thrusts. Air, rushing through a human voice box, just going somewhere with no one to control it. Michael pressed his whole body into Tristan’s, mindless now with pleasure, their mutual passion mounting as he pushed deeper and deeper still.
Suddenly Tristan stiffened beneath him, his body going rigid as he shot a ribbon of cum between them. The heat and the clenching of Tristan’s ass pushed Michael into his own release. He lifted his head, arched his back, and slammed one last time into Tristan’s channel, the gush of hot fluid filling the latex.
Tristan could still feel Michael straining inside him, felt his release and the pulse beat of his cock as he came. “Love you.”
“Tristan,” moaned Michael. “Tristan. Love. Mine.”
“Yes,” hissed Tristan, still holding the glass. “Yours, yes. Yours, Michael.” Still joined, Michael removed the glass from Tristan’s trembling hands and took a long, slow sip, covering Tristan’s mouth to share it with him. They kissed around the alcohol, and when it was gone from their mouths, they kept kissing until Michael softened, and his cock slid out of Tristan’s body, and Michael had to put the drink down and leave Tristan’s lips to slide off and discard the condom. He took another drink and shared it with Tristan again, jetting the fluid into his mouth with a push of his lips.
Tristan lapped at him languidly, his lips and tongue hungry to taste Michael’s, the warm, whiskey-flavored kisses they shared the only thing that mattered. He felt the alcohol to his toes, the warmth spreading throughout his body as Michael’s cum had warmed his core even through the latex. He was unused to even beer, and as the tingling feeling made its way around his limbs, he clung to Michael, whose solid body anchored him to the world. He was still mumbling as he drifted off to sleep.
Crossing Borders Page 19