Crossing Borders

by Z. A. Maxfield

“Yeah. I am tired, I guess.” Tristan left his bag where it was and went to the living room, kicking off his boots and stretching his hands toward the fire.

  Michael watched as Tristan sank into the couch tiredly, and he hoped in his heart that his boy felt glad to be home. “Should you call your family and let them know you’re back in town?” asked Michael, carrying his own drink and a bag of chips with a bowl of salsa into the room.

  “Nah, I called Mom earlier and told her…I said I would come straight here.”

  “Oh.” Michael was surprised. He no longer had any idea what to expect. He pulled a small table up and set down the drink and chips, then found a comfortable spot on the opposite end of the sofa from Tristan and just waited. He hated that he grabbed a throw pillow and covered his abdomen with it like armor.

  “I tried to find it,” murmured Tristan, so softly Michael could barely hear.

  “What?”

  “What you saw. You said you looked it in the face, and it changed you. Something…I don’t know. Am I crazy?” Tristan raked his hand through his hair, forgetting he’d tied it. He yanked the elastic out and shook his head. He looked so tired.

  “Tristan, I don’t understand,” said Michael, worried a little. Tristan clearly hadn’t taken very good care of himself; he had dark, smudgy shadows under his eyes, and he looked ill.

  “I rode that mountain like a maniac, Michael. I exhausted myself. I took stupid chances. I kept thinking that if I could face what you faced, then I could find you where you are.”

  “Tristan,” breathed Michael, afraid he’d throw up.

  “I wanted to know what it was like.” He was quiet for a long time. “Anyway, I never found it.”

  “What could you possibly learn from putting yourself in danger?” Michael tried to hide his anxiety.

  Tristan tensed. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” he said, putting his drink on the table. Michael noticed he’d sipped it very slowly; half of it was still there.

  Michael wiped his tired eyes with the heels of his hands. “Look, no. I’m sorry. Relax. I’m trying to understand.”

  Tristan sank back into the couch. “The only thing I realized is, it was a hell of a lot easier to give my body to the mountain, with no expectation that the mountain would be gentle, than it is to give my heart to you.”

  Michael didn’t breathe. The only sound was the pop and crackle of the wood in the fire.

  Tristan went on. “I wanted to look losing everything in the face so I could stop being so damned afraid of losing you.”

  Michael moved then, slid and slipped over the soft leather until Tristan was enfolded securely in his arms. He didn’t really give a damn if Tristan didn’t like it, didn’t care if it scared him. His lips found Tristan’s in an achingly tender kiss that tasted salt and whiskey and sadness all at the same time.

  “Shh.”

  “No, let me say it.”

  “Tristan, please, don’t.”

  “I love you so much, Michael.”

  “What?” Michael held himself perfectly still.

  “That’s all I know right now.” Tristan sagged against him. “That’s all I know anymore.”

  “Oh, Tristan,” said Michael. “I can promise you I will never take your love lightly, ever.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I swear to you that I won’t ever put your love last.”

  “I’m sure you never put my love last, Michael.” Tristan waved his declaration away. “I know you never did that.”

  “I joined the force because I want to help people, to protect people. Right now the thing I want to protect the most is what we have together.”

  Tristan pushed away from him. “My head is fuzzy, what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying I know that the job isn’t the only problem we have, but it’s a start, yes? I’m saying you’re more important to me than the job, and I’ll find another job, if you’ll stay with me. I’ll teach or drive a school bus or something. I’m saying let’s start with the job and work from there, together, to build our lives exactly like we want them to be.”

  “Won’t you hate me? Won’t you be sorry you’re not a cop anymore?”

  “Sure, I’ll miss it. I like it. But I love you.”

  “Shit,” said Tristan, snatching at the lapels of Michael’s robe so he could draw him closer. “I’m so sorry. What a coward I am.”

  “If you recall, neither one of us is very brave when it comes to losing what we have.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you even wear a helmet when you went…?”

  “Don’t ask; you won’t like the answer.” Tristan snorted with laughter and cried at the same time.

  Michael smiled. “I know you weren’t looking for this, Tristan, but I’m hoping you want to see where it goes. I don’t think something like we have comes along every day.”

  “No, I imagine not.”

  “And if you’re scared, you ought to know I am too.” Michael pulled Tristan closer and held him. “But the thing that scares me most is losing you.”

  “Me too.”

  “So everything else?”

  “Can be MacGyvered. You know, with a paper clip, a pen cap, the empty foil condom package…”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I mean, if we keep our eyes on the prize we can work on what comes.” He rested his head on Michael’s shoulder. “Right?”

  “You and me, though. That’s the prize, right? No matter what?”

  “Well, unless you do something stupid, like cheat or die or something. Take up golf and wear those short plaid pants…”

  “Me?” Michael said, insulted. “You’re young. Are you sure you want to tie it all up with one guy? Are you ready?”

  “I don’t know,” Tristan said honestly. “Right now? Yeah. Oh, yeah. But five years from now? Ten years? Scares the hell out of me, man. Five years ago I was banging high school girls in the skate park bathrooms.”

  Michael felt the color leech from his face. “Oh, Sparky. Too much information. In the bathrooms, really? I’ve been telling them they ought to install Web cams.”

  “Sorry. You asked.”

  “Well. As to that,” Michael said almost primly. “It has been established that you aren’t the safest place I could put my heart.”

  “What?”

  “Well, I mean, you know, you’re young, you spent more time with girls than guys, you hate my job, you play hard and take chances.”

  “But I love you, you know that. You have got to know that, Michael.”

  “I do. Because I have faith in you.” Michael stroked his finger lightly down Tristan’s sunburned cheek.

  “Oh.”

  “And I know that even when it’s hard, you’ll put us first and be honest if you can’t. At least, I’m asking you to promise me that you’ll do that. Is that an easier promise than ‘forever no matter what’?”

  “Yes. It is.” Tristan swallowed hard. “I can promise to put us first and be honest if I can’t.”

  “Then I can too. And that’s where we start.” Michael held out his hands and took Tristan’s in them, lacing their fingers together.

  Tristan held Michael’s hand in his and seemed fascinated by the difference in the texture of their skin. “That’s where we start. Yeah…but dude, seriously, could we start in the shower? Because I want to crawl inside you and die, and you smell like something already did that.”

  Michael barked a laugh and grabbed his sides to help him manage the pain. “Yeah,” he said. “Come with me.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Tristan followed Michael into the bathroom, horrified once again by how he looked when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Not exactly makeup sex fantasy material. Michael turned on the water, and the room began to fill with steam. Tristan started to unbutton his shirt, but couldn’t look away from his image. Bruises were visible on his shoulder where he’d taken a bad fall. Tristan knew those weren’t the only ones.r />
  “Oh,” he said and stopped what he was doing.

  “What?” Michael took his hand and turned him away from the mirror over the sink.

  “I’m, like, a freak,” Tristan muttered. He couldn’t look up at Michael.

  “You’re beautiful,” said Michael, kissing his forehead.

  “Don’t lie.” Tristan pulled away.

  “Really, Tristan, I think you’re…”

  “No, you don’t, you’re just saying that, it’s okay. I’m sorry.” He began taking his clothes off, hoping he’d last through an entire shower without falling asleep. The alcohol was making it worse; he hadn’t had that much, but it was beginning to take effect. “You want to hear something funny? I kind of get off on being, your… I don’t know. Arm candy.”

  “Is that so?” murmured Michael, helping Tristan off with his shirt. He winced as he saw the discolorations, the bruising painfully apparent on his fair skin. “Oh, baby.”

  Tristan fell into his arms a little when he tried to remove his pants. Large, ugly bruises covered the outsides of his thighs and calves and the big toe of one foot was black and blue; that toenail was sure to fall off.

  “Stop looking at me like that, Michael,” said Tristan. “They’re just bruises. They’ll heal.” He slid his boxers off and headed for the shower. He was still cold, four-days-in-the-snow, bone cold, and the hot water looked so enticing he almost moaned. It took a special strength of will to lift his leg up and over the lip of the tub. He screwed up his face, but he did it.

  Michael came in after him, at his back, and the smooth glide of skin and crisp hair against Tristan made him want more. He leaned into Michael, trying to get every square inch of his body skin to skin. He did let out a moan then; he couldn’t help it.

  “That’s it, baby. Lean on me for a minute.” Michael got his hands soapy and ran them gently over Tristan’s skin, cleaning him as he cleaned himself, using his hands to sluice the water off and rub warm circles.

  “Oh, so good,” said Tristan leaning his head on Michael’s shoulder.

  “You’ll have to wash your own hair. I can’t really keep my arms up that long yet. It pulls, you know?”

  “Sure,” said Tristan, turning in Michael’s arms. “I’ll get yours too.” He stopped cold and stepped back. “Oh…shit.”

  It wasn’t the first time Tristan had seen Michael’s body after the stabbing. He’d seen it, bathed it while it still had stitches. Kissed it and loved it. But nothing prepared him for the end result, the way Michael would look when it was all over. An angry scar marked Michael’s perfect abdomen. It pulled at his skin in a strange way, a sad reminder of the pain of the past. Tristan fell to his knees and put his mouth on it, earnestly, as if by kissing it he could heal Michael completely. He was crying, and when Michael tried to pick him up off the tub floor, he wouldn’t allow it. He held Michael tightly, arms wrapped around his hips like a python, laving his scars and loving him and crying, until Michael came to his knees too and found his mouth, kissing him back like it was the first time and the last time and all the times they’d ever have between.

  “Mine,” said Michael, his arms around Tristan’s shoulders in a possessive bear hug. “Always…mine. Say it,” he demanded.

  “Yours, Michael. Always. Yours.”

  “I need you, Sparky,” said Michael, wetting his fingers and positioning them at Tristan’s hole. “Let me in; I’m clean, baby. I was tested in the hospital.”

  “Oh,” moaned Tristan. “Yes…no!” He froze. “I still have to be tested again, five months. Michael…please?” He didn’t know what he was asking for.

  “Shit,” said Michael, who left the bathroom for a minute and returned, cold and dripping, with a condom and lube. He turned off the water and climbed back into the tub, gathering Tristan into his arms. “Here,” he said, pulling Tristan into his lap with Tristan’s thighs wrapped around him.

  “Yes,” sighed Tristan. “Please, Michael. Please.”

  As soon as Michael had the condom on his cock, Tristan slapped his hands away and straddled him, impaling himself on Michael. It burned and stretched him until he thought he’d rip in two, shocking him and taking his breath away for a moment. He must have groaned, because Michael held him carefully, looking into his eyes.

  “Oh, Tristan.”

  “So full of you.” Tristan winced and tried a grin, the effects of his rash plunge onto Michael’s cock clearly evident in his own limp one. He frowned a little. “Burns.”

  Michael’s brows lowered. “It hurts?” he whispered. “Should I…”

  “No!” hissed Tristan, wrapping himself around Michael. “Need it. Wanted to feel it…” His vision was blurry, and he licked his chapped lips. “Got you, baby,” he said, moving tentatively. “All safe. Got you.”

  Michael took the invitation to move and slid gently out and in again, testing the connection, hoping that Tristan would find at least a little pleasure. “You’ve got me,” he whispered back, his lips against Tristan’s hair. “You’ve got me.”

  “Make me feel, Michael. Make me yours.” He tightened his muscles tentatively and knew Michael felt it all the way to his toes when he gasped.

  “Sexy little shit.”

  “Uhn,” Tristan moaned as Michael shifted him slightly and hit his sweet spot. “Michael…love.”

  Tristan’s cock began to fill again, making itself known against Michael’s belly, delivering wet kisses along the ridge of his scar. Tristan was beyond speech, beyond hearing. He was a part of Michael’s body, as much a part as Michael’s own cock, so deep inside Tristan he wondered if it would get lost there forever. Michael stroked Tristan’s arms and back lovingly as he took him soaring higher.

  “Oh, Michael,” breathed Tristan when Michael took hold of his cock and began stroking it with the rhythm of his thrusts, sending sparks crackling through him. “Make me fly, Michael.”

  “Together, ’kay? Close…”

  “Uhn…yeah.” Tristan licked his lips. “So full.” He let it take him then, over the edge, just let himself go with Michael, loving it, loving him. So much.

  “You make me…just,” hissed Michael, throwing his head back as Tristan’s climax hit, milking his cock. “Oh, Tristan…”

  Michael’s climax hit him then, filling the latex, filling Tristan; he froze as far inside Tristan as he could get and just pressed himself there, riding the waves of his orgasm until the last pulsing throb of his cock. He relaxed, slumping against his boy on the cold bathtub floor. He lifted to his knees and stroked Tristan’s long legs, helping them to straighten so he could lie along the hollow of Tristan’s body, and then he plugged the tub and turned on the water.

  “What are you doing?” Tristan asked sleepily.

  “Wallowing.”

  Tristan grinned against his temple, lying on his back, both arms wrapped around Michael.

  “Eventually we’ll have to sit up, and you’ll need to turn around or you’ll drown.”

  Michael turned over and shifted Tristan so he could rest against the high back of the slipper tub. Tristan pulled him up against his chest gently. Michael was still protecting his abdominal muscles; Tristan could see the pain etched on his face.

  Tristan gently stroked his scar. “Love you, Officer Helmet,” he said, lacing the fingers of his right hand with Michael’s and squeezing hard. “Always.”

  “Caught you, Sparky,” Michael replied.

  Epilogue

  Four Years Later

  Tristan parked his cream-colored BMW in front of Apple House just in time to see his favorite sight. He’d gone for a sandwich and coffee after school because he knew he wouldn’t get dinner until almost nine that night. He got out of the car and walked to a large chicken-wire cage where the residents kept their bicycles. A rough-looking teenager was in front of it, his shoulders tense and angry as he walked his bike back into the cage.

  “I’m not the enemy, peanut; it’s the law.” Michael turned and grinned at Tristan. “You can either wear a helmet, or
you can walk. Two options. Pick one.” Michael could really smile an evil smile when he wanted to.

  “Who cares if I ride without a helmet? What’s the big deal?”

  Tristan spoke up. “The big deal, little man, is that it’s an over seven-hundred-dollar ticket, and you will care very much if you get one of those,” he said. “Take it from me.”

  “Hi, Mr. Phillips.” The boy nodded to him.

  “Hi, Nathan,” Tristan said, waving at Michael.

  “I’ll walk, Mr. Truax,” the boy decided finally, disgruntled.

  “Good choice, Nathan,” said Michael, holding the bike so Nathan could lock it. The boy turned and started hoofing it out onto the suburban streets to where he worked not far away.

  “Officer Helmet is in the house. You know they call you Mr. Ex-Lax behind your back when they’re pissed, don’t you?” said Tristan, watching the boy go.

  Michael laughed and nodded. “The fun never ends, Sparky. I just don’t have the badge anymore.”

  Tristan drank in the sight of his lover, now the administrator of Apple House, a GLBT-teen homeless shelter he’d helped to establish by buying and refurbishing one of the larger, older houses in Fullerton and tapping into the local investment community and government agency grants for resources. “Ah, but you kept the handcuffs,” said Tristan, buffeting Michael’s shoulder in greeting.

  “Yeah, well…” Michael actually blushed, which Tristan found impossibly adorable.

  “So, you texted that things got a little wet today,” said Michael, who looked like he had enjoyed that story.

  “Yeah, well. One of the kids was demonstrating my Van de Graaff generator, and the static charge turned on the automatic sinks, which of course were covered by those sink covers, so yeah, on the whole, it was kind of wet. Nobody got electrocuted, though, so no harm, no foul.”

  “You are so damn cute,” said Michael under his breath. “Aren’t you supposed to be home studying?”

  “Nope.” Tristan grinned. “I’ve got to go back to the school. I get to help coach soccer from now on.”

  Michael shook his head. “You realize that you’ll be spending hours and hours and getting paid almost nothing for it, don’t you?”