Crossing Borders (6 page)

Michael turned off the stove, pushed Tristan up to the counter, and sank to his knees on the hard tile floor. He fumbled with Tristan's belt and then unbuttoned his pants, stroking him all the while through the fabric. Tristan's brain melted, and he just stared at the man on his knees before him, silently watching. When Michael freed Tristan's cock from his boxers and caressed him, Tristan sucked in a lungful of air and timidly stroked his hair, moving his uninjured hand unconsciously in the same rhythm Michael's hand used on his dick.

“Oh,” he moaned, and dropped his head back at the first touch of Michael's mouth on his balls. “Hey, oh…”

Michael laved the sensitive flesh, stroking and sucking until Tristan felt boneless and slid a little, opening up for him, muttering a curse and getting a better grip on the counter with his injured hand.

“
O
h
!” he said when Michael licked up the underside of his cock, along the vein there.

“Latex okay?” Michael dug into his front pocket and produced a condom. “I can't without it,” he added, looking right into Tristan's eyes, making sure he understood that they would have to play it safe.

“
Go
,” said Tristan, his hands shaking. “Whatever, just…just don't stop.”

Michael smiled, then hummed around Tristan's balls a little while he put the condom on with more stroking than was strictly necessary. He took his time and then wrapped his lips around the head of Tristan's cock, flicking his tongue a little at the slit in the top. Even through the latex, a bolt of electricity shot up Tristan's spine and crackled through his hair.

Tristan's knees buckled, and Michael grabbed his ass both to hold him up and bring him closer, swallowing Tristan's cock in one mind-boggling move that had Tristan's heart hammering in his throat as he came right then and there. Michael continued to squeeze, stroke, and suck him until he came down, eventually collapsing in a heap over Michael's shoulder. Michael slipped off the condom and knotted it, throwing it into the trash.

“That was…” Tristan tried to form words. “That was…oh, shit.” He wrapped his arms around Michael's neck and buried his face there, sort of kissing and sort of biting, but mostly just hanging on in a possessive, primal instinct kind of way.

Michael sighed against his skin. “Let me guess, Sparky,” he said, and his voice sounded like it came from somewhere very far away. “First fishing expedition?”

“Mmmhmm, yeah, well…” Tristan tried to find a way to deny it, wondering if cops could tell if you were lying better than girlfriends could and deciding that, yes, they probably could. “Yes. Okay. But it's not what you think. I have experience, so I didn't think it would be, you know, that different. Just, like, we'd use different holes and stuff.”

“You're kidding me,” said Michael, brushing the hair out of Tristan's eyes. Tristan thought Michael held his hair a little longer than necessary and wondered if he liked it, maybe, and just didn't want to let it go.

“Look, perhaps I was a little hasty,” said Tristan, starting to panic. “But it's not like I haven't been hitting it with girls since I was fourteen, so…”

“It is
not
the same!” said Michael. “And you almost placed yourself in the hands of a total stranger. What do you do for brains outside of school, Sparky?”

“Hey, I do
not
need your insults. How does anyone get started having…”

“I'll tell you how,” said Michael, gritting his teeth. “Most of us start like it's a joke between friends, you know, pretending it's just until we can get it with girls so let's jerk off together or whatever. Some of us get laid by older or more experienced men who may or may not care about our feelings, but are probably not into hurting our bodies, because it's hard to get it up if you're in pain. And then some of us get ourselves into really bad situations with strangers who don't care about us at all and end up getting used.”

“Which were you?” asked Tristan gently, unable to stop touching Michael's face, conveying without words the tenderness he was feeling in that moment.

“All three.”

Tristan tightened his grip on Michael. “I'm sorry. I thought it would be like picking up girls for sex, you know, at the mall or something.” He smoothed the hair on the back of Michael's head, down to his neck. “Which I've done, so I'm not a total novice at this sort of thing.”

“Oh, Sparky, a guy looks at you? You
are
the girl.” He smiled and then shook his head. “Still want that lemonade?”

“Yes…no…I want”—he tightened his grip on Michael—“I want…”

“I know.” Michael helped him to his feet. “Come on.” He took Tristan's hand and walked him into the living room. “We probably ought to talk.”

Michael dimmed the lights until Tristan could just barely see. His living room was small, furnished with not much more than a large sofa on an oriental rug facing the fireplace.

“I really love this room,” said Tristan, echoing his earlier sentiment. “It's like a room in an historic home, and it feels like the best place on earth for a good book. It must be great when you have the fire lit.” He was babbling, and he knew it, but Michael didn't seem to mind too much.

“Yeah,” said Michael. “Too hot for one today, but sometime soon it'll get cold enough. I don't use the heater; I just light the fireplaces.”

“Fireplaces? Plural? There's more than one?”

“Yes, I have a Franklin stove in the bedroom with a gas log for warmth. I only need it once in a blue moon, but it's got character. I put one in my mom's place first because she asked me to, and then I liked it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I like old things. I wanted a house that felt like it wasn't all wired for cable and satellite and broadband. I wanted it to feel like a home, not an office.”

“You nailed it,” said Tristan, settling onto the couch and sinking into the soft cushions. The leather felt like a baby's skin against his hands, and he sighed. “How do you live without all that stuff, though? I don't watch an awful lot of television, but I have to admit to being a little bit of a
CSI
and
NUMB3RS
junkie.”

“I have a television; it's just not obvious.” He smiled. “I do have two bedrooms—one I use as a media/office room, but you'd never know it unless you searched. The bathroom's big enough; the kitchen I kept old-fashioned by buying refurbished appliances. This house is all about the wood, so most of the effort has gone into the carvings and moldings.” He seemed to look around again, as if he needed to check that it was still right, and then said nothing more.

The topic of Michael's house was, if not exhausted, momentarily worn out. Tristan had little idea what to say. He looked at his hands, which were folded carefully in his lap, and wondered if it would be okay to just reach over and grab Michael by the hair. That would be bad, he decided, probably.

Michael saved him by slipping an arm around his shoulders. “So let's start again, Sparky. Why are you here?”

“You're really going to keep bugging me till I tell you?”

Michael nodded.

“Here goes, okay? Even when I was a kid and I was reading those Dick and Jane books, I thought I'd probably be better off with Dick, you know? So Viper dumps me; she stands me up, see? Then her brother answers the door, and long story short, he was hard and leaking on his jeans because his girlfriend was there, and I thought,
Ah
a
! That's what I'm talking about. I mean I just
own
it. Sign me up for one of those! It was all I could do to keep from licking him, or just taking a big bite right through the denim, and I was only saved from the embarrassment of a lifetime because his girlfriend came up from behind him, with her mussed-up hair and kissed-up lips, and I thought,
Well, shit. Got to come up with a plan
.”

“And that was your whole plan? Borders, Gay Lit 101, and a cup of coffee with a rice crispy treat?”

“Well, yeah. I had condoms; I'm not stupid.”

“My lucky day.” Michael rolled his eyes.

“Look, I'm sorry you got involved, and thank you for lunch, man. Although, it's not like you didn't work really hard to
get
yourself involved. At least admit that,” said Tristan.

“Sparky, when you're right, you're right.” Still, Michael didn't move. He just sat there with his arm around Tristan, his own shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Anyway, I loaned my car to my sister, which is why I was boarding today, so I need a ride home,” said Tristan. “Please?” He thought being polite couldn't hurt.

“Not taking you home.”

“What?”

“Not returning you. I like you. I'm keeping you.” He got up and asked again, as if he hadn't just said the strangest thing, “Still want that lemonade?”

“Um, yeah,” said Tristan.

Michael held out his hand. “Then come help me make it,” he said, pulling Tristan along like a toy. He lit the stove again, starting the sugar syrup, and mixed the lemon juice with water. “I think there are some frozen raspberries, if you want to add them, there in the freezer.” When he'd finished boiling the syrup, he turned back to Tristan, who gripped the counter tightly with both hands. Michael faced him and put his arms around him, sliding his hands into the back pockets of Tristan's jeans. He nudged Tristan's feet apart and stepped between them.

“You were shorter when I ticketed you two years ago, but you've grown since then,” said Michael. “I'm…”

“Ripped.” Tristan slid his hands over Michael's strong arms, daring a caress of Michael's chest. “I'll bet you have great abs.”

“Not really. I'm not strong, but I'm fast, even though I can never catch a certain hooligan when I chase him through the neighborhood behind the skate park.”

“Well, if you'd just said you wanted to kiss me…”

“I wanted to kiss you then; I want to now. How about it?”

“Caught me,” sang Tristan, looking into Michael's eyes.

Michael leaned in then, pulling Tristan's hips closer and tasting his lips with his tongue. Tristan opened to him and moaned a little when he felt Michael squeezing his ass. It was a good kind of squeeze. Hard, but not pinchy, and it brought him more in contact with Michael's cock, which felt damned fine.

Tristan brought his hands up and ran them through Michael's short hair, digging his fingers into the scalp a little, massaging him, holding him still, and using his thumbs to trace the features on Michael's wonderful face.