Biting his lip, Tristan tried to decide how much he wanted to say. “I poured that kid's beer out into the planter and told him he could vent instead of drink, because I'd listen.” Tristan held his breath, wondering if Michael could see as clearly as he did that they were on the same page.
“Oh, Sparky.” Michael stroked Tristan's face with the back of his hand. “I briefly forgot how very, very
shiny
you can be.” He pulled a thick strand of hair free from the blue silk tie and held it to his lips, seeming to inhale it and caress it and rub his face on it at the same time. “I have a bed of sorts set up in front of the fireplace in the living room and a fire all ready to go. Please come home with me. Help me light it up, Sparky, will you?”
Tristan swallowed hard, looking at the amazing, upscale houses behind him. “After this dump? A classy establishment like yours is just what I need,” he said, finding Michael's lips, which moved in as soon as he felt the tension leave Tristan's body. For a long moment they stood like that, lips joined and tongues entwined. Tristan broke the kiss to get into his car. “By the way, Edward said he'd pay good money to see us in bed together; maybe you should write up a proposal on that for your next little investment soiree.”
“Sparky!” Michael barked with laughter on the way back to his car. He turned around with his hands over his face. “The things you say!”
It wasn't hard to follow Michael's truck down the hill and through town to his little house. Michael waved him into the driveway first, coming in behind him to sandwich his car between the house and the garage. Before Tristan even got out of the car, Michael was there, opening his door and taking him in his arms again.
“Is that your sword or are you just glad to see me?” he teased as he pulled Tristan to standing. “I can never remember that you're taller than me until we're standing like this. It's different from what I'm used to.”
“Why is that?” asked Tristan as he walked around to the trunk, opening it and removing a small duffle. “Don't like looking up?”
“No, it's not that,” said Michael. “I find I like it rather well, actually…” He took Tristan's hand and led him to the back door, using his key to open it and walking immediately to the panel to turn off the alarm. “I like it a lot.” They stood in the dark kitchen together, holding hands.
Tristan had so many plans for this moment. He'd thought in obsessive detail about what he'd do with Michael when they were alone again. Just how he'd touch him and what he'd say. But standing there with only the porch light illuminating his face in the shadows of the kitchen, each and every one of those ideas fled, and he was content to stand and watch and wait, and see if the elemental nature of their first night gave him clues about what to do on their second. Minutes seemed to be ticking by.
“Fire,” said Michael after a while, as though he'd had a long conversation in his head, but the only word that came out was that one. “Come with me.” He motioned, and Tristan followed. There in front of the fireplace was, indeed, a futon covered in soft, fluffy-looking blankets and pillows. It was far enough away from the fire to be safe from stray sparks that might fly through the chain curtain, but close enough to be warm and smoky, and Tristan longed to lose himself there with Michael.
“Here,” said Michael putting a match to the kindling he'd laid out earlier. “Sit here and let me look at you.”
Tristan sat, perversely as though he really were the character Kenshin from his comic books, his knees folded, his feet under him, his hands on his thighs, waiting.
“I've been wanting”—Michael took the blue fabric holding Tristan's hair up and pulled on it—“to do that since I saw you come through the door at Jeff's house tonight.” Tristan's hair fell to his shoulders like liquid fire. “Oh, Sparky.”
“I think…I think I'll sit here till you figure out what to do with the rest of my clothes,” said Tristan looking straight ahead.
“I was watching you at Jeff's,” said Michael. “Imagining this.” He moved behind Tristan and slid his arms around his waist, slipping the tunic wrap out of Tristan's hakama and sliding his hands under the fabric, up and up, to graze Tristan's nipples. He untied the simple garment and slid it off Tristan's shoulders, kissing skin as he uncovered it.
“Were you?” said Tristan, putting his hand over his shoulder to touch Michael's hair as Michael kissed the nape of his neck. “I think I like that.”
“Mmmhmm.” He fumbled with the fastenings on Tristan's pants. “These are different,” he said, running his hands over the ties. Tristan took his hands and walked him through it, first untying the knot in the front, then untucking the toggle, the front ties, and the obi. “There's, like, a board in there?” he asked, feeling the stiff part of the pants in the small of Tristan's back.
“Yep,” said Tristan, feeling like there was a board in front too, with Michael touching and undressing him. Baring his skin. Breathing hot breath on his neck and bare shoulders. “What about your costume? Let's get that off too.”
“What?” asked Michael.
Tristan turned and began unbuttoning Michael's dress shirt. “Seriously, you'd think a whole group of intelligent men and women could come up with something better for Halloween than business casual.”
“I guess,” agreed Michael, laughing and fighting his way out of his clothes. “Look, I wanted to say again how sorry I am that Jeff was such a shit-heel.”
“Just Jeff?” asked Tristan, his hands stopping on Michael's boxers. Michael was still toeing off his shoes so he could shed his trousers.
“No, Sparky, I have a very, very personal and detailed apology to make for my behavior, but on behalf of Jeff, because he's not likely to change, I'm just going to say sorry.”
“I'll take it,” said Tristan. “I liked Edward, his kid. My brothers would like him. I wish I could have gotten his e-mail address or something. He seemed so…isolated. I understand that half the year he stays with his mom in Denver?”
“You know more than I do, then. I just heard from Jeff that he'd gotten in trouble, smoking dope and hanging with a bad crowd. He got picked up once by the police for underage drinking.” Michael, wearing only his boxers, sat next to Tristan on the makeshift bed. The fire warmed his skin, its glow throwing interesting shadows on the wall.
“It's sad, Michael,” Tristan sighed. “The way his dad talked to him…”
“Maybe he earned it?” asked Michael. “Sometimes teenagers can be a trial even to parents that love them.”
“I'd give Jeff the benefit of the doubt, but really, the way he talked to me? Did I earn that? I didn't do anything other than knock on his door,” Tristan said, clenching his teeth. It was pretty clear he wasn't going to get over that feeling any time soon, he thought, surprised at how angry it made him. It wasn't that being disrespected was new to him, but being treated like that at a party based on his looks and perceived relationship with his date was. “He treated me like a rent-boy.”
“He did,” agreed Michael, who stretched out and watched him carefully.
“Am I likely to get that a lot?” he asked, thinking Michael would know what he was in for with his own friends.
“What, you mean, people treating you like arm candy? Probably. I think you're pretty.” He batted his eyes.
“Michael,” Tristan warned.
“No, really. I'm older, you're still in school, good-looking, and there's probably financial inequality. Yeah, you're a rent-boy all right.” If Michael hadn't been smiling and trying to grab his balls when he said that, Tristan wouldn't have taken it as well.
“I'll be
your
rent-boy,” said Tristan, straddling Michael. “I like being your arm candy.” The way Michael was looking at him right then sent his blood thundering down to his cock. “I like how you look at me. I really, really like it.” He ground his hips against Michael's for emphasis.
“Do you?” Michael asked. “Yes…oh…I guess you do.” Michael bit his lip.
“I can make you want me.” Tristan caught Michael's hands in his and held them over his head.
“Oh, yes, you most certainly can do that,” said Michael thickly.
Tristan stretched out along Michael's body, moving against him. “Thought about you all week, which, really, I had midterms—you could at least get out of my head when I'm busy.”
“Sorry,” said Michael, closing his eyes. “Probably.”
“But I kept thinking about how you spilled your coffee at Borders when you were looking at me…and just how you were looking at me. It never fails to make me hot for you.” Tristan was still holding his hands and licking and biting the base of his neck.
“Oh,” moaned Michael as Tristan shifted both his hands into one and found his balls with the other.
“And, really, the brain cells I needed for midterms were so different than the ones that kept showing me naked pictures of you…and I did really well in all my classes, so I think that shows a certain mastery.”
“Mastery,” echoed Michael numbly as Tristan picked up the pace on his cock, stroking the whole length.
“What do you want, Michael?” asked Tristan, his cheeks burning and his eyes shining with need. “Can I taste you?”
“Um, yeah,” he said, pulling his hand free to get a condom out from under the pillow for Tristan.
“I want to taste your skin, Michael. Hold on to that,” he said against Michael's balls.
Michael's hands stroked his hair, feeling it sliding silkily along the skin of his hips and thighs, moving when Tristan moved. It was the most erotic sensation he'd ever felt.
“Love your hair, Tristan.” He closed his eyes.
Suddenly Tristan was in his field of vision again, right in his face, smiling.
“Thanks for remembering to call me Tristan,” he said brightly. “And by the way, we both know I couldn't hold your arms if you didn't let me, so how about bringing some riot cuffs home from work, okay?” Just like that, Michael felt his lover's mouth on his balls again, and he almost laughed. Almost, until Tristan took them into his mouth and made him moan instead.
“Oh, Tristan,” he sighed as Tristan nuzzled him. “You know, I expected some amateur licking and a pretty girly blowjob.”
Tristan stopped what he was doing and slapped Michael's dick with his hand.
“Ouch.” Michael laughed. “Jeez, hear me out. There is no such thing as a bad blowjob, you know.”
Tristan glared at him, waiting, his hand wrapped around Michael's dick to keep it busy while he listened to Michael's nonsense.