Michael tried not to laugh because it was ruining his rhythm. He loved this. His boy smelled so good…soft red curls and sweat and sex and man; Michael closed his eyes and used his tongue to tease and excite his lover, feeling Tristan's pulse against his lips. Soon Tristan gripped Michael's hair and started taking his mouth, mindlessly jerking until his balls tightened against Michael's hands, and groaning, he shot hard into the latex. He held Michael's head there as he came, muttering something unintelligible, until Michael gently disengaged the hands from his hair and removed his mouth and then the condom. Despite his resolve to play safe, Michael couldn't stop himself from tasting, flicking his tongue over the slit in the tip of Tristan's cock. He laved Tristan's balls and kissed his inner thighs, rising up and crawling toward the head of the bed where Tristan lay panting.
“Hey, Tristan,” said Michael, grinning. His lips looked fuller and darker and so delicious.
“Hey, Michael,” said Tristan, hooking a hand behind his head to bring him in for a kiss.
“I've got to change and go.” Michael stroked the side of his face again. “I overslept, and I'm running a little late.”
“No time for a little quid pro quo?” asked Tristan, pulling him close.
“Love to, but I can't. Next time, I'm counting on it.” He smiled.
“Next time?” asked Tristan. “Okay.” He smiled back. In fact, it occurred to him that they were both smiling like stupid people. “We're smiling.” He stated the obvious.
“You make me smile, Sparky, even in the weirdest, non-smiling kind of moments.” Tristan grinned, eyeing the man's twitching cock.
“Thank you for today; it was awesome.”
Michael responded with a quick kiss before he rose from the bed. “I'll be ready in twenty, and then I'll have to leave.”
“Oh,” said Tristan. “Oh, okay.” He got up from the bed too, his legs still a little wobbly. “I'll get my stuff, and you can see me out.” Tristan started dressing in the same clothes he'd worn for their ride. He placed his folded-up costume carefully in the duffel and made sure he didn't leave socks or underwear lying around because, ick, he'd rather Michael remember his ass than his dirty laundry.
“I…um…well,” said Michael, not quite looking at him, “could meet you sometime, down by UCI for lunch or something.”
“Sure,” said Tristan. “I'd like that.” He found himself right next to Michael. He couldn't help it; he was gravitationally predisposed to lean into Michael's embrace.
“Can you make coffee while I dress?” Michael asked. “I could take a travel mug to work.”
“Sure. I could use a cup anyway. I'll put my stuff by the door and get right on it. You go do what you need to do.”
“Okay.” He sighed. “I wonder why being together seems so natural and parting is awkward as hell. I wish I didn't have to go,” he added.
“Oh, me too,” said Tristan, launching himself at the surprised Michael. “Isn't that dumb? I just don't want to…”
“I know,” said Michael kissing him. “Me neither. I can't figure out why…”
“Kiss me more,” said Tristan.
“
Shit
,” said Michael, pulling away. “Work, work, work, work, work, stupid…
stupid
work.” He marched himself down the hall and slammed the bathroom door.
Tristan laughed on his way into the kitchen, saying, “School, school, school…stupid school.” He found the coffee and managed the coffeemaker, getting a cup for himself. When Michael came out in his uniform, Tristan stopped in his tracks.
“Officer Helmet,” he said on a sigh. He didn't know why it was such a shock, seeing Michael fully dressed in his uniform, armed, and remote. It wasn't exactly the first time he'd seen it. It
was
the first time he wanted to cuff the man and use him like an inflatable doll. Oh, hot, hot, hot.
“This okay?” said Michael. “Does it bring bad memories? Feel like running?”
“Oh, not exactly. Officer Truax. Michael.” Tristan walked up and ran a hand over the chest pockets of the uniform, carefully touching the badge. “I'm never going to look at cops the same way again.”
“You'd better not look at
other
cops the way you're looking at me.” He took the travel mug, and together they walked the short distance to the front door. “They really will think you're a rent-boy.”
As Tristan neared the door he thought of everything he wanted to say to Michael, except he had no time and didn't know where to begin. He turned around suddenly. “I like your texts. That's really nice, you know? Sometimes when people say they'll call they don't…or well…I didn't when I said it to girls and now…I just wanted to say I like it when you text me.” His heart beat as though he'd run a marathon.
Michael smiled.
“I wish I'd thought of it that way when…I may have hurt some people.” Tristan tried to smile when he said that, but the thought of pain he may have caused in the past didn't make him feel much like smiling. Tristan wished now he'd had more empathy. He'd always held lightly to the girls he dated. He was going to have a hard time holding Michael that way.
Michael appeared to think about that for a while. “I'll keep in touch, Sparky.”
Tristan gave him a radiant smile. “Me too, if that's okay with you.”
“Of course it's okay,” said Michael, kissing him senseless and then setting the house alarm. A high-pitched whistle sounded, and they walked out the front door into the fading light. Daylight savings was still in effect, and there was a little residual twilight. “I have to close the door, or the alarm will go off,” he said, close to Tristan's ear, and Tristan realized he was standing in the way.
“Oh.” He moved. “I guess I'll be seeing you,” he said, walking down the porch steps to his car. “Um, sometime soon, I hope.”
“Yeah, you can count on it, Sparky.”
Tristan got into his car and began the drive back to his home. Cinderella's carriage was turning back into a pumpkin, and the real world intruded on his thoughts. He found himself fretting about homework he hadn't even given a thought to for the whole day and worrying about his family. While he was with Michael, the world receded, and all that existed was the two of them.
He got home at about six in the evening; the sky was darkening, and the air was getting crisp. The first thing he did was call his friend Jonathon to tell him he wouldn't be up for poker. He had to talk to his family—had to do it now when he was riding the high of being with Michael, before doubt and uncertainty made him wait, made him think of hiding his truth from his family. Truth was truth. This wasn't going to go away.
When he entered he could hear his brothers, Devon and Randy, arguing at the top of their lungs about who should clean their room. His sister had on her iPod and was sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop, pretending to do her homework but probably instant messaging her friends. His mother was sitting at the computer in the kitchen where she did the bills and caught up with her own e-mails.
“Randy, Devon, feel like a run?” he called. His brother Randy stuck his head out of his bedroom door.
“At the park?” he asked. Randy was the one who enjoyed running at the park, because of the people walking their dogs. He could make friends with a dog in seconds, and it would remember him for a lifetime. Devon thought dogs were okay, but didn't have the same affinity for them. Fortunately, he wasn't too picky about where they ran.
“Sure, if you want. I'll talk to Mom and you talk to Devon,” said Tristan.
“Okay,” said Randy. He stopped shouting at his brother long enough to get his attention and start another fight, this one about where to go jogging.
“Mom,” said Tristan, getting a glass of milk from the fridge. “I thought I'd take the boys to run at Craig Park; is that okay?”
His mother was preoccupied, cursing under her breath at their Internet service, which was always slow in the evening. “Damn it! This always happens on Saturday night. This is going to take me hours at this rate.”
“What is it?” he asked, coming around to see.
“Just bills, honey, nothing big, it just takes forever. Yeah, running sounds good. They've been at it since four. Maybe you could run them down for me a little.” She took off her reading glasses and smiled. He looked at her for a minute, realizing he hadn't really
seen
her for a while. Her blue eyes, so like his own, seemed more tired than he remembered, and her red hair seemed whiter around the temples. It wasn't exactly that she was getting old; she just looked like she was changing into someone more muted than the woman he'd known growing up. He knew his father's death had been hard on her, but hadn't noticed exactly when it had washed her color away. She patted his hand with a freckled one very like his own, and he laughed.
“I really am your mini-me, aren't I?” he said, giving her hand a squeeze back. “Sometimes I forget. I'll get the boys, and we'll be back by…seven-thirty or so, okay?”
“Sure, fine…take your phone.” She went back to her bills.
As Tristan left the room, he looked back at her. When had she gotten so small? He had decided on his way home from Michael's to tell her the truth about himself, but now it gnawed at him. Not knowing how she'd take it was worrisome. He didn't much care and couldn't change what others thought, but he agonized over how it would affect those he loved.
“Mom, when I get back, I'd like to talk to you for a bit; maybe we could go for coffee?” he said, hoping she didn't get too wrapped up in anticipating what it could be about.
She sat silently contemplating him. “Okay, but first tell me, does it have anything to do with immediate physical danger or possible jail time?” she asked, her typical response to make a joke.
“Nope, neither.” He smiled.
Reassured, she went back to her bills. “Sure, coffee, but you're buying.”
“Right.” He was able to round his brothers up in less than fifteen minutes, almost a house record, and they were off to the park.
Jogging with his brothers was something Tristan did almost every weekday until Halloween, when the park hours changed, and the gates closed at six. It was always exhilarating to run in the park after dark. Smiling, he imagined that was how wolves felt, running in a pack, and realized that the boys were his pack. He said a silent prayer that they'd have big, happy families, and he could run with nieces and nephews some day. Lily gave no indication of even being interested in any boy who wasn't about to starve himself to death over the injustice of life. Tristan despaired of her ever choosing someone healthy enough to procreate.