“You were good, Michael,” said Tristan.
“If you say, 'good boy,' I'll slap the shit out of you,” said Michael, lazily licking the sweat off Tristan's chest to take the sting out of his words.
“Okay,” said Tristan sleepily. “Boundaries are helpful.” He curled around Michael and held him, drifting off to sleep. His phone was set to go off at six-thirty, theoretically enough time for a quickie and to get Randy and Devon to school on time. He sighed, holding Michael close.
“Love you,” said Michael, catching a ribbon of Tristan's hair and holding it to his face like a blanket.
“Love you,” sighed Tristan.
“Best Halloween ever,” said Michael.
“Me too.” Tristan fell asleep a few seconds later with a smile on his face.
Michael parked the squad car in front of his mother's house and let himself in the front door with his key. He had a minute and decided to let her know about the chimney cleaner appointment in person, intending to write it on her white board calendar so she wouldn't forget.
“Mama?” he called, hearing voices in the kitchen. “Mama, I let myself in. I wanted to tell you about—” Michael stopped when he saw Ron in his mother's kitchen with his large hands wrapped around a coffee mug.
“Hey, baby,” said his mother, automatically coming for a kiss, then getting another mug from the open shelving along the wall of the kitchen. “Have time for a cup of coffee?”
“Sure. Yeah, I'd like that.” He took a seat at the kitchen table. “Ron,” he acknowledged the man's presence.
“Ron stopped by to say hi and to ask if we were going on the Thanksgiving ride to Taos.” Michael watched his mother as she poured him a cup of coffee, bringing the sugar and creamer to the table with it and setting it before him.
“Still drinking your coffee like a little girl?”
“Yep,” said Michael, loading it up. “I like it chunky.”
“So, boy, are you coming to Taos? Should be a good ride. Some of the guys are going, and Elizabeth's going, Emma; you two always got along.”
“What do you think?” asked Emma, looking at Michael.
“I wanted to talk to you about that, Mama. Tristan's family invited us for dinner on Thanksgiving. I think it's important to him.” He looked at his mother, knowing that she'd do whatever he wanted.
“Well, that's fine, then. It looks like we're busy that weekend, Ron. Maybe next time.” She sipped her coffee and smiled.
“Tristan?”
“Yeah, you remember, the guy I was with when I saw you at Apple Annie's,” said Michael, although he knew perfectly well that Ron remembered. In fact, he thought that was probably why Ron was here with his mother now.
“Oh, yeah, the Boy Scout with the red hair.” Ron looked at his coffee. “I'm surprised at you. What is he…thirteen? And you a cop and all.”
Michael pursed his lips. “He's legal,” he said. To his mother, he added, “I'm thinking we should teach him to ride.”
She smiled back at him, a knowing look in her eyes. “I'm thinking he likes riding behind you.”
“Him?” Ron snorted. “He needs a sidecar.” He looked at Michael, a serious question on his rugged face:
What do you see in hi
m
? “Or a pet carrier.”
“Hey, don't disrespect the redhead,” growled Michael. “You'll be seeing him around a lot.”
“Yeah, until you need a real man.”
“Ron.” Emma shot Ron a warning look.
“Don't worry, Mama. I know a real man when I see one,” said Michael. “Even though they're scarce on the ground these days.” He got up. “I just came by to tell you the chimney cleaner is going to come by Thursday between eight and ten a.m.” He took the dry-erase marker down and wrote the appointment on her calendar. “And he's doing both houses, so be here to let him in, okay? I'll be working a double shift like today.”
“Sure, baby,” said Emma, leaning her cheek out for a kiss.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he said. “Nice seeing you, Ron.” As he left the house, he found himself surprised that he meant it. Ron was a nice guy, if a little rough around the edges. He'd been there for his mom and him, had taught him woodworking and carpentry when he was young, and had revealed that he wanted to teach him something else entirely when he came of age. That Ron was a dominant man had appealed to Michael in the first few months of their new relationship, but he was too young then and too naive to see that Ron's playfully sadistic bent was entirely unacceptable to him. It had been confusing and painful, and left him feeling defective for a time.
Thankfully, Emma had caught on and put a stop to the whole thing, explaining to him that it was okay for two people to have kinks, but they had to match or it was abusive. She and Ron had remained cautious friends, and Ron had backed off Michael immediately, apologizing for any harm he'd caused and explaining that he'd enjoyed consensual BDSM relationships and thought that's what Michael wanted too. Michael, for his part, opted out, backing away from the whole thing without ever sorting it out in his heart or his mind.
Tristan, it seemed, understood implicitly. Michael got back in his squad car and took off, making the turns he needed to get back out to Harbor Boulevard. Tristan had given him precisely what he needed by holding him down and screwing him into the futon, controlling him utterly without stripping him of his dignity or hurting him physically. Which made him more than a man in Michael's book; it made him a damn hero.
Michael shook his head. He took his phone out at an intersection and checked it for messages. He didn't have any, but decided to text Tristan anyway, accepting his invitation to Thanksgiving dinner on behalf of himself and his mother. Michael was nervous about meeting Tristan's family, but philosophical. Children and dogs usually liked him. He cooked and was handy, so moms probably would too. If not, he'd just kidnap Tristan in the middle of the night and that would be that, because no way in hell was he giving him up.
Tristan was in an impromptu study group when he got Michael's text message. He smiled to himself and took some ribbing from the guys about his red cheeks. He wondered what would happen if he just told them the truth, that the chick they thought he was dating was a guy. He went back to his books, smiling sadly. Chances were they'd distance themselves from him, not because they didn't like him or because he'd changed, but because they'd be embarrassed by the mental images they had of him and his lover. Sometimes even he just froze up, unable to comprehend the things he'd done.
“Earth to Tristan,” said one of them, and he looked up.
“Hm, what?” he asked.
“I asked if you're doing anything special for Thanksgiving, or going out of town. Some of us are going to try to go to Vegas and see the Blue Man Group.”
“Oh, we're having guests for dinner Thanksgiving, and we always do the holiday as a family. I'd like to go to Vegas, though,” he said, thinking of going on the back of Michael's bike. “That would be cool.”
“Yeah,” said Jonathon. “Michelle can't get home for Thanksgiving. We tried that last year, and between the weather, the traffic, and all the other people traveling, she spent more time in airports than she did with her family. She has a friend in New York, and she's going to have Thanksgiving there. We've scheduled phone sex for midnight on the twenty-seventh.” He sounded resigned.
“How romantic and spontaneous of you,” said Tristan, laughing.
“By midnight I would be in a food coma if I were going to my grandmother's,” said Daniel. “But she's going to my aunt's in Arizona, and my mom doesn't feel like doing it this year.”
“I know this will shock you, but Thanksgiving isn't really a traditional Pakistani holiday,” said P.K., who had been assimilated into their group the week before when they'd seen him coming out of Diho Bakery with his arms full of veggie buns. “I can't exactly spend it with my family, who're on another continent, so…”
“Damn,” said Tristan, realizing how glad he was that he had his family and Michael. “You guys are pathetic.”
Jonathon smiled. “Well, we can't all be the Ass Master.”
“Excuse me?” said Tristan. “What did you just say?”
“You know what I mean. It seems like you're getting texts every five seconds in class and blushing like a fool. You come to school all marked.” He held his hand over his heart. “Makes us proud, dude.”
“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“It's the hair and the blush. Every time that white skin of his lights up, women fall like bird shit from the sky,” P.K. said. “I blush, but you cannot see it as well.”
“I don't blush,” said Jonathon. “But you might have something there. Let's all try to blush in unison, shall we?”
“Would you all just shut the hell up?” said Tristan, who was trying to control the flush on his face and just making it worse.
“Look, there he goes,” said Daniel. “Do you suppose we could just get contact mojo from that?”
“I doubt it very much,” said P.K. seriously. “I think it is his very whiteness that comes into play. I wonder if that's why the sun never set on the British Empire during the time of Queen Victoria. The glow from Tristan's very pale skin makes me want to experiment.”
“Perhaps we could just use it to annex the physics department,” said Daniel.
“You sicken me,” said Tristan returning to his books.
“Well, I must say, Tristan, that's harsh,” said Daniel, laughing. “We only want to share in your glory.”
“I doubt that,” said Tristan. “I doubt that very much.” He thought of using his tongue piercing to tease Michael's ass open. Once again,
damn it
, he felt the skin of his face heat.
“Look at him,” said P.K. “Oh, someday, at least, I hope you'll write epic poetry about this.” He shook his head, going back to the study guide. “For posterity.”
“Of course I will,” said Tristan. “I'll hardly be able to help myself.”
After the group dispersed to move on to their next class, Tristan headed to philosophy, thinking hard. He wondered if he should tell his friends he was gay just so if they found out later they wouldn't think he'd been lying to them all this time. Recently the thought had been plaguing him that it was rather inauthentic to keep letting them think he had some sort of harem. He was no nearer to coming to an answer when he got a phone call. He checked caller ID and found it was from his brother.