“No,” said Michael. “I know that feeling.” He put his arm around Tristan's shoulders and brought him close enough to whisper, “Like the whole world's changed, and there's only one person in it.”
“And if you can't get to that person and touch them, it will all swallow you whole. Never felt that before,” Tristan whispered, looking down at his hands. “Never felt a lot of things before.” He sipped his coffee, idly picking at a cheese Danish.
“I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not,” said Michael, brushing the hair out of Tristan's eyes. “Not sorry at all. I'm keeping you, love.”
Whatever he expected to find on Michael's ankle as Meghan finished up her work, placed a bandage on the site, and gave Michael aftercare instructions, he did not expect to see his given name, Tristan. A little padlock attached to the open part of the “a,” making the whole band seem more like a manacle than ever. And that definitely violated the don't-do-anything-to-make-me-cry-in-public rule Tristan thought he'd firmly established.
Michael laughed as Tristan blinked back tears. “I thought probably”—Tristan swallowed hard—“probably you'd put Sparky.”
“Sparky's not your name,” said Michael gently. “It's just something dumb I call you, like love, or baby. Names are powerful juju.”
“I know that; why do you think I asked you to say my name when we make love?” Tristan realized belatedly that they were walking down a busy street together. His head swiveled side to side.
“Don't worry about it.” Michael waited for him to catch up. “Don't worry about watching your tongue every minute of every day.”
“I'm sorry,” said Tristan. “There's something about today, Michael. I feel slow and stupid. Maybe I'm coming down with something.”
Michael laughed. “Yeah, a bad case of 'I came out to my whole family on Thanksgiving and now what?'”
“You really think that's it?” asked Tristan. “Like buyer's remorse?”
“What do you think? You've been edgy since we came out this afternoon. Nothing's different. It's just you and me.”
“I know. I know that, but…”
“Cards on the table, but maybe I should have asked you before I got your name inked on my ankle,” said Michael, turning to him. “Am I still your guy?” He looked into Tristan's clear blue eyes. Tristan thought he saw him flinch a little.
“Yes,” said Tristan in a rush of breath. “Yes, yes, yes.” He reached out for Michael's arm. “Don't be stupid. Yes.” They continued walking, shoulders pressed together.
“Then what? Tell me so I can understand. I don't think I've ever seen you this uncertain about anything.” He used his remote to unlock his truck, then gingerly got into the driver's side while Tristan got in the passenger door. “Crap, I forgot this stings.”
“I don't know what it is. This morning…you rocked my world, Michael. I've never, ever been
screwed
like that.” Tristan put his face in his hands.
“Oh,” said Michael, his cheeks catching fire. “
Oh
.” Michael started the truck and edged it out into traffic. They drove along familiar streets for a while in silence.
Tristan tried to explain himself again. “It may seem like we've been together for a while, and we've made love a lot, in different ways. But what we did this morning…just…damn, baby,” said Tristan shaking his head.
“Damn good, or damn bad?” said Michael.
“Just
damn
, Michael,” said Tristan. “I was…completely out of myself.”
“You lost control,” said Michael suddenly.
“Yeah. But I would have given it up willingly. It wasn't a bad thing. Just a scary new thing.” He peeked at Michael's face.
“Should I just not…”
“No,” said Tristan firmly. “You were awesome. I didn't know it could be like that, is all. I should have. I hoped. But I didn't know it could be like that between
us
. I love your gentleness. I love your generosity. But, Michael, I swear when you held me like that and…just damn.”
“It's okay that way, sometimes, don't you think?” He pulled into the driveway and parked behind Tristan's car.
“Yes,” said Tristan. “Yes, it is. It's a part of you that I never saw before, and it unleashed something deep inside me that I didn't know was there. It scared me.”
“I see,” said Michael.
“It opened something up I can't close.” Tristan got out of the truck, followed Michael to the small back porch, and waited while he unlocked the door. He preceded Michael into the kitchen, automatically going to the stove to make tea. He looked up to see Michael leaning against the wall, staring at him.
“There's something you don't understand,” Michael said, so softly Tristan barely heard it over the hiss of the gas from the stove.
“What?” asked Tristan, going to him, leaning into him against the wall. He pressed his forehead to Michael's, enjoying the contact.
“The minute I met you, from the first moment I laid eyes on you, I felt the very same way.” Michael took Tristan into his arms for a deep kiss. He brushed Tristan's hair aside and cupped his face between his hands, taking his mouth. “I didn't mean to frighten you; I just wanted to love you,” he said, pulling him close.
“Have you been holding back?” Tristan whispered.
“Yes,” said Michael, color flooding his face. “A little.”
“Don't.” Tristan calmly walked to the stove and turned it off. “Just don't.” He left the kitchen, heading for the living room and their bed by the fire.
Michael followed him.
When he got to the living room, Tristan wasted no time shucking off his clothes and starting a fire in the fireplace, crawling into the bed to watch Michael take off his clothes piece by piece.
“You're awesome, Michael,” said Tristan, appreciating the show.
Michael smiled in the dim light. He kneeled on the futon, sliding to recline next to Tristan. When his face was inches away, he stroked the silky red hair back off Tristan's face. “When we first…” He seemed to be choosing his words with care. “When you came here with me from Borders, I didn't want to overwhelm you. I had the feeling that maybe you thought you could just change partners and dance.”
“What?”
“Remember all that stupid talk about different holes?” Michael's lips twitched. “Just whose holes were you thinking of?”
“Well,” said Tristan. “
Oh
.”
“See? I wasn't sure you wanted to…well…give up, you know, control. And it's been established that I do. Sometimes.”
“Yeah,” said Tristan. “But not this morning.”
“No, not this morning.”
“That was hot.” Tristan sighed and turned to him. “I liked that. A lot.”
“Yeah?” Michael ran his hand over Tristan's firm abs. “What did you like?”
“Mm,” said Tristan, molding himself to Michael. “Everything.”
“Tristan?”
“Hm?”
Michael looked at him with blue eyes lit by the firelight. “Want to play?”
“Yes,” said Tristan, without thinking. “Absolutely.
Michael smiled and left the futon, going to the other room. When he returned, he had an old-fashioned glass filled with an amber liquid.
“What's that?” Tristan asked as Michael lay down beside him again. He rolled Tristan onto his back.
“Whiskey.” Michael held the crystal tumbler, not drinking from it.
“Okay.”
“Put your hands over your head,” said Michael, putting the drink down to fold one of Tristan's hands over the other as if he were going to catch a ball. Tristan's arms were bent at the elbows, his hands cupped above his head.
Tristan smiled. “What are you up to?”
“Just stay there.” Michael placed the tumbler in his hands. “And whatever you do, don't spill any, okay?”
“Okay,” said Tristan, the heavy glass resting on his open palms on the floor. “I won't.”
“No matter what I do.” Michael pinched his nipple in a hard, not unpleasant way, and followed it up with a lick of his slick tongue.
“
Oh
.” Tristan suddenly realized that holding the drink still might take some concentration.
Michael slid over Tristan, slipping his body between Tristan's legs. He held himself up on his elbows as he took his time kissing Tristan in a slow, sensuous dance of tongues and teeth and lips that trailed down to Tristan's neck and found the hollow at the base of his throat.
“I can feel your pulse beat against my lips,” said Michael, nipping at the skin there, sliding his unshaven cheek along it and abrading it a little with his beard. “Love the flavor of you,” said Michael. “You taste red.”
“Red?” said Tristan, holding the glass in his hands still, feeling the liquor warm from the heat of his palms.
“Mmmhmm. Or maybe pink. Tasty,” whispered Michael, working his way down to Tristan's nipples, lavishing attention on first one and then the other, until they stood out in stiff, warm peaks on Tristan's chest.
“Oh.” Tristan bit his lip and concentrated on keeping the glass upright as his hands began to shake.
“Yeah.” Michael kissed a burning path past the taut muscles on Tristan's chest to his abs. Michael tongued his navel thoroughly, while Tristan struggled, his muscles clenched to stay focused on his task. “Don't spill my drink, Sparky,” he warned.
“Tristan,” he gasped, his arms trembling. “Call me Tristan.”
“Tristan,” whispered Michael. He deliberately worked his way down Tristan's body, teasing first his cock, then his balls, and then his hole with a slick tongue, mounting an all-out assault on Tristan's senses, looking to melt the glass in his hands and catch the liquor in it on fire.