“That's so good, Sparky,” said Michael. He patted Tristan's head where it lay on his thigh, where Tristan watched his hand gliding in and out of his lover's body. Tristan couldn't take his eyes away, watching his fingers, watching Michael's cock jerk as he stroked him from the inside. It was the hottest thing Tristan had ever seen. He slicked up the third finger and slid it past the tight ring of muscle to join the first two.
Michael moaned and thrashed a little, his head going side to side as he rocked against Tristan's hand. “Yes,” he sighed. “Sparky,
yes
.” He caressed Tristan's hair with the same rhythm Tristan was using to stroke him. His hips lifted and jerked as he took Tristan's fingers inside and squeezed them so tightly Tristan thought he'd die with longing to feel that on his cock. He wiggled his hand experimentally, curving his fingers upward, and Michael's hips shot off the bed. Michael bit down hard on his lower lip.
“Found it,” said Tristan, hitting it again and again, as Michael writhed and moaned beneath him.
“Sparky!” Michael cried out, his voice a warning and a plea. “Now,
please
.”
Tristan opened the condom package and wasted no time getting it rolled over his cock. “I'm going to…you know…” said Tristan. “Coming in, okay?”
“Go,” said Michael, between clenched teeth.
Tristan pushed into him, each second of resistance followed by each exquisite sensation of yielding adding to the fire already burning inside his body.
“
Michael
,” hissed Tristan, kissing his lips and moving slowly inside him. He pulled out, almost his whole length, and then pushed back in, loving the feel of the tight channel embracing his hypersensitive cock. Michael rippled and trembled beneath him, the sensation, the squeezing heat like nothing he'd ever experienced.
“Hard, Sparky,” said Michael. “Push me hard…I want to feel you tomorrow…next week.”
Tristan responded by setting up a rhythm of hard, sharp, shallow thrusts, changing his angle till he felt that jolt of pleasure go through Michael as it had done when he'd used his fingers.
“My name is Tristan,” he said over a particularly aggressive jab. “Call. Me. Tristan,” he said, using his body for punctuation.
As Tristan nailed Michael's gland time and time again, Michael started to call out to him, closing his eyes and stroking his own cock, pushing back hard against Tristan, urging him on with a litany of words, some sexy, some vulgar, and some that were just nonsense.
Tristan pounded into him, his balls slapping against Michael's ass crack. Looking for a better angle, Michael moved his legs over Tristan's shoulders without losing contact, which allowed Tristan to watch as Michael stroked himself sensually as if his pleasure was building along with Tristan's.
“Good,” grunted Tristan. “So good. Come for me, Michael. Come on my cock, let me see it.” He wanted to see that beautiful dick come rockets of hot liquid on Michael's tan stomach. The thought made his eyes cross and his flesh burn. He wanted to see that…could already smell it and taste it on his tongue.
“
Tristan
,” cried Michael, looking him right in the eye. “Harder… Harder, Tristan…”
Tristan slammed home, and Michael came in his own hand, the white cream ribboning onto his chest. Michael's head dropped back, and his eyes closed as he bit his lip so hard he drew blood.
Tristan was a goner as soon as he saw Michael come. Nothing could have prepared him for how beautiful Michael became when he slipped over the edge in pleasure. “Michael.” Tristan's hips snapped harder in response, his rhythm broken, his hips jerking of their own volition.
Michael's hole fluttered around him, his muscles clenching as he rode his release.
“So beautiful…Michael… You are so beautiful…” Tristan filled the latex a short second later, feeling the heat swirl around him inside Michael's body, burning him alive.
His energy gone, Tristan collapsed, still inside Michael, letting the man's legs fall gently to the bed. Sticky warmth squeezed between them. Without thinking, he kissed and licked Michael's lips where they'd been bitten, feeling the warm blood on his tongue.
“Michael,” said Tristan with wonder, tasting blood and salty, sweaty skin and something unknown that was just Michael. He hissed as his limp cock slid from Michael's body.
Rolling with him, Michael held him fast, not responding as words were inadequate to describe how he felt. Instead, he wrapped himself around Tristan, showing him with his body that it was good. He put a hand between them, slipping the latex off Tristan's cock, tying it off and throwing it in the trash. He felt Tristan sigh where he lay bonelessly in his arms.
The intensity of the experience rolled over Michael in waves. He stroked and rocked Tristan in a state of slight shock, still trembling in the aftermath of the best orgasm of his life. He had meant, as the older, wiser, and more experienced of the two, to show Tristan the ropes, as it were, to aid him and build his confidence. He clung to Tristan even as he closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. Life was full of irony. This boy, this cocky college sophomore with his freckled, white baby hands and soft-as-a-girl's skin owned him.
Owned him
.
It was a lot to take in.
Michael sighed, realizing that Tristan's breathing was even, and his facial features were lax and childlike. Michael kissed his sleeping lover, stroking the silky red hair off his face. He'd be damned if he'd stare at that beautiful sleeping face all night, he thought. Yet, Michael yawned, maybe just for a few more minutes, so he could commit this to memory, in case.
Just a few more minutes
…
By three in the morning Michael knew he wasn't going to sleep and that his study of the boy/man sleeping beside him was bordering on the obsessive. He decided to get up and grab a snack, maybe something they could both eat in bed, and move the laundry from the washer into the dryer. He fixed a quick plate of things to nibble, cheese and meats and some veggies with ranch dressing. He padded around the house, checking locks and windows. Picking up the food and a couple of water bottles, Michael finally returned to the bedroom.
When he entered it was to find Tristan sitting up in bed with the blanket around his shoulders. Michael placed the food on the nightstand and climbed in beside him.
“All right?” he asked.
When he didn't get an answer, he put his hand on Tristan's shoulder, only to find it icy and trembling. Tristan's whole body shook under his touch, and concerned now, Michael drew an unresisting Tristan to him. The boy melted into his warmth, sinking into him like a frightened animal.
“Hey,” said Michael, stroking his hair. “Hey.” When Tristan didn't answer him, he asked gently, “Regrets?”
“
Iacta alea est
.” Tristan buried his face in Michael's neck. “Go figure. I remember that on the night when I'm having the hottest sex of my life.”
“Really? The hottest sex of your life?” Michael grinned, but when Tristan growled at him a little, he tightened his arms. “I…what does it mean? Beyond habeas corpus and ex post facto, I'm a little weak in Latin.”
“It means 'the die has been cast.'” Tristan was shaking less, and Michael, taking this as a good sign, kept him talking. “That's what people say when they've done something…irrevocable.”
“You know, people don't really say that, Sparky,” he couldn't help mentioning. “It's kind of…”
“Obscure, I know. I'm babbling.” He took a deep breath. Michael just stroked his back in circles, keeping contact. Tristan leaned into his touch, soaking it in like a sponge. “I've crossed the Rubicon,” he sighed. “It was a World Civilization multiple choice question. A. Crossed the Rubicon, B. Played with dice. C. I'm babbling again, aren't I?”
Michael digested this, wondering what to say, wanting to say the perfect thing even though his heart was breaking.
This
was why he rarely dated men who weren't already openly gay, he thought briefly.
“You got off with a guy—you didn't start a civil war. Nothing we did tonight is anything you haven't already done with a girl. You said it yourself, right? Different holes. You haven't been invaded, you haven't…well, you just haven't.” He closed his mouth, thinking that was probably his best option at this point. Regrets…well, they happened, didn't they?
He got up to light the stove and take the chill off the air, and because it gave him something to do. It was a gas log, so all he had to do was turn a key and light it with a stick lighter. When he returned to Tristan, the boy had tears running down his face.
Shit
.
“Oh, hey, Tristan,” he sighed. “I'm so sorry, I didn't…I shouldn't have…”
“Shut up, will you? I'm having a moment here.” He burrowed back into Michael's arms, and Michael held him, his chin on Tristan's head.
“I can move to the couch,” said Michael. “Or set you up in there.”
“You aren't going anywhere.” Tristan tightened his hold on Michael.
“Okay…well. Can we have your moment together, then? I'm in the dark here.” Michael sighed.
“Sorry.” Tristan looked over at the nightstand. “Is that food?” He crawled over to take the plate and a bottle of water. He rearranged the pillows and sat with his back to the headboard, still wrapped in the blankets. Holding out the second bottle of water, he motioned Michael over. Warily, Michael came to him, sitting next to Tristan, their shoulders touching. Tristan smiled at him around a piece of sharp cheddar cheese, and he was reminded why he'd taken a chance with him in the first place.
“”What's going on in that head of yours, and how can I help?” he said finally, giving in to the urge to take a couple of carrots and some celery for himself.
“Didn't you have a moment?” Tristan asked him. “Didn't it all yawn out widely before you that the path you chose was leading you someplace completely foreign?” This time he staked claim to a bite of salami. “If I eat this, will you still kiss me?”
Michael snorted. “Yep.”
“So, anyway, I'm thinking, okay, there goes the wedding, the kids, the grandkids, and most of the public displays of affection. There goes that shot at socially sanctioned relationships, married filing jointly, being a soccer dad, watching my babies get born.” His eyes glistened with tears that began to fall just as he said the word babies. “I saw my little brothers get born.”
Michael put an arm around him. “It doesn't have to mean anything, Sparky. It's just one night.”