His Beloved Criminal (2 page)

He struggled for a moment, his mouth opening and closing several times before he turned to look her straight in the face. "He's done things, Nana," he said finally, softly. "I don't think the police would help."

The old woman's eyes widened and her mouth went slack, but then she recovered herself, shaking her head lightly and reaching out for him. His first instinct was to flinch away, even from the only family he could count on, the only person he really and truly had left after his parents kicked him out and his siblings all but shunned him, but he forced himself steady, his head bowed as he waited her judgment.

"You love him, Tristan," she said, and he nodded his head, drawing in a shaky breath. "Does he treat you right?"

A small smile lit on the corner of his mouth. "So good, Nana," he said. "I don't think it's even possible for him to treat me better."

"Well, then," she said briskly.

*

Tristan didn't know what to say. "Leave?" he whispered. "
Everything
?"

Nicolas nodded. "I've got new documentation for you, and the money to support us." He smiled self-deprecatingly, and ran his fingertips down Tristan's face, from his temple to the tip of his chin. "I want you to come with me, Tristan," he said. "But there's not much time, and if you don't leave with me now, I'm not certain when the next chance will come."

"N-now?"

Tristan was overwhelmed, all of his thoughts crowding together in his head, jumbling over one another like a writhing mass of - something - until he just couldn't make sense of it all. "How much time do I have?" he asked carefully.

Nicolas shrugged. "An hour, maybe two," he said, and looked away.

Tristan stepped back, pinching at the bridge of his nose and running his fingers through his hair. "I can't believe - I just - Now?" he said plaintively. He started to pace, then turned back suddenly. "If I do this," he said carefully, "If I go with you... I can't say goodbye, can I? I just say yes and that's - that's all there is. My job, my family, my friends, my apartment..."

Nicolas held his eyes and nodded his head. "Yeah," he said. "All of it."

Tristan slumped into the couch, his head going back on the rest, his eyes gazing unseeingly up at the dirty grey ceiling. "Can we ever come back?" he asked in a small voice.

It took Nicolas a minute to answer him. "Probably."

Tristan dragged in a ragged breath. Probably, but not definitely. No telling when.

He'd never thought about leaving before. Hadn't even gone to college out of state; sure, he wanted to travel, who didn't? but he'd never been farther away than the beach five hours to the south. His whole world was wrapped up in the tiny bookshop and the off white walls of his apartment, in the once a month Tuesdays he went out with his old friends for some Italian and some catch up, and the flowers he dutifully brought his Nana.

His Nana. His breath caught in his throat as he thought about maybe never seeing her again. She was old, already living in care. Could he be the sort of grandson who didn't come to say goodbye if she was dying? Who maybe didn't even know about her passing until she was long buried? He wasn't sure he'd even consider if it he was all she had, but one thing he knew for certain was that she wouldn't be alone... even though he was estranged from most of his family, they weren't estranged from her.

*

"When he comes back to you," Nana said, "you give him hell. And then you make sure he never leaves again."

Her eyes grew distant and sad. "Your Pap is with me every moment of the day, Tristan. I don't draw a single breath in my lungs without thinking of him."

*

He reached out for Nicolas, his fingertips brushing at the fabric of his trousers until he stepped closer and Tristan was able to pull him down beside him.

"If I go with you," he said seriously, "I need one concession."

"I'd give you the moon if I could manage it," Nicolas said quietly, and Tristan thought it embarrassed him to be so affectionate.

"I need to call my Nana," Tristan said. "I can't just leave without any word to her. She's - she's the closest family I have."

Nicolas grinned at him, his resignation melting away to reveal excitement in his eyes, his cheeks. Even his movements seemed peppier, barely constrained. "Done!" he said immediately. “Just wait until we’re closer to the airport,” he said.

"So," Tristan said. "Are we leaving right now, or..."

Nicolas looked down at the watch on his wrist. "It's too early to head to the airport," he said. "The plane is private, however..."

"I understand," Tristan said, somewhat shyly. He wanted to reach out to Nicolas, to touch and feel and taste him, but the earlier urgency and confusion was gone, and awkwardness was left in their place. They'd had nearly three months apart; it didn't feel easy and loose the way it did before he left. And even though he had made his decision, committed to it with a mess of butterflies fluttering around his belly and his head dizzy with too many thoughts, he knew that they would need time to work their way back from the broken trust and his fear that he'd wake up in the morning and Nicolas would have abandoned him again.

"I'm going to kiss you, now," Nicolas said firmly.

"Yes, please," Tristan agreed.

The kiss was firm and thorough. When Tristan's lips yielded to Nicolas', Nicolas reached up to guide him by the jaw, held him steady as he suckled at Tristan's tongue, nipped at Tristan's bottom lip. It didn't take long for Tristan to be swept away, his concerns fading to background noise as he shared breath with the man who was, quite honestly, the most important thing in his life. He let out a small whimper at the realization, and Nicolas pulled back just enough to grin at him. "Make noise for me, pet," he said, and chuckled when Tristan blushed.

"Nicolas," he said, half fond and half in exasperation, but Nicolas didn't pay him much mind; the older man's lips were already back at Tristan's skin, mouthing across his jaw, trailing to one side of his neck as his hand wrapped loosely around the other, his thumb pressed in gently at the hollow of Tristan's throat.

"Nicolas," Tristan said again, but it came out as a whimper this time, a needy whine. "Can we... I mean... Ian’s just outside!"

"Don't care," Nicolas said. "He'll be fine." He bit down at the juncture where Tristan's neck met his shoulder. "Tell me yes, Tristan," he muttered, and pulled back to meet his eyes. "Want you right now."

"I - " There was only one answer that Tristan wanted to give, but he could hardly make himself talk. "Yeah." His voice was raspy; he cleared his throat. "Yeah, Nicolas," he said.

"Good."

Tristan found himself pushed backward and down into the couch in no time at all, Nicolas' quick, efficient fingers stripping away his clothes. "Fuck," Nicolas muttered when Tristan was staring up at him, flushed and vulnerable, and bent to take one of Tristan's nipples in his mouth, suckling gently while his fingertips reached for the other, pinching violently.

Nicolas always did have a thing for extremes.

Tristan moaned, squirming; his bare cock dragging along the fabric of Nicolas' slacks. "Take them off," he muttered, pulling at the offending fabric. "Wanna suck you, Nic, can I? Please?"

"Yeah," Nicolas murmured. "That's - fuck yeah, baby." He undid the fastenings with one hand, kicking his trousers and underwear to the dirty floor. One hand went around his cock and he stroked it lightly; the other reached out to Tristan's hand and entwined their fingers, resting them on the back of the couch as he straddled Tristan's chest, close enough for Tristan to pout and glare at him balefully when the cock he wanted was just barely out of reach for his mouth.

"Nic, c'mon," he said. "Don't tease."

He inched forward, smirking, and yeah - this was familiar.

"Beg for me, baby," Nicolas said, and underneath the cocky command was just a tinge of uncertainty. The combination of it loosened something in Tristan's chest - the familiarity, the dominance Nicolas displayed had always been intoxicating to him, but having that confirmation that Nicolas was not unaffected by their time apart was what Tristan needed.

"Please, Nic," he murmured, thrusting his hips up in tiny movements. Nicolas wasn't sitting back far enough for there to be any friction, but it was the effect that counted. "Need to suck you. Need you in my mouth again. 'stoo long. Please, Nicolas!"

Nicolas' grip on his hand tightened fractionally, and then he was up, feeding Tristan his cock in jerking little stutters of his hips.

Tristan had never made very much pre-come until he was brought to the edge, but Nicolas always dripped with it. The flavor that exploded on Tristan's tongue was faintly sweet, with just an undertone of bitter, and it made his cheeks hurt when he couldn't help but smile around thick flesh.

He closed his eyes, his focus on his mouth, on the feel of Nicolas silky and smooth against his tongue, the weight of him in his mouth, the way he had to be careful to breathe. He sighed as he suckled at him, his cheeks hollowing as he tongued at that one spot that made Nicolas moan and buck into his mouth, driving him deeper.

It was too soon when Nicolas pulled off of him, and Tristan whined as he strained his head upward, chasing after Nicolas' cock, but Nicolas just smiled and pressed his fingertips to Tristan's forehead, urging him back down. "My turn," he promised before sprawling atop him and kissing him, diving into his mouth fiercely before nipping at Tristan's jaw and sliding down his body, awkwardly positioning Tristan on the couch and kneeling himself on the floor so that he had enough leverage to get his own face between Tristan's thighs. 

He rubbed his cheek against the inside of Tristan's leg, the scruff of his beard catching on the skin, and his hands spreading Tristan's legs with practiced movement. "There's no time to do this properly," he lamented, but Tristan shook his head.

"Don't care," he said. "Want you."

"I'll make it up to you," Nicolas promised him warmly, before dragging his tongue up Tristan's crease and lapping at the tight pucker he found there.

The first time Nicolas ate him out, Tristan had been worried that he saw him as some sort of manly girl. Tristan was already deferential in their relationship, basked in the way Nicolas took care of him and commanded them, even if he was at first uncomfortable in the role of the submissive partner. But it wasn't that. Nicolas just had a thing about rimming. He liked to do it, could very easily keep Tristan trembling on the tip of his tongue for hours. Nicolas'd sat him down one day and explained it, the feel of Tristan against his mouth and the little whimpers, the mewling cries that Nicolas insisted Tristan didn't make any other time. And when Tristan let himself go, he, too, became hedonistic about it. He loved falling apart under Nicolas' ministrations, loved the way Nicolas grunted when he pressed back in against his face or the way he couldn't help but grow loose and pliant for him.

When he went to muffle his moans, Nicolas bit him, the sharp pinch at his thigh a warning. "Let me hear you," Nicolas demanded, and then he was back at Tristan's hole, his tongue coaxing him open, laving over his opening only to press the tip inside.

"Ah - ah - ah!" The moans spilled from Tristan's lips without thought, his hips moving restlessly. It wasn't enough, never enough, and when Nicolas sat back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand he keened at the loss of sensation.

But Nicolas wasn't done. He reached out for his trousers, pulling a packet of lube and a condom from the pocket, and let out a moan himself when he felt Tristan tight around the two fingers he eased inside him.

He didn't waste any time during the prep - two fingers twisted and stretched Tristan, brushing against his prostate enough to have him moan and push back onto Nicolas' fingers even through the slight burn. There'd been no one else, and even the toys that Nicolas had bought for him had gone largely unused while Tristan dealt with the depression he'd been in.

"Add another," he choked out, and Nicolas did. When Tristan reached out for his own cock, Nicolas smacked his hand away with barely a blip in the rhythm he'd set his fingers to.

"Nicolas!" Tristan whined, but Nicolas' face was stern.

"You're going to come on my cock," he said.

"Then put it in already!"

It took no time at all for Nicolas to fit the condom to his cock, and then he was pushing inside. Tristan clutched at his forearms where they came down on either side of him, his eyes blown wide with need and his teeth worrying at his bottom lip even as he gasped at the fullness.

Even though Nicolas was the one inside him, it felt like he was coming home.

*

They were going to fly to Canada via private plane, and from there Tristan wasn't sure where Nicolas would take them. Ian drove them, his eyes cutting to the rearview mirror every few minutes to check their surroundings and anyone who seemed a bit too familiar.

A few moments before they reached the airport, Nicolas handed Tristan a disposable cell. "Go ahead and call her," he said, so Tristan picked up the phone and tapped out her number with trembling fingers.

The phone rang once, twice. He had a moment of panic that it would just ring until it hit her answering machine; that he wouldn't actually be able to say a proper goodbye, but he breathed out a sigh of relief when his father picked up the phone and roughly asked who was calling.

"Put Nana on the phone," he said quickly.

"You'll have to call back later," his father said, and Tristan set his jaw. The chances that she were truly unavailable were miniscule; his father was notorious for not wanting his visits interrupted, but frankly, he didn't give a shit.

He glanced over at Nicolas – Nicolas, who made him feel strong. "No," he said. "I don't care that you don't like me. I don't even care that you're a shit father and that we'll probably never have a happy family memory together ever again. But I didn't call to speak to you, and this will only take a minute. So put her. On the phone.
Now
."