Off the Ice

by Avon Gale

  Tristan’s mom pulled out of his embrace and lifted her apron to dry her face. “Nothing at all. Tristan just told me Sebastian is his boyfriend, and I was telling him how happy I was to know he had someone special.” She stared hard at Tristan’s father as if daring him to contradict her.

  His father appeared completely stunned. “Uh,” he said eventually. “Of course we’re, um, happy to hear that. That’s... Well, that’s great.”

  Tristan swallowed and looked between them. “Are you disappointed?”

  His father shook his head immediately. “No. No. Of course not. I can’t say I’m not surprised, but...” He moved forward and tugged Tristan into a rough hug. “You couldn’t disappoint me, son. Not about this. I’m glad you felt like you could tell us.”

  Tristan bit his lip. “It wasn’t easy.”

  “I don’t imagine it was,” his father said.

  His mother joined their embrace. “We support you. I’ll tell Hannah and Brian, if you want me to.”

  Tristan shook his head. “I’ll tell them myself, but thank you.” He inhaled shakily. “And now I’m going to talk to Seb ’cause I... I need a minute with him. Okay?”

  His parents nodded. Then his mom smiled crookedly. “Take all the time you need. I’ll get back to cooking. Come eat when you’re ready.”

  Tristan left the kitchen, his relief at their response making him feel buoyant. It hadn’t been without some awkwardness, sure, and there’d probably be more to come. He wasn’t naïve enough to think he could drop a bomb like this on his parents’ heads without there being an adjustment period. But it hadn’t gone anywhere near as badly as he’d feared, and now that he’d spoken to his parents, he wasn’t overly concerned about his siblings’ reactions. They were his family too, and he knew his sister at least had a few LGBT kids in her friend circle. They wouldn’t disappoint him. He had faith.

  Tristan scrubbed the drying tears from his cheeks and went to find his boyfriend.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sebastian had never spent the holidays with a boyfriend’s parents before, which was something that had occurred to him the very first night he spent in the Holts’ home. The guest room was perfectly fine, a nice double bed with far too many pillows and pictures in old frames on the wall of the Holt siblings in various stages of growing up. The ones of Tristan, gap-toothed and holding a hockey stick, had made him smile briefly before he turned out the light.

  Knowing Tristan was in the other room and they were sleeping apart had not made him smile, but only because he missed Tristan’s warmth—especially since it was freezing—beside him. He’d like to think that would be the only night he’d have to sleep alone, but he knew that wasn’t a given. Just because Tristan planned to come out to his parents didn’t mean that they’d be comfortable with their son sharing a bed with an unmarried partner.

  Tristan appeared after his conversation, face red and eyes wet, but the tension had eased in his tall frame. He smiled, a little wobbly, but it was enough for Sebastian to know that things had gone well. He finished his run and turned off the treadmill, adjusting for the strange sensation of climbing off the moving belt and being on solid, nonmoving ground.

  “Everything all right?” He was certain he knew the answer, but he wanted to ask.

  Tristan nodded. “I think they were surprised.” He gave a laugh, the first honest one Sebastian had heard from him in a while. “Except I’m not sure they don’t think we—” He cleared his throat and flashed a grin.

  “Hooked up while you were a student?” Sebastian finished. He took a long drink from the water bottle he’d brought, his breathing gradually slowing. He wasn’t surprised. While it was way too uncomfortable to even think about telling Tristan’s parents straight-up: Don’t worry, I didn’t hook up with your son when he was my student, he was hoping they’d get enough of a sense of him that they wouldn’t think that.

  “I mean, it’s fine,” Tristan assured him, a little too fast. “I don’t think they’re gonna call the GSU Sociology Department and report you or anything.”

  Mildly irritated, Sebastian frowned. “That has nothing to do with it. They’re your parents. I don’t want them to think that’s the kind of man I am, the kind of man their son is involved with.”

  Tristan moved into his personal space, apparently not minding that Sebastian was covered in sweat. “Lighten up, Professor,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss him. “You want some breakfast? Actual breakfast too. Not a protein shake.”

  “I’m not the one who thinks protein shakes count as food,” Sebastian retorted, kissing him back. He settled his hands on Tristan’s hips, pulling him closer—not enough to get him covered in sweat, which seemed like it might make for an embarrassing breakfast. “I’m glad it went all right. Anything I should know before we go up there?”

  “Nah. Just be yourself. Maybe with, like, ten percent less scowling, though. They might not find it as hot as I do.”

  Sebastian raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. He did want Tristan’s parents to like him if for no other reason than it would make Tristan’s life easier. “All right. I’ll take a shower first, though. I stink.”

  “You think my mom isn’t used to sweaty guys at her breakfast table?” Tristan teased, kissing him again. He pulled away with a laugh at the look Sebastian gave him. “Fine, shower. There’s clean towels in the linen closet.”

  Resisting the urge to ask Tristan where else he thought Sebastian would expect to find towels, Sebastian went upstairs and cleaned up. Breakfast was relatively painless, with Tristan’s parents asking him the usual questions about where he was from, if he had siblings, the usual sort. They didn’t ask about Tristan being his student, and they weren’t giving him suspicious death glares, either. Talking about his newfound appreciation for hockey was a safe subject, as was hearing stories about Tristan as a kid.

  It was a pleasant day, and Sebastian found himself gradually relaxing around the Holts’ warm, genuine presence. Tristan’s brother and sister, who’d clearly been briefed about the situation, were completely at ease with the two of them being a couple. After dinner, while they were all in the kitchen cleaning up, they even teased Sebastian, although good-naturedly, about him having been Tristan’s professor.

  “Is that how you got an A?” Hannah asked outrageously, batting her eyes at Tristan.

  “A-minus,” Sebastian put in, straight-faced, and Hannah laughed.

  “So you’re an only child?” Brian asked, drying a plate with a dishtowel. He wasn’t quite as tall as Tristan, and his stature was a bit stockier, but the family resemblance was clear. Brian was a nice guy, clearly in line to take over the farm when Tom decided to retire.

  “Lucky,” Hannah said, depositing a few glasses in the sink for Sebastian to wash.

  “I do have a lot of cousins,” Sebastian offered. “Catholics, and all that.”

  “And they’re okay—” Hannah cleared her throat. “Wow, sorry, that was about to be really rude of me.”

  “With me being gay?” Sebastian asked. “I don’t mind talking about it. And they’re...as accepting as I think it’s possible for them to be. Some of my other family members refuse to let me in the door, so.”

  “Are they gonna be nice to my brother?” Hannah demanded. “Like, if you bring him to family stuff?”

  “Han,” Tristan chastised. “You’re way too old for bratty-little-sister mode.”

  “No, it’s all right.” Sebastian dried his hands and turned toward Hannah. “She has a right to ask, Tris. And to be concerned about you.” He noticed with amusement that both Tristan’s siblings were looking at him as if he were giving a lecture. “I wouldn’t bring him to extended-family functions, but not because it might make them uncomfortable. It’s not about them at all.”

  “Aw.” Hannah flashed him a grin almost identical to Tristan’s. “Good answer.” She patted Sebastian on the shoul
der. “Then you guys can come here for the holidays. No problem.”

  “Okay, Mom,” Tristan joked, rolling his eyes. The conversation slipped into other things, namely Hannah asking for some donations from Tristan for her hockey team fund-raiser.

  “It would be super awesome if we could have some signed jerseys.” She grinned. “Can I have one from Ryu Mori? He is so hot. And he’s putting up way better numbers than Norell.”

  Tristan smiled. “Sure.” Sebastian knew there was a signed Mori jersey in his bag. His sister’s crush on the Venom’s backup goalie was not news to Tristan, who’d told Sebastian about it with a rueful shake of his head.

  Filled with affection for his boyfriend, happy that things had gone well and that his siblings had no problem accepting the two of them as a couple, Sebastian leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Tristan’s mouth. Tristan’s smile was bright enough that it might be able to melt the metric fuck-ton of snow falling outside the Holts’ house.

  Sebastian would not be sad to leave the weather behind and go back to the relatively mild temperatures of an Atlanta winter, that was for sure.

  After the dishes were done, they watched a Christmas special in the living room. Sebastian sat next to Tristan on the couch, but Tristan didn’t have enough room for his usual sprawl so he wasn’t lying with his head in Sebastian’s lap. He also might not have been comfortable showing affection in front of his parents, but a few minutes into A Christmas Carol (Sebastian refrained from giving his opinion about how the beloved Dickens classic was a satire about the strict class divide in Victorian-era London), he felt Tristan’s head rest on his shoulder, his fingers finding Sebastian’s and wrapping tight around them.

  Tom and Priscilla might have been avoiding looking at them, but Sebastian had the feeling they were simply trying to be accepting and not stare. He was glad. Tristan clearly had come by his good nature and big heart honestly.

  God, you are so infatuated.

  With the lights sparkling off the Christmas tree, the probably-a-satire-but-vaguely-uplifting movie in the background, and the warmth of an accepting and loving family... Sebastian couldn’t find it in himself to mind.

  * * *

  Christmas morning was full of good cheer, coffee, and a lot of wrapping paper. Tristan’s parents exclaimed over the elegantly wrapped presents Tristan had brought with him, and he’d sheepishly admitted the artistry was all Sebastian.

  “I figured.” Priscilla grinned, sipping her coffee. “Tristan would go through six rolls of wrapping paper for three presents.”

  Sebastian snorted. “I let him wrap one, then told him to go do some sit-ups and let me take over.”

  Tristan finished passing out the gifts and settled on the floor at Sebastian’s feet, his back pressed against Sebastian’s legs. Sebastian felt a bit awkward about the whole thing, though pleased that Tom liked the vintage sign Sebastian had gotten him (on Tristan’s recommendation), and Priscilla loved the set of butterfly wind chimes. The Holts were a bit abashed at not having gotten him anything, though of course it was understandable. Why would they have? They hadn’t even known his name, much less that he was Tristan’s boyfriend.

  “Well, next year we’ll be sure to fix that.” Priscilla patted his shoulder. Sebastian was a little overwhelmed by the casual physical affection. He’d barely gotten used to it with Tristan, much less four other people. “What are some of your interests?”

  “He likes running and action movies,” Tristan said, a bit quickly. Sebastian shot him a sly smile. Did he think Sebastian was going to answer with something embarrassing? “And, uh, Daddy Yankee.”

  Silence filled the room. Sebastian bit his lip but couldn’t help snickering. Tristan looked mortified, his face on fire.

  “He’s a singer,” Sebastian offered as an explanation. “He’s Puerto Rican. Like me.”

  Hannah, dressed in pajama pants and her new, signed Mori jersey, perked up at that. “Oh, does that mean you speak Spanish?”

  “Hannah,” Priscilla tsked. She gave Sebastian a worried glance, as if her daughter might have insulted him by asking him that.

  “I do,” Sebastian answered. “And it’s all right. I’m trying to teach your brother.” He grinned over at Tristan. “He’s better at sociology.”

  “Sooo,” Hannah asked, making a spot for herself next to Sebastian. “If I had some Spanish homework that was due right after break—”

  “My boyfriend is not doing your homework,” Tristan interrupted, swatting playfully at his sister. “Believe me. He gave me an A-minus.”

  “You earned an A-minus,” Sebastian retorted, rubbing a hand over Tristan’s hair. Tristan stuck his tongue out, and Sebastian was suddenly very glad they were leaving in the morning. Tristan would be heading out on a long road trip shortly after they got back, and he wanted to have some time together before that happened.

  Later that night, when they were getting ready for bed, Tristan said, “I like how you didn’t tell them the Spanish you’re teaching me is all dirty words and sex talk.” He was sitting cross-legged on the bed in his pajamas and no shirt, freshly showered since they had to leave at the ass-crack of dawn to get to the airport.

  “You’re calling my mother tongue ‘dirty words and sex talk,’ Mr. Holt?” Sebastian crossed his arms and gave Tristan his “professor stare.”

  “You aren’t teaching me anything I can say in public.” Tristan’s eyes ran over Sebastian. “And stop giving me that look unless you can handle what it does to me.”

  Sebastian, who had moved on to examining the plethora of trophies in Tristan’s room, raised his eyebrows. “When haven’t I handled it?” He picked up one of the trophies, frowning at the top and trying to make out what it was a trophy for. “This doesn’t have a hockey stick on it.”

  “My boyfriend, the professor,” Tristan said. “Mind like a steel trap.”

  Sebastian gave him a stern look. “My boyfriend, the smart-ass. With an ass that clearly needs to be spanked.”

  Tristan’s eyes gleamed and he shifted on the bed. “Clearly.”

  There was no way he was spanking Tristan in his childhood bedroom. To give himself a moment to calm down, he waved the trophy again. “What’s this for?”

  “Um.” Tristan laughed sheepishly. “The spelling bee. In third grade.”

  It was so wonderfully, perfectly Tristan. Sebastian smiled. “Of course it is. Third place, huh? You know you got that A-minus because you misspelled ‘sociology’ on your final.”

  “What? I did not!”

  Sebastian put the trophy down and crossed the room. He climbed on the bed and Tristan was all over him, playful smile and warm skin, making Sebastian think about things he really, really shouldn’t think about. “You didn’t. If I took off points for spelling, three people would have passed my class.”

  “I’d be one of them,” Tristan huffed, settling his weight over Sebastian’s lap. Tristan’s dick was hard in his pajama pants. So was Sebastian’s. Maybe it’d been better to sleep alone. Sleeping with Tristan when he couldn’t touch him was driving Sebastian crazy.

  “Yeah. B-minus, C-plus,” Sebastian teased, putting a hand around the back of Tristan’s neck. He tugged him down to kiss him. “You have to get off me. No sex in your childhood bed, Tris.”

  “I love when you call me that.” Tristan kissed at his neck. “And we don’t have to fuck, but you can still make out with me. Geez, Seb. It’s Christmas.”

  Sebastian gave a low laugh, which turned into a moan as Tristan rubbed his cock lazily against Sebastian’s. “Tris.”

  “Yeah?” Tristan licked at his ear. “You want something, Seb?”

  Sebastian wanted a lot of things. His hands slid down and curved over the hard muscles of Tristan’s ass, pulling Tristan forward to grind on his cock. “You’re the one who wants to defile your childhood bedroom.”

  Tristan snorted, starting a sl
ow, lazy undulation of his hips that had Sebastian’s eyes rolling back in his head. “‘Defile’? This poor bed is long overdue. It was just me and my hand for all those years.”

  This should not be turning him on, and he should not be doing this. It wasn’t stopping Sebastian from thrusting his hips up, entranced at the idea of Tristan touching himself, biting his lip in the dark and trying to be quiet. “Fuck,” he rasped, kissing Tristan roughly to silence his moan.

  “Tell me how to say ‘suck me’ in Spanish,” Tristan murmured when they moved apart to breath.

  “Chupame,” Sebastian said.

  “Since you asked so nice.” Tristan grinned and moved down his body. “Shhh. This’ll be good, I promise.”

  Sebastian knew that, and he figured they were too far gone by now to stop anyway. So he tilted his hips up and let Tristan pull his pajamas down enough to free his cock. It was a fast, sloppy blowjob, messy but so, so good. Sebastian held Tristan to him with one hand in his hair, letting him control the pace and the depth, not wanting to make Tristan choke—even though it would’ve been hot—because of the noise.

  He bit back his moan when he came, and the effort of trying to be quiet made his orgasm more intense, colors bright behind his eyes and his muscles tensed and shaking. When he finally trusted himself to open his eyes, it was to see Tristan looking very smug and flopping on his back next to him on the bed.

  “How was that, Professor Cruz?”

  “A-plus, Mr. Holt.” Sebastian was still trying to catch his breath. Tristan’s cock was tenting his pants, and breathing became even harder for Sebastian when Tristan slipped his hand inside and started stroking himself through the fabric.

  “Chupame,” Tristan said, grinning at him. “Uh. Please. Por favor.”

  His Spanish accent was terrible, but they could work on it.

  Sebastian moved down the bed, tugging Tristan’s pants off and getting in place over him. “Your blowjobs are better than your Spanish.”

  “Lucky for me,” Tristan murmured.