“Oh!” he gasped as he sat for a moment in shock. “Ooooh,” he said again, more quietly, closing his eyes. He began, tentatively, to move.
Michael thought he’d never seen anything more awesome in his life. Tristan in the firelight, riding his cock, became the fire, the orange glow lighting his amazing straight, shiny red hair until it luminesced as if it were light itself. Michael could see the crimson stain of arousal creeping up Tristan’s neck and staining his cheeks a dull red. He put his hands on Tristan’s thighs, sliding them up to his hips, waiting, watching for the boy to start his ride. He felt Tristan’s muscles relax around his cock, no longer squeezing the life out of him, but undulating, as if Tristan was testing out his own body, exploring the sensation without beginning to move.
It seemed an eternity passed in the hushed living room, the fire snapping and crackling the only sound besides their breathing, when Tristan began to move. He opened his eyes first, reaching out to touch Michael’s face tentatively with what Michael privately thought of as his baby fingers. The sweetness of his touch made Michael want to close his eyes, to lean into the delicate embrace, but as soon as he did, Tristan gave his jaw a squeeze.
“Do not take your eyes off me, Michael,” he commanded, and suddenly, Michael wanted very much to obey. The irony of a total newbie who could dominate him while he took it up the ass didn’t go unnoticed. It simply sucked his brain out until he belonged to the boy, and if Tristan said jump, he would beg for the privilege of saying how high.
“Yes,” he said hoarsely, clearing his throat. “Yes, Tristan.”
Tristan moved then, using his strong thighs to lift himself off Michael and gravity to slam him back down a little, shocking the air right out of Michael’s lungs in a whoosh that surprised him. “Going to take you there,” said Tristan, now lifting the hair off his sweaty shoulders. “Take you wherever you want to go…”
“Yeah,” choked Michael. “Hell yeah, baby, only you…” he panted, gripping Tristan’s ass so hard he was sure to feel it the next day. It was as if Michael could taste him on the air, the smell of sex and skin and fresh apples teasing all his senses until his focus narrowed to the two of them, and nothing else existed.
“Only me…” whispered Tristan, dropping his hair. He slid his hands down his body, touching all the juicy parts on the way, and it drove Michael crazy. “When I touched myself this week, I pictured you,” he said. “Your hands, your lips, your tongue. Touch me?” He put Michael’s hands on his cock and held them there as he moved faster and faster, up and down, his tight asshole gripping and squeezing until Michael could hardly breathe.
Michael began to move his hands under Tristan’s, pumping Tristan’s cock, his hands gripping, pulling, and teasing the slit until Tristan writhed and clenched around him like a fist. He shifted Tristan a little, making him gasp and shudder as he pushed his cock against Tristan’s gland again and again and again.
“Baby,” croaked Michael. “I’m going to…Tristan!”
He pumped Tristan’s cock harder and felt it swell and harden like a stone in his hands, felt Tristan’s balls pull up and his hole flutter as he shot jets of cum on Michael’s chest and face. Michael followed him over the edge, yanking him down onto his cock until he was crushed beneath Tristan, moaning as he felt heat flood the latex, his body jerking and shuddering completely out of his control.
“Yesssss,” hissed Tristan. “Yesssss…Michael…oh…sweet!” He reached for Michael, gathering him close.
Softening and slipping out of Tristan’s body, Michael removed the condom and tied it off. He tossed it over his head somewhere, vaguely aware that it would probably be just yuck in the morning when he found it again. He couldn’t stop touching Tristan, rubbing against him, stroking his back and his face and his cheeks. His hands roamed over the sweet body beside his, while Tristan just looked at him with honest blue eyes.
“Damn, Michael,” Tristan whispered. “What happens to me when I’m with you?”
Michael smiled and ruffled Tristan’s hair. “I have no clue,” he said. “But I’m keeping you.” Tristan licked a drip of cum off Michael’s face and then kissed him. Michael tasted Tristan and apple and intimacy. He groaned and held him closer.
“Oh, keep me,” moaned Tristan. “Please, please, keep me.” He pressed hard against Michael’s side, wrapping his arms around Michael’s neck. “Never felt like that. Not ever.”
“Me neither, never before you.” It didn’t matter if he said it or not, thought Michael, who didn’t believe in playing lover’s games anyway. “It’s as if my whole life started at Borders last week when I looked into your eyes and thought…maybe.”
“Yeah…maybe…” Tristan smiled. Michael kissed each of his eyes in turn and sighed. His Sparky was drifting, melting into him, and starting to breathe deeply and evenly.
“Love you,” he whispered, when he was sure Tristan was sound asleep. “Love you so much, Sparky.” He didn’t play games, but maybe he’d hold on to that a little longer by himself. “Love you…”
Sighing, Michael drifted off to sleep himself.
* * * * *
The fire was cold, and Michael was alone on the futon when he awoke. He found the clock on the wall and discovered it was barely six in the morning. Somewhere in the house, water was running, and he got up to find the source of the noise. When he got to the bathroom, Tristan was just getting out of the shower. He looked so gorgeous standing there that for a minute Michael just sucked in a breath and stared at him. Michael handed him a large, fluffy towel.
“Hey, baby,” said Michael, wrapping his arms around Tristan, who shyly covered his nudity. “What’s up?”
Tristan tucked his head into Michael’s neck. “Nothing,” said Tristan, like a guilty grammar school kid. “Last night was pretty intense, huh?”
Michael’s blood froze. “Hey…regrets?” He couldn’t bear it if Tristan said yes. Please, oh, please, he thought, don’t say yes.
“Oh, hell no, that was the best.”
Michael breathed a sigh of relief. “Then what?” he asked, helping to fuzzle Tristan’s long hair dry with the towel.
“It’s like I have no idea who I am anymore,” said Tristan. “Who the hell was that?”
“I don’t know, but he’s like…the porn fairy…and I’m not letting him get away.” Michael grinned. “You are so hot, Tristan. Made me see stars.”
“Liked that, did you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe we’ll have to try again. For reference, you know. Establish a control group.”
“Oh, hey, I can do control,” said Tristan. “Although before last night, I wouldn’t have said…”
“Yeah…damn, baby.” Michael sighed.
“You shower, and I’ll make breakfast. You’ve got stuff to cook?”
“Of course. No running the water in the kitchen while I shower, though, or I’m the one that’s going to get cooked.”
“Gotcha. Never fear, if I forget, I’ll just clarify some butter, in case you get boiled like a lobster.”
“Um, that actually sounds…kind of hot,” Michael said, thinking of being buttered.
“Fine, I’m on it.” He left the bathroom, grinning at Michael’s half-hard cock.
Michael turned on the water, wishing he could have showered with Tristan, but as he got in and the water pounded his slightly sore muscles, he thought a little “me” time was probably good for both of them. For a moment there, he’d thought Tristan regretted… It was amazing how one smile from Tristan could change how he felt about everything. He used a scrubby puff to soap up, liking the scrape and scratch of the nylon against his sensitive skin. After the night he’d had with Tristan, every cell in his body was awake and on fire.
Water ran over Michael’s head, rinsing shampoo out of his hair. The little knots of tension in his body eased. In here with his private thoughts, he could acknowledge that he was a goner where Tristan was concerned. He was in love, deeply, for the first time. As if fate were playing a sick joke, t
he water turned cold just as he admitted that to himself, and he cursed, turning it off. He toweled off, glad the mirrors were steamy so he couldn’t see his face. In his room, Michael put on the casual clothes he reserved for Saturday mornings, adding an extra long-sleeved T-shirt for warmth, and went to find Tristan.
Tristan was in the well-lit kitchen, wearing an apron, oven mitts, boxer briefs, and a shameless smile. He was dancing to music from the small under-cabinet radio Michael kept for listening to the news. Toast popped in the toaster, and Tristan, still dancing, buttered it, slicing and arranging it on a plate. He didn’t notice Michael standing in the doorway at first, and when he did, he stopped in his tracks, holding the butter knife like a shield.
“Hey, how long have you…” That gorgeous blush once again stained him.
“Long enough to see that the ‘porn fairy’ is in the hizzle.”
“Oh.” Tristan looked down.
“To date, this is my very best morning ever.”
“Really?”
“Mmmhmm.” Michael leaned against the doorframe to watch. “Yep, breakfast and a show.”
“Oh.” Tristan smoothed his hair back with the oven mitts. The little shit.
“Mmmhmm.” Michael just waited.
“So.” Tristan peeked into the oven and then slyly back over his shoulder at Michael, whose hot and hungry gaze was fastened on him like heavy-duty Velcro. “You like what you see?”
“Yes,” said Michael. “I like it very much.”
“What, this?” Tristan smoothed the oven mitts over his torso. “You like this?”
“Mmmhmm.”
Tristan sort of worked it, grinding in his apron, running the oven mitts over his body. “This?”
“Yep,” said Michael thickly. He was torn between laughter and bending Tristan over the kitchen table and showing him that bad boys get spanked. The oven timer beeped, and Tristan went to take out the food, whatever it was that he was cooking.
“Saved by the beep,” said Tristan. “Voilà, an egg thingie.”
“Oh, thank you,” said Michael, taking in the baked omelet that Tristan was putting on the plate. “Can we revisit the show later?”
“Oh…um, sure,” said Tristan, that damned adorable blush lighting him up like fire. “I liked that.”
“Makes me hot, Sparky.” Michael took a piece of toast and a kiss. “Lights me right up.”
“Good. Me too.” He cut the omelet into serving pieces. “I used the leftover ham.” He handed Michael a bowl of cut-up apples.
“Mm, this is good,” said Michael, wishing he could spend all his mornings like this. “After breakfast I need to water the backyard, and then I thought maybe you’d like to go for a ride.”
“A ride?” Tristan’s eyes went round. “Like on your cock again?”
Michael snorted. “No. A ride. Maybe out the canyon road and then to apple country? Get a little fresh air. I’m on shift tonight, but I have the morning, and then I’ll need to nap before I go.”
Tristan smiled. “That sounds nice. Can I help in the yard?”
“Nah, I have sprinklers. We can just…play,” said Michael, who paused, the food in his mouth going unchewed for a minute. He swallowed hard. “Have I told you how much I love looking at you, Sparky?”
“If you did, you can still say it again.” Tristan took Michael’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Never hurts to clarify.”
Michael pulled Tristan in for a kiss. “I love looking at you.”
They finished their breakfast in silence, meeting each other’s eyes and smiling like idiots.
Chapter Twelve
At eight a.m. Tristan and Michael wandered to the back to water. Like Michael, Tristan wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt in the crisp morning air. He watched silently as Michael used a metal wand to spin the X-shaped sprinkler fixtures, turning on the water.
“It’s already late October, so I don’t have to do this very often,” he said, nodding his head toward the yard. “I have a gardener who comes weekly to mow and keep things tidy; he does both yards ‑‑ mine and my mom’s.”
“Oh,” said Tristan, looking around and spotting a basketball. Michael had a hoop permanently set into the cement on his side of the drive, the area between the two houses a perfect square of cement for a little one-on-one. “I think this is nice,” he said. “A great find, two houses like this together.”
“It originally belonged to a set of twins,” said Michael, laughing. “I shit you not, these guys lived next door to each other and raised their families together. It seemed…cool. When I bought it, I thought it would be a great place for me and my mom.”
“It’s perfect ‑‑ private, but still connected,” said Tristan. “Hey, let’s move the cars and play b-ball while you water. How long does it take, anyway?”
“I let the sprinklers run for about a half-hour. I only do it twice a week so I soak it.” He pulled his keys from the pocket of his jeans. “I’ll move mine, and then you move yours, okay?”
“Okay,” said Tristan, already getting into the driver’s seat of his car. He watched Michael drive out between the two houses, making a mental note to back in next time like Michael did. If there was a next time… Holy shit. He parked his car in front of the house.
Michael was…everything Tristan had ever wanted. Everything he’d imagined, and some things he hadn’t even known to believe in. How could he ever walk away not knowing if he was coming back, as he had so many times with Viper and the girls he’d dated? I’ll call you. Holy shit. He saw Michael in his rearview mirror, confidently parking that huge truck of his behind Tristan’s BMW, and hoped he could hang onto him. He got out of his car and joined Michael, smiling, listening as the man explained the shape these houses were in when he bought them.
“So I had to gut them completely, and that gave me all kinds of room for creativity,” he was saying. “I had a blast putting in the moldings and the cabinets, even though it took me almost two years to do it in my off hours.”
Tristan stopped in his tracks. “You did that?”
Michael looked back at him perplexed. “Yeah,” he said evenly. “I did.”
“Holy crap, that’s some gorgeous woodwork. I thought it was original to the house. The leaf carvings on the mantle and the moldings are really, really beautiful.”
Michael picked up the basketball, blushing like a kid. “Think so?”
“Yeah,” said Tristan, crouching to play as Michael dribbled. “My dad and I used to tour historic homes. I just thought…” he said, going for the ball, which Michael effortlessly pulled out of his reach behind him, hooking it into the basket, swish, nothing but net.
“Me too,” said Michael. “I like going through the places with a lot of carvings best, like the Queen Annes in old Corona on Main Street or by the circle in Orange. There’s a lot there to admire, and the renovations are gorgeous.” He snatched the ball away from Tristan again and hooked a shot, right in for two. “Hey, basketball’s not your game, is it?”
“Nope.” Tristan slammed the ball on the ground and dribbled it soccer style, going through Michael easily and playing him, making him come after the ball again and again until they both knew it was hopeless. He used the toe of one foot and the arch of the other to launch the ball in the air, hitting it with his head past Michael.
“Ow, you need a soccer ball. Note to self: Basketballs hurt.” He rubbed the heel of his hand on his forehead.
“That’s going to leave a mark,” teased Michael.
Tristan jumped on him from behind like a monkey, wrapping his arms around Michael’s neck and his legs around his waist. “I’ll show you a mark.” He laughed, his lips fastening on Michael’s skin.
Michael staggered under Tristan’s weight, walking like Frankenstein’s monster to tease him a little. He turned when he heard his mother’s voice and stood still, a little embarrassed.
“Hey, baby,” said his mother, who stood on the back porch of her house in her pajamas and lit up a cigarette.
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br /> “Hey, Mama,” replied Michael, as though he always walked around the yard with a redheaded boy on his back. “Did we wake you? Sorry.”
“Nah, I was on my way up anyway.” She took a big drag from her cigarette and exhaled slowly. A sweet, spicy fragrance filled the air.
“Mama, I thought you quit,” said Michael, his voice tinged with exasperation.
“I did, honey, I quit smoking tobacco. This is a clove cigarette, smell.” She blew out another puff. “See? All natural.”
“Mama.” He helped Tristan down. “A forest fire started by lightning is natural, but it’s still not smart to breathe in the smoke.”
“Oh, you. You won’t be happy until I become a Republican,” she said, good-naturedly, as though they had this argument every day.
“Well, that’s not strictly true, either, is it?”
She grinned at him. “Who’s your friend? I dated a boy with ginger hair like that once. He wanted to be a priest, until…”
“Whoa, TMI,” said Michael. “This is Tristan.”
“Hi, honey,” Michael’s mother said. “Call me Emma.”
“Thanks.” Tristan smiled back helplessly.
“I need your helmet, Mama. Can we borrow it?”
“Sure, baby.” The tip of her cigarette sparked like a firework, almost catching her pajamas. She brushed off the ember.
“Um, Emma?” said Tristan, hesitantly. “I think you should know that those things spark a lot, the clove ones, you know? And, well, once one of my friends lit himself on fire and tried to douse himself with a vodka drink, and if we hadn’t been playing beach volleyball at the time and rolled him in the sand, he’d have lost some body parts. Those things come from Indonesia, and they dry out…wow, whoosh, you know?” He mimed going up in flames.
Crossing Borders Page 10
