Crossing Borders (8 page)

“I'm glad you think so,” said Michael, who seemed to be waiting for an answer to his question.

“I didn't expect to find someone I liked,” Tristan began. “I just wanted to know how it felt to be with a man. Maybe figure out, you know, how to do it. Anonymously, sort of, so I wouldn't have to look like a total asshole to that same guy twice. That's really dumb, isn't it?”

“No, but it wasn't really safe or well thought-out,” said Michael. “Would you want to hear your sister say that?”

“I'm a man, Michael. Stop comparing me to a girl.”

Michael splashed him a little. “You're young, Sparky, and slim and delicate in your coloring. Sure, you shave, but not much, not like I do. You still have baby hands,” he said, holding one up, the pruny fingers white and soft and freckled. “Look, no veins.” Michael held his own up by comparison. The veins were prominent, the multiple scars he'd gotten from woodworking and construction like a tracery of white lines against the tan background. “All I'm saying is that when a guy like me looks at you, as innocent as you are, as genuine, as naive, he feels protective. Someone else may choose to exploit you.”

“I see.”

“I can do anonymous, Sparky, I can show you what you want to know,” he whispered.

Tristan froze. “You don't know what you're getting into. I think I may have a really long, slow learning curve.” Tristan couldn't look at him.

“Mmmhmm, that's what I thought,” said Michael.

“Um, you'd probably better, you know, plan on spending some time with me. It could be months before I get it right.”

“Maybe more.”

Tristan could feel the easing of tension in Michael's body and hoped it was because he'd gotten the answer right. “So, if you don't want to invest that kind of time with me, then maybe that's something you ought to say right up front,” said Tristan. “Because I can do, like, anonymous, but it wouldn't be my first choice. Anymore.”

“Sparky?” said Michael, turning him and kissing him so deeply that Tristan started seeing spots in his field of vision. “Anonymous isn't even on the menu anymore, okay?”

“Oh, okay.” Tristan was relieved and frightened all at once. “So, then, what
is
on the menu?”

“You, my redhead, are going to”—he whispered a word into Tristan's ear that made the blood drain from Tristan's face, then return with a rush of heat that singed his eyebrows—“me through the mattress.” As if to illustrate his point, he slid Tristan's naked body over his own, rubbing their cocks together briefly, aided by the silky bath oil he'd added to the water. “Feels good. You're gonna make me fly, right, Sparky?”

“Oh, I…yeah…I hope so.” Tristan bit his lip. Michael looked happy,
so that was good…right?

Okay…okay, get a grip. I've done this before
, Tristan thought as he dried himself off with one of Michael's awesome, luxurious bath towels. He wasn't exactly stalling for time, but he wasn't hurrying, either. He'd asked for this, schemed for it, planned for it, and gotten it, but in reality, it wouldn't be as easy as he thought to slide between the sheets and just screw the man. Michael had left him alone in the bathroom, presumably to put their clothes in the wash or something, and would wait for him in the bedroom. Tristan was grateful for the privacy. He carefully hung the dirty towel up on a hook, looking down at himself. Thoughts like, maybe he wasn't the most manly guy he'd ever seen, whirled around his confused head.

Tristan had gotten a good, long look at Michael as he left the bathroom, and now his heart thudded painfully from sheer nerves. Michael was beautiful. Smart and funny and sexy and everything Tristan had ever wanted. He was caring and powerful, and at the same time gentle and oh-so-hot. Tristan was afraid he'd do something stupid and uncool like launch himself at the man like the winged monkeys from
The Wizard of Oz
. He sat down hard on the lid of the toilet.

Okay, it's official
, he thought.
I'm gay. I'm a done deal
. He put his head in his hands and just sat there. He was no way going to be able to do this without shaming himself, or Michael, or all of their collective ancestors.

“Sparky?” called Michael's voice from the hallway. “You aren't losing your nerve, are you?”

On the money, Detective Helmet
. “Just a minute.”

“Can I come in?” asked Michael, sounding concerned now.

“Sure.” Tristan heard the door open.

“Usually people use that with the lid up,” teased Michael, coming over to hunker down in front of him. He drew Tristan's hair back like a drape and held it in his hands. “You're under no obligations here, you know.”

“I know that.” Tristan leaned into Michael's hand.

“What are you thinking?”

“Seriously, dude, did you just
hear
yourself? I thought once I went over to the dark side I'd never hear those words again.”

“Sparky,” warned Michael. “No jokes, what's up?”

Tristan took Michael's face between both his outstretched hands and kissed him gently. “I never wanted anything in my life more than I want to be really, really good for you.”

“What?” This obviously wasn't what Michael had expected to hear.

“You've already taken me places light-years more amazing than I've ever been before, Michael, and I want to do that for you too…I just…” Tristan bit his lip.

“Shh… Let's just go, okay? Let's just go together. We can do that, right?” He stood up, and with a friendly smile, took Tristan's hand and led him to his bed.

They slid between the sheets, which were soft and silky against Tristan's naked skin. Michael's touch began a slow burn in his body that was sensual and crazy. Tristan's pulse beat everywhere, his blood thrumming endlessly through his veins as Michael kissed him and stole his breath. He began to explore Michael hesitantly, feeling heat come off Michael's skin in waves. He touched and teased, licked and bit his way all around Michael's willing body, turning him this way and that, finding new and exotic destinations with every movement of his head, his hands, even his feet. Every cell in his body tingled with awareness, as if they were whispering his lover's name in his blood. Dazed, he looked down at Michael from where he lay on top of him, his long red hair forming a curtain around their faces.

“How do you want it?” Tristan whispered, afraid to speak too loudly, afraid to shatter the magic of the moment.

“I want to see you,” said Michael. “I want to watch your face.” He reached under the pillow for lube and a condom, and held them out for Tristan, who took them from him.

“I don't want to hurt you,” said Tristan, in an agony of indecision. He understood the concept, but…

“Here, look, okay?” Michael said taking Tristan's hand. He separated Tristan's index finger and put a generous amount of lube on it. “It's this first, yeah?” he said, raising his eyebrows at Tristan, who almost couldn't keep from looking away. “Then this,” he said pulling up the second finger. “Then this,” he pulled up the third, until Tristan was looking at the three fingers on his own hand, right in front of his eyes. “Then it's you, and you make me fly.”

“Oh, my…” said Tristan, still looking stupidly at his fingers. “Make you fly.”

“Yeah, baby. I want you—you know that, right? Like today sometime, maybe?” He smiled such a sweet smile Tristan had the absurd idea he could lick it off like candy.

Tristan looked back at his fingers, slick with lube, shining in the candlelight. “Today sometime…”

“I'll tell you a secret—there's a surprise inside.” Michael laughed and watched him through lowered lashes.

Tristan looked down at him. “A surprise? What the hell…”

“We'll both know when you find it,” said Michael. “We're going someplace only you can take me, right? I want that;
I want you
. Don't worry. You can't hurt me.”

Tristan looked at his hand again and then at Michael's eyes. “When we make love, you will call me Tristan,” he commanded. “Sparky makes me sound like a damned firehouse dog.”

“We'll see how you do first,” said Michael, issuing a teasing challenge. “I like you, baby, want to feel you inside me… Ready?”

“Yeah.” Tristan took the lube and condom from him. “I am.”

Tristan slid the covers off them and moved down over Michael's body, kissing and licking his way to the warm and secret places he had yet to explore. He fingered and played with Michael's dick, loving the smooth, hard feel of it in his hands, turning it and lifting it, letting it leak onto his hands, teasing the veins and the ridges and the slit at the top with his tongue. He tasted the salty skin and the slightly bitter, briny fluid, and moved beneath it to the crinkly blond hair on Michael's balls, so fascinating in their sac. He mouthed them as Michael had done to him, first one and then the other, drawing a surprised gasp and a slight moan from the man himself. He moved them and licked backward from them, down the long strip of sensitive skin to the puckered hole he found there. He flicked his tongue against it, hardly daring to breathe for fear Michael would stop him, but he heard a sharp intake of breath and nothing more, so he did it again, wanting to feel, to touch, to taste every part of this man.

“Sparky,” said Michael, his voice a little hoarse, a little shocked. “You don't have to…”

Tristan nipped the skin lightly, shutting him up. He lifted his still-slick index finger and slowly, almost reverently, slid it into the tight pink hole until it reached the first knuckle. “Tell me if I hurt you,” he said to Michael, needing to connect as he made each minute discovery on Michael's body. Tristan experienced every ripple and quake of Michael's skin with a focus of laser-like intensity that heightened his own pleasure until his skin glowed with sweat, and he was breathing as if he'd run a race.

“You can't hurt me,” Michael repeated, taking Tristan momentarily away from his intense concentration, surprising him a little.

“Hm?” Tristan slipped his finger in further, moving it tentatively around, and getting a satisfied moan for his efforts. “Oh, good.”

Tristan moved the finger again, in and out, until Michael was moving with him, meeting him. Tristan used the lube to slick the second finger, and he slid it in with the first. Michael shifted, sighing, and Tristan pushed a little harder, working him now with his hand, allowing Michael to push back to meet his thrusting fingers. When Michael moved against him, Tristan pushed his face into Michael's golden skin, wanting to inhale and devour him. Never in his life had he wanted anyone this badly.