ELEVEN

 

 

Everything should have been perfect. Grant knew that he was, for the first time in his life, falling in love. He was very aware of it, of the way he wanted to smile all of the time, the way he thought about Tristan and the thoughts of his boyfriend made him feel like he could get through the day more easily.

Tristan had been helping him, too, with his homework. At first, Grant had found Tristan’s obvious intelligence a bit overwhelming, and even now, Tristan sometimes spoke above Grant’s head. But as they spent more time together, Tristan got better at saying things so that Grant could understand. Or maybe Grant was getting better at understanding. Or maybe both. Regardless, his grades had actually been going up. He was in no danger of academic probation, and if he kept this up, who knew?

He might just be able to look forward to an academic scholarship as well as an athletic one. If he got that, he could quit his crappy job. He could go into his next semester really able to focus on the things that mattered, and he might even have some spare time now and then.

So yes, everything was hopeful, the outlook was rosy, and Grant should have been happy. But something had happened, and he wasn’t sure what it was. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to drive Tristan away.

It was strange. One night, he had come home from work, expecting the normal kiss of greeting that he had come to expect from his boyfriend. Often, they made love in the night, and sometimes, Tristan would stay in Grant’s bed or vice versa overnight. The beds were too small, but they had always managed to make it work.

In the course of less than twenty-four hours, it seemed, he had done something to piss Tristan off, because there had been no kiss that night. Tristan had barely glanced up from his desk where he was busy doing homework.

It could have just been stress, of course, that was pulling Tristan away. He had way higher goals for himself academically than Grant did, and he had the brains to reach them, too. But it wasn’t just that one night. It continued on for a few nights until Grant had finally had enough.

“Are we even together?” he finally demanded one night. He had been thinking about it the whole time he was at work, and until he had this out with Tristan, he wasn’t going to be able to think about anything else.

Tristan raised his gaze from the book he was reading, arching an eyebrow in the sort of sardonic amusement that he did so well. But Grant had seen past that before, and he found that, when he tried, he could see past that barrier and into Tristan’s eyes.

Something was bothering him. Grant would have been willing to swear to it on a stack of Bibles. Something that he was not telling Grant about.

“Grant, come on. What’s all this?” Tristan asked, and he stood, impossibly beautiful and graceful, his small body so lovely that it actually hurt Grant to watch it as he went to the door and shut it firmly, then locked it. “It’s midterms soon. I’m busy. What do you want?”

Tristan could be so cold sometimes, but Grant wasn’t going to let himself be put off by that. No matter how Tristan bristled at him, he wasn’t letting go of this, not without a fight.

“I want you. But if I can’t have that, I want to know,” Grant told him, his voice firm. He could survive, he told himself, if Tristan pushed him completely away. He could handle being dumped. But he couldn’t handle not knowing.

“Don’t be such a drama queen,” Tristan told him, his tone irritating and flippant. “I’m just busy. So are you, right?”

Grant couldn’t actually deny that. He frowned, trying to accept Tristan’s words, which were said maybe in a rude way but there could be some truth to them. It was gearing up for midterms, and Grant knew that he had another short story due soon enough. He had work to do, and so did Tristan, so it actually sort of made sense.

Still, it struck him as sort of strange. It hadn’t been a problem until just recently. So he hesitated, hating the situation, not even sure what to do about it until Tristan sighed and came up behind Grant.

“Just calm down.” Tristan slipped his hands up over Grant’s back, up to his shoulders, which he squeezed. It was only then that Grant realized just how tense he had been, a groan coming to his lips as Tristan kneaded at them, finding every sore spot, every knot, with his clever fingers.

“God, Tristan,” Grant whispered. It could turn him on, if he let it, the sheer relief of having those spots which he had been ignoring stimulated and rubbed at. He groaned and didn’t even try to resist as Tristan pushed him over to the bed, and made not the slightest hint of protest as he was directed down to lie on it on his stomach.

In a moment, the smaller man was straddling Grant’s ass, perching on top of him and slipping his shirt off. Tristan had full access to his back, and he took full advantage of it. His fingers seemed to know how to find every tense spot, every knotted muscle, and he soon had Grant moaning into the pillow at the most pleasurable pain that he had ever felt.

Well. Almost the most pleasurable pain. Not that that was a great thing for him to be thinking about, not when things still felt so strained between the two of them.

It was a little hard to avoid, though, when Grant felt Tristan shift against his ass, and in a very deliberate way which couldn’t have possibly been an accident. Something hard and hot pressed against Grant, obvious even through the layers of the clothing between them.

It was Tristan, and he was hard. And once Grant knew that there was no way that he could even pretend to himself that he was going to be able to control his own arousal, his own desire, which Tristan seemed to be able to bring up in him without even needing to try.

In a split second, Grant really relaxed, and he let himself swell and harden, rubbing lightly against the bed although he was aware that his movements could hardly fail to be noticed by the man who was pressed closely against his ass. Maybe he even wanted Tristan to know.

At first, Tristan didn’t show any sign that he did. He just kept stroking, kneading, rubbing at the tension until it dissolved under his skillful touch, the hard bulge of his erection resting right against the curve of Grant’s ass.

It was impossible not to think about what might happen if neither of them had clothes on. How easy it would be for Tristan to slip between the cheeks of Grant’s ass and just take him. Maybe he could convince Tristan just to lower their pants. Things may have been weird between them lately, but Tristan obviously wanted it just as badly as Grant did.

“Roll over.”

Grant jumped a little when he heard those words, purred warmly in his ear but undoubtedly a demand. The next second, Tristan was up off of him, freeing him just enough that Grant could do as he ordered.

Slowly, Grant did as he was told, though honestly, he had been enjoying his little fantasy and he had no idea what Tristan had in mind now. But he couldn’t resist the command, not when he was fully aware just how good Tristan really was, and knew that it would be worth his while to do as he was told.

Nor was he wrong. The moment that Grant was on his back, Tristan was on him again, kissing him until he couldn’t breathe as his hips pressed down against Grant’s. This man moved like sin, and Grant was so helpless, so completely helpless, against him.

“Tristan, wait,” Grant whispered, though he knew that Tristan could easily use his gorgeous body to get Grant off. But there were things that they hadn’t tried yet, and Grant wanted them all. He had no idea if Tristan would ever consider bottoming, but he did want to try everything that Tristan would allow.

“Hmm?” Tristan hummed, his fingers distracting as they slid down over Grant’s chest and stomach to rest on the waistband of his jeans, tugging open the button there. For a moment, the rush of desire humming through him almost made it impossible for him to think.

Almost.

“I want to taste you,” Grant was sure that his face was bright red when he admitted to that, but he was determined, and he had never been shy about going after what he wanted. Besides, Tristan was his main role model when it came to sex, and no one could call him undemanding.

“You sure?” Tristan asked, and Grant, even if he hadn’t been, would have changed pretty quickly when he saw the look on Tristan’s gorgeous face. There could be no doubt that Tristan wanted it, that desire was stamped into his face, written all over it, and Grant would have done a whole lot more for Tristan to keep that look on his face.

“Yeah. Let me up,” Grant demanded with more confidence, but Tristan laughed softly, and Grant wondered, for just a moment, if he had read the situation wrong. Soon enough, though, Tristan showed him better, when the slender man shifted up off of Grant just enough to slip off his own pants.

Tristan was so very stunning, pretty all over. And he was already hard, curving up so that his swollen head was resting on his flat stomach. But he still wasn’t really letting Grant up, wasn’t letting him push Tristan’s hips to the bed and take him into his mouth, which was all he wanted to do.

“Tristan,” Grant started, wondering if the man was just going to tease him forever. He actually wouldn’t put it past him, and he groaned as he seriously considered just grabbing Tristan by the hips and pinning him to the bed, taking what he wanted, though he had never in his life had such a violent fantasy.

“You want it?” Tristan murmured, and then, for some reason, he was shifting up to perch on Grant’s chest instead of on his hips. He was naked from the waist down now, still shifting up, and slowly, Grant was starting to think that he might have some idea of what was going on.

Tristan liked to stay in control. He wanted to be on top, even with this, and Grant was so eager for it that he didn’t even consider why that was. He was going to get what he wanted. He knew that much.

“Yes,” he whispered, and then he closed his eyes as Tristan slid up more. His cock bumped against Grant’s lips, and he didn’t need to be told what to do then. Without hesitation, he parted his lips and accepted the blunt, thick head between them.

Tristan tasted exactly as Grant would have imagined, sweet and salty all at once, leaking all over Grant’s tongue and showing that Tristan was enjoying himself already. That gave Grant more confidence, and he stretched his lips, his jaw, wide open and took Tristan further in.

“Oh fuck, Grant, yeah.” Tristan didn’t seem to be able to be quiet very easily, Grant had noticed. The more worked up he got, the more he spoke, so Grant took that as a good sign as he trailed his tongue over Tristan, trying to find all of those sensitive spots on his dick that had made Grant go so crazy when Tristan had done it to him. From the noises he was getting, he was succeeding.

There were other signs, too. As Tristan started to pump, to use his position on top of Grant to push deeper into his mouth, Grant tasted more precome, felt it spilling slickly over the inside of his mouth. All of this just encouraged Grant, made him more determined than ever.

“Touch yourself,” Tristan demanded, and there was really no reason for him not to. He was so hard that any touch would be welcome, and anyway, doing what Tristan wanted, giving in to his demands, it was becoming somewhat of an addiction for him.

So he tugged open his own pants, pulling them down just enough so that he could wrap his hand around his own throbbing erection. He barely stroked himself. With how very hot Tristan was being, it would take him a matter of moments to come, if he went as fast as his body was screaming at him to do.

He kept it light, barely moving his hand, and with the other, he gripped Tristan’s ass and pulled him deeper into his mouth. He could take it. He could take it all, and he was determined to show Tristan.

When it happened, it was actually an accident, at least at first. Grant’s fingers pressed on the exact right spot, and then they slid between the cheeks of Tristan’s ass. Immediately, Grant tensed up and went to move it, having no idea how Tristan would take it and not wanting to stop any of this, not for anything.

But then Tristan moaned.

He had been making noises the whole time that he was fucking Grant’s face, but this was a different sort of moan. There was a helpless quality to it like it was being drawn out of the man almost against his will, and Grant hesitated, intrigued. He waited, but Tristan said nothing, so he moved his fingers more determinedly this time.

Tristan was hot here, and as Grant kept on sucking, his fingertips explored. He wanted to know every single last thing about this man who was coming to mean so much to him, so he touched, he stroked, and he found the entrance to Tristan’s body, a tight ring of muscle that he toyed with lightly, just testing out the response.

“Fuck,” Tristan managed, his cock leaking, dribbling precome between Grant’s lips. Which he was going to take as a good sign, he decided, and gently put some pressure on just the tip of one finger, which was lodged against Tristan’s entrance.

A movement of the hips which might have been accidental had that fingertip breaching Tristan, and Grant’s finger slid in. Immediately, he was gripped by his internal muscles, the walls of his ass tight and so hot and smooth. For a moment, it was so easy to imagine being inside of him, having Tristan wrapped around him, taking him …

And then that moment was over because Tristan was coming, giving soft, hoarse, desperate little cries that he must have muffled in his own arm. His body shook, convulsed, and Grant’s finger was gripped, and it seemed to him that for just a split second or so, Tristan was fucking himself on Grant’s finger, though maybe it was just that his body was shaking with the force of his release.

Whatever it was, it was more than enough for Grant. He hissed, his cock barely touched, as it started to spew and spurt jet after jet of burning hot come onto his own fingers.

Slowly, Grant pulled his finger out of Tristan’s clenching body, and Tristan, for once, said nothing. Literally nothing. Without a word, with movements slower and a more thoughtful face than usual, Tristan collected his pants, put them on, and then went back to the desk, like nothing at all had happened.

It was then that Grant realized what had just happened. He had been trying to talk to Tristan, to get some sort of commitment out of him, and Tristan had distracted him with sex. It had worked, too. Grant had been far too easily manipulated that way.

He was so far out of his depth it wasn’t even funny. Tristan, the more experienced one, had Grant wrapped around his little finger, and the worst part about it was that it was so hard to mind. At least when they were locked in an intimate embrace, Grant was so helpless for him, so ill-equipped to deal with any of this.

So the question was, did Tristan actually feel anything for Grant? Or was Grant just a fun person to screw? Tristan had been acting so strangely, and Grant still didn’t know why. Tristan had deftly distracted him from even wondering, and now, Tristan was lost in his own world again.

It was hard not to think that he may have been just a little manipulated here. The question was, what was he going to do about it? It seemed like he was busy falling in love, and all that Tristan wanted to do was have sex. It was exactly the sort of situation that he had always been scared of happening to him.

And he still had no idea what he was going to do about it.