TWENTY

 

It was like a nightmare. One of those ones where you run and run and can never get away from the bad guy, the robber or the monster or whatever was chasing you. His legs just simply didn’t seem to work. Maybe they were encased in concrete, or they’d been turned to jelly. It certainly felt like it.

If only he had looked up even thirty seconds sooner, he would have had time. But he had been pretty much willing Grant to text him back, his eyes fixed on the screen as though he could somehow reach through it and make Grant look at his phone. And when he had glanced up, it had been too late.

He had seen Warren and Grant together, with Warren already turned away and a three-quarter profile view of Grant, dressed up as, of course, Superman. He would have known that strong jaw and high cheekbones anywhere, not to mention the softness of his full, sweet lips.

And then he was running through water, so it felt, because if Warren was with Grant already, then he had far less time than he could have hoped.

He called out, but knew, even as he did, that there was really no point in him doing so. He could barely even hear himself, and no one standing even a few feet away would be able to make out his words.

“This is from Tristan,” he heard Warren saying, as he burst into the house just twenty seconds or so behind them. His panicked eyes locked on Manny’s, who was also moving forward, but it seemed like every student on campus was standing in their way, both of them. Manny might be bigger, and pushing people out of the way was easier for him, but Tristan was closer and more ruthless.

The bastard. Warren wasn’t just trying to ruin Grant, but he was trying to pin it on Tristan. That realization gave him the burst of strength that he needed to plow through the last few rows of people, and he didn’t even consider what he was doing. He just breezed by Warren and tackled Grant out of the way.

It wasn’t an irrational decision. He was completely aware of what the prank was supposed to be, of course, and that he was taking it on himself, but that just didn’t matter all that much. In the course of a few seconds, everything came into focus, like he had been staring at the world through a thick layer of distorting plastic and now he was peeling it off.

Grant being outed would be far more disastrous for him than Tristan. Tristan wasn’t a superstar athlete, and in a very real way, it didn’t even matter to anyone if he was gay. This was a university campus. There were plenty of queer people.

The story was different for Grant. So even though Tristan saw a rope in Warren’s hand, he still braced himself and stood where Grant was supposed to be standing, in full knowledge of what was about to happen to him. This was not how he would have chosen, if everything had been ideal, to come out, but at least …

His whirling thoughts settled as he at least managed to close his eyes. He felt the sticky slop of something over his head, dripping down onto his chest and shoulders and his cape. He was about to be very sparkly, but so what? It could have been a whole hell of a lot worse.

When it was over, Tristan was actually somewhat surprised. He was still himself, and who he was as a fundamental human being hadn’t changed. Even the taunts of the bullies from his first high school seemed to fade in his ears.

Someone had turned off the music, and with a deep, steadying breath, Tristan cleaned the glue, gritty with glitter, from his eyes so that he could open them and face the mob of frat boys, and their dates, who would doubtless burst into loud, jeering laughter at any point.

The moment dragged on and on, and Tristan looked around but didn’t see a single laughing face anywhere. No hint of mockery. And that gave him the courage to turn around, as casually as he could, and glance at the banner that he knew hung behind him.

FAGGOT, GET OUT.

“So I guess this is a good time for me to come out,” Tristan said, his voice determinedly flippant. It wasn’t like this had ever gone well for him before when he’d told people, but he was so sick of living in fear of this. “Not what I would have chosen, but …”

“Tristan,” Grant whispered, just off to one side, but Tristan didn’t quite dare to look at him. Not yet. So instead, he looked at Warren, who was standing there staring as though he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. This whole thing hadn’t gone the way that he had hoped, Tristan saw that written in his eyes. Instead of getting to revel in the destruction of his enemy, he had gotten Tristan, and the crowd of people who were doubtless supposed to be jeering and taunting didn’t seem to have much interest in doing so.

“I just have to tell you, Warren, this is pretty much the most pathetic, immature thing that I’ve seen since probably about the second grade,” he informed the stricken blond man, who stared at him with a pale face and wide, almost fearful eyes.

And the group of people remained silent, just watching. Tristan didn’t quite dare to look at them, either, so he focused on Warren instead.

“Tristan, I didn’t mean …” Warren tried, and Tristan laughed softly and gave a little shrug of his undoubtedly very glittery shoulders. His costume was probably ruined, on top of everything else, but he couldn’t regret it.

“No big deal,” Tristan told him, letting the sudden, overwhelming disdain which he had for Warren creep into his voice, turn his words scornful. “I just think it’s sort of funny. Now you have nothing to hold over me, or …” Tristan turned slightly, and to his surprise, Grant was right there, letting him have his confrontation with Warren, not interfering but right by his side. “Or anyone,” Tristan finished.

Warren didn’t comment, but his face turned an even more sickly, pale color, almost a shade of green, at this point.

“So yeah, I’m gay. Whatever.” Tristan shrugged. “And I’m covered in sparkles and glue. I guess I am a faggot if you want to use an incredibly homophobic, despicable word like that. But at least I don’t need to blackmail people to get what I want. And hey, gay man or not, I’m too good for you.”

Which wasn’t quite the same as outing Warren, right? It could just be taken as a snappy one-liner, and the crowd of people watching seemed to do just that. They had been utterly silent, but then they started to chortle, and then to actually outright laugh.

Slowly, Tristan turned around, and he was surprised to see that people were almost invariably looking at him with approval, not with mockery. And Warren, they looked at only with distaste, because Tristan’s words must have rung true. Many of these people would know exactly how Warren had behaved toward everyone, but especially Grant, over the past few months.

“Tristan. You didn’t have to do that.” Grant was whispering, a little pale under his tan, and Tristan did the bravest thing that he had done yet that night and turned to look at the man that he loved. Warren was still behind him, frozen in shock, but Warren didn’t matter anymore. It seemed vaguely incredible that he ever had.

“Yeah, I did,” Tristan told him back, looking up into the face of the man that he had been so sure that he would never be this close to again. But here he was, gazing up at him, seeing those bright blue eyes looking right back.

“No, you …” Grant started, and while Tristan waited for him to say the next words, Grant did something else entirely, something that Tristan would never have expected. Grant had so much to lose, and had worked so hard to get here, and yet he leaned down without hesitation and pressed his lips against Tristan’s, sweeping him into an intimate embrace right there in front of everyone who was anyone at the college.

The kiss was a complicated one, a sort of mingled greeting and admission of desire and want and arousal all at once. A question and an answer at the same time. Tristan was left panting, almost breathless, but it turned out that he had enough air left in his lungs for four words.

“I love you, Grant.”

“Okay, okay, give them some damn privacy,” a familiar voice yelled. Manny. Tristan owed a lot to Manny, and this was just one more thing. The cheerful man grinned and winked at both of them, as people obediently started to turn away.

“Come on, let’s …” Grant started, his arm around Tristan’s waist, and it was then that Tristan heard the movement behind them. He partially turned, glancing over his shoulder, only to see Warren’s flying fist.

The man had moved surprisingly quickly, for someone who was still injured. But from the rage that he saw burning in the other man’s eyes, Warren wasn’t too worried about his hurt leg. More occupied with trying to rearrange the features of Tristan’s face.

That taunt, it seemed, had been a step too far, as far as Warren was concerned. It wasn’t the first time that Tristan’s mouth had gotten him into trouble, and it wouldn’t be the last.

But in high school, he had been alone. Now, Grant was there with him, stepping in front of Tristan and easily dodging the punch which Warren was trying to throw.

“Don’t you dare try to hurt my boyfriend,” Grant growled, and Tristan stared, amazement flooding through his body. No one had ever defended him before. And had Grant just called him …

Warren staggered back as Grant pushed him away. Grant’s fingers were drawn up into tight, hard little fists, and he no doubt wanted to throw some punches of his own, but he held onto his temper, which was probably a good thing.

“It’s over, Warren. You lose,” Grant informed him, then put his arm around Tristan again and, without another word, swept him away up the stairs.

It seemed that, given proper provocation, Grant wasn’t half bad at one-liners, either.

 

* * *

 

“Did you mean it?” Grant asked once the door to the bedroom which they had once shared was safely closed behind them. Which just so happened to be the same time that Tristan opened his mouth, too.

“What did you mean when you said that?”

They stared at each other, and then both of them grinned suddenly. Neither of them spoke, then, as they both waited politely for the other to say something, which was somehow even more hilarious.

“What did you mean when you said that?” Tristan was the one who finally broke the silence, drying glue itchy on the exposed parts of his face, but he couldn’t care less about that. “You said that I didn’t have to do that. I did. I was going to try to warn you, but you wouldn’t answer your phone, so I did what I had to do.”

He might have kept on babbling, but Grant, smirking a little, leaned down to kiss him, which was always an effective way to shut Tristan up. Grant had figured that out, it seemed.

“I like your costume, Bruce Wayne,” Grant informed him, with an amused tilt of his head as he gazed down at Tristan. “Even covered in glitter, you make a good Batman.”

“You’re covered in glitter, too, Superman,” Tristan informed him, his heart hammering away so loudly that he was sure it was actually audible, pounding in his wrists and throat.

“Yeah. That’s fine. I figured out that I didn’t care if people knew that I’m gay,” Grant told him, as he tugged him toward the bathroom. Tristan went, and once there, they both stripped each other of their glittery, gluey, sparkly superhero costumes. “As long as you want to be with me, I don’t really care who knows if we’re gay.”

Tristan, feeling, for the first time in his life, perfectly in sync with someone, felt all of his uncertainty, and the last remnants of his fear, fade right out of him. He fumbled briefly with the shower taps, and a stream of warm, steamy water started to flow.

“You don’t?” Tristan asked, his hands all over the beautiful body that he had never thought he would be allowed to touch again. His fingers, his hands, his whole body, were hungry for it, aching for these touches, and more, although in that weird, unfamiliar way that had more than just simple sexual desire involved. He was out of his element, but he had to admit, it was sort of nice.

“Nope,” Grant admitted, and Tristan felt something even more unfamiliar, a loosening of some tension that he had held deep inside of him. Something that told him time after time that no one would ever be able to handle being with him, that he was somehow inherently unlovable, was suddenly silenced.

Because here was Grant, standing right there in front of him, loving him.

If there hadn’t been logistics to consider, Tristan would have bent over for him right then and there, in the shower. But, of course, there were, there were no condoms or lube here, so Tristan reached out and caught Grant’s hips in his hands, pulling him close to himself and looking up at him.

He had always thought, if he did this, that he would be scared. He wasn’t. He trusted Grant completely and loved him, and this just seemed like a natural extension of that.

“Take me to bed,” he ordered, and Grant seemed to understand. More than that, he actually swept Tristan up into his strong arms, carrying Tristan’s naked, wet body effortlessly back to the bedroom. Tristan inhaled the sweet, musky scent coming off of Grant as he gently placed Tristan onto Tristan’s bed, which had felt so lonely and empty since Grant had left him.

“Are you sure?” Grant asked, but Tristan didn’t even have to think about it. He’d spent too long thinking about it as it was.

“Yeah,” he told him firmly. “I’m sure. I’ve waited too long. I need you inside me.”

They kissed, and there was no more talking then, which was a relief for Tristan. This was the one and only time that he was going to give this to someone, to anyone, and he wanted to focus on the sensations, on the emotions, not on trying to think of the right thing to say.

Grant had condoms and lube, which was definitely a change for him. From someone else, Tristan would have thought that they had taken someone else to bed since they’d walked away from Tristan, but not Grant. These acts just meant too much to him, and once giving himself, he wouldn’t be able just to go off and sleep around. It wasn’t in Grant’s old-fashioned, romantic soul to act like that.

Which meant that he had them because he had hoped that he and Tristan would get back together. More than anything, he felt like he was making the right choice. Like, in some way, he had been waiting, too. Sure, he’d slept around a lot more than Grant had, but he was going to give Grant something that he had never given anyone else, despite more than a few people trying.

“I’ve never done this before,” Grant admitted, and Tristan hadn’t really thought about that before. For the first time, this was them coming together as two people who didn’t entirely know what they were doing. Tristan had been able to teach Grant before, but not this time.

“Okay. Then we’ll teach each other,” Tristan murmured, partially in response to his own thoughts and partially to Grant’s words. His first instinct was to roll on top of Grant, to keep some semblance of control by riding him, but that wasn’t what he wanted. Not really, no matter how terrifying it was.

So instead, he rolled onto his back, and his legs fell apart as he tugged Grant on top of him. Yes. This was right. This was how he wanted to do this, with Grant’s huge, strong, muscular body on top of him. He wanted to feel that strength, tempered as it was with kindness.

Grant had already unrolled a condom over his straining, eager cock, and Tristan saw him fumbling with the lube. But there was lube on the condom, and he was impatient. He had waited so far beyond long enough that it wasn’t even funny, and he had no desire to wait long enough for Grant to prepare him.

Tristan reached out, snagging the tube of lubricant and pouring a generous amount into his hands. He wasn’t going to let fear keep him from this experience, and the longer this took, the more he saw how nervous Grant was, the more terrified he was that it would never happen at all if it didn’t happen now.

So he slicked the slippery stuff over Grant’s dick, stroking it until it glistened, and then he pulled Grant down on top of him.

“It’s time. Now, baby,” Tristan whispered, his voice deep and urgent, his legs spread wide. He looked up into Grant’s eyes, and he found that the fear entirely disappeared when he was looking at the man he loved, the reason he was willing to do this at all. He wanted that closeness, that connection, and he was curious to know, too, what the big deal was all about.

For a moment, he was actually worried that Grant wouldn’t go for it. The other man hesitated, his eyes deep and thoughtful as he looked down at Tristan. Knowing his ethics, and the strength of his convictions, Tristan was concerned that Grant would make him wait. But maybe Grant saw how little Tristan could tolerate that right now, how much he actually, really, truly, needed this.

“I love you,” Grant whispered, and this time, it didn’t have the tone of a goodbye to it, as it had on the only other time Grant had said those words to him. They kissed again, Grant’s hot tongue thrusting into his mouth, and Tristan surrendered to it. To all of it.

It wasn’t what Tristan thought it would be. He had never particularly felt sex associated with emotions before and hadn’t thought it could be. It was sex, it was a chemical attraction, pheromones, or so he always would have thought before.

But the way it felt when Grant started to push inside of him, it was not just satisfaction, though that was there. And there was certainly desire, pulsing through his entire body, making him very aware of just how empty he was and how he knew beyond all possibility of doubt that Grant was the only one who could fill him.

“Now,” Tristan almost sobbed, his arms clenching around Grant as slowly, inch by inch, Grant started to work his way inside of him. He could have just taken him, all at once, and Tristan would have just accepted it. But he really should have known better. This was Grant, who was probably the most disciplined, controlled man that Tristan had ever met. And who loved him, and wouldn’t hurt him.

And that was the thing. There was no pain, not with how Grant took him. By the time Grant was buried inside of him, Tristan was shaking with eagerness, his arms tight around Grant’s shoulders.

It was nothing, nothing at all like he had thought it would be. He had never imagined it would feel like this, so completely full, like he and Grant had somehow managed to crawl into each other, to become one person instead of two.

The thrusting was slow, but Grant was paying attention, and the euphoria only grew inside of Tristan when the other man’s thick cockhead found a spot deep inside of him that made him pant and gasp, his eyes going blank and unseeing as stars rocketed through his body.

So that was the prostate. He’d heard a lot about it, but now he knew.

Before long, he was clenching, writhing, fucking himself up on Grant, who was still being very careful. It was sweet, but not what he wanted, and he groaned with frustration. He knew how strong Grant was, and he wanted to feel that, now that he had been so perfectly, so painlessly, opened up for the other man.

“Grant, fuck me,” Tristan found himself moaning, his hips shoved way up, taking Grant as deeply inside of himself as humanly possible. Grant was so hot, even through the condom, and his cock kept twitching. Grant was holding himself back, but part of him, the part buried inside of Tristan, didn’t want to. Tristan could tell.

“I don’t want to …” Grant started, and Tristan grabbed Grant by the shoulders and practically glared up at him.

“Fuck. Me. Grant,” he hissed out through gritted teeth, at the point where, if Grant didn’t, Tristan might just do his best to flip them both over, size difference or not, and ride Grant until neither of them could see straight.

Tristan actually saw as Grant got it. He felt like screaming his approval as Grant’s huge, strong hands gripped at Tristan’s shoulders, almost pinning him to the bed, taking the control that Tristan, for the first time in his life, so desperately wanted to give. But only to Grant. Only ever to Grant.

“I’m going to make you scream,” Grant growled, and it was like Tristan was actually getting a front-row seat to watch Grant visibly lose it. For him. It was hard not to be pleased by that.

Or by the way that Grant suddenly started to move, no longer slow and careful, no longer working Tristan open, but forceful, almost rough. The bed started to shake with the relentless thrusting, and that, that right there, was exactly what Tristan had wanted.

Grant was filling him completely, was holding him down and taking him, and it was perfect. Somehow, for them, it was just exactly right that they could start off making love and end up threatening to shake the bed completely apart. Better yet, each and every thrust landed right against Tristan’s prostate, and he knew that he would come, hard and very soon.

“You’re mine now,” Grant informed him, and Tristan had never felt so completely wanted, body, mind, and soul, as he did right there. Grant knew exactly how much of a pain in the ass Tristan could be, and yet, he was still right there, wanting him. It was beyond belief, and yet real.

And it was more than enough. Tristan cried out, and then, just as Grant had said he would, he screamed his delight, knowing that no one could hear them downstairs, and even if they could, it didn’t matter. This wasn’t a secret. It didn’t have to be.

For a moment, they stayed locked together, both flushed from their shared release, and then Grant sighed and pulled out, getting rid of the condom.

“Hey, Grant? Did you mean it? That you wouldn’t have minded if Warren’s prank had hit you?” Tristan asked, a little bit sleepy but very, very happy as he watched Grant move through the room. Naked, graceful, absolutely perfect in every detail, Grant was glorious to watch.

“I wouldn’t have. I had already decided that I was going to stop hiding. I just didn’t know that you would be willing to do the same,” Grant admitted. There was a brief silence as they both considered that. “Tristan? It’s over with you and Warren, right?”

That was not a question that Tristan had expected, but Grant’s face was very solemn as he asked. It wasn’t a joke, and it was something that Grant was concerned about.

“What?” Tristan managed, and Grant sighed as he sat down on the bed where Tristan was still relaxing, feeling boneless after the hard, perfect first time that he had just had.

“Warren told me that you were together, but he broke up with you,” Grant explained. “And I’m not going to hold your past against you, but I just need to know that it’s over.”

Tristan took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down, because it would be so easy just to get angry, to scream, to go find Warren and demand that he make things right. But none of that would solve anything.

“I never dated Warren. I told you, I don’t date. Or didn’t, before you,” he tried to keep his voice calm as he said the words, which were completely true. “Warren and I slept together. Twice. That’s it. As far as it went. And after all the shit he’s pulled, I would rather date anyone in the world than that son of a bitch.”

“Tristan, is that sort of language really …” Grant started, which was just about the funniest thing that he could possibly say, and so very typical of him. But then Tristan’s words seemed to sink in, and Grant’s face glowed. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Tristan admitted, not that he wasn’t a little bit tempted to poke at Grant and see how jealous he could make him. But that would be a step too far, even for him. At least when he was in love, it seemed that it would be.

Grant kissed him, and it was then that Tristan really, truly, deep down in his heart, realized that the two of them were going to be just fine after all.