EPILOGUE
For Thanksgiving, they had gone to Grant’s mother’s house, and when he’d introduced Tristan as his boyfriend, his mother hadn’t missed a beat. She had immediately swept a very baffled Tristan into her arms and hugged him tight, and Grant’s last fear was laid to rest at that moment.
He hadn’t lost his football scholarship when he came out. No one had stopped talking to him, except for Warren and that was hardly a huge loss, anyway. And even though he hadn’t thought it likely, his mother hadn’t disowned him, and more than that, she seemed genuinely happy for him.
When he’d relaxed a little, when he’d let Tristan pull him out of the shell that he had firmly put up around himself, it was like everything had all sort of snapped into place. No one even treated him differently. At some point, there would probably be someone who did, but that was something that he could deal with when it happened.
So his life was settled, but he knew that Tristan’s wasn’t.
Warren got kicked out of the University. Grant and Tristan didn’t have anything to do with initiating that process, but neither of them had lied when they had been asked what had happened between them and Warren. Apparently, it had been Manny who had complained about Warren’s deeply troubling, homophobic behavior, and that had just opened the floodgates. Grant may have been the person that Warren went after the most, but that didn’t mean, apparently, that he hadn’t pissed plenty of other people off, too.
So Warren was gone, and no amount of threats about what his father was going to do about this had saved him. That was one loose end cleared up for Grant. He had even decided that he would stay in the fraternity, without Warren around.
For Tristan, it was a different story. Warren at school was actually probably safer for him than Warren at loose ends at home. Tristan had already mentioned that he wouldn’t put it past Warren to say something to Tristan’s parents, and as much as Tristan said he was prepared for that, Grant had to wonder.
Last Grant had heard, Warren hadn’t said anything. Or, at least, Tristan’s parents hadn’t spoken about it, though what that meant Grant wasn’t quite sure. He didn’t know Tristan’s parents, had never so much as laid eyes on them, and he couldn’t venture a guess as to how they would take it.
Which made the situation pretty nerve-wracking, Grant thought, as he stepped off of the plane. Tristan had gone home as soon as school was out, and so had Grant, so they’d been apart for a few weeks at this point. It was driving Grant pretty crazy, so when Tristan had invited him out to be with him over Christmas, there had really been no question about what Grant would say. He would celebrate the holiday with his mother when he got back, but for now, he really needed to see his boyfriend, and luckily, his mother understood.
The airport was busy, all sorts of people flying around the country to be with the people they loved for the holidays, but Grant’s eyes were drawn immediately to Tristan. They grinned at each other, just a little self-conscious, but that was okay because all of that was swept away when they wrapped their arms around each other and kissed like it had been months or years apart, instead of just weeks.
“Mom and Dad are at home,” Tristan explained, as his arm settled around Grant’s waist. It was nice to see that Grant wasn’t the only one who felt the nearly overwhelming urge for them to be touching at all times, and he slung his arm affectionately around Tristan’s shoulders as the other man’s familiar scent filled his lungs. “Are you ready for this?”
“Do they know about me?” Grant asked, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was going to be asked to go back into hiding. Could he do it? But he should have trusted his boyfriend more than that.
“No. I mean, they know that you’re coming, but I haven’t told them yet,” Tristan said, and that one word at the end of the sentence, yet, calmed Grant down considerably. He wasn’t going to be asked to lie anymore. “I wanted to wait until you were here, I guess so that they couldn’t uninvite you without being rude.”
Tristan bundled them into a car, but a car which had a literal driver behind the wheel. Even being in a taxi had been a fairly rare experience in Grant’s life, and he found himself slightly out of his element as Tristan nodded to the man in greeting and gave him directions to take them home.
It was all done so casually, like it was nothing, and to Tristan, it probably was nothing. Grant stayed there, holding Tristan’s hand, hoping that he hadn’t made a big mistake by stepping out of his comfort zone.
Not that it had ever been a secret that Tristan’s family had money. But knowing that and seeing the car, seeing the huge walls as they approached the estate, watching them slip open to reveal lush green grass and huge garden beds and the biggest house that Grant had seen in real life, that was something else.
“You grew up here?” Grant asked, fighting against awe, and Tristan shrugged and nodded, but squeezed Grant’s hand soothingly.
“It’s just a house,” Tristan assured him, and Grant relaxed a little bit. Maybe. His mother’s small apartment would be swallowed up by this place, and he had no idea how one family of three people could come even close to filling up this mansion.
They stepped out, and Grant clutched his bag to his chest, fighting against inadequacy. The front door opened, and a man who looked exactly like Tristan, only about thirty years older, stepped out, accompanied by a pretty blonde woman who Grant would have thought was Tristan’s older sister, but since he knew that Tristan didn’t have an older sister she had to be his mother.
“Stay close. Please. I’m terrified,” Tristan admitted, and indeed, his hand, still folded neatly into Grant’s, was shaking, and the palm was sweaty. How much did this mean to Tristan? A hell of a lot, that much was clear, and Grant nodded and tried to be reassuring as he squeezed Tristan’s hand, despite his own terror.
There were no hugs, no happy greetings, not like when Grant had gone home. Neither of Tristan’s parents were even smiling, just looking Grant over. At that moment, Grant had never felt so dirty, so low, so poor.
“Aren’t you going to introduce your friend?” There was a slight emphasis on the way that Tristan’s mother said it, definitely done on purpose. It was a subtle insult, and Grant’s cheeks flushed in response.
“Mom, Dad, this is my boyfriend, Grant. Grant, my parents, Cecelia and Edward.”
Grant was watching closely, and he saw dismay in both sets of eyes, but no real surprise. He didn’t have a lot of time to contemplate that, because he was being offered a hand to shake, both Edward and Cecilia deigning, lowering themselves, to touching him. Should he be freaking honored or something?
He didn’t let go of Tristan’s hand the entire time that he shook his parents’ hands, and just like that, it was done. He and Tristan had no reason, absolutely none, to hide their relationship from anyone, not anymore.
People like Warren didn’t have any power over either of them, and they never would again. Grant was determined of that.
As they walked into the house, which was ostentatious in a way that seemed faintly ridiculous to Grant now, Tristan led the way unerringly through more corridors, past more marble and lush carpets and art that probably cost more money than Grant would ever see in his life.
“Mom and Dad tried to set up a guest room for you to stay in,” Tristan murmured, as he led the way through the maze. Grant would have gotten lost in a second if he had tried to find his way himself, and he made a mental note to stay close by Tristan’s side. Not that that would be a huge hardship. “But I want you in my room. In my bed.”
There was a heat to Tristan’s gaze that awoke an answering flush of fire in Grant’s cheeks. It had, after all, been a few weeks since they had been together last. His body remembered, and as soon as they were alone, Grant was on Tristan, pushing him against the wall of his lush, luxurious room, seizing his lips in a desperate, eager kiss. Their tongues tangled, and Tristan moaned as Grant pinned him, his hands slipping all over that lovely, slender body.
“Did you notice?” Tristan asked, slightly breathless with the force of the kiss once their lips had parted. “When I called you my boyfriend. I don’t think they were happy, but it was like they already knew.”
Grant nodded. He had noticed that, even at the time, with all the awkwardness. And they both knew that there was only one person who could have told on them. So, in the end, Warren had done the very worst that he could do, petty and spiteful and vindictive, and it hadn’t even done him any good.
“We’re safe from him, darling,” Grant whispered. “We don’t have to ever be scared again.” He slid his fingers up under Tristan’s shirt, finding his nipples and toying with them, pinching them just a little bit in that way that he knew that Tristan loved.
“Mister Ainsley, it’s time for lunch,” came a light, feminine voice through the door, and Grant growled softly in reaction. That interruption couldn’t have come at a worse time, but they would have more time together. All the time they wanted to destroy that enormous, expensive, lush bed which Grant had briefly caught a glimpse of in Tristan’s huge bedroom.
“To be continued,” Tristan promised, and they broke away from each other for now, though they both slid their arms around each other even as they went down to what was undoubtedly going to be an incredibly awkward lunch with Tristan’s parents.
Any awkwardness was worth it, though, when it meant that Grant got to be near Tristan again.
***
By Christmas morning, Tristan was ready to scream. His parents were doing everything in their power to make Grant feel uncomfortable, and if Grant were a lesser man, he might have been spurred into some sort of retaliation, which was probably the plan, for them to try to get Grant to do something so that they could be justified in kicking him out.
But it was almost over. There was just a cold, awkward Christmas morning to get through, and then a huge, lavish meal, catered, of course, filled with friends and business associates of Tristan’s parents, particularly his father. On the day after Christmas, the plan had been for Grant to go back to his own house.
But Grant had invited Tristan back with him, and after the time he had spent with Grant and his mother, he was inclined to accept the offer. Grant’s apartment was small and a little shabby, but it was filled with love in a way that this huge mansion wasn’t. In a way that Tristan hadn’t even thought possible.
The day passed slowly, and then, finally, it was time for the dinner. There was this aura of excitement in the air, and his parents were the ones exuding it. Tristan didn’t understand it, not until his mother turned, with excruciating casualness, to face him and Grant, her eyes focused entirely on Tristan like Grant barely existed.
“Darling, one of your little friends from school will be here soon,” she commented, and Tristan frowned a little. Who was coming? Manny and his family, maybe? Or someone else? He couldn’t think of anyone who would delight her that much.
A knock came at the door, and there was a smug smile on his father’s face, one that Tristan knew all too well. Whatever was about to happen, everything in him was screaming that it was going to be bad.
“That must be them,” his father spoke with satisfaction, and soon enough, the butler was showing in the last three people on the planet that Tristan had been prepared to see.
“What’s up, losers?” Warren asked, grinning, thoroughly pleased with himself. He didn’t look good, though. He’d lost muscle tone, and his skin was sort of blotchy like he’d been drinking too much and sleeping not enough. He was still handsome, but that handsomeness would fade if he didn’t start taking care of himself better.
Tristan looked at Grant, who met his eyes evenly but with his mouth set in a firm, uncompromising line. This was utterly unacceptable, of course, and when Tristan looked over at his parents, he saw that they knew it. That they were smiling at him, telling him without words that they knew. They knew everything, at least from Warren’s position.
“Wanna go?” Tristan asked, and Grant laughed, he actually laughed, as if he found this whole thing funny. And in a way, it was. Nothing more than a blatant attempt to try to scare Grant out of Tristan’s life, it was actually sort of pathetic. Bullying tactics, no more, no less.
“Yes. Yes, I really do,” Grant spoke up, neither of them really trying to keep their voices down. “I’ll get my stuff. Thank you for your hospitality, Mister and Misses Ainsley.”
“Tristan, you can’t …” his mother started, only to be interrupted by his father, who didn’t even hesitate before he cut his wife off.
“Think about this, son. Is he worth losing everything for?”
That wasn’t something that Tristan even needed to consider. He knew the answer to it, had spent months figuring it out, figuring himself out, and the thought of losing all of his money didn’t bother him anymore. Let them keep it. Let them fill a room with gold coins and dive into it like that old cartoon duck did.
“Yes, he would be, but I’m not losing everything,” Tristan informed them. “Just a bunch of money.”
When he looked into their eyes, he saw no understanding of that statement. To these people, to all of the people in the room except to him and to Grant, money was everything. He might as well have just told them that he was flying to the moon in a spaceship made of cherries to harvest some green moon cheese. It was utter nonsense to them.
But for the first time in his life, maybe, he found that he didn’t care if they understood or not. So he just grinned at them, then tugged Grant out of the room. He should have been terrified, maybe, but when it came down to it there was no fear whatsoever. Nothing but a sense of the rightness of what he was doing.
Let them disown him. Let them take everything that they could away from him.
“You’ll be fine, you know,” Grant comforted him, as though he could read Tristan’s thoughts. “You’re a genius. You’ve got your scholarship, and you can do this with or without them.”
Even if Tristan had figured that out already, it didn’t exactly suck to hear it out loud. He gave Grant a smirk that he was sort of afraid came out more as an adoring smile, but at least he could trust Grant not to make fun of him for it. Especially not when Grant was giving him the same smile right back.
As they walked through the hallway, Tristan turned his gaze to look at everything, like it was all for the first time. The art, the marble, the flowers, the subtle little signs of good taste that he had taken for granted for his whole life.
“I might not see it again,” he told Grant when he saw the other man looking at him. But he didn’t regret it, not even the slightest bit. Not when he’d seen Warren walk into the room like he owned the place.
He knew that he was being weird about this, but Grant was patient, walking the hallways along with him, silent and, for once, not judgmental. They got to his room, and Tristan looked around.
This could be the last time that he saw all of this stuff, too. But, in the end, he found that it was all just stuff. He needed clothing, toiletries, a few books. That was really it, and he got started tossing things into a bag.
“Tristan …” Grant started, perching on the edge of the bed, and Tristan raised his head to look at him. He frowned, trying to read his lover’s eyes. Was that pity that he saw there? He could handle a lot of things, but pity was not one of theme, and he narrowed his eyes at Grant to warn him off.
“No. Shut up, just don’t,” he warned. “I know what I’m doing.”
“I know you do,” Grant murmured, giving him a secret little smile. “But just come here for a second, please?”
It wasn’t until Tristan had plopped himself boldly down onto Grant’s lap, and he had his boyfriend’s arms around him, that he realized that he was shaking. It had been the easiest thing in the world to walk out on his parents, but it seemed like there was going to be a little bit of aftermath to deal with.
“You don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to do anything alone anymore,” Grant whispered, and Tristan felt a tension that he hadn’t even known that he was carrying in his shoulders just simply melt away. He gripped Grant’s face suddenly and pulled him close, kissing him in a way that he never meant to be chaste, or reassuring, even if Grant started off kissing him back that way.
“Tristan,” Grant protested, laughing a little bit, when Tristan turned to face him directly and straddled his hips. “What are you doing? You just walked out on your parents. Someone might want to come talk to you.”
And that was a sign of just how little Grant understood about being raised the way Tristan was. His parents, care enough about him to come see how he was? He snorted softly and shook his head.
“I don’t care,” he whispered, pushing his hands, hungry and eager, under Grant’s shirt to slip over the smooth, hot skin there. “I need you.” And who knew how long it would be after this until they were alone again? Almost certainly, if nothing else, this was going to be the last time that he was going to be able to be with Grant in this room.
So he slipped down between Grant’s legs, pushing them apart so that he had room, and deftly opened the button of his jeans. Grant was hesitating a bit, but when Tristan reached inside and gripped him, he was pleased to find that Grant was already starting to plump up nicely. And that was definitely something that he wanted to encourage.
Without hesitation, Tristan wrapped his lips around that gorgeous, full cock, feeling the slippery trail of precome that the head leaked over his tongue, the way it hardened and swelled in his mouth. In a second, it seemed, all of Grant’s objections utterly vanished, and Tristan would have grinned up at him if his mouth wasn’t so full.
Not that he was complaining.
Grant moaned, the sexiest sound that Tristan had ever heard, maybe because Grant had always fought to keep himself so controlled. Just knowing that Grant was too worked up, and actually trusted Tristan, made it that much hotter.
“No, baby, not like this,” Grant whispered, tugging Tristan away from him, just as Tristan was looking forward to the hot gush of come into his mouth. He could tell that Grant was close, and only reluctantly did he allow himself to be pulled away from that thick, swollen erection.
“Then how?” Tristan whispered, gazing up at him plaintively. “Whatever you want, baby, just as long as it’s soon.”
Grant actually chuckled, like he enjoyed how crazy he was driving Tristan, but that was fair enough considering that Tristan had been doing the exact same thing. Grant reached down, strong hands settling on Tristan’s shoulders, and tugged him up to perch on Grant’s lap.
“Soon is good,” Grant murmured back, and then his hands were stroking down Tristan’s body and tugging off his clothes, all very rushed. They didn’t necessarily have the most time ever, but more than that, Tristan sensed that Grant wanted the same connection between them that Tristan did. The same reaffirmation of their commitment to each other, even in the face of everything that had happened today.
It probably wouldn’t be the last time people tried to pull them apart, but none of those times, Tristan was determined, would ever work, no better than Warren’s try had.
In a matter of seconds, they were both naked, with Tristan shifting around just enough to slip their clothing free. He was deeply grateful for the fact that he’d been tested, and come up clean because the last thing he wanted at the moment was to be separated from Grant in any way.
As it was, he could just rub his ass over Grant’s dick, which was slippery and glistening with Tristan’s saliva already, and then, still straddling him, their chests pressed sweetly together, Tristan drove himself slowly onto the other man, the only person he had ever, or would ever, let inside of himself.
Grant’s hands were warm and strong as they settled on the slight curve of Tristan’s hips, pulling him down gently, but with very clear need. Face to face, they kissed, as Tristan rocked himself down until his ass was resting on Grant’s upper thighs and they were completely linked to each other.
Nothing had ever felt like this, riding the man that he loved, looking into his brilliant blue eyes so that he could watch every tiny little flicker of pleasure that filled them. He had never known that sex could be about more than just the physical release, that it could feel good in a way that had very little to do with his body, as good as it did feel to rock on Grant, to feel the thick, blunt cockhead rocking against his prostate.
Pressure started to build in the center of his body, his balls drawing up tightly against his body as his cock throbbed against his own stomach. Grant’s hand came up to grip him, stroking him as they rocked together, and the euphoria, the ecstasy, just seemed to increase more with every thrust.
“Fuck, Grant, I love you,” Tristan groaned, right on the edge of release and not watching what he said. Not that it wasn’t true, but in some way, it still felt weird to admit to that. Maybe it would for a while, given the years and years of feeling unlovable himself.
But Grant had helped with that so much, just by loving him, by accepting him.
“I love you, too, darling,” Grant whispered, and then he gave a cry, their eyes linked so intimately, their gaze so open and free, that Tristan knew when Grant was going to come even before he felt the hot spill of his fluids inside of him. At the exact same time, Tristan cried out and writhed on top of him as he shot his own release onto his own stomach, and onto Grant, too, painting him with streaks of pearly white.
“I guess we’d better go,” Grant whispered, though he showed no signs of movement, and Tristan, to be honest, wasn’t all that excited about leaving just yet, either. His muscles still felt like they were made out of jello after that incredible orgasm.
So he just curled up on Grant and snuggled close, smiling a little bit as he rested his head on Grant’s shoulder and felt the heavy, but slowing, beat of his heart, smelled the spicy musk of his sweat.
“Yeah, but where?” Tristan murmured, and through the haze of his satisfied desire, he felt the first faint glimmerings of concern. The first real, true understanding of just what he had done, walking out on his family. It had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do, at the time, and it still did. It was just that it was so final.
“Tristan …” Grant whispered, hugging him close. Tristan burrowed his face into Grant’s shoulder, clinging to him, for once, without any shame whatsoever. “Tristan, you did what you had to do. Your parents love you. They’ll come around.”
His parents loved him? That was news to him, but he let himself hope, for the moment. Maybe someday his parents would want to be in his life again, would accept him for who he was rather than who they wanted him to be.
“It doesn’t matter where we go,” Tristan murmured, and he pulled his head up, a smile on his face as he looked affectionately at the man that he loved. “Because wherever we go, we’ll be together, right?”
Grant’s bright smile was answer enough for Tristan, who sealed the deal with a kiss.