may interest you to know that not everyone is ready to throw the death penalty at someone who drinks a beer before their twenty-first birthday,” said Tristan.
“I know that. They don't need to. Who do you think I help dig out of cars and take to the morgue every Friday and Saturday night? Have you forgotten you're driving, Sparky?”
“No, I haven't forgotten; I'm just adjusting my destination,” he said tiredly. “I'm going home. I'll see you around, Officer.”
“Is that your answer for everything? Just leave if someone doesn't like what you've done? Don't you feel anything is worth changing your behavior or your ideas for? Is having a beer so important that you'd just move on?”
Tristan was enraged. “You didn't even talk to me in there; you just treated me like I pissed on the rug and then marched out, towing me in your wake like a bad dog. Jeff sneered at me the minute I arrived, kept talking smack, but nothing shamed me the way you treated me in front of them in the end did.” He got out his keys, glad his dad's old BMW had heated seats. The evening had grown cold, and his blood colder, as he walked away from Michael.
“Look, I was embarrassed, I admit it,” said Michael. “Jeff's boy has some problems and has had some trouble with the law, and I saw you drinking with him and thought, Oh, shit . He doesn't get that this kid will look up to him and see someone to admire and emulate. Jeff had to practically surgically remove him from a bad crowd when he put him in private school. I know you're a good guy, but it's so important to show kids like him that alcohol isn't a panacea, you know?”
“I know. Thank you for everything, okay? I really just want to…”
Michael suddenly shifted, and without warning, caught Tristan in his arms, their lips meeting, their tongues sliding together like a dance.
“I just…” said Tristan between invasions, his body reacting instantly to his lover's nearness.
“Sparky, I don't want you to go, please,” he said, his hands on either side of Tristan's face. “Come home with me.” He looked at Tristan then, nudging Tristan's mouth with his lips, teasing, licking, his body starting a slow grind and burn that Tristan felt to his toes. He tasted Tristan's lips, and then, his eyes questioning, he sighed deeply. “I'm so stupid.” He rested his forehead on Tristan's, his hands sliding down his arms and catching Tristan's hands in his own.
“What?” asked Tristan quietly. He didn't understand what was happening, his head still spinning from the assault on his lips.
“It wasn't your beer, was it?” Michael's voice was so low it came out more like a moan.
“Nope,” said Tristan. His throat closed. He was silent, not trusting himself to speak.
“Why didn't you say something?” said Michael.
“Edward's dad is so charming, I couldn't help but be in awe,” he said dryly.
“Follow me home?” asked Michael. “Please?”
“I told Edward that you were my guy , and then you treated me like warmed-over vomit. Is that going to happen every time you think I've made a mistake?” he asked, needing to know. “'Cause I'm going to tell you right now, I will not stay with someone who thinks they have the right to treat me like that. I had a dad. He was a great man, and you're not him. He never made me feel the way you did tonight, even when the house caught fire…just so you know.”
“That's probably what made you such a good person, huh?” Something in Michael's tone of voice caught and held Tristan on the edge of the moment. “Sometimes I get so busy protecting the world from its own stupidity that I forget that it's okay to be kind. My mom tells me that a lot.”
Biting his lip, Tristan tried to decide how much he wanted to say. “I poured that kid's beer out into the planter and told him he could vent instead of drink, because I'd listen.” Tristan held his breath, wondering if
“I know that. They don't need to. Who do you think I help dig out of cars and take to the morgue every Friday and Saturday night? Have you forgotten you're driving, Sparky?”
“No, I haven't forgotten; I'm just adjusting my destination,” he said tiredly. “I'm going home. I'll see you around, Officer.”
“Is that your answer for everything? Just leave if someone doesn't like what you've done? Don't you feel anything is worth changing your behavior or your ideas for? Is having a beer so important that you'd just move on?”
Tristan was enraged. “You didn't even talk to me in there; you just treated me like I pissed on the rug and then marched out, towing me in your wake like a bad dog. Jeff sneered at me the minute I arrived, kept talking smack, but nothing shamed me the way you treated me in front of them in the end did.” He got out his keys, glad his dad's old BMW had heated seats. The evening had grown cold, and his blood colder, as he walked away from Michael.
“Look, I was embarrassed, I admit it,” said Michael. “Jeff's boy has some problems and has had some trouble with the law, and I saw you drinking with him and thought, Oh, shit . He doesn't get that this kid will look up to him and see someone to admire and emulate. Jeff had to practically surgically remove him from a bad crowd when he put him in private school. I know you're a good guy, but it's so important to show kids like him that alcohol isn't a panacea, you know?”
“I know. Thank you for everything, okay? I really just want to…”
Michael suddenly shifted, and without warning, caught Tristan in his arms, their lips meeting, their tongues sliding together like a dance.
“I just…” said Tristan between invasions, his body reacting instantly to his lover's nearness.
“Sparky, I don't want you to go, please,” he said, his hands on either side of Tristan's face. “Come home with me.” He looked at Tristan then, nudging Tristan's mouth with his lips, teasing, licking, his body starting a slow grind and burn that Tristan felt to his toes. He tasted Tristan's lips, and then, his eyes questioning, he sighed deeply. “I'm so stupid.” He rested his forehead on Tristan's, his hands sliding down his arms and catching Tristan's hands in his own.
“What?” asked Tristan quietly. He didn't understand what was happening, his head still spinning from the assault on his lips.
“It wasn't your beer, was it?” Michael's voice was so low it came out more like a moan.
“Nope,” said Tristan. His throat closed. He was silent, not trusting himself to speak.
“Why didn't you say something?” said Michael.
“Edward's dad is so charming, I couldn't help but be in awe,” he said dryly.
“Follow me home?” asked Michael. “Please?”
“I told Edward that you were my guy , and then you treated me like warmed-over vomit. Is that going to happen every time you think I've made a mistake?” he asked, needing to know. “'Cause I'm going to tell you right now, I will not stay with someone who thinks they have the right to treat me like that. I had a dad. He was a great man, and you're not him. He never made me feel the way you did tonight, even when the house caught fire…just so you know.”
“That's probably what made you such a good person, huh?” Something in Michael's tone of voice caught and held Tristan on the edge of the moment. “Sometimes I get so busy protecting the world from its own stupidity that I forget that it's okay to be kind. My mom tells me that a lot.”
Biting his lip, Tristan tried to decide how much he wanted to say. “I poured that kid's beer out into the planter and told him he could vent instead of drink, because I'd listen.” Tristan held his breath, wondering if
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