an historic home, and it feels like the best place on earth for a good book. It must be great when you have the fire lit.” He was babbling, and he knew it, but Michael didn't seem to mind too much.
“Yeah,” said Michael. “Too hot for one today, but sometime soon it'll get cold enough. I don't use the heater; I just light the fireplaces.”
“Fireplaces? Plural? There's more than one?”
“Yes, I have a Franklin stove in the bedroom with a gas log for warmth. I only need it once in a blue moon, but it's got character. I put one in my mom's place first because she asked me to, and then I liked it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I like old things. I wanted a house that felt like it wasn't all wired for cable and satellite and broadband. I wanted it to feel like a home, not an office.”
“You nailed it,” said Tristan, settling onto the couch and sinking into the soft cushions. The leather felt like a baby's skin against his hands, and he sighed. “How do you live without all that stuff, though? I don't watch an awful lot of television, but I have to admit to being a little bit of a CSI and NUMB3RS junkie.”
“I have a television; it's just not obvious.” He smiled. “I do have two bedrooms—one I use as a media/office room, but you'd never know it unless you searched. The bathroom's big enough; the kitchen I kept old-fashioned by buying refurbished appliances. This house is all about the wood, so most of the effort has gone into the carvings and moldings.” He seemed to look around again, as if he needed to check that it was still right, and then said nothing more.
The topic of Michael's house was, if not exhausted, momentarily worn out. Tristan had little idea what to say. He looked at his hands, which were folded carefully in his lap, and wondered if it would be okay to just reach over and grab Michael by the hair. That would be bad, he decided, probably.
Michael saved him by slipping an arm around his shoulders. “So let's start again, Sparky. Why are you here?”
“You're really going to keep bugging me till I tell you?”
Michael nodded.
“Here goes, okay? Even when I was a kid and I was reading those Dick and Jane books, I thought I'd probably be better off with Dick, you know? So Viper dumps me; she stands me up, see? Then her brother answers the door, and long story short, he was hard and leaking on his jeans because his girlfriend was there, and I thought, Ah a ! That's what I'm talking about. I mean I just own it. Sign me up for one of those! It was all I could do to keep from licking him, or just taking a big bite right through the denim, and I was only saved from the embarrassment of a lifetime because his girlfriend came up from behind him, with her mussed-up hair and kissed-up lips, and I thought, Well, shit. Got to come up with a plan .”
“And that was your whole plan? Borders, Gay Lit 101, and a cup of coffee with a rice crispy treat?”
“Well, yeah. I had condoms; I'm not stupid.”
“My lucky day.” Michael rolled his eyes.
“Look, I'm sorry you got involved, and thank you for lunch, man. Although, it's not like you didn't work really hard to get yourself involved. At least admit that,” said Tristan.
“Sparky, when you're right, you're right.” Still, Michael didn't move. He just sat there with his arm around Tristan, his own shoulders shaking with laughter.
“Anyway, I loaned my car to my sister, which is why I was boarding today, so I need a ride home,” said Tristan. “Please?” He thought being polite couldn't hurt.
“Not taking you home.”
“What?”
“Not returning you. I like you. I'm keeping you.” He got up and asked again, as if he hadn't just said the strangest thing, “Still want that lemonade?”
“Um, yeah,” said Tristan.
Michael held out his hand. “Then come help me make it,” he said, pulling Tristan along like a toy. He lit the stove
“Yeah,” said Michael. “Too hot for one today, but sometime soon it'll get cold enough. I don't use the heater; I just light the fireplaces.”
“Fireplaces? Plural? There's more than one?”
“Yes, I have a Franklin stove in the bedroom with a gas log for warmth. I only need it once in a blue moon, but it's got character. I put one in my mom's place first because she asked me to, and then I liked it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I like old things. I wanted a house that felt like it wasn't all wired for cable and satellite and broadband. I wanted it to feel like a home, not an office.”
“You nailed it,” said Tristan, settling onto the couch and sinking into the soft cushions. The leather felt like a baby's skin against his hands, and he sighed. “How do you live without all that stuff, though? I don't watch an awful lot of television, but I have to admit to being a little bit of a CSI and NUMB3RS junkie.”
“I have a television; it's just not obvious.” He smiled. “I do have two bedrooms—one I use as a media/office room, but you'd never know it unless you searched. The bathroom's big enough; the kitchen I kept old-fashioned by buying refurbished appliances. This house is all about the wood, so most of the effort has gone into the carvings and moldings.” He seemed to look around again, as if he needed to check that it was still right, and then said nothing more.
The topic of Michael's house was, if not exhausted, momentarily worn out. Tristan had little idea what to say. He looked at his hands, which were folded carefully in his lap, and wondered if it would be okay to just reach over and grab Michael by the hair. That would be bad, he decided, probably.
Michael saved him by slipping an arm around his shoulders. “So let's start again, Sparky. Why are you here?”
“You're really going to keep bugging me till I tell you?”
Michael nodded.
“Here goes, okay? Even when I was a kid and I was reading those Dick and Jane books, I thought I'd probably be better off with Dick, you know? So Viper dumps me; she stands me up, see? Then her brother answers the door, and long story short, he was hard and leaking on his jeans because his girlfriend was there, and I thought, Ah a ! That's what I'm talking about. I mean I just own it. Sign me up for one of those! It was all I could do to keep from licking him, or just taking a big bite right through the denim, and I was only saved from the embarrassment of a lifetime because his girlfriend came up from behind him, with her mussed-up hair and kissed-up lips, and I thought, Well, shit. Got to come up with a plan .”
“And that was your whole plan? Borders, Gay Lit 101, and a cup of coffee with a rice crispy treat?”
“Well, yeah. I had condoms; I'm not stupid.”
“My lucky day.” Michael rolled his eyes.
“Look, I'm sorry you got involved, and thank you for lunch, man. Although, it's not like you didn't work really hard to get yourself involved. At least admit that,” said Tristan.
“Sparky, when you're right, you're right.” Still, Michael didn't move. He just sat there with his arm around Tristan, his own shoulders shaking with laughter.
“Anyway, I loaned my car to my sister, which is why I was boarding today, so I need a ride home,” said Tristan. “Please?” He thought being polite couldn't hurt.
“Not taking you home.”
“What?”
“Not returning you. I like you. I'm keeping you.” He got up and asked again, as if he hadn't just said the strangest thing, “Still want that lemonade?”
“Um, yeah,” said Tristan.
Michael held out his hand. “Then come help me make it,” he said, pulling Tristan along like a toy. He lit the stove
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