Chapter Twenty-three
TRISTAN
When Colby came back, he was still clothed, which was probably just as well for Tristan’s blood pressure. But he wasn’t getting into bed. He was just kind of hovering, looking uncertain.
Tristan folded back the comforter in invitation, and Colby stiffly climbed in beside him. He lay there like an old tomb effigy, silent and stiff, arms crossed as if he wasn’t sure where to put them.
They were in the same bed but felt an ocean away from one another.
“This is ridiculous,” Tristan said at last. “We did this last night and the world didn’t end.”
Colby turned over and faced Tristan, his eyes searching Tristan’s face for something. Tristan had no idea what, but he wanted nothing more than for that uncertainty in Colby’s eyes to be banished forever.
He reached out and gently trailed his fingers down Colby’s cheek, and he couldn’t prevent a smile spreading on his face. Because Colby was wonderful. They lay there watching one another, and slowly the tension between them faded.
“I don’t mind if you want to be closer,” Colby said. “You look like you’re about to fall out.”
Tristan inched in from the edge of the bed where he’d been balanced rather precariously, and everything was suddenly easy. The space between them dissolved until their shoulders pressed together and their arms brushed.
For a while, they didn’t say anything. The room was still, filled only with the sound of their soft breathing.
And then Colby rolled a little more onto his side, enough that their knees bumped together. “Can I…?”
Tristan didn’t ask what he meant. Just nodded.
Colby leaned in slowly. Like he was giving Tristan time to stop him, if he wanted.
Their lips met, and it wasn’t like earlier, in the tack room. This was slower. Softer. But underneath that—want. Steady and sure.
Colby’s hand found Tristan’s waist under the covers, his fingers spreading slowly over his t-shirt. Tristan shifted closer, kissed him deeper. His heart was pounding so hard he was surprised the mattress wasn’t shaking.
One of Colby’s thighs slid between his, and suddenly everything tilted—Tristan’s hips stuttered forward before he could stop himself, and their bodies slotted together, heat meeting heat through layers of clothes.
Tristan broke the kiss on a gasp, forehead pressing to Colby’s. “Sorry, I—”
“Don’t be,” Colby said roughly. His voice was a little shaky now. “That was… good.”
They kissed again, deeper this time, and Tristan let his hand slide down Colby’s back, pulling him in. Colby moved with him, the rhythm slow but unmistakable.
It wasn’t careful anymore. It was hungry, and building fast.
Clothes got in the way. Tristan’s hands were under the hem of Colby’s borrowed t-shirt before he even knew he’d moved them. He hesitated.
“Can I?”
Colby nodded. “Yeah. Just—slow.”
Tristan peeled the shirt up carefully, reverently. He drank in the sight of Colby’s chest—solid muscle and more beautiful than anyone had a right to be.
“You’re…” He stopped himself before he could say something stupid. But Colby looked at him, and smiled faintly.
“So are you,” he said, fingers sliding up under Tristan’s shirt in return. “Can I?”
Tristan lifted his arms, breath catching as Colby pulled the fabric over his head.
When their skin met, Tristan’s breath punched out of him, and everything seemed to blur.
They explored each other, though their hands stayed above the waist, and Tristan had never known anything like the feel of Colby’s cock pressed against his.
Didn’t matter there were layers of cotton between them.
There was enough friction, and the knowledge that Colby was hard because of him left him gasping into Colby’s mouth.
They kept rocking gently against one another, and the soft noises Colby was making were driving Tristan out of his mind.
He came first, pressing his forehead against Colby’s shoulder to try and anchor himself as he shuddered, helpless with pleasure that was like nothing he’d known before.
He was dazed with it, full of something that felt like love.
He barely had time to catch his breath before Colby gasped and then went still, clinging to Tristan like he was the only thing keeping him grounded.
They stayed tangled together afterward, quiet and slow, catching their breath in the hush.
Colby’s fingers were in Tristan’s hair, Tristan’s arm curled tight around Colby’s waist. The world had narrowed to the warmth where their bodies touched.
But as their breathing slowly steadied, the haze started to lift.
“Oh,” Tristan said faintly. Not an entirely happy sound as he realized he’d come in his pajamas.
Colby huffed a breath of laughter. “Yeah.”
They were both still dressed from the waist down. Wet stickiness was cooling uncomfortably, and Tristan was suddenly, painfully aware of just how unsexy post-orgasmic cleanup could be.
“So,” he said, very casually, staring at the ceiling like it might offer escape from the embarrassment of having come in his pants. “That happened.”
“Think so,” Colby murmured, and there was something dry and amused in his voice that Tristan hadn’t heard before. Not mocking, but wry. Lighter than anything he’d said earlier. It made Tristan’s chest squeeze.
Tristan shifted a little and winced. This wasn’t going to go away just because he ignored the embarrassment. “Okay. We are definitely going to need clean underwear.”
Colby gave a quiet groan. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any that’ll fit?”
“Possibly? Hang on.” Tristan wriggled out of bed, padding barefoot across the room, trying to ignore the damp fabric clinging to him. He opened a drawer and rifled through it. “You’re not allowed to judge me for my underwear choices, by the way.”
He turned around and tossed a folded pair of boxers at Colby.
Colby caught them, looked down, and blinked. “Singing bananas.”
“They’re fun. Shut up.”
Colby’s lips twitched. “I like them.”
Tristan’s cheeks warmed, and he grabbed another pair for himself. “Bathroom’s yours first, if you want it.”
But Colby didn’t move immediately. He was looking at the boxers in his hands, still half smiling. “Thanks,” he said, and it was more than politeness. It held a kind of wonder.
“It’s just laundry,” Tristan said softly.
Colby shook his head. “It’s not.” And then the smile on his face faded and he looked at Tristan, uncertain once more. “I, uh…found something earlier,” he said quietly. “In your bathroom cabinet.”
Tristan blinked, mentally running through what the hell he kept in there that could cause that wariness in Colby’s voice and coming up blank. “Okay?”
“Lube,” Colby said. “I thought it meant something. That you were expecting…” He trailed off, then met Tristan’s eyes. “But you weren’t.”
How could Colby have even thought that? His instant of indignation disappeared as he realized that, for Colby, everything was a trap. Fail to understand the instruction, fail to obey it in the way Nico wanted—he cut those thoughts off before he got angry, because Colby would misread that, too.
Instead, he held Colby’s gaze and let him see the truth of his answer. “No. I wasn’t.”
Colby nodded, but seemed to have run out of words.
Tristan crossed the room to sit on the bed beside him, where he reached out and touched Colby’s arm. Grounding, undemanding contact, or so he hoped.
“You don’t have to do anything just because you think I want it. You know that, right?”
Colby nodded, but he bit his lip as he did so.
“What am I missing here?” Tristan asked. “I know I shouldn’t have to ask, but I don’t know. And I don’t want to screw up and hurt you.”
Colby’s eyes were soft and wondering as he looked at Tristan, as if he’d said something amazing rather than the simple truth.
“The thing is,” he said uncertainly, “I’m not sure I’ll always know the difference. Between me wanting to please you, and what I actually want.”
Horrified, Tristan tried to school his expression so Colby wouldn’t think he’d said anything wrong.
Bryce never stopped talking to him about this stuff, about consent in every form, about knowing and asserting his own lines and respecting other people’s.
He did his best to live it, though he still got it wrong sometimes.
The thought of Colby’s boundaries having been so trampled that he no longer even knew where they were.
.. Sickness stirred in his stomach, crept up the back of his throat.
Swallowing it down, he gently squeezed Colby’s arm. “Then we’ll figure it out together,” he said.
Colby smiled at him, unsure but trusting.
Much as Tristan wanted to stay here like this with him, the cold dampness in his pajamas was starting to get seriously unpleasant.
“Don’t know about you, but I could definitely do with getting out of these,” Tristan said, and shuffled his way to the bathroom.
When they both climbed back into bed, clean and dry, Colby reached for him, like it was already natural, and Tristan curled into his side.
“I meant what I said,” Colby murmured after a while, voice soft in the hush of the room.
“About the boxers?”
He snorted. “About wanting this. With you.”
Tristan’s heart felt too big for his chest. “Me too.”
He knew there were still a thousand things they hadn’t talked about, but for now, this was what mattered. One another, shared warmth, and a pair of ridiculous banana boxers.