Christian Miller is the (imperfect_son) wrote in odysseyic, @ 2018-04-03 14:35:00 |
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Entry tags: | christian, tris |
finding acceptance
Who: Christian and Tris
Setting: Flashback, about 8 months ago
Tris stepped under the awning of the looming block before him as the rain began to drizzle down from the grey skies above. He ignored the glare this action got him from the doorman, who looked very much like he wanted to move him on. Tris figured the only reason he wasn't bring kicked to the curb was because the doorman had seen him kiss Christian before sending him upstairs.
Tris glanced at the door again, then checked his phone. Nothing.
He hated this. Hated waiting. Knowing he should hope it went well, fearing it wouldn't. Worrying that Chris would get his heart broken. Terrified that if it came to a choice between Tris and his family, Christian would make the obvious choice and maybe Tris would be standing here, waiting for something that would never happen. Maybe Chris just wasn't coming back.
He checked his messages again.
Nothing.
Christian had been really excited about the whole thing. He’d told Tris the night before, pressed against his side in the tiny twin bed, that he was going to tell his parents, tell them about everything, about Tris, about himself. They’d have to be okay with it. He wasn’t in high school, not making stupid mistakes at parties, but a grown man, coming off the Dean’s List recognition, plus departmental honors, and murmurs of a being a shoe-in for Phi Beta Kappa despite only finishing his first year. He had so many good things going for him.
Only there wasn’t any number of accolades that would matter. No tears or admission of being in love, truly in love, with Tris that would soften the blow. That could stem his mother’s tears or his father’s quiet, stern, and disgusted ‘get out’. Even when he tried to protest, his father had raged. No son of his was a faggot. No son of his would ever be such an abomination. Christian should have never been born. They should have cut him off years ago.
Chris had hoped his mother would see reason, that she’d want more for her only son, her only child, but the woman was as staunch a believer as her husband. Maybe even more so. She wiped her eyes and leveled with him, demanded to know if he was sure. Seeing a chance to maybe get her on his side, Christian insisted, he was happy, in love, Tris was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
She’d turned her back on him too. Told him to leave. Leave until he realized that it was either his path to hell, or them. That he had a choice. Get in line or get out.
Christian wasn’t even sure when he made the decision to get out, just that his feet carried him that way, out of the apartment, back to the elevator, leaving it all behind. It would have been easy, wouldn’t it? He’d done it before, lied about what he was, done as they wished, pretended to love a girl who would only ever be a friend. He maybe could have done it again, but not with Tris downstairs. Not knowing just how desperately he loved the man, something he hadn’t even told Tris yet. Christian was pretty sure that was what pulled him back out of the building, to where Tris was waiting under the awning. Really, he had no idea what he was doing, just that he couldn’t be there.
No son of theirs.
Well, maybe he wasn’t their son.
Tris knew it hadn't gone well the moment he saw him. It didn't take much, just one look at that empty face, the one that suggested that Chris didn't quite know how to be in his body right now. That look of shock that had Tris taking the few long strides that it took to get to his boyfriend, bundling him up into his arms in the middle of the street and not giving a damn if they were making a show or getting in anyone’s way.
Christian let himself get wrapped up in Tris’ arms, pressing his face into his boyfriend’s neck, biting back a sob. How? How could they hate him for this? For such a small and huge thing? “I don’t know..” he murmured, truly not knowing what was next. Did he go home? Hadn’t he just left home, being told it wasn’t his anymore?
“Come on,” Tris said, kissing the top of his head. He looked up, shooting the doorman a dirty look in case he was even thinking of saying anything, quite happy to tar him with the same brush as Christian's parents with no evidence.
He was a little surprised when the look he got in return was one of understanding and sympathy. The doorman stepped forward. “Could I hail you a cab, perhaps, Sirs?” he suggested, then smirked a little. “The Millers have an account I can have the fare charged to…”
Oh, that Tris could go for. Fuck em if they weren't at least going to pay for that. And it would be one hell of a bill. Tris didn't exactly live in this swanky part of town and whilst Ethan wasn't far, they weren't going there. Nor to Christian's dorm.
No, Tris gave the doorman his address in Brooklyn and then concentrated on Chris until they were being directed into the cab at the curb.
Christian lost track of all things that weren’t Tris. His did give the doorman a weak smile, a man he’d known for years, and seemed to know him better than even his parents did. He mumbled a thank you to the man before letting himself be bundled into the back of a cab, only slightly registering that the address that Tris gave wasn’t his dorm room. Still, that was fine. That might not even be there for much longer. Not if they really meant it, and they really didn’t want him anymore.
Tris let the cabbie ramble on about things nobody really cared about, barely even listening, to whatever quasi-political rant the guy was on. Instead he’d bundled himself into a corner and pulled Christian up snug against him, wrapping him up and holding him tight. He didn’t ask what was wrong, not yet. He didn’t want to make Chris speak in public - if his boyfriend wanted to start talking about what had happened, he could do.
Even if he’d wanted to, Christian didn’t have any words. He just watched the city go by them as the cab went, tracing lines between the freckles on Tris’ hands and arm. Whatever was being said was dulled out by the hum in his ears, the echoes of what his parents had said, how easily they’d dismissed him.
How’d they’d told him to choose.
The eternal sounds of the New York streets seemed to melt into the cabbie’s eternal drone. Voices, car horns, smatterings of music played too loud. Tris let it all wash over him as he slumped with his head bowed, nose to Christian’s hair, hand playing up and down his bicep in an attempt at being soothing. The car slowed and the sound of the roadway changed beneath them as they headed over the Brooklyn Bridge, but Tris didn’t even glance at the view. “Nearly there,” he whispered to Chris as they headed into the neighbourhood.
Eventually they stopped, pulled up in front of a nondescript building. Stores on the ground floor, a door set in the wall leading to the apartments above. “Here we go,” he said, easing Christian out of the car and onto the sidewalk.
Christian stared at the building, frown creasing his face. “Where is here?” he asked, voice quiet, barely there, over his shoulder from where he was still holding on to Tris’ hand. Where...were they? It wasn’t a part of the city he’d been to much and sure, they went over a bridge, but which one? He was completely lost.
“Here is where I live,” Tris said as the cab drove off. He pushed down a stab of the nerves that had been quieted by the gut instinct that this was the right thing to do. To bring Christian to his home, where he could make sure his boyfriend was looked after and safe.
He’d never brought Chris here before though. They’d been dating for months and Tris had managed to even mostly sidestep the question of where he lived. Just that it was ‘out of town’. They’d spent most of their time together either out, or in Christian’s dorm. Tris had become a part of Christian’s life, whilst keeping his own carefully separate. He hadn’t brought Chris here. He hadn’t introduced him to any of his friends.
“It’s not much,” Tris warned as he fished his keys out of a pocket and led them toward the door. The street door led to a narrow passage, mailboxes set into the wall on one side. The place hadn’t been painted for years, but it was mostly clean, if rather rundown. “I’m up three floors - we’re gonna have to walk,” he added with a grimace of apology. He didn’t need to have seen inside Christian’s fancy building to know that this would be a real comedown for him. There was a reason he’d never brought his boyfriend back here. It was one thing to tell him that Tris wasn’t rich - it was quite another to face him with the reality.
Christian stared at the building, following Tris inside, then looking up the stairs. “”It’s okay,” he said, not really bothered by it. People lived in walk ups. It was kind of a romantic notion, having a place in New York that was all his and not a shoebox of a dorm room. “You live so far,” he murmured, frowning at Tris. “You came all that way…” Regularly. Whenever he could. It wasn’t like they didn’t see each other as much as their scheduled allowed, but the drive to get here had been long.
Tris hadn’t really thought about it that way. He’d been coming up town for Ethan and for a lot of his gigs anyhow. It was habit. It was just budget that stopped him living closer. This apartment was all he could afford on his own and even then some months it was a harsh choice between food, rent and borrowing off his best friend. Not that said friend ever minded. It was just that Tris heavily guarded his independence. “The subway and I are old friends,” he joked. “It’s no big deal,” he added, brushing things off the way he so often did, not liking to seem in any way vulnerable, or to admit that maybe it was actually the fact that he would have travelled for Chris anyway. That Chris was a weakness that he couldn’t admit to, not even to the man himself.
“Still,” Chris said, frowning. “So far. I’m sorry. I should have come here.” It wasn’t a conscious thing, always having Tris at his place, but Tris seemed to want to be there, and Chris had assumed it was easier. And it was one less thing to think about.
“Don’t be sorry,” Tris said, jumping on that. “I don’t need you to be sorry - I was fine coming to you. Most of my work’s up that way anyhow. You have nothing to come down here for. It made more sense.” When they reached his floor, Tris led them down the hallway, past where his neighbours always left their kids bikes outside, stepping over strewn and abandoned toys, along to his door. “This is me,” he said with a shrug.
He unlocked the door and headed in, more nervous now. He’d done what he could with the place and Ethan had done more. The apartment was tiny - technically a one bedroom, though that was stretching it a little, since the ‘bedroom’ was only separated from the living area by an archway. The kitchen was just some cupboards and white goods on the other side of the living area and the bathroom was hardly big enough to turn around in. The windows were small, but that didn’t matter, since they the only view was of the building next door, but still, there were nice curtains up and Ethan had insisted he replace the stained secondhand couch he’d bought for next to nothing with something that had the Clarke stamp of approval on it. There was a coffee table that was covered in paper - scribbled musical arrangements for the most part. Some bills - both paid and not - and more than a few take out menus.
Next to the archway to the bedroom, there was a tiny dining table, on which Tris had set his ancient keyboard and it was clear that this was the most well used area of the apartment. The only thing that was properly clear and accessible. All in all, the place was a mess. A well lived in mess. “Sorry,” he said with a grimace as he looked around. “I wasn’t really expecting company.”
“Except you were here,” Chris pointed out as he followed Tris into his apartment. The size of the space didn’t really bother Christian. The dorm room he currently lived was mostly a closet, actually was probably the same size as the closet his mother had in their Upper East Side apartment, and likely smaller than the one at their house in the Hamptons for sure. The cluttered aspect of it did make him want to clean, but he managed to keep his hands to himself. His own shoebox was organized and neat within an inch of his life, but that was just how Christian did things.
Still, the place sort of screamed Tris. It smelled like his boyfriend, felt like him in all the little touches around the two rooms and even though it was small it was kind of homey. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not that bad. Plus, it’s yours.” Which might not be the case for Chris’ dorm tomorrow. They might leave him homeless.
Thinking about his parents shut him down again, looking at the floor and biting his lip to hold back tears. Tris wouldn’t want to deal with tears.
Tris walked up behind Christian as he saw his head drop and he put his arms around him, stooping to rest his chin on his shoulder, so they were cheek to cheek. “You wanna talk about it? Or do you just want a soda and to sit on the couch and watch shitty movies and forget about things for a while?”
Christian ran his fingers over Tris’ arm, trying to keep the tears away. The second option sounded so nice. “She told me to choose,” he murmured, then shook his head. “I don’t know what I want to do right now.”
Tris managed to keep the swearing in his head, the names he called Christian’s mother far too colourful to share with Christian right now. He’d figured that he’d known it was coming, ever since Chris had left the building and that look on his face, but there was no joy in being right this time. Another set of fucking fucked up good for nothing parents who didn’t want their kid.
“Okay,” Tris said, keeping that all inside and his voice smooth and soothing as he led Chris over to sit on the sofa, pushing a pile of clean, yet crumpled laundry to one side to clear a space. “You sit here, I’m gonna grab a couple of cans and we’re gonna relax for a while. You don’t need to know anything right now, okay?” It was only a couple of steps to his tiny refrigerator, so he was back hardly before he left, squeezing into the space beside Chris and handing him a soda.
That worked fine for Christian. He let Tris guide him to the couch, going quiet and looking at the laundry there as Tris went to get them drinks. As short of a time as Tris was gone, it was long enough for Chris to start into the pile, in the middle of folding a shirt when Tris came back.
“You know, you don’t have to do that,” Tris told him, eyeing the pile of laundry. “I was going to do that.” Which was a complete lie. Tris knew full well that he tended to never quite get round to folding laundry, instead just picking clean clothes out of the pile as and when he needed them. He’d never managed to organise his closet in a way that everything would fit anyhow.
“Don’t mind,” Christian said, setting the folded shirt aside. Then he took his drink, taking a sip before eyeing the mess of a coffee table. He moved a few things, just to set his drink down then went back to looking at the papers, trying to organize them in some sort of cohesive manner.
Tris watched him, aware of how neat and tidy Christian’s dorm room was. How very put together Christian always was. He knew he’d been hiding this side of himself, just another of the many parts of him and his life that he didn’t think were good enough for Christian. Another thing on the list to risk being that thing that finally made the guy come to his senses and leave. Something had to do it. Men like Christian didn’t date guys like him long term.
He thrust the thoughts away. Today wasn’t a day for self-pity, or dwelling on himself. Today it was Christian’s life falling apart and Tris needed to be prepared to be whatever his boyfriend needed him to be. “...I was playing around with new set ideas,” he offered as an explanation, getting up and fetching a box, sweeping all of the papers into it. “It’s nothing, it’s...it’s just some ideas. I’m really sorry about the mess,” he apologised again, taking the box and shoving it onto the high shelf in his closet.
Christian reached his hands out when Tris just shoved everything away, no real order to any of it, even though it had seemed that way when it was laid out. Or at least that some pages went with others. He didn’t comment though, putting his hands in his lap instead. “What kind of ideas?” he asked, really just wanting to listen to Tris talk. “New songs?” That was what it seemed like. After moment, he went back to the laundry, using the coffee table to make neat little piles sorted by type. “It’s not a mess.”
Tris laughed a little. “Yeah, it is,” he corrected, but he appreciated the forgiveness all the same. “Just some rearrangements. New ways of working the same stuff, mixed with some things I haven’t tried before. Always trying to expand my repertoire. Keeps things fresh and the less I have to work out under pressure, the better.” Not that he couldn’t do it, if he got a request for something random. He’d always had a talent for memorising songs and being able to recreate them, but often he couldn’t recall all of a song on the hoof and it took more concentration to fill in the gaps as he went.
“Do you write them yourself?” Chris asked, looking to where Tris had taken the box. Now he wanted to see it again, not that he could read music, but still. It was the principle of the thing. He wanted to see what Tris was working on.
Tris shook his head. “No - I don’t have that kind of talent,” he said, colouring a little. “I just adapt other artist’s work to my style.” He shrugged a little and sat back down on the couch. “You’ve heard what I do.”
“I’m sure you could,” Christian said with the utmost confidence, fitting two socks together and rolling them neatly to add to the pile. “I’ve heard part of what you can do. I know what you do for work, but what you do for yourself might not be the same.”
“You’re sweet. Wrong, but sweet,” Tris said, grabbing his can of soda and opening it as a distraction.
Christian let the shirt he was folding drop into his lap. “What’s that mean?”
“Writing original music is hard,” Tris said, with another shrug. “You said I could like you really believed that - like just because I’m a decent pianist and can hold a tune, I can do anything. That’s - that’s really not true. If I could, I’d probably be rich and famous right now.”
“Have you ever tried? I’m pretty sure what you do isn’t exactly easy and it’s pretty close to writing your own music. And you’re an amazing pianist.” Christian frowned. “Do you really think you’re just ‘okay’?”
Tris looked pained. “Chris, drop it, please,” he asked, quietly, feeling bad for cutting him off when he was already having a shitty day, but really not wanting to talk about this. “I know I play better than ‘okay’, okay?”
Christian winced, but let it go, cutting his eyes away from Tris. He didn’t go back to folding the shirt, wondering if this was it, where Tris realized that Christian wasn’t worth the effort. That he couldn’t be with someone whose own parents didn’t love him. He felt those stupid tears rising again and bit them back, not wanting to seem weak and stupid. Well, more stupid. “Sorry.”
Tris wilted a little. He was finding that he hated disappointing his boyfriend, but there were some aspects of Tris’ life he wasn't comfortable sharing either. He shifted to put an arm round Christian's shoulders. “No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. You were just being supportive and I was being a dick. I just… I know what I am with my music and I know what I'm not. I have a good thing going right now. No point ruining that by chasing rainbows.” Dreams didn't come true for people like him, after all.
Christian was slow to look at Tris, but he did, lacing the fingers of the hand across his shoulder with his. “I think you’re amazing. I can’t even read music. And I had forced piano lessons. I know how hard it is to learn that and to play and you make it look easy,” he explained, turning into Tris more and burying his nose in Tris’ shoulder. “I don’t see the harm in chasing after rainbows. Someone should.”
Tris arched a brow. “I didn't know you could play,” he teased, glancing over at the keyboard. “Did they send you to some stuffy teacher who made you sit up straight and learn your scales until you were so bored you wanted to scream?”
Christian shook his head. “No, I can’t play. My hands aren’t right, and my posture was fine, but I just couldn’t get it. I think, maybe. I remember how to punch one key at a time and play Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. Though she was stuffy. But after six weeks she deemed me unteachable and my parents found a new hobby for me.”
Tris chuckled a little at that, snuggling down a little more with Christian against him. “I can just imagine you. This little kid, sitting on a piano stool, legs dangling because they're too short to touch the floor. Maybe wearing short pants and a short sleeved button up. Oh! With a little bow tie. Like that British prince's kid. I bet you were precious,” he teased. “But, okay, no piano. What did you learn instead?”
“I was not that much of a square!” Christian said with a roll of his eyes. But he did remember that his feet didn’t quite touch the floor and yes, there had been more button downs than a normal child. He shook his head and nestled in closer to Tris. “Sports for a stint, but I was horrible at those too. I liked chess. I wanted to do ballet, but I never told my mother. But I remember making one of my schoolmates show me when she was practicing while waiting on pick up.”
Tris thought about that, trying to imagine all the various things. “You would have made a good dancer,” he said, eventually. “You’ve got rhythm. I bet you move really well - I should let you take me dancing one day.” It wouldn’t be ballet, of course, but it was something they’d yet to do together. In fact, there was lots they hadn’t done together. Tris hadn’t wanted to push things whilst Chris wasn’t out and Chris, well Christian had never seemed to be the type to offer up choices himself. He seemed happy to go along with whatever Tris wanted.
“No son of my father’s…” Christian started but trailed off, thinking of the harsh words that were thrown around earlier that day. That had been thrown around his whole life. His father never would have understood half the things Christian would have been interested in. At least he approved of Christian’s academic endeavors. That gave Chris an outlet to have school activities and didn’t force him into sports he hated.
Yeah, well, you father’s a narrow minded bigot. Tris kept him opinion to himself. For now, at least. He took a breath and sighed a little. “You wanna talk about that?” He asked, gently. “...About what happened today?” He tried to phrase it as an option, like Chris could say no, but he hoped he didn’t.
Christian let out a tired sigh, not able to look at Tris. He fiddled with a button on his shirt for a long moment before he spoke. “I was sure, sure they’d see that I could be gay and happy. That I could still be someone they should be proud of. Or even if...that they could see how I felt. How I...how important you are.” He wiped at his eyes as tears threatened to fall. “But it was high school all over again. Just louder.”
Tris wished that he could promise that it would all be okay. That whatever argument they’d so clearly had would blow over. That they’d come round and accept him for exactly who he was. But he couldn’t. Because Tris knew the harsh truth of the world. Some parents would never accept their kid’s sexuality. Sometimes it really wasn’t going to be okay and there was that possibility that the best outcome of today was at least he’d gotten out of there without bruises and at least he had a bed to sleep in tonight. Tris had known plenty of kids over the years that hadn’t been that lucky.
If ‘lucky’ was anything close to what you could call this. “I’m sorry,” he said, because what else could he really offer. “I know you thought it would be different this time.” Christian had been so very sure. That it would make all the difference that he was older. That he was in a solid, stable, monogamous relationship. That it wasn’t just a theory any more.
Christian nodded. “I was sure it would be.” He shook his head, then turned into Tris again, curling against his chest. “At least they didn’t send me to rehab again. Not sure if that’s worse or better than being kicked out, but I didn’t want to go back there.”
Tris frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with you - why the hell would they send you to rehab?” he asked, baffled by that idea. Chris had mentioned something about rehab in passing previously, but not in any way that Tris had been able to ask and honestly, knowing what he knew about his boyfriend’s parents ignoring the fact he was gay and hoping it was just a phase he was going through, plus the way Christian had always seemed to act differently when he was with ‘his kind’ as Tris tended to think of them, Tris had always kinda assumed that it had all led to a level of screwed upness that had needed some serious sorting out. Successfully, in Tris’ opinion, because Christian was one of the sanest, most put together, most sensible guys he’d ever met. There was absolutely, unequivocally nothing wrong with him.
Christian gave Tris a confused look then sighed. He hadn’t actually told his boyfriend the full story. “So in high school, I got caught with another guy,” he said, biting his lip. “And it kind of made the news.” It really made the news. “And my parents, they blamed it on alcohol in public and sent me off to rehab, to fix me.”
Tris pulled back and stared at Christian. “You’re shitting me,” he said. He shook his head, as though that would dislodge the words from his brain as not actually happening. “They… Oh baby. You can’t go back there.” Maybe it was the wrong thing to say, but in that moment it was what Tris firmly believed. Because if what had happened to Christian was what it sounded like, in Tris’ mind it was tantamount to child abuse.
Christian shook his head. “They were trying to help,” he said. “I just...I realized while I was there, I couldn’t change. I mean, I could try and not be that way, but the feelings weren’t going to go away. I was still...I still felt that way.”
Help who? Tris barely stopped himself voicing the thought, instead going for the more positive, “Of course you didn’t change. There was nothing to change, baby - this is who you are and you’re perfect, just like this. There was never anything to fix and you should never be left feeling like you can’t be yourself.” Which Tris had been wanting to say practically from the moment he’d laid eyes on Chris, but always kept to himself, not wanting to overstep, fearful that he would say something that would make Chris not want to be with him anymore.
Christian frowned. “Only I...they don’t want me to be like this.” His breath caught on that, and the tears spilled, which he tried to hide, sure that Tris would think less of him for that.
“Fuck what they want,” Tris said, unable to hold it back this time. “What do you want?” He swallowed, willing himself to be brave and surged on. “Forget that it’s me asking for a moment. I just… Do you like who you are right now? Do you think this is who you’re meant to be? Because, that’s all that’s important. Everyone else… If they don’t accept who you are then they don’t deserve you!”
Christian’s eyes went a little wide with Tris’ retort, but he didn’t say anything, not right away. Was he happier? Was he who he was meant to be? “That’s a harder question to answer than you think…”
Breathing in through his nose, Tris nodded. He reminded himself firmly that this wasn’t about him. “Sure - it doesn’t have to be simple. And it’s your parents.” Because Tris knew he’d move heaven and earth if he could have his parents be there and proud of him.
“I just really wanted to be both.” The person who was with Tris, the person who liked the things that Chris had found he liked, who drank coffee the way he liked and tea because it was good and he didn’t need to worry if it was too gay or not. The one who listened to the music he liked and got sniffly in romantic movies. That was who he wanted to be, but he also wanted to be the kid whose father was proud of him, whose parents would be there cheering him on at graduation.
“It’s too hard to choose,” he murmured eventually, turning into Tris’ chest. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to pretend. I’m tired of pretending.”
Tris was almost glad that Christian wasn’t looking at him right now, because he didn’t have to worry about the own pricks of tears in his eyes. Tears of anger at parents who would do this to their son. At a world where this shit was even still an issue. Of frustration that a perfectly lovely guy was put in a position where he felt like he had to choose between happiness and family. At the fact that because of all that bulshit, he might lose what they had and he didn’t know how to fight for it. “I will help you be whatever you want to be and support you to do whatever you want to do,” he said, eventually - and his only consolation over his breaking heart was that he sounded like he meant it. Still, he reminded himself, Christian was always going to leave him over something. He’d just expected it to be something better than this.
It was so nice to hear, that someone just wanted to be there for him. It broke Christian’s heart a million more times over. “Can I just be here?” he murmured, not looking up just yet, staying where he was.
“Why do you think I brought you here?” Tris said in response, kissing the top of Christian’s head.
The warmth that Christian usually felt when he was around Tris bubbled to the surface and even though he felt miserable, he did manage a smile. That was why he loved Tris. Because he just knew, before Christian even thought of it, what the right thing to do was. “Can I stay here?’ he asked, voice hesitant, not sure what was allowed, what wasn’t. Or if Tris would want anything to do with him now that he was pretty sure he might be homeless.
“While we get things sorted out, of course you can,” Tris promised, even though the apartment was horribly small for two people.
“I won’t impose,” Christian insisted. Just for the night. That was all he wanted. That was all he felt like he could ask for. He just didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want Tris to send him back to the dorms or anywhere else he might could go.
“No, you'll just tidy,” Tris teased. “Which, again, you don't have to do.” But Tris wasn’t going to stop him either.
Christian blushed, shaking his head. He would, he knew it. He couldn’t help it. It gave him some sort of peace to garner control over his things. “I was just trying to help.”
Tris brushed a kiss over his lips, just lightly. “I know, I just also want you to know that you don't have to. I don't expect you to. It's definitely not a condition of you staying. But, if you want to. Or if this place is such a wreck that you couldn't possibly stay here a moment longer unless you can tidy, then I'm not gonna ban you either.”
“It’s not a wreck even if I do wind up cleaning up,” Christian pointed out. It was just something he did. Order to the chaos. It made him wonder if the chaos was what drew him to Tris. Or maybe vice versa. “I like it, actually.”
“What, the mess?” Tris teased, as always, more comfortable making a joke of something than having to figure out how to take a compliment, or what it meant.
“No,” Christian said, as sincere as ever. “Well, I mean, kind of. I like it here. It’s very...you. It smells like you.” And in the half an hour he’d been there, he felt more at home than he had at his parents in years.
Tris raised a brow. “It smells like me?” he asked, doubtfully, not thinking that sounded like such a great thing, for all that Chris seemed certain it was. He looked around, but though the place was a mess, it was a clean mess. There was no dirty linen hanging around, no unwashed plates in the sink. He habitually threw out the pizza boxes and chinese cartons, if for no other reason than he hated cockroaches and couldn’t afford an exterminator. He tentatively sniffed, but the place mostly smelled like deodorant, washing powder, that little air freshener thing that Ethan had bought him as a joke, and of an apartment that didn’t get enough air circulation - a little musty.
“Mmm,” Christian said with a nod. “Soap and your toothpaste and...paper? Something. Sometimes dry cleaning.” Or whatever it was that Tris used on his suits. Christian just assumed it was the same as he did. “And your shampoo.”
Tris was oddly charmed as Christian explained, touched that his boyfriend would notice so much. Then pleased in the way he always was, because it was such a Christian thing to do. Part of what had drawn and continued to draw Tris to this guy. He was so different, so fascinating, so much more than anyone else he’d met and just having him in his life, even for a while, was worth all the pain and heartbreak when he inevitably left. “Well, okay, that doesn’t sound that bad then,” he allowed.
“Why would I say it if it was a bad thing?” Christian said. “I said I liked it.” He shook his head, then rested it on Tris’ shoulder. “Sometimes you’re a bit weird about stuff, you know?”
“No, you said you liked it here. Then you said it smells like me.” Those could have been two separate statements. Chris could have liked it here despite the smell. “I’m not weird about stuff,” he protested, but it was lightly - more confused and uncertain than anything else.
“Yes, that’s part of why I like it,” Christian said. “Sometimes. You seem...worried. For no reason.” He had no idea why he was saying it. It wasn’t like he was bothered by it, but it seemed easier to talk about it than to think about how lost he felt. “I wish I could play music like you do.”
Tris knew there was a reason - he was waiting for Christian to wake up and realise that he wasn’t actually all that. But he couldn’t tell Christian that. Not when his boyfriend seemed to like him being strong and assertive. “Nobody likes to think that they smell,” Tris said, making like he hadn’t quite got what Chris was saying. “I wish I was as clever as you,” he said, flipping that one back on Christian. He’d always been in awe of his boyfriend’s brains. When they’d laid in bed the night before and Chris had been listing his accomplishments that semester, things his parents could be proud of, Tris knew he’d been watching him the way some of the people in the audience watched Tris when he played.
“Everyone smells,” Christian corrected. “Some people just smell bad.” He grinned up at Tris. “You happen to smell wonderful. One of my favorite smells.” Which was as honest as it got. He shook his head. “I can’t get do that much with being clever.”
Tris laughed a little. “Wonderful?” he asked, not sure if he believed that. “I think you might need to get your nose checked. And maybe something else if you don't think you can do much with clever. That's the whole thing about clever - you can do anything with it. Anything you want.”
“Mmm,” Christian confirmed, but giggled just a touch, enough though that he covered his mouth when it slipped out. “I don’t think I need to get it fixed.” He shook his head and shrugged. “That’s if I get to stay in school.” He went quiet, biting his lip. “I don’t know what to do.”
Tris took the opening he'd been waiting to come along. “You're going to stay in school,” he said with utter certainty. He shifted so he was sitting looking at Chris. “Look, you've already signed up for those summer classes, right? And they're already all paid up, along with your housing until the fall. Which means that you have some breathing room to look into scholarships, if you need them. Look at all the awards you achieved - You're like, one of the best in your class. They have to give scholarships for that. They're not gonna want to let someone like you go.”
Christian frowned for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m pretty sure I’m a dime a dozen. And I’m pretty sure I got in on my dad’s name.” But maybe he could find somewhere else to go to school. Hudson U or something that. Somewhere smaller, somewhere he could afford or could eventually afford.
“And I'm pretty sure that I'm gonna keep on at you until you research and apply for every scholarship going anyhow, Mr. Dean’s List Departmental Honours,” Tris shot right back. “Because you are amazing in your own right and you never give yourself enough credit.”
Christian half rolled his eyes, but it still made him feel good that Tris remembered that. He didn’t think it would be the kind of thing that mattered to his boyfriend that much. “Not that amazing,” he said with a small smirk. “But I’ll make sure it happens. Trust me.”
“I do trust you,” Tris assured him, though he knew he'd still be checking up to make sure it actually happened. “Even when you roll your eyes at me like that, like you don't trust my opinion. I think you've been listening to your parents for far too long.” Tris may have sounded like he was teasing, but he was serious underneath it all.
Christian blushed. “I wasn’t rolling my eyes at you. Not really. I mean, I was just saying. I don’t think it’s that easy. I just work hard,” he said. “That’s all.” He sighed softly and shrugged. “They used to like me.”
“Hard work makes people amazing,” Tris pointed out. “You think I just sprung into being able to play like I do? Sure, I have talent. Like you have smarts. But I worked at learning the piano. When I was a kid I had lessons. Lots of lessons. Then when that… stopped.” Tris hesitated, the subject of his adoptive parents’ death and his entrance into the care system always difficult for him. “When that stopped, I still played at school. I accompanied the choir and the musical and whatever the hell else would give me a legit excuse to be in the music room. I'd come in early, leave late. I still practice. I always will. You never get anything in this life unless you work for it.”
Christian liked that attitude, that Tris never really gave up. “I like listening to you play. Even if you were just practicing.” He smiled, reaching for Tris’ hand. “So no more making fun of me when I keep studying.” He laced their fingers together and rested his head back on Tris’ shoulder. “I’m scared.”
“Hey - I don't make fun of you studying. Much. It's just - I didn't exactly mean it like that, it's just that you need to study and you don't get anything done when I'm there and… So I needed to take myself out of that equation because I didn't want to be the reason you failed. And, really, to me studying is boring and I'm not good at it. Like you with your piano lessons.” Tris linked their hands more and pulled Christian in, kissing the top of his head. “I know, baby, but you'll get through this. No matter what happens, the world will not end and things will work out one way or the other.”
“I know,” Christian said. “You get bored, I get distracted…” he smirked up at Tris, eyes hinting at something else. Next thing he knew he was satisfied, but his homework was definitely not done. It was part of why they’d limited their visits to when Chris didn’t have to study. And Tris was right. His parents were just upset, there was no promise that they wouldn’t warm up to the idea when they got over the shock. Or that things wouldn’t find a way to work themselves out.
“I'm very distracting,” Tris agreed, smile playing across his face. “And sometimes you're just lying there looking like you're just begging to be distracted. I can't help myself.”
Christian arched a brow, biting his lip. “Do I? What exactly does that look like?” he ventured.
Tris, his arm around Christian’s waist, slipped his fingers under the back of his shirt, dancing lightly along the skin at his waistband. “Lying on your front on the bed,” he said, drawing out the words to create the picture. “You squirm a little and your shirt rises up. Just a little. Just this… strip… of skin. Just here. Sometimes, it you’re relaxing and wearing those loose pants - the grey ones, the ones that hang a little lower - then I can see the dimples at the base of your spine. And you know I’m watching you. I can always tell when you know I’m watching you. You never look round, but you kind of - you squirm a little more. Wiggle that ass of yours. And you start chewing on the end of your pencil…”
He had to know what he did to Christian. That that voice, the little touch, what he was saying. Sure, Christian hadn’t really thought about it, and any wiggling or squirming he’d done when Tris was watching wasn’t to entice his boyfriend, but more out of Christian’s own discomfort, but man was it heady to think that even that turned Tris on. “Thinking about other things I can do with my mouth?” he murmured, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to Tris’ lips.
“Always,” Tris murmured right back. He had damn fantasies about that mouth. The things his boyfriend could do blew his mind. Especially given that less than six months ago he’d barely even kissed another guy, certainly nothing more.
Most of the learning was on Christian, determined to prove his worth despite his virginal status when he and Tris had first met. “Anything on your mind now?” The question sounded innocent, but he knew the answer wouldn’t be. And really? He was fine with that. It might get him out of his own head for a little bit.
Tris drew back a little, examining Christian’s expression. “Do you want there to be?” he asked, bouncing that right back to him. Because, sure, he was a normal, healthy guy with a gorgeous boyfriend and heading for bed to prove to him how much he was wanted was definitely no hardship. However, Tris was also working really hard at being an actual, proper, caring boyfriend who put his significant other first and didn’t want to see him upset and he could definitely keep it in his pants if Christian needed to just be held and nothing more right now. And that damn innocent question - sometimes it drove him crazy, because with Chris it could either mean he was digging to be ravished. Or it could simply mean he was asking a plain, straightforward, innocent question.
Christian thought about it, really thought about it. Because he knew he had an out. Tris was giving him one. Teasing could turn into cuddles and rest with no issue. But at the same time. “Yeah,” he said, fingers working at the first of Tris’ buttons on his shirt. “I don’t want to think anymore.”
Tris didn’t need telling again, but still, he was gentle as he leaned in to kiss Christian properly, lowering him back to lie on the couch as his hands ran up his sides, pushing Christian’s shirt up to ruck under his armpits. “I can stop you from even remembering your own name,” he promised.
Christian nodded, letting his eyes fall closed. “Please, please,” he murmured, back arching into where Tris’ fingers were touching hs skin. That sounded incredibly perfect.
Tris kissed across to Christian’s jawline, then along and down the column of his neck. Butterfly kisses, worshiping his skin and he pulled his boyfriend’s body up against him, making him curve up off the couch. “Let me take you to bed, baby.” Let me make you remember why this is right and your parents are so very, very wrong.
Christian laced his fingers through Tris’ hair, groaning softly at the press of Tris against him. At the suggestion, he nodded, not even thinking about it. He would have been fine with the couch, but he was more than happy to have something better. “Yes,” he wound up breathing, in case the nod wasn’t obvious enough.
Tris kissed him deeply once more before pulling back, lacing his fingers in Christian’s as he pulled him up and off the couch, pulling him back into Tris’ chest and kissing him again before stepping him toward the bedroom without letting him go. It wasn’t far and the archway meant there wasn’t a whole lot of negotiate round, allowing him to pretty much kiss him and walk him until the bed was at the back of Christian’s knees and Tris was lowering him again, crawling up and onto the bed, over his boyfriend once again.
There was something...almost like a release in letting Tris take control. Christian put himself in Tris’ hands and everything was that much easier, that much better. He was only half focused as he lay back, not until Tris was over him and he was reaching up to kiss him again, to pull Tris down against him.
Tris took the opportunity to kiss Christian deeply, rolling his hips against him and letting him know without a doubt what his boyfriend did to him. He tugged at Chris’ shirt, trying to pull it up and over his head without having tos top kissing him, which was, of course, impossible. In the end, he had to break the kiss, but only long enough to rid his boyfriend of the pesky material.
Christian groaned at the contact, though it wasn’t like he was any better. He’d been hard and leaking since Tris offered to help him forget his name. And it thrilled him to know he could do the same for Tris. He helped with his shirt where he could, but he was in the same boat, not wanting to break off the kiss. The moment his shirt was off, he was kissing Tris again, working at the buttons on Tris’ shirt as they went.
Tris kept himself up a little, curved up from the bed so that he could still kiss Chris below him, but his boyfriend had easy access to his shirt and so Tris could undo Christian's pants pushing them down his hips with one hand as he palmed him through his underwear with the other.
Christian could feel himself starting to shift over to being a mess, moaning loudly into the kiss when Tris palmed him. He gripped at Tris’ shirt, flushing bright pink. “Sorry, sorry.” They usually tried to be quieter in his room, what with the close quarters of the dorm.
“Don’t be sorry,” Tris muttered against his lips, pressing a little harder, wondering if he could make Chris make those sounds again. He was usually so quiet, they both were. Here, though, it didn’t matter as much and god, Tris thrilled at the idea of leaving that behind this time. “I want to hear you,” he said, as he slipped his hand inside his boyfriend’s underwear and teased at his length.
Chris did just what Tris wanted, moaning again when Tris touched his skin. He was amazed at that, that something so simple would do that to him. And the freedom, another thing he could just let go, just like he wanted too. He shuddered and pulled at Tris’ shirt with a whimper, trying to get him out of it, but forgetting how buttons worked.
Tris chuckled a little at Christian’s reaction, releasing him for as long as it took to shuck off his shirt over his head and kick himself out of him jeans, stripping quickly and efficiently and also getting rid of Christian’s underwear as well, rolling back down onto him, skin against skin, nothing between them now as he kissed him again.
There was a moment, a fleeting concern that he didn’t look that good naked, but then Tris was back and Christian pushed those thoughts aside. He might not be defined muscles, but he could feel what he did to Tris and that was enough. He twisted his fingers in Tris’ hair and whimpered, so incredibly in love with the way Tris felt against him. “Fuck,” he breathed softly, not one to swear unless Tris had him like this.
Tris rested his forehead against Christian’s and breathed for a moment, centering himself and making sure he was under control. This was far from the first time they’d been naked together, but they had been taking things slow and previously, it had pretty much all been hurried missions to get each other off without dorm room neighbours realising what was going on. Now was different. Now, Tris had him here and he had the opportunity to show Christian exactly how far he could take him. And that relied upon Tris not losing his shit like some kind of inexperienced teenager just because he actually finally had his boyfriend in his bed. Which, he reminded himself, was his choice in the first place. It wasn’t like he’d ever actually suggested that they come here before.
Still, it was different, having Chris here. Tris felt more in control, even with the increased pressure to show Chris a good time. That was no hardship though as he kissed his way down the column of Christian’s neck, rolling against him slowly as he ran his fingers up and down his boyfriend’s side, everything designed just to get him warm and worked up, never enough to actually get him off. Hell, right now, Tris was wondering whether Christian would resort to begging - whether that would be something he’d enjoy.
Christian held on to Tris, running his hands over his shoulders, his hair, everywhere as Tris kissed him and lavished attention over him. He hooked his fingers on Tris’ hip as he rolled against him and dug in tight, hips rocking up to meet his motions. It made his head spin, his body shuddering with every new touch. “Please,” he murmured softly, unable to help himself. He had no idea what he was asking for but he knew he was right where he wanted to be.
“Please?” Tris asked, lips against his collarbone. He smiled into the skin, nipping just very lightly, hardly enough to feel. “More of this?” he asked, rolling his hips down. “Or do you want more, baby?” he asked. He pulled the fingers of his right hand down Christian’s side and round to cup his ass, grazing lightly between his cheeks. “Do you want to spread your legs for me, baby? You know I can make it so good for you.”
Christian choked on nothing when Tris rolled against him again, that voice, that tone. It was just so much. Then Tris was touching even more of him and he moaned again, legs falling open without his permission. His thighs were trembling, but that was exactly what he wanted. “Yes, yes, yes,” he murmured. “Please, Tris. Make me feel good.”
Tris pulled up, so he could look down at Christian, smiling softly. “Always,” he whispered, abruptly more gentle than he had been just moments before. “I’ll always make you feel good,” he promised, before reaching over and pulling open his bedside drawer. His fingers clenched around the bottle of lube that he knew was there, not new, but nowhere near as used as it would have been before he and Chris started dating. He flipped open the cap and poured some out, warming it in the palms of his hands. He sat back on his heels between Christian’s legs, wanting to look down on him. He’d always had kind of a thing for watching his boyfriend lose control and now was definitely no different as he took him in one hand and slipped the other down and between his legs, circling and teasing before slipping the tip of one finger inside. “Fuck, baby - you’re always so tight.”
Christian felt infinitely better at that promise. That someone would be there for him. That they wouldn’t leave him. That he could fall, let go, and not be lead astray. His hips shifted, giving Tris more access, trying to he as accommodating as he could. He bent one knee some, to lift his hips and groaned loudly as Tris slipped inside. It wasn’t much, but it was so amazing. It was always amazing. And so much better when it was Tris than when he tried to do it on his own. He closed his eyes, tried to breathe and gripped the sheets under him.
Tris didn’t want this over too soon, so as much as he held Christian, he concentrated lower, working the finger in, stretching him slowly but methodically, knowing by now just what was needed to work him over, just when it was enough that he could add another, eyes roaming between what he was doing, to the pale expanse of skin, to the expression on his boyfriend’s face. “Look at me,” he said, when he realised Christian’s eyes had drifted closed. “I want to see you, Hell, baby. I want to hear you. It’s all good - tell me how it feels. This enough? Do you want more?” he asked, his voice rough and deep. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to put into words just what watching Chris did to him - nor did he ever intend to. He couldn’t imagine willingly ever allowing himself to be that vulnerable. He’d keep his kinks to himself - life just worked better that way.
Christian blinked his eyes open slowly, biting his lower lip for a long moment before he nodded. Right. He was used to how it was, but Tris was taking his time and it was starting to dawn on Chris that it was going like that. He shifted his hips against Tris’ fingers then let out a moan, enough to arch his back some. “So good. Full,” He babbled. “More. Please. More. I need you.” It was like opening the floodgates, giving him permission, and now he couldn’t stop.
Tris licked his lips then leaned down to kiss Chris deeply as he worked a third finger inside, moaning into the kiss at how good, how tight that felt and reminding himself that this was about Chris. It was always about Chris, that he’d get off one way or another anyway, but that their whole relationship had been based on whatever Christian felt comfortable with, the pace he set. Tris had never pushed him for anything and they were getting on for six months now. It wouldn’t be much longer before this would officially be his longest relationship so the tactic was obviously working. He just needed to not fuck it up. “You look so… gorgeous, baby,” he breathed, sitting back up again. Self-editing away from ‘beautiful’. He didn’t know how Chris would feel about beautiful - it felt more like the right word to Tris, but he knew some guys wouldn’t like the connotations that went with it, as ridiculous as that felt to Tris.
Tris wasn’t the only one moaning and that Christian could do that to him, make him sound like that, was so, so amazing. But it wasn’t quite...no not quite what he wanted. And Tris was calling him gorgeous and that was what he wanted. How could he not? He gripped Tris’ arm, harder than before, skin flushing from more than just the feel of Tris’ fingers buried inside him. “I need you,” he plead, hoping Tris would get it, wouldn’t make him say it. “Please.”
“You got me, baby,” Tris said, working faster, curling his fingers, starting to seek out that spot. Then, belatedly, it sunk into his lust-addled brain what Chris was actually saying and he stilled, pulling back a little. It took him a moment to find the words, nerves and excitement at the potential overtaking thought for a moment. “You… sure? Are you…? We don’t have to. I - really? You sure?” he asked. God, he sounded like this was his first fucking time. It should have been humiliating, but right now he didn’t give a damn.
Christian groaned as Tris did hit that spot, white lightning shooting through his veins, then Tris pulled back and he whined, trying to pull him back. “Yes. Please.” Thank god Tris picked it up because Christian was sure he couldn’t come up with a way to ask for it. “Want to. Want you,” he murmured. “Please?”
Tris swallowed and had to reach with his vaguely free hand to squeeze himself to stop from coming just at the idea. Yup, really should be utterly humiliated right now, but maybe Chris wouldn’t actually realise. “Yes, of course. I… Just…” He leaned down to kiss his boyfriend, fast and sloppy as he withdrew his fingers, wiping them on his sheets and not caring about the mess. How could he. “Sorry,” he apologised - that to Chris for leaving him, but there was a condom in the drawer, he was sure of it. He had to lean over, looking, searching for it. It wasn’t like he’d needed that kind of thing here for - well, even before Chris, he tried not to bring people back here. But, he knew there was one. He was sure.
He breathed a sigh of relief as his fingers closed around the small foil package and then he was back, unwrapping it and holding it up. God, yup, he felt like a teenager. He really needed to get it together. “Do you want to or… should I?” he asked, more because it felt like some kind of etiquette test than anything.
Christian whined at the loss of Tris, but he got it. And Tris leaning over him was really incredible. Every inch of him was incredible. He leaned up to press open mouth kisses along his ribcage, his hip, urging him back, but not rushing him. Then he had Tris back and Christian pushed himself up, biting his lip before reaching for the condom. “I can,” he said softly, wanting to. Not that he’d done it before, but he knew the mechanics. He could figure it out.
He went slow, not meaning to tease, but to be sure he got it right, and he got a little distracted sucking at Tris’ nipple, but eventually he had it on and leaned back. “How do you...want me?”
This time it was Tris’ turn to be fisting at the sheets, the least sexy montages he could come up with playing through his mind, eyes screwed closed as he tried not to focus on the new and inventive ways that his boyfriend had apparently come up with to torture him in the best possible way. “Fuck, I…” He shook his head, trying to get it under control again. Opening his eyes, he concentrated on Christian. “It’s meant to be easier, on your hands and knees,” he managed, at last. Not that he’d know. The times he’d been with guys, he’d always been a top. Even with the ultra-controlling friend of Ethan’s.
Christian bit his lip to hide his smile, because Tris was so cute when he was flustered. “So,” he murmured, turning as Tris had suggested, hands and knees as he looked over his shoulder. “Like this?” He had a coy inflection in his voice, liking what he did to Tris, the way it made him feel.
Tris swore under his breath, squeezing himself again under the pretence of checking the rubber was properly in place. “Yeah, just like that,” he agreed eyes drinking it in and that part he didn't even try to hide.
He shifted into place, running his hands over Christian's ass, pulling his cheeks apart, thing a drifting down to run over him. God, he'd dreamed of this. He'd fantasized about this. The times here, in this bed, alone, this was what he'd been imagining and now there was Chris, presenting for him. He let go, pouring more lube onto his fingers and resuming what had stopped before, working Chris open more. No longer an end game. Purposeful now, not wanting to hurt him, placing kisses all along the length of his spine as he worked.
Yeah, Tris looking at him like that did something incredible to Chris. It made warmth pool in his belly and his head spin some. Then Tris’ fingers were back and he let his head hang, gripping the sheets under him as he groaned. Tris stretched him and he took it until he was shaking with need and it was all too much and not enough at the same time. “Please, god. Just. Come on,” he begged, voice raspy with want.
“Don't wanna hurt you baby,” Tris said, kissing at the very base of his spine, just above where his fingers still worked, more easily now. “Wanna make this good for you. Make sure you're ready.” He stilled and brushed one last kiss, lips against skin. “You ready for me, baby? You want me?”
“I need you,” Christian clarified, gripping the sheets and arching his back. “Please. Please. Please.” It was a whine, desperate, needy. He’d been confident and teasing before, but he was a mess under Tris’ fingers again.
“Okay,” Tris said, withdrawing slowly, still kissing at Christian's back. “Okay, I got you baby,” he promised as he straightened, then lined up. He exhaled softly, taking hold of Christian's hips to hold him steady, then pushed forward.
“Fuck!” Christian cried out and slumped forward, gripping the sheets again, head somewhere around his forearms. But if that didn’t feel amazing. It was tight and burned, just a little, but it was Tris. In him. Filling him. Almost to the point where he couldn’t breathe. It was so much and so wonderful. He never wanted it to end.
Tris screwed his eyes shut, his jaw locked, and his breath hardly managed. He echoed the curse in his head. It all felt too much. Hell, the very idea of this was too much. But it couldn't be. He couldn't let Chris’ first time end in an embarrassing premature sputter. “Okay?” He felt like it was an accomplishment. One word. Two syllables. Playing for time until he could get himself under control enough to move.