I learned the most surprising thing possible about Tristan Melville the day I met him. I'd happened to be reading my hardcover of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban that day. My roommate at the time had been one of his friends, and he'd come over to pick Alan up for some outing, and he noticed the book when I answered the door and called me "Dobby." He didn't look like the kind of person who'd read fantasy work.
I didn't know why he'd dubbed me such. He'd smiled when he'd said it, then peered in over my shoulder, leaning impossibly close, pressing his body against mine and holding onto my waist, to peer over my shoulder. When he'd seen that Alan wasn't in yet, he'd backed up and grinned at me.
"Mind if I wait around for him?" he'd asked.
I'd let him in, then promptly tucked my nose back into my book and ignored him so I wouldn't stare. I'll give him credit, he did try to draw me into conversation, asking questions about what I thought of the Harry Potter series, but I remained mute throughout, not even glancing up at him.
That was the first week of freshman year. Now I looked at him from the inside of my junior year dorm room. I had the window open and birdsong lilted in. My current roommate had absented himself for the week of spring break, so I could do that, and I'd been enjoying the evening birdsong.
"Here," Tristan said, holding something out.
I looked at it. It looked about the size of a credit card. "What is it?" I asked.
Tristan poked me with it. "We're going to a club," he said.
"We're underage," I said.
He chuckled and I looked at him to see him grinning. "Not any more," he said, holding up what he'd been trying to give me. This time he held it by its edges so I could see the front of it.
It appeared to be an authentic driver's license. With my picture on it. I frowned.
"Tris," I said, doing my best to sound disapproving. It didn't work. I just sounded impatient.
"Aw, Dobby," he said, giving me his charming smile. "Why not?"
I swallowed, pushing aside thoughts of what I'd really rather be doing with him and sighed. "Why not just go to a party?" I asked.
"Cops are checking things out," he said. He reached forward with his other hand and knocked on the side of my head. "Anybody home? I thought you were there when Miles talked about it."
"I was," I said. "Just go by yourself."
"You don't get out enough," he said. He tucked the fake I.D. under the waistband of my boxers and pushed me backwards, into my room, by the shoulders, shut the door, then turned me around. "Let's go," he said, patting the right cheek of my ass. "Get dressed."
I sighed, trying to resist, but he refused to be hindered and pushed me to my closet. While I stood with my arms folded over my chest, Tristan slid the door open and pressed up against my back as he shuffled through my hanging garments.
I knew he was gay. Right now, I could feel his hard on. It rubbed against my ass, sometimes pressing in deep as he moved his arms. His breath sounded loud in my right ear, warmed my cheek with its heat. He did stuff like this to everyone he knew. Male, female, straight or not. Didn't matter. I didn't know why anybody else endured these contacts with him, but I did because I knew it was the only way I'd ever get to be this close to him.
I wasn't naive enough to believe he saw anything in me. Hell, I didn't even know why he'd adopted my friendship. I wasn't rich, I wasn't attractive, I wasn't very smart, and I didn't really care to try and impress people. A few of Tristan's other friends looked at me with disdain. They knew exactly what I had to offer them and Tristan: not a damn thing. Tristan called me "Dobby" for some obscure reason that I didn't have the courage to ask after; his friends who didn't like me called me such to insult me.
Not that I was as enthusiastic as the books' character was. God, I wasn't that stupid. I was attracted to Tristan and took advantage of his unexplained attention because I was infatuated, but that didn't mean I was stupid about it. I doubted anybody in Tristan's social group even knew I was gay. I didn't think even he did.
"You know, two months isn't that long to wait to drink legally," I said while Tristan pulled out a shirt to examine. I didn't expect this argument to work this time. Other similar arguments hadn't yet in the past few years since I'd met him.
"Yes, it is," he said, arms half-wrapped around me as he held the hanger the shirt was on in his right hand and the hem of the shirt in his left hand. "Nah." He put the shirt back.
"What if I don't want to go?" I asked him. "I'm perfectly happy being a completely law-abiding citizen."
Not that I'd drink even after my twenty-first birthday. Tristan was just being impatient. In his mind, us being two months away from our twenty-first birthdays made us old enough to drink. Not that he hadn't already imbibed previously. All he really wanted was a way to convince me to loosen up; he didn't realize he was going about it the wrong way, and he never listened when I tried to tell him as much.
He wrapped his left arm around my waist. "But this is an opportunity, Dobby," he said.
I held myself very still, resisting the urge to rub my ass against his erection. "An opportunity?" I asked. "For what? To get arrested? Not my idea of fun." I tightened the fold of my arms over my chest.
He pulled another shirt out. "You hardly ever talk to me," he said.
"I talk to you," I said.
"When we're alone," he said. "Can't get you to shut up then." This he added with a note of sarcasm as he nudged me with his groin.
I sighed. "And going out to a club is supposed to make me feel more comfortable than going to a party?" I asked.
"Yeah. Just you and me and a few drinks. Nobody else around."
"Except for about a hundred strangers," I said.
Tristan chuckled. "You're not getting out of this." He put the shirt back and shuffled through the remainder. "God, your selection of clothing is pathetic."
"Well, sorry that I'm not as rich as you," I snapped.
He sighed. "Then we'll go get you some proper clothes tomorrow," he said as he started over with shuffling through my shirts.
I unfolded my arms to elbow him. "I don't need you to buy me clothes," I snapped. "What I've got is perfectly good."
This time he pulled something out right away. He put it back just as quickly. More shuffling.
"Not in my opinion," he said.
Now I pushed at him, shoving back with my hands, but he didn't budge. "God, I'm not one of your whiny boyfriends, Tris." I reached past his hands and grabbed a hanger, not paying attention to what it wore, and wrestled the tee shirt off it. "There, I've chosen a shirt."
He chuckled, and I realized what he'd done. Well, too late now. I pushed his right arm away and stalked to my bed, where I threw the tee so I could remove the tank top I currently wore. The fake license pressed to my skin and I jerked it out from under the waistband of my boxers and threw it on the floor. Then I deliberately stepped on it, as if I could make it disappear by doing so.
I pulled the tee on and opened the left hand drawer in my bed to grab a pair of socks out. Tristan muttered, now shuffling through my selection of pants. He half-turned to look at me as I stood up, then pulled a pair of jeans out, removed them from their hanger, and tossed them at me.
"Those," he said.
I fumbled until I caught them. "Bastard," I muttered as I rearranged my jeans in my hands and pulled them on, dropping my socks on my bed to do so.
Tristan only chuckled. He crouched, then rose, closing my closet's door and sat on my bed as I did. While I unrolled my socks, he set my combat boots on the floor in front of me.
"See, you do want to go out with me," he said in a simpering tone.
I snorted. "It's either cooperate or scream at you, and you won't listen to me."
He combed his fingertips through my overgrown hair while I put my socks on, then did the same with his whole hand in the hair on the back of my head, drawing his hand down the back of my neck as I put my boots on. I slapped it away a couple times, but he persisted, so I gave up. Again, this was something he did with everybody, and, like everybody else, I eventually just let him do what he wanted.
"How long has it been since you last got laid?" I demanded as I sat up, making one last attempt to push his hand away.
This time he relented. "Couple months," he said.
"Well, better do it again soon, or you'll really piss Alan off when break's over." I grabbed my wallet out from under my pillow and stood, tucking it into my back left pocket. I didn't realize Tristan hadn't risen to follow until I had my hoody and had reached the door, then turned to look at him. "Well? You're the one who wants to go out."
He retrieved the fake license from the floor and rose. I watched that fake I.D. approach, fully aware that even if I tried to get out of this Tristan would find a way to manipulate me into accompanying him. With a sigh, I snatched the fake license from him when he reached me, and I put it in my wallet in the pocket where my money went. I didn't want it getting mixed up with my real license.
"Ready now?" Tristan asked as I tucked my wallet back into place.
"Shut up," I muttered, and led the way out.
He didn't even let me lock the door.
The next three hours turned into a twisted sort of torture session. As usual, Tristan tried to convince me to drink with him, but I refused every beer he ordered. Since I didn't drink them, and he was the kind of person who didn't like to waste things, he drank them between his own mixed drinks. I could see the way this was going and lived in dread of the moment he'd drag me to the restroom with him to puke what he'd had.
In the meantime, he danced. I remained at the table. I didn't dance because I lacked any sense of grace. I spent most of any time on the dance floor stumbling around trying to keep my balance instead of actually dancing.
Yet Tristan tried to convince me to dance. He'd come off the dance floor and grab my hands, trying to pull me to my feet. At one point, he even straddled my lap and wiggled as if that could get me interested in dancing with him. Just the same type of tactics he used on various friends. I pushed him away.
When he wasn't trying to convince me to dance, he felt me up. His hands roved over my chest and abdomen. He fondled my crotch. The more he drank, the bolder he got, and he once pulled a chair over and sat nuzzling and nibbling my neck for a minute before rising in a huff to return to the dance floor.
Reprieve at last. I made an escape to the restroom. Much to my relief, no one else occupied it so I hung out there for a couple minutes while I thought about things to make my libido calm enough for me to piss.
On my way back to the front of the club, Tristan found me in the hall. He grabbed my hands and tried to pull me with him.
"Let's dance," he said, pouting.
"No," I said.
He tugged, backing up a half-step. "I want to dance with you," he said.
I sighed, jerking my hands from his grasps. "Well, I don't feel like making a fool of myself," I snapped.
"Aw, come on, Dobby."
I pushed Tristan away. "No!" I said, getting more forceful now.
Tristan wrapped himself around me, his weight pushing me back against the nearest wall. I staggered as I fell back and landed with a grunt. Tristan's arms tightened around my waist as he nuzzled my neck, rubbing his groin against me. I pushed at his shoulders, not that it worked. He remained tightly bound to me, his activities arousing me again.
"Come on," he whined. He nibbled my neck and I groaned, forgetting to push him away as I gripped his shoulders. "I need you."
That did it. I'd heard that phrase any number of times, aimed at various of our friends and his boyfriends. It didn't make me anything special.
"Like you need everybody else," I said, shoving him.
He staggered back, his arms leaving me. I would have laughed at the expression of shock on his face, it looked that comical, but I was too horny to do more than remain where I stood while waiting for my legs to stop shaking. Tristan stood against the back hall's other wall, staring at me as if I'd taken away his favorite toy, looking almost about to cry.
"Come on," I said, grabbing his arm. "You've had enough to drink."
He staggered a bit when I pulled him into motion, but said nothing. I tried to ignore his uncharacteristic silence and subdued demeanor as we left the club, but he didn't get any more enthusiastic once we were in his car. I looked at him from the driver's seat, wondering just how deeply my refusal of him had hurt him. He seemed to be taking it as more than my typical resistance to his enthusiasm.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"You don't like me," he said in a sad whine.
I sighed. He owned one of those cars that started with a button and I pressed that button with my thumb now. "I like you just fine. Buckle up. I put up with your shit, don't I?"
"Not that kind of like," he said.
I looked at him. He grabbed the left side of my hoody and jerked me over, leaning to meet me. I started to turn my head to avoid this, but he caught it in his other hand and held it.
When his lips touched mine, my stomach dropped out of me.
I parted my lips and accepted the kiss. Our tongues met and I leaned closer, forgetting my resistance as I participated. I forgot everything else, too. I forgot the very good reasons why I should continue resisting. I forgot the fact that he was drunk and wouldn't have looked at me twice otherwise. I forgot that I had nothing to offer him. I forgot everything and reached for Tristan, stopping only when my hand clutched at his shirt.
His fingers trailed off my face and into my hair as his lips and tongue danced with mine. I kept my eyes closed, enjoying the contact, uncertain how far I should let this go. We had to go to his place. More could happen there, and a part of me wanted to go with it. Tristan was pretty drunk, and he'd been mixing his alcohol, so I knew he wouldn't have any memory of this. I could have my way with him and leave, and he'd never know what had happened. It would be a way for me to finally get what I'd been wanting since the day I'd met him.
So what if he never looked at me again? I'd still be his friend, one of the satellites he welcomed with his beneficent nature. Some of his other friends would still look down on me. He would still call me "Dobby" and annoy me.
But I would have this. One time with him. It would be my secret, something I could relive as often as I wished until I found someone else who could take Tristan's place in my attention. Hell, it might cure me of my current infatuation with him, allow me to move on, and that would be a very good thing. I needed to move on.
So I kissed him, here in his car, and made my decision. I would take advantage of this situation. Tristan was horny and too drunk to remember things. I'd give him what we both wanted, then leave him to sleep off his drunk.
I had his keys in my hand now, but he grabbed me and shoved me against the door to his apartment. I accepted the kiss and held onto his hip, as he pressed up against my body, never mind we were in the hall to his condo. Things hadn't been much calmer in the elevator on the way up, either. Even in the car, he'd teased me and kept me going.
"Finally, finally," he muttered, and trailed kisses down to my neck.
"Let's go in," I said, gasping out the words because I could barely breathe now. Tristan's hands roved over my body, sliding up and down my torso, against the fronts of my thighs and I moaned at the contact. "Tris, let's go in."
He stopped moving and raised his head as if my vehemence had awoken him from a dream. I watched him look around and saw enlightenment dawn on his face and he stepped back, jerked me from the door by my shoulders, and turned me to face it.
"Unlock," he commanded.
I nodded, inhaling a shaky breath. Tristan pressed up against me the whole time, rubbing his groin against my ass. My hands shook as I fumbled with the keys, and they jangled as I unlocked his door. As soon as it opened a little, Tristan shoved it open further and pushed me in after.
I staggered in but didn't have time to recover. I heard the door slam, then found myself whipped around to face Tristan again. He pressed against me, kissing me again. I backed away, needing a little space, but he pursued me until the backs of my legs touched something.
I kissed him back the whole time. It was impossible to resist doing so. I wanted him badly. It filled me with need, having him this close, being able to touch him--and I realized I'd dropped his keys and now held onto him as if he could save me from myself.
Tristan's hands slid up under my tee and rubbed against my back. I shuddered, wrapping one arm around his neck while I used my other hand to play with his left nipple. He whimpered into our kiss and rubbed his groin against me. After a minute, he pulled back and pecked my lips, shifting his hands to grab the back of my tee.
"Off," he said.
I shifted my hands as he leaned back and removed my hoody and tee. I pushed at his shirt then, and Tristan removed it. We kissed again, and he unfastened my jeans, then kept hold of the front to pull me out of the furniture arrangement and into the bedroom.
It was cramped, dominated by a double bed, and he pushed me up against its side and pulled my jeans and underwear down. I sat on the bed and Tristan removed my shoes, socks, and bottom garments, tossing everything aside.
Then he spread my knees and sucked me into his mouth. I groaned, tipping back. He worked on the blowjob for a minute, sucking hard enough to make me half-scream. Oh, shit, I regretted I'd never feel this again. No one else I'd ever been with had sucked this hard; it made me shiver, especially with the sensation of his tongue sliding side to side against the bottom of my dick. When he stopped, I moaned in disappointment but flopped back onto the bed, unable to hold myself upright any more because the tension of seeking orgasm left my body.
Stroking my cock now, Tristan spoke. "What do you want?" he asked.
I blinked, trying to sort those words out. "What?" I asked, and I sounded like I felt--as if half my mind had been destroyed already.
"Do you want to top or bottom?" he asked, voice hesitant.
I inhaled a deep, shaky breath. "It doesn't really matter at this point," I said, being completely honest.
"Are you gay?" he asked. He sounded surprised.
I went still for a few seconds, then raised my head to look at him. "Um, I'm sober and I'm here having sex with you, aren't I?" I asked, pushing myself up into a seated position again.
Tristan watched me. "It's just that . . . " his voice faded and he looked at his hand, which still grasped my dick though it had gone still. He circled his thumb over the tip and I whimpered, which drew his attention back to my face. "You never said anything before."
"No point," I said. "I keep my dating life separate from my general social life."
"Oh," he said. Now he looked disappointed.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
Tristan shook his head. "Nothing."
He released me and rose. I watched him remove the remainder of his clothes. Taking my turn, I grabbed his hips and jerked him close between my knees so I could return the blowjob. While I sucked and nibbled him, Tristan combed his fingers through my hair.
"Robert, Robert," he chanted softly, which surprised me, because I hadn't thought he knew my real name much less that I preferred its full form to any nicknames that could be extrapolated from it.
For my part, I closed my eyes and concentrated on what I was doing. The salty flavor of his precum awoke my taste buds and the musk of his groin filled my sinuses. If I tried hard, I could touch the tip of my nose to his pubic hair and feel it tickle above my lip. If I swallowed when I was that close, Tristan moaned.