Auld Acquaintance

Nice: Auld Acquaintance

By AR Moler

The thick cream-colored envelope lying open on Tristan's kitchen counter drew Brian's curiosity. It looked like it was probably a wedding invitation and Brian wondered if it was anyone that he'd heard Tristan speak of. Brian slid the card out of the envelope and read it. It was definitely not a wedding announcement. Instead what Brian read was the invitation to one of the city's most luxurious and raved about New Year's Eve parties. Held at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, it cordially invited Tristan and guest to attend. Tristan came into the kitchen, stripping off his tie with one hand, short dark hair windblown. His left arm was still in a sling from the violent tumble he'd taken down the subway steps chasing a suspect.

"Want to tell me how you rate an invite to Carl Windermere's New Year's party at the Mandarin?" asked Brian. "People sell their souls for that sort of opportunity." Tristan gave a little snort of amusement. "My parents are friends of Windermere's. I get an invitation every year. I almost never go." "Take me, take me, please can we go, can we?" Brian begged, intentionally mimicking a hyperactive child. "I'll be good." He gave Tristan a silly grin. Tristan rolled his eyes. "You do realize it's a black tie affair," Tristan pointed out. "So? I can rent a tux," countered Brian. "I'm guessing you own one." "Yes. I have one. As if my mother would let me get away with not having one," Tristan replied. Brian pondered that for a moment. Tristan Blake was a homicide detective with the NYPD, but his family was old money. It was a constant source of contention with his family not only that Tristan had chosen a law enforcement career, but that he was gay. Brian was an architect and had been involved with Tristan since the end of October. Their relationship was creeping in the direction of something deep and long term. Brian had hopes that long term might extend to permanent. Tristan ran his hands back through his hair. "Of course I only wear it about as often as I wear my dress blues." "I have a fond memory regarding those dress blues, and regret that I didn't get to be the one removing them. Think I'll have any better luck with the tux?" "I suspect so," replied Tristan. "Oh, I meant to ask you if you had any problems with the keys or the alarm code."

"No problems." Tristan had given Brian keys to his house as part of his Christmas present and it still gave Brian a warm feeling that Tristan trusted him that far. "Good. I'm going to go upstairs and change. Feel free to root around through the cupboards. If there's something you can't find, just ask." *** In the bedroom, Tristan was torn between wanting Brian to come help him undress and just leaving him alone to start dinner preparations. Having a badly injured wrist made simple things, like taking off slacks and putting on jeans, an exercise in frustration. Add in the fact that it was his dominant hand and that just increased the annoyance. He did have to admit it was healing. Two weeks after the damage, as long as he didn't use it at all, it now barely hurt. That was definite improvement over the first few days when he felt like he was living on pain killers. He could hear small noises from downstairs in the kitchen. Tristan sat on the edge of the bed listening for a moment. Giving Brian keys had been a move that felt right. Coming home to a house that wasn't empty and silent was nice. He'd spent the day after Christmas with Brian; Tristan then hadn't seen him for the next couple of days. They'd both been working. After swapping a couple of phone calls and text messages, Brian had offered to fix dinner at Tristan's house, suggesting that it was easier and more comfortable than going out. The last person Tristan had given keys to was Eric, his ex. Eric, who had lost them, set off the alarm system twice in one week because he'd forgotten the code, and could barely manage to make a pot of coffee, much less dinner.

***

Dinner was tortellini and marinara sauce from one of the local markets, plus a long loaf of bread and salad. Brian had fretted in the store over whether he should try for something more complicated, but he had been at work all day and so had Tristan, so simplicity won out over impressive. There was no table in the kitchen, which amused Brian. The big old brownstone had been stripped of most of its furniture by greedy relatives after the death of Tristan's grandfather. Brian suspected some of the furniture acquired later had been spirited away by Tristan's ex, although he hadn't gone so far as to press Tristan for confirmation on that. The two of them ate dinner in the living room. Period to the house, it had a set of beautiful curved windows that created a semi-circular front to the room. Brian had helped Tristan orchestrate the repair of one that had gotten broken a number of weeks before. There was also a marble-faced fireplace. It appeared to be rigged for gas. A casual, comfortable sofa faced a press-board entertainment center where the TV stood, and a slightly abused-looking coffee table was in between. Tristan and Brian sat on the floor beside the coffee table to eat. "This is good. Thanks for making dinner," Tristan said. "You're welcome. I have a question. Does the fireplace work, or is it just for show?" "It works. I only tend to use it two or three times per winter. Turn the knob and press the button, voila, fire." "Can I?" Brian asked. "Sure, if you want." Brian found the knob for the gas control and turned it on, waiting just a moment before pushing the ignition

switch. It made a little pop-whoosh similar to a gas stove. After a minute, the extra warmth began to seep out into the room. "Dinner, wine, fire... this is starting to read like a seduction," teased Tristan. Brian smiled and sat down on the sofa. He beckoned Tristan to come sit beside him. Tristan got up from where he was sitting on the floor and moved to the offered spot. Brian wrapped his arms around his lover and kissed him. "Do I need to seduce you? Here I thought all I needed to do was drop a hint," Brian replied. "Or maybe just my pants." Tristan snickered. "Speaking of pants, I started thinking about the tuxedo issue. You can't just rent one." "Why not?" "Bri, some people wear couture to this thing. Granted, it's usually not the guys... A rental won't stick out at first glance, but at some point somebody's going to make some snide comment or laugh at you behind your back. I don't want you to have to go through that." "It doesn't--" Brian began. "I'll buy you one. I have a Versace. We don't have time for a custom job. There're not enough days until the party, but we can get you a pre-made Armani and have it tailored by then." "Tristan... that sounds really expensive no matter how you go about it." Brian was uncertain how he felt about having Tristan buy him something that personal and that pricey. Tristan cupped a hand against Brian's cheek, rubbing his thumb down across Brian's mouth. "I know we don't talk about this much but I can afford it. I own this house flat out. All I pay is utilities and taxes. My paycheck from the department goes quite a ways when there's no rent coming out of it."

Brian thought about that. He hadn't objected to Tristan's gift of a few days at a posh B&B, scheduled for a few weeks from now. It was an intangible. On the other hand, he himself had coughed up a chunk of money for the antique nightstand he had bought Tristan, more than was actually comfortable. Still... it made him rethink his desire to go to that party. He must have been quiet too long. "Having second thoughts?" Tristan asked softly. "A little," Brian said honestly. "I'd like to go. I think it would be awesome, but am I going to feel totally out of place?" "You're good at the mingling thing. You wouldn't have any problems. Think about it, I'm usually the one who's the next best thing to a wallflower." Brian had to smile. He knew from experience that Tristan was seldom completely comfortable in a crowded social gathering. Another thought occurred to him. "Are your parents likely to be there? Being that I've already had the dubious pleasure of meeting your mother." "Mmm, maybe. Some years they go, some years they don't. Dad doesn't like the noise level. I have no qualms about being seen with you in a very public place, if that's what you're thinking," Tristan replied. "Give me a straight answer. Are you out at work?" "It's slightly complicated. If somebody asks me point blank if I'm gay, I say yes, and therefore I've been hazed a few times. But big city that this is, most of my colleagues have better things to do with their time than contemplate who I sleep with. And I have always made sure to never even imply interest, much less date anyone in the department. So, I will happily stick my tongue down your throat at the party in front of five hundred people if that's what you want."

Brian laughed. *** The morning was a little frantic, as neither of them had much practice getting ready for work with the other one present. In the kitchen, Brian pulled a cereal box from the cupboard and was just tired enough that the normality of what they were doing struck him as funny. "Hey, Tris, do you mind if I finish off the Frosted Flakes?" he asked. "Huh? Oh, no, it's fine," answered Tristan as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "'Cause I wouldn't want you to accuse me of being a cereal killer." Tristan blinked and nearly spilled the coffee as he let out a groan. "God... you set me up for that, didn't you?" "You're such a good straight man." "Who are you calling straight? I ought to beat you with my spoon." Tristan waved said object in Brian's direction. "Whisk," replied Brian. "What?" "Use a whisk. If you use a spoon, you'll only stir me up more," Brian dead-panned. Tristan promptly grabbed him and began to tickle him. *** In the ballroom of the Mandarin Hotel, Brian didn't see a single person he recognized. It didn't matter; meeting new people was interesting. He was intrigued by the mix. In and among a mishmash of tall and short, male and female, there were some stunningly beautiful

people. He supposed they might be models or actors—it was New York after all and this was a very exclusive party. Tristan had an arm draped possessively around Brian's shoulders as Tristan talked to a man he apparently knew by the name of Randall. "You know that Simon's been playing bodyguard for rent ever since he bailed out of the NYPD," said Randall. "Really? I guess his stint babysitting that actress agreed with him. The couple of times I've gotten snagged into that sort of thing I thought it was mindnumbingly boring." "Well it did net you Eric," commented the man. Brian felt Tristan's fingers tighten against his shoulder. "I think I saw him here, but then I'm guessing the two of you aren't an item anymore." The man nodded in the direction of Brian. "No. Very definitely not together these days," said Tristan. *** Turning to pick up a pair of champagne glasses off a waiter's tray, Tristan met eyes with the one person he would have most preferred not to see tonight. Eric. Tall, straight blond hair, muscular, the man still looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ. Eric's eyes raked down the length of Tristan's body and brought an uncomfortable sick feeling to the pit of Tristan's stomach. "Tristan Blake, I'm surprised to see you here," said Eric. "Why? I always get an invitation."

"Ah, but you've never enjoyed the night life as much as playing cops and robbers." "Somebody has to make sure the bad guys get their due," Tristan replied. "Ah yes, well you've always had a rather black and white world view. Are you here alone?" asked Eric. "No." Tristan turned back toward where Brian was facing in the opposite direction, talking to a woman wearing a red dress. Tristan laid a hand on Brian's arm and Brian looked in his direction. "There's someone I ought to introduce you to." Brian made an excuse to the woman and spun around. "This is my boyfriend, Brian Townsend. Brian, Eric Selby," said Tristan. Brian and Eric shook hands. "So you work with Tristan?" asked Eric. "No, I'm an architect," replied Brian. "Design anything I might recognize?" Tristan winced. Leave it to Eric to imply somebody's insignificance. "Unless you have a penchant for glancing at credits for shopping malls or home remodels, I rather doubt it," Brian answered amiably. "Have you been seeing Tristan long?" "A couple months." "Ah, then you're just coming to the part where the erratic hours and mindless brooding about work is beginning to register. Tristan has a real devotion to the job." Tristan squashed the desire to haul off and punch the man. Jesus, how hard did Eric intend to twist the knife? Memories of grief over his work partner Ron's death warred with recollections of shouting matches with Eric. "Devotion can be a good thing, and funky hours are a part of the job," said Brian. Tristan felt Brian's fingers threading through his own where his hand hung at his

side. "Oh, I just saw someone I know. If you'll excuse me." Brian pulled Tristan off in the direction of the far end of the ballroom. Tristan allowed himself to be dragged off, perversely glad for anything approximating an excuse to escape. Brian led him out into one of the hallways far away and out of sight from Eric. They finally stopped in a quiet corner. *** Brian fumed internally as he liberated Tristan from Eric's presence, actively looking for someplace to take Tristan that was away from the crowds and more specifically away from that bastard. Okay, the man was drop-dead gorgeous, Brian would concede him that. He could see what must have initially attracted Tristan to Eric. Nobody turned down that kind of hot. But how Tristan had put up with the piss-ant attitude for more than a day or two did defy logic just a little. Brian supposed it was possible Eric could be charming if he chose to be. Brian drew Tristan to a halt in a relatively quiet corner in one of the hallways outside the ballroom. "I'm sorry about that, but I figured it might be simpler to meet him head-on." Tristan looked tense and annoyed. Brian cupped his hands around Tristan's shoulders and pressed him very gently back against the wall, stepping in close. "It's okay. He's an asshole and we both know it," Brian whispered. "I think you made an offer to stick your tongue down my throat at this party if I wanted. Now would be a good time."

Tristan relaxed a little and gave Brian a half-smile. Brian leaned against him and delivered a deep, openmouth kiss. For the next couple of minutes, neither of them paid much attention to the world around them. "You know... I think we passed a utilities sort of closet back a ways," suggested Brian. "That is your kink isn't it? You really like the danger element of getting caught with your pants down," teased Tristan. "Actually I was thinking of you being the one with your pants down and your dick in my mouth," whispered Brian and he pulled Tristan back down the hallway to the door. Brian eased it open. It contained a vacuum cleaner, a trashcan on wheels, and a variety of other cleaning supplies. Brian pushed Tristan inside, following him in and pressing Tristan back against the door. "First rule, never pick a place where the door opens out," Brian whispered against Tristan's mouth, while his hand cupped his lover's crotch. "Oh? You've had that problem?" "Uh-huh. Risk is one thing, tumbling out into a frat party with your pants around your ankles is kind of embarrassing." Brian eased the fly down on Tristan's slacks and slipped a couple of fingers inside. Tristan's breath hitched a little. *** Why oh why did he let Brian convince him to do things like this? Tristan groaned a little at the hot wet swipe of Brian's tongue across the tip of his cock. Unh. He was trying to split his attention between the sounds of people passing in the hallway, inches behind him, and the urge to pant and moan like some star in a cheap

porno flick. Brian's mouth was doing sanity-stealing things. Tristan's fingers clamped down Brian's shoulder as he bucked into the sucking warmth. He felt the tension of impending release and his legs shook a little at the feeling. Brian's hands dug into the flesh of Tristan's ass. Tristan came with a hard shudder, clenching his teeth, hoping not to make a sound. He was mostly successful, only the faint sound of his moan echoing inside the tiny room. Brian stood up after a minute and began to tuck Tristan back into his briefs. "Your turn?" Tristan panted, planting a sloppy, misaimed kiss on Brian's cheek in the dim light of the closet. "Huh-uh. I have intentions of stripping you out of that suit, Mr. Blake, and screwing you into next year." Brian nipped gently at Tristan's ear. "Are we planning on bailing out of the party early?" "Mmm, could be." *** It took a minute to figure out where the bathrooms were and Brian relieved himself of the couple of glasses of champagne. He turned to head in the direction of the sinks and found himself face to face with... Eric. "You're cute," said Eric. Brian thought the man sounded like he'd had way more than just a little to drink. "Thanks... I think," Brian replied. "You could do better than Mr. Goody-Two-ShoesI'm-Gonna-Save-the-World." Eric moved closer, forcing Brian to take a step back. Eric was a good hand span taller, and more muscular.

"If you're referring to Tristan, I disagree." Brian took a breath and tried to veer around the man. Eric grabbed a fistful of Brian's shirt and pushed him hard against the full-length mirror fixed to the wall. A trickle of fear ran through Brian. Exactly how out of hand was this going to get? How much danger was he in? Brian tried to shove Eric away, without success. He was pinned, Eric's arm across his chest, opposite hand groping his crotch. Eric leaned in and made an attempt to kiss him. Brian turned his head, heart pounding, struggling futilely to free himself. Was this just drunken aggressive stupidity or was Eric planning on something worse? The door to the bathroom opened and an older man walked in. The distraction was enough to cause Eric to relent a little. Brian struggled more, and Eric suddenly stepped away, giving Brian a hard shove. Brian's leather shoes slipped on the tile and he flailed for balance. No luck. He fell flat, sprawling half sideways on the bathroom floor. The other man gave Eric's departing back an odd look. "You okay?" the man asked Brian. "Yeah, um, just a little banged up," Brian replied, scraping himself off the floor and looking to see if he saw any obvious damage to the tuxedo. "Was that someone you know?" "Only just slightly," Brian replied, feeling totally rattled by the event. He washed his hands and straightened his bowtie and still felt uneasy about the whole thing. Returning to where Tristan was in the ballroom talking to a man and woman significantly older than he was, Brian touched Tristan on the arm. "Can I borrow you?" Brian asked, and Tristan said goodbye to the couple. Tristan frowned a little in puzzlement at Brian.

"Are you all right? You look sort of spooked," Tristan said. "I... Can we go? I think I'm done for the night," Brian said. Did he dare tell Tristan the truth? Just how much of a helpless weenie did he want to appear to his lover, the cop? "Okay, that's fine by me." *** The sudden change in his lover puzzled Tristan. Brian had been smoothly chatting with pretty much everyone they met, completely at ease. Now his lover looked thoroughly rattled. Tristan guided Brian away from the crowd, a hand against Brian's back. He could feel the muscle tension even through the layers of clothes. Halfway to the staircase that led to the lobby level, he stopped. "Brian, are you okay? Give me an honest answer this time. You're acting like... well like some of the victims I've dealt with on the job," Tristan said carefully. "It was Eric," Brian said softly. "Keep going," Tristan said, trying to hold onto the flare of his temper. "He... He made a pass at me and tried to kiss me. It kind of turned into a shoving match, then somebody else walked in and I made bolt to get out. He gave me a push and I wiped out on the tile. I'm okay, it just..." Brian's voice trailed off "So help me, I'll tear him limb from limb," murmured Tristan, going from annoyed to furious in about two seconds. He had to take a deep breath to convince himself just how career-wrecking it would be if he went and beat the absolute shit out of Eric. "You could press

charges for assault," Tristan suggested, mentally scrambling for some way to exact punishment. "I'm sure that'd go over well; two guys pushing and shoving at a New Year's Eve party where the alcohol is flowing freely. You're the expert, but I can't see the charges sticking. It's pretty much my word against his," said Brian. "Can we just leave? To offer words you probably never thought you'd hear from me, I'm done with socializing for the night." Tristan had to smile just a little at Brian's comment. "Okay, let's get our coats from the check room and go." Continuing on down to the lower level they passed Randall, whom Tristan had talked to earlier in the evening. Tristan crooked a finger at him. "Have you seen Eric?" Tristan asked. "Uh, yeah, like maybe ten minutes ago. He was telling somebody that he thought he'd had way too much too drink and was going to bail." "It figures. Thanks," responded Tristan. Although it was going to deprive him the pleasure of getting in Eric's face, Tristan was unsurprised that Eric had made a hasty escape. *** In Brian's apartment, the two of them stripped out of tuxedos and hung them up. It was nearly three in the morning. Tristan had been the one to suggest they go back to Brian's place. For as little as Brian had actually said about the incident with Eric, everything in his body language implied that it had shaken him quite a bit. Taking Brian to his own space seemed like the subtlest way of helping him to calm down. It also brought up the fact that they lived in two separate places. Tristan tried to wrap his head around the

idea of that not being the case, but there seemed to be a whole lot of "what-ifs" in the way that he was uncertain if he was ready to deal with. "Damn," whispered Brian. "Problem?" asked Tristan. "I missed my chance to peel you out of that tuxedo." Brian's words didn't quite mesh with the fact his hand was rubbing at his hip, opposite hand braced on the edge of the dresser. "We can revisit that later," said Tristan. He wrapped his uninjured arm around Brian's shoulders from behind and placed a kiss on the side of Brian's neck. "Are you bruised?" Brian hooked a thumb in his boxers and pulled the waist band down exposing a dark mark on his hip. "A little. It's nowhere near as spectacular as some of yours." "And in the morning I'm going to hunt Eric down and beat the shit out of him," murmured Tristan, still feeling the simmer of anger toward that asshole. "Tristan..." "I can wish, can't I?" "Yes, wish away." "I knew he could be a real asshole verbally, it just never occurred to me that he'd try something physical," said Tristan. "He was about three sheets to the wind." "That's no excuse," Tristan snapped. "It was assault and battery. Having his hands on your body equals assault and battery, and it left a visible mark." "It's a bruise. Without the combo of tile floor and leather shoes, I'd have stumbled and that would have been the extent of it. Think about this, seeing you with someone else... He's so narcissistic that it pisses him off that you've moved on. I bet he thought you would beg him to come back."

"Jesus, about the time hell freezes over," Tristan muttered. "Anyway, back to my missed opportunity to be the one taking you out of that tux..." Tristan gave a light snort of laughter. "What, blowing me in the closet didn't count?" "Mmm, not so much." "Okay, how 'bout next year? Only I think next year ought to involve just you and me and a bed and a bottle of champagne." "Are we looking that far ahead?" Brian asked quietly. "Yes, we are." End. If you liked this book you might like: Crimson Regret by AR Moler or Police Navidad by AR Moler

Auld Acquaintance Copyright © 2010 by AR Moler All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680 Printed in the United States of America. Torquere Press, Inc.: Sips electronic edition / December 2010 Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680