`

He shrugged as well. “Not everyone has such a strong sense of their personal truths. Do you always look at things in such a black and white manner? How do you determine what’s relevant when there’s so much we all don’t know?”

He likes the way his name sounds coming from Lysander’s lips. He hasn’t ever heard the other say it like that, and it only encourages Tristan. Each kiss he plants on the other is thoughtful and he takes his time. Maybe he couldn’t yet tell Lysander how he’s been feeling about him, but he could tell him every time his lips made contact with his bruised skin. Tristan wanted to give him everything, and then maybe some more. He’s attentive, following his ex-boyfriend’s lead as he begins trailing kisses down to his chest, up until he hears Lysander’s next request and for a moment he pauses, his breathing heavy as well as he looked at him. Tristan reaches around for the nape of the other boy’s neck, keeping eye contact before he pulls Lysander towards him, eyes fluttering shut as he closes the gap between their lips. Tristan’s kiss is gentle, careful, not wanting to wear him down considering the state he’s found him in. He just wanted Lysander to feel good. Tristan would give him more if he still wanted more. 

Though it felt as if the dark love bites on his body were on fire, the feather-light kisses weren’t enough for the Windsor leader. He wanted, no, he needed to get a taste himself. Lysander loosely wraps his arms around Tristan’s neck when his lips brush gently against his. His eyes flutter closed, savoring the sweet taste of his mouth, allowing himself to melt into their kiss. This was different, so very different from the way Alek kissed him, and yet it didn’t feel any less intimate. However, thinking about his ex-boyfriend caused pangs of guilt to hit his chest. His judgement was clouded by the alcohol that was coursing through his veins, as well as by the undeniable lust he felt for the smaller boy. Silently, he repeated to himself that this was wrong, and yet he still kissed him back. Lysander had missed the softness of Tristan’s soothing kisses, and admittedly, there was a part of him that longed for more, but drunk or not, he couldn’t do that to Alek. “This is bad… What we are doing…” he breathes heavily against the boy’s plump lips, lifting his hand to cup his chin. Less than an hour ago, he was exploring his sexuality with his boyfriend, and now he was in another man’s arms, longing to be touched some more. “Do you love me, Tristan?” he whispers, his voice lustful and needy. “Will you always love me?” 

Alek notices him right away and as any mature person would do, he hides behind the nearest person which thankfully happens to be his physical therapist, who is big enough to hide two of him, so that Tristan doesn’t spot him when he turns in his direction. He remembers his drunken conversation with the other in painful details–every words he spoke, every truths he spilled and every thoughts he had. He also remembers what came after, the damn lap dance that snowballed into something out of control: a huge fight between his boyfriend and himself, a rough drunken hookup he’d rather forget ever happened following aforementioned fight and the cherry on top: his cousin walking in on them. 

Anger still burns bright in the boy’s veins and Alek has half in mind to march over and demand Tristan stay the hell away from his boyfriend. Instead, he walks away, their eyes crossing for a split second when he looks over his shoulder (the guy may anger him like no other but he has eyes and a sweaty Tristan is a very appealing Tristan, sue him), to the locker room for a quick shower. God, Alek just wanted to slam his head into the nearest from the embarrassment he feels about yet another awkward interaction with Tristan and because luck has it out for him today, said boy walks in the room just as he’s about to step under the shower spray. “For fuck’s sake.”

He’s not sure if he should wait until Alek was done using the showers. He did hear him curse, thanks to the wonderful echo in the room, but as he places his water bottle back into his locker, he presses his lips together. Tristan wanted a shower now, and a part of him knew it wasn’t only because he felt sweaty. Somehow, it felt wrong, but at the same time, he feels drawn to the other, just as he’d been drawn to the markings he’d left on Lysander’s skin. Maybe he did need a shower. A cold one. He steps in, keeping silent, trying his best to avoid eye contact with Alek.

His hand was already on the doorknob but he stops when Lysander asks him not to leave. Instead, Tristan pushes the door shut again, though he hesitates for a second about locking it. It seemed like he should for some reason, but at the same time he asks himself why. What was he even doing here, still? He’s ready to open his mouth to tell Lysander that he doesn’t need to explain when he hears Alek’s name slip from his lips and Tristan’s eyes flick towards the hickeys again. “Alek what?” he asks, tone tentative. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was he was feeling but he knows he feels strange as images of what possibly happened between the two flash in his mind, as if he couldn’t decide whether or not he wished it was him instead of Alek who got to be with Lysander, or if he was more curious about what it must have been like to have been in Lysander’s place. Tristan’s cheeks flush pink when he catches on to his train of thought. As much as he wanted to forget about it all like how Lysander is asking him to, it was a little difficult when the evidence was right there in his face. Still, he finds it hard to say no to the other’s request completely. He’s still drawn to Lysander and it feels good to be wanted by him, so he steps towards the other boy, bringing a gentle hand up to his face, his careful touch lingering just slightly before it trails down his neck and settles on his shoulder. Tristan’s eyes follow the movement of his hand, examining the markings on the other’s neck more closely. “Did they hurt?”

The red hue on his face intensifies when Tristan repeats his boyfriend’s name, confirming that he had in fact heard Lysander’s dangerous slip of the tongue. “Yes, Alek… He did this to me,” the boy confesses, because there was really no denying it at this point, and Tristan probably had already guessed what had transpired between them. Lysander didn’t trust very easily, but the other boy had never given him a reason to doubt him before. Besides, he was a nobody, so who would believe him anyway? “Mmpf,” he whimpers wantonly, as Tristan’s fingertips gently trailed down his neck, tracing the dark, tender spots that were scattered across his throat and collarbone. While they didn’t hurt anymore, they did feel mighty sensitive to his touch. Lysander didn’t understand why his ex-boyfriend was touching him like this, or why he appeared to be so mesmerized by the marks in the first place, but admittedly, his curiosity was piqued, and it was turning him on a little. Fluttering his eyes closed, he imagines how Tristan’s soft lips would feel against his bruised skin, and involuntarily licks his lips. “Yes, it hurt…” he nods his head, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip to ensure no other embarrassing sounds would leave his mouth, but unfortunately, that doesn’t last very long. “Do you… Do you want to kiss them better, Tristan?”

He hasn’t seen Lysander since that lap dance. Tristan had meant to talk to him after that game of truth or dare, but Lysander had left before he could do so and seemed to disappear for a while. So in the mean time, Tristan wandered around the party, though it doesn’t take too much time before he finds himself wondering how Lysander is doing once more. With a sigh, he enters a bathroom, figuring he could fix himself up a bit. He’s had some to drink and he could feel it on his cheeks.

When he steps in though, he finds that the bathroom is occupied by none other than the person he was looking for, with his shirt only buttoned halfway up. His eyes widen in alarm, cheeks turning beet red. That wasn’t the alcohol anymore. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to barge in. It was unlocked—“ He stops. He couldn’t help but notice the hickeys on the other’s neck and for a moment it stuns him into silence. He knows he should probably look away but he couldn’t. Instead, his eyes linger and he wonders who Lys had just been with. The markings look fresh and Tristan feels the strangest pang of jealousy towards this unknown person, especially when it seemed like they’ve just been all over Lysander. He knows he shouldn’t be feeling this way—technically, they were no longer together—but it was a weird thing to witness proof that his ex has really moved on, when a part of him thought that not too long ago, they might have been having a moment. “I—uh, I should probably give you some privacy…”

A sense of guilt washes over him when he catches Tristan’s gaze lingering on the tender spots on his throat, though he doesn’t quite understand why he feels that way. The two boys had broken up over a year ago, so there was no reason to feel like he did something wrong. Besides, after watching that lapdance performance, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Tristan had moved on, and had probably slept with several people since Lysander had dumped him, which disgusted him. Just thinking about Tristan kissing someone else’s lips made him feel ill. “I… I thought I had locked it,” he mumbles softly, too embarrassed to even look at the smaller boy. Admittedly, he was concerned about what the other was thinking right now, seeing him like this. Was he making the assumption that Lysander had engaged in casual intercourse with someone? That he would do things of that nature on the regular? His opinion shouldn’t matter, but Lysander couldn’t stand the thought of Tristan thinking negatively of him. “Tristan… please don’t go,” the silver-haired boy pleaded, quickly buttoning up his shirt again. “I’m really not like this! I just.. I don’t know what came over me. Alek…” His eyes widen in shock when his boyfriend’s name unintentionally spills from his lips, and he can only pray that Tristan doesn’t connect the dots. “Can’t we just forget this ever happened? Can’t you just… hold me? Please, Tristan…”