Tristan noticed how Quinn didn’t really answer his question. He was enchanted with his clothes. They were a variety of different colors, and some were even made of silk. The hat was to die for, and Tristan loved wearing it. What was there not to like about what he picked out? Why would someone make fun of such beautiful clothing?
Tristan grabbed his hat and set it on the dresser, his fingers lingering on the soft fabric. “I’ll try not to let them bother me, sir,” he said, more to the hat than to Quinn. Tristan’s life wasn’t an easy one, but he always tried to look on the bright side of things. There wasn’t a bright side to someone ridiculing his clothes. “May I have my Skittles now, sir?” he asked as he turned around to face Quinn.
“They’re in the kitchen. Look in the pantry.” Quinn went back to building the art table, so Tristan let him be.
All of this was pretty bizarre. He knew Quinn didn’t like when Tristan called him sir, but it was a habit now. One he desperately wanted to break, but the word fell from his mouth so naturally. Xavier had screwed his head up pretty bad, but Tristan wasn’t going to give up. He deserved a normal life after being treated like shit from his ex master.
Boy, was that title a joke. The man wouldn’t know what a master was if he was hit over the head with three paddling tables. And the wedgie in the panties was that Tristan didn’t even want to be a sub. That was all Xavier’s doing.
Bastard. Maybe this time he could stay hidden. The psycho had found him the last few times he managed to get away from Mr. Bondage R Us.
Tristan searched the pantry for the box he saw Quinn buy, his mouth already watering for a taste of one of those delicious candies.
“Well, what do we have here?” A husky voice from behind made Tristan stiffen. “Looks like Quinn finally let his boy toy out to play.”
Tristan whirled around, glaring at the man he saw move his things out of the house yesterday.
“I’m no one’s boy toy.” He snapped at the guy as he glared at him. He was furious that this man would assume such things about him. Tristan had no clue where all his bravado was coming from, but no one came near him when his mate was in the next room. No one but his mate came near him period.
His head began to spin as the realization slammed into him. Quinn was his mate! Was that why he wanted to please him and was terrified of him all at the same time? The knowledge just surfaced without him even thinking about it. Holy marshmallows!
“A twink with ’tude, I like it.” The larger man backed Tristan into the pantry, using his larger frame to bully Tristan further back into the small alcove.
“Stop.” Tristan pressed his hands into the man’s chest, his brain frantically trying to figure a way out of this situation.
“Why? If Quinn can play with you, why can’t I?” His rough and callused hands were all over Tristan’s body. His skin wanted to throw up from the touch. It was unwelcome and, quite frankly, scary.
“No!” Tristan pushed with all his might, slipping under the guy’s arm and running from the room. He slammed into Quinn’s chest and fell to the floor, a yelp escaping his lips.
“What’s wrong, jellybean?” Quinn reached down and pulled Tristan to his feet. He wasn’t sure what he should say. Weren’t Quinn and the man in the pantry friends? Would Quinn believe him?
Tristan didn’t have to say a word. When the man in the pantry came out, Quinn’s face twisted up in anger. “What the hell are you doing here, Mickey?”
“I forgot a few things in my hasty departure from your house.”
“In the pantry?” Quinn looked from Tristan to Mickey and growled, twisting the front of the man’s shirt in his fists. “What the fuck did you do to Tristan?”
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…” Tristan began to sing, going to his happy place in his mind. It was the only way he had learned to deal with high-stress situations, or even uncomfortable ones. He’d been beaten for it many times by Xavier, but it was a habit he’d had since childhood.
“He’s singing, so you must have done something.” Quinn slammed Mickey’s back into the wall. His stance told Tristan that the outcome wasn’t going to be pleasant. He began to repeat the song when the two started fighting in the kitchen.
Mickey shoved Quinn back and tried to get a punch in, but Quinn ducked and landed one square on Mickey’s jaw. “How fucking dare you come in here and disrespect my company?” Quinn hit him again.
“Since when do you defend some guy you brought home to fuck, Quinn? I thought we were friends.” Mickey spit on the kitchen floor. It smacked onto the linoleum and was riddled with blood. Tristan took a step back. That was just gross.