"I—that is not yet legal in New Mexico, is it? And yyou do not have to go that far." Juan spoke very low and much more slowly than usual. In less than an instant his gaze slid from Troy's face to the floor and fixed there, riveted to the pattern of the tiles.

Troy felt his face heat, embarrassment flooding through him. Juan had not indicated he was gay nor had he shown many signs of an attraction to Troy. We're friends, buds, nothing more though. Are we? Holy shit, what did I just say? Some Freudian slip that was!

A welter of emotions, all verging on something approaching complete terror, flashed through him. "I--er—I didn't mean iit that way. I mean, well, I don't know if you – what kind oof social life you have or want, whether it's girls or guys or both or neither or..." He floundered into silence.

Shit! He hadn't been so nonplussed in years, since the time a teammate his first year at college had made a pass at him, and not one with a football. He wasn't usually a gauche asshole like this. What was going on?

"It's okay. I did not think you are one of the muchachos mariposos but I am not offended. But I tell you I would not run away even if you meant it. We are friends already, maybe could become more. I know that's not why you asked me to stay. I would have refused. I do not sell myself so cheap or out of fear." Juan's growing facility with English seemed to have abandoned him at the moment. His words emerged stilted and awkward, slowly as if he were searching for the right ones.

Still Juan seemed to be calmer and more in control of the moment than Troy was. As if from a distance, Troy watched the other man stand, come around the table and stop at Troy's side. Juan hesitated a moment before he put one hand on Tory's shoulder. The touch was light but Troy felt it in every nerve. Awareness and arousal washed over him in a breath. His cock leaped to attention, straining at the confines of his slacks and Jockeys.

He heard the slight hitch in Juan's breath and when he looked, he saw the smaller man had a hard-on too. Whoa. What the fuck? Where do we go now, next? Moving as if he swam in molasses, Troy stood. He felt Juan's hand slide free to fall aside as he reached out with both arms. Juan flowed into Troy's embrace and clasped both of his arms around his body, just above his waist.

Juan was about five ten, Troy decided, as their bodies fit together. Though slender, the Latino was wiry and tough, muscles honed by activity and lean from perhaps not always having enough food. Juan had not confided a lot of details to Troy but enough to verify his life had not been easy nor had he yet climbed the ladder of success as far as Troy had although that was coming.

Troy recognized Juan had the determination and drive to succeed just as he himself did. We could make a good team if we worked together. I'm not sure how yet but...There was still the issue of the Mexican drug thugs to deal with but for now that was far from the most urgent matter. The most urgent matter was right there in his arms, stretching up until their mouths met and melded.