Role Model

by Rachel Reid

  “If you’re not gonna touch my dick, at least let me touch yours.”

  With an exaggerated sigh, Troy shifted until he was kneeling beside Harris’s shoulder. His erection was peeking out from the front of his loosely tied bathrobe. Harris pulled one end of the belt, and the knot fell apart.

  “Let me suck it?” Harris asked. He had no idea why he was asking permission, except it felt like Troy was fully in charge here and Harris wanted to go with it.

  “I was just about to suck you,” Troy said, letting his robe drop to the floor.

  “Oh, were you really?” Harris drawled. “After, what? Two hours of forgetting where my dick is?”

  “Brat.” Troy turned himself so he was facing Harris’s feet and straddled his face. Harris had noticed before how meticulous Troy’s personal grooming was. His balls were smooth and hairless, and the hair around the base of his cock was a neatly trimmed dark patch. Harris kept on top of his own manscaping, but Troy was at a level that rivaled porn stars.

  And now those smooth, heavy balls were dangling over Harris’s face, brushing his lips.

  “Well?” Troy asked.

  Harris huffed. “Listen, pal. You don’t get to be impatient after all that.” But he didn’t make Troy wait; he licked and then sucked one of his balls into his mouth, and enjoyed the soft gasp Troy let out.

  Troy didn’t move, so Harris stayed focused on his balls, rolling one carefully on his tongue, and then the other. He licked behind them, pressing his tongue firmly against Troy’s perineum.

  “Oh,” Troy said quietly. “God, that’s—”

  Harris kept going, inching his tongue slowly back to Troy’s ass. He reached up and spread his hands on his ass cheeks, pulling them gently apart to give Troy a clue about his plans.

  For a moment, Troy’s whole body seemed to freeze, and Harris stilled too. Then, Troy shifted forward, just a bit. Just enough to bring his hole closer to Harris’s mouth. Harris grinned at the offering, and wondered if anyone had done this to Troy before. It wasn’t something everyone was keen to do, but Harris was a fan.

  He pressed his tongue flat against Troy’s hole, not moving. Just letting Troy feel the warm wetness of his tongue against the sensitive nerve endings there.

  “Holy—” Troy gasped.

  Harris licked a few slow strokes, then changed to a circular motion with the tip of his tongue. Within seconds, Troy was rocking against his mouth, moaning and swearing wantonly while Harris used every rimming trick he knew.

  He wondered if Troy wanted Harris to fuck him. Harris would definitely be into that. He liked being taken hard, but he certainly had nothing against being on top. Especially when sex was like this: tender and sensuous and indulgent. When no one was in a hurry and it was all about exploration and discovery. He would love to slide into Troy, bury himself in him and rock together until they both shattered.

  “Fuck, that’s good.” Troy panted. “Love your beard against my skin.”

  Troy’s entrance was still closed tight like a fist, but Harris managed to wiggle the tip of his tongue inside.

  “Ah!” Troy cried out. “Jesus. I need to—” Then he fell forward, pulling his ass away from Harris’s mouth and wrapping his lips around Harris’s cock.

  Now Harris cried out, partly from the relief and surprise of finally having Troy’s mouth on his long-suffering erection, and partly from frustration. He’d wanted to see if he could relax Troy’s hole with his tongue, and now he couldn’t quite reach it.

  But he could reach Troy’s dick, so he opened his mouth wide and let Troy slide inside.

  Troy moaned, and the vibrations made Harris’s back arch. He hadn’t done this exact thing in a while, and he’d never done it next to a fire, being pressed into the floor of a cabin by a huge, heavy NHL player.

  He hummed and moaned and sighed while he sucked Troy, because Harris couldn’t even be quiet when he had a dick in his mouth. He slid his palms over Troy’s thighs and hips and ass, unable to decide if he wanted to fuck this man, or be fucked, or just do this for now. After another minute, the decision was taken away from him when he realized he was on the brink of orgasm.

  He made a loud, muffled hum to warn Troy, but Troy stayed on him, and seconds later Harris exploded into his mouth. It hit him so hard that he had to pull away from Troy’s dick. He cried out as intense pleasure ripped through him again and again. Through it all, Troy kept sucking, taking every drop and giving Harris as much pleasure as possible. Harris frantically tried to get his mouth back on Troy’s dick, knowing he was close, but was astonished when Troy started shooting into the air, spattering Harris’s chest with his release.

  Even after all that, Troy kept peppering Harris’s spent cock with light kisses, eventually moving to Harris’s thighs and then, finally, pulling away. He lifted his leg so he wasn’t straddling Harris and turned so he could lie next to him on the rug.

  “Thank you,” Troy said, his voice low and battered.

  “Thank me?” Harris said with a tired laugh. “I was just trying to keep up.”

  A wide, unguarded smile stretched across Troy’s face, and it sent a jolt through Harris that felt more powerful than his orgasm. Because he did that—he made Troy Barrett smile like that. Somehow, Harris had earned that, and he realized, in that moment, how fiercely he would protect that smile. How fiercely he would protect Troy.

  Because he might be falling in love with him.

  “What?” Troy asked, smile fading because Harris’s face must have shown some of his anxiety.

  “Nothing,” Harris said quickly. “I’m just...hungry. We should order room service.”

  Troy’s smile returned. He kissed Harris quickly and said, “I hope they have salmon.”

  * * *

  They did have salmon, and Troy ate his with gusto because he’d realized, as soon as their dinner had been delivered, that he was famished.

  “Still not as good as chocolate cake,” Harris said, setting his empty plate on the end table. They were sitting on the sofa together, still wearing only bathrobes, and still enjoying the fire.

  The champagne was gone.

  “You’re wrong,” Troy said, “but good thing we got chocolate cake too.”

  Troy let Harris feed him cake off his fork, which was something he would find revolting in other couples, but no one could see them now so he didn’t care. Besides, he had a pretty good buzz on from the champagne.

  When they finished their dessert, Harris snuggled against him, and they watched the fire together. “What are you doing Sunday?” Harris asked.

  “I have a practice in the morning, but nothing after that,” Troy said.

  “Wanna come to the farm for dinner?”

  Troy tensed. “With your family, you mean?”

  “Of course,” Harris said, as if it wasn’t the biggest deal in the world. “They’d love you.”

  This was...a lot. “What would we tell them? About us?”

  “Whatever you’re comfortable with. They certainly won’t judge if we tell them we’re...whatever we are.”

  “Really?” Troy couldn’t even imagine.

  “They’ve always loved and accepted me. The worst they’ll do is embarrass me by being so thrilled that I’ve brought someone home.”

  Troy relaxed a bit. “You don’t bring people home very often?”

  “I invite friends for dinner sometimes, but not men I’m dating. Or, y’know. Whatever.”

  They were both quiet a moment, and then Troy said, bravely, “Are we dating?”

  Harris glanced up at him. “Kinda feels like it maybe.”

  Troy smiled. “It does.” He was so wonderfully happy in that moment. If this was what dating Harris felt like, he wanted to keep doing it. Whatever it took. “You should tell your parents,” he said.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. But maybe tell t
hem before Sunday? I’d rather it not be a whole thing.”

  “I can do that. And it won’t be a big deal. Not to them. I promise. And they’ll keep it a secret, if I ask.”

  Troy shifted so he could pull Harris more onto his lap. He wanted to see his face properly. “Maybe just for a bit. I said I wouldn’t make you hide, and I won’t. I need a little time to figure some stuff out, though.”

  Harris studied his face, then smiled. “I need a little time to believe this is even real.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Drover family farm was even more absurdly picturesque and charming than Troy had imagined. The long road took them past snow-laden apple trees until they reached a perfect white farmhouse.

  “Are you nervous?” Harris asked as they parked the truck.

  “No,” Troy lied.

  “Good. They’ll love you. Just wait.”

  They both got out of the truck, and Troy immediately heard barking.

  “Uh-oh,” Harris said cheerfully. “Here they come.”

  Several dogs of various sizes were running toward them, barking excitedly. Troy took a step back, but his back hit the side of the truck, leaving him trapped between hard metal and a tornado of dogs. Because of course they’d all made a beeline for Troy.

  “Aw, come on, guys. You’re embarrassing me,” Harris laughed. He whistled and two of the dogs immediately went to him, leaving Troy with one very large dog pinning him against the truck with its paws on his stomach.

  “Uh, hi,” Troy said. He realized that he had his hands in the air, as if he were surrendering. He lowered them slightly.

  “Mac, you too. Get off of him, you demon.” Harris smacked his thigh, which got Mac’s attention. After a moment’s consideration, Mac seemed to decide he preferred freaking Troy out to hanging with Harris.

  “Okay,” Troy said slowly. “Um...down?”

  “Just start walking,” Harris said. “He’ll move.”

  Troy took a step forward, and Mac dropped to all fours and wiggled between Troy’s legs.

  “Mac’s the problem child,” Harris said, then knelt to scratch Mac’s head. “The little one is Shannon, and the white one is Bowser. They’re total sweethearts. Not like this boner.” Harris said the last part in an affectionate voice directed at Mac.

  “Harris, don’t make your friend stand in the cold all afternoon!” The voice came from the house, and Troy turned to see a woman who must be Harris’s mother standing in the open door.

  “We’re coming,” Harris said. He started walking toward the house, then stopped and said, “Shit! The pie.”

  As Harris jogged back to the truck to retrieve the pie he’d made, his mom beckoned for Troy to come inside.

  “I’m Marlene,” she said, extending her hand as Troy reached the top of the steps to the front veranda.

  “Troy,” he said, shaking her hand. She had silver hair cut into a shoulder-length bob, dark-rimmed glasses, and the same compact build as her son. She was even wearing a plaid flannel shirt. She looked pretty hip, actually. Like a celebrated farm-to-table restaurateur.

  “I’m glad to finally meet you,” she said as they went inside. “Harris has been talking you up.”

  “Mom.” Harris groaned as he followed them with the pie and all three dogs.

  Troy’s stomach flipped at the thought of Harris saying anything about him to his parents. It was touching and terrifying at the same time.

  “He talks a lot,” Troy said, then realized it sounded more like a complaint than a gentle ribbing. “I mean, he’s friendly.” Then he realized he was talking about Harris as if he wasn’t there. “You’re friendly. And chatty. So I’m not surprised that you were talking about me.” He could feel the back of his neck heating as Harris and Marlene stared at him. “I can take that pie...somewhere...for you?”

  Harris burst out laughing. “Glad you’re not nervous.”

  The heat crept around from Troy’s neck to his face. “Sorry.” Excellent. He’d been here a few minutes and had basically cowered away from one of their dogs, then babbled some nonsense about Harris being chatty. Great first impression.

  Troy glanced around at the old house that was obviously packed with family history and pride. It was so homey and pleasant and unfamiliar that Troy felt an urge to cast himself out into the cold like a monster.

  “Is that Harris?” a new voice asked.

  A man stepped into the front entrance from an adjacent room who looked a lot like an older version of Harris. The same eyes, the same full beard and thick hair, but both mostly gray, and the same warm smile and booming voice. The biggest difference was that he was several inches taller than Troy.

  “You must be Troy. I’m Sam.”

  They shook hands. “Thank you guys for having me. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in a long time.”

  “It’s been a long time since Harris has brought someone home that he’s sweet on,” Marlene said. Troy’s stomach fluttered.

  “Oh my god, Mom. Way to make Troy think we live in the thirties or something.”

  Marlene laughed. “Make yourself at home. We’ve got a fire going in the living room. That’s why the dogs are already back in there.” And that seemed to be the end of the Troy-is-gay-and-dating-Harris conversation. It had been barely anything, and Troy felt almost giddy.

  “You saying you’re not sweet on me?” Troy murmured into Harris’s ear as they walked into the kitchen.

  “You’re the bees knees, sweetheart.”

  The kitchen was surprisingly large and smelled amazing. Harris set his pie on the counter and said, “Want something to drink?”

  “Whatever you’re having.”

  Harris opened the fridge and grabbed two bottles of his sisters’ cider, then handed one to Troy. “Maybe this will take the edge off.”

  “I’m fine,” Troy said, though it was another lie. He was trying very hard to ignore how surreal this all felt. His relationship with Adrian had been based on a mutual fear of discovery. They had certainly never met each other’s families. It hadn’t even been discussed. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing with Harris, but he knew he didn’t want the same sort of arrangement he’d had with Adrian. He wanted to get to know Harris’s family, and he wanted them to like him.

  Which was a lot.

  “Wanna see my old bedroom?” Harris asked, waggling his eyebrows.

  Troy managed a half smile. “Are you allowed to have boys up there?”

  Harris took a step toward him. “You’d be the first one.”

  Oh. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Wanna see it?”

  Hell yes, Troy did.

  * * *

  Troy Barrett was in Harris’s childhood bedroom, sitting on his old, creaky twin bed, and Harris was trying very hard to be cool about it.

  “This is a lot of Ottawa Centaurs stuff,” Troy observed.

  He wasn’t lying. There were posters, pennants, and knickknacks everywhere. Harris had hockey cards shoved in the frame of his mirror. Even the bedside lamp had a Centaurs branded shade.

  “I was a bit of a fan.”

  “I’m a little concerned. This feels like you might have lured me up here to add to your collection.”

  Harris grinned. “I was thinking about chaining you to my bed.”

  Troy’s lips curved up. “This bed?” He bounced a couple of times, making it squeak loudly. “I think the detectives would find me.”

  “Stop bouncing!” Harris hissed. “Mom and Dad will think we’re doing it!”

  “Like this?” Troy bounced some more.

  “Oh my god.” Harris lunged at him, and seconds later he had Troy pinned on his back and was sprawled on top of him.

  “Be awkward if they walked in right now,” Troy said. Their lips were so close together that Harris could feel his breath tickle.

  �
�We should get up, probably,” Harris murmured.

  “Mm.” Then they were kissing. Harris had probably started it, but Troy was definitely into it, kissing Harris in that slow, exploratory way that absolutely melted Harris every time.

  There was a loud crash behind them, which broke them apart.

  “What the hell?” Troy asked.

  “Uncle Elroy,” Harris said, dipping his head for another kiss.

  Troy sat up, nearly knocking Harris to the floor. “Fuck off. It’s not a fucking ghost. What was it really?”

  Harris glanced behind his shoulder and spotted the culprit on top of his dresser. “Ursula.”

  “Who’s Ursula? The ghost of your great-grandmother?”

  Harris laughed. “The cat. She was probably under the bed.”

  Ursula swished her enormous fluffy tail and knocked a hairbrush to the floor.

  “Oh,” Troy said. “And how many cats do you have? Eight?”

  “Nope. Just one. If she treats you like garbage, don’t be offended. She’s not into people.”

  “That makes two of us, Ursula.”

  Harris shifted off Troy and sat on the edge of the bed. Troy moved to sit beside him.

  “This seems like an okay house to grow up in,” Troy said.

  “It was the best.”

  “It would be nice, out here in the country, I think. I grew up in the suburbs of Vancouver.”

  “I like being downtown, but I miss the quiet sometimes,” Harris said. “I’ll probably move back here someday. Not to this house, exactly. I mean, I don’t think so. Anna and Margot built the cidery on the west side of the orchard, and they more or less run the farm now. I assume one of them will get the house eventually. It’s been in the family for four generations so far. I’m glad my sisters are passionate about the farm.”

  “You’re not?”

  “I love it, but I don’t know if I want to run it.” Harris shrugged and gazed out the window. The sun had almost set over the snow-covered orchard. “I like my job a lot. I think I’d like to see how far I can go doing marketing and communications stuff.”

  “And you get to work for the team you’re obsessed with.”