Role Model by Rachel Reid

Chapter Eighteen

Troy woke up late the next morning feeling well rested and perfectly comfortable.

Almost.

“What the fuck am I lying on?” He reached under his back and pulled out what appeared to be an extremely battered and worn-out stuffed...giraffe?

“Oh,” Harris said, reaching for it. “That’s Mr. Neck-Neck.”

Troy held it away from him, examining the well-loved toy. “Jeez. Mr. Neck-Neck has been through it.”

“Yeah,” Harris said, dropping his hand. “I’ve had him since I was a baby. We used to be inseparable.”

“Cute.”

“He was comforting, y’know, when I was... Well, I was in the hospital a lot as a kid. And as an adult, I guess, but mostly as a kid.”

Troy turned on his side so they could face each other. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Sure. Why not?” Harris frowned, and Troy held his breath. He was terrified that Harris was about to tell him he had a month to live or something. “I was born with a heart defect. It’s called truncus arteriosus, but basically my arteries were all fucked up, and I’ve gotten a few operations over the years to sort it out. The most recent one was three years ago.”

“Jesus.” It seemed so wrong, for someone as warm and loving as Harris to have anything wrong with his heart. “I’m sorry. How are you now?”

“Fine.” Harris said it quickly, automatically, the way someone would who had been asked about his health far too many times. “Really, I’m good. I get it checked by doctors all the time. But that’s why I never played hockey as a kid. I probably could have, but my parents were worried. I don’t blame them.”

Troy couldn’t blame them either, because even now he wanted to wrap Harris in a blanket and keep him safe. But Harris would hate that, so instead he handed Harris his stuffed giraffe. “I’m glad you have good doctors. And good parents. And Mr. Neck-Neck.”

Harris laughed. “Mr. Neck-Neck was with me through thick and thin. He’s true blue.”

“I’m sorry he had to witness what we did last night. Um. On top of him.” Troy propped himself up on an elbow and grinned. “Was that a threesome, technically?”

Harris hit him with the giraffe. “No! What the hell is wrong with you? And it’s not the first time Mr. Neck-Neck has seen that sort of thing.”

Troy felt an unwarranted pang of jealousy that there had been other men in this bed, but he shoved it down deep. “Mr. Neck-Neck is a pervert.”

“No way, man. He’s just chill and sex positive.”

They both laughed. Troy found it shockingly easy to laugh with Harris.

“We should take a shower,” Harris said.

“Can we both fit?”

“I’m willing to try.” Harris kissed him quickly, then rolled out of the bed. “Fuck, it’s cold. Come on.”

They both managed to fit in the shower, but barely. It was okay because Troy didn’t feel like being more than an inch apart from Harris anyway. They kissed for a long time, wasting water, as their erections bumped together.

Eventually they got down to the business of getting clean. Harris handed him a bottle of shampoo, and Troy laughed when he read the bottle.

“What?” Harris asked.

“It’s apple scented.”

“Is it?”

“Yes! Oh my god. I thought I was losing my mind. I kept smelling apples whenever you were close and I told myself I was imagining it. Jesus.”

Harris grinned. “I think my laundry detergent might be green apple scent too.”

Troy poured some shampoo on his palm and began working it into Harris’s hair. “Unbelievable.”

Harris gave a happy sigh and seemed to quietly enjoy Troy massaging his scalp for a few seconds, and then said, “Did you think I just naturally smelled like apples? Because that’s adorable.”

“No! I thought it was, like, psychosomatic. Or whatever.”

“You wanted me to smell like apples?”

“We can drop this, y’know.”

“Are you turned on by the smell of apples, Troy?”

“I didn’t used to be.” He took a step back from Harris. “Rinse.”

Harris tilted his head back under the spray. “Did I give you an apple fetish?”

“Maybe.” Troy dropped to his knees and kissed the head of Harris’s bobbing cock.

“Oh shit,” Harris said, opening his eyes in surprise. “I was kidding.”

“Yeah, well, I want you to shut up about apples.” Troy took him into his mouth and palmed both of his ass cheeks, squeezing them as he worked his cock. Harris stopped talking about apples or anything else for a few minutes.

“You are,” Harris panted, “so good at this.” He stroked Troy’s wet hair, watching everything he did. Troy pulled back a bit so he could give the head more attention.

“Ah, fuck,” Harris gasped. “I’m super close.”

Troy didn’t stop. He wanted everything he could have from this man.

Harris came within seconds; his cries sounded even louder than usual in the confines of the small shower. Troy swallowed his release, moaning at the thrill of getting a man off with his mouth.

“Get up here,” Harris said huskily. “Kiss me. Wanna touch you.”

Troy took his time, slowing sliding his lips off Harris’s cock and kissing his way up his stomach, his chest, past the scars that guarded his resilient heart.

Their mouths crashed together and Harris wrapped his hand around Troy’s erection. It didn’t take long at all for Harris to take him to the brink of orgasm, and then over, pleasure exploding throughout Troy’s body as his release splattered Harris’s stomach.

Even as he was catching his breath, Troy kept kissing him. He couldn’t get enough of him. It wasn’t good.

“So,” Harris said, pressing his forehead to Troy’s, “did I taste like apples?”

Troy snorted. “Shut up.”

Harris laughed, and Troy couldn’t stop himself from joining him. Being able to laugh effortlessly like this was a different kind of release, one that was possibly more exhilarating than the orgasm he’d just thoroughly enjoyed.

Eventually they got clean, then left the shower and dressed. Troy was starving by the time they went into the kitchen.

“Do you like oatmeal?” Harris asked. “That’s what I normally have for breakfast. I’ll make coffee too, of course.”

Panic started to claw its way into Troy’s unusually happy brain. Maybe it was Harris’s mention of what he normally had for breakfast, the reminder that Troy had managed to insert himself into his morning routine. Maybe it was the sudden realization that Troy was standing in Harris’s kitchen, in his home. Maybe it was the more frightening realization that he didn’t want to leave. Whatever it was, Troy reverted to his usual, cagey self.

“I should go, probably. You don’t have to feed me.”

“But you haven’t eaten,” Harris protested. Then he smiled. “Well, you’ve barely eaten.”

“Gross.”

“It’s just as easy to make two servings of oatmeal as one. Have a seat. Stay for breakfast at least. Or, if you’d rather, there’s a diner not far from here that—”

“I’ll stay. Oatmeal is fine.” The only thing that would be worse right now than staying here with Harris would be spending time in public with him. Anyone who saw them together would know that Troy was crushing hard on the guy, and he wasn’t ready for that.

Troy didn’t sit. He wandered around the small kitchen, probably getting in Harris’s way. He was full of nervous energy and should probably go for a run or head to the gym as soon as he was out of here.

“If you’re going to bounce around like that, maybe you can make coffee,” Harris suggested.

“Okay.”

Harris pointed to a cupboard and then to the coffee maker on the counter. Troy got to work. When the coffeemaker was gurgling and coffee began trickling into the pot, he leaned back against the counter, watching Harris stir the oatmeal. He was wearing jeans and a blue plaid shirt and his hair was still damp. Troy wanted to pull him into his arms, back to bed, and never leave.

Two months ago, he couldn’t imagine ever feeling happy again, much less finding a man who he could be himself with. He’d thought Adrian had been his one chance at happiness, but now, in Harris’s kitchen, Troy realized that he’d never felt this comfortable with Adrian. Their relationship had been hot and exciting, but it had been held together by fear and anxiety. They’d both been so scared of being caught, and their stolen times alone together had been full of desperation and relief. Troy had been so thrilled to have someone to fall in love with that he’d clung to Adrian with both hands, not daring to look at other options. Adrian, meanwhile, had been reaching his hands in two different directions. Until he’d let go of Troy completely.

It hadn’t all been sex. They’d shared parts of themselves with each other, but Troy had never gotten the impression that Adrian had ever been particularly interested in Troy’s life. Adrian had never been overly interested in anyone who wasn’t Adrian. He doubted he was even very interested in his new fiancé.

In short, Troy was experiencing all sorts of new feelings with Harris, and it was fucking him up.

Harris spooned oatmeal into two bowls. “You want maple syrup on it?”

“Sure.” Troy pointed to the corner of Harris’s kitchen counter. “Is that the slow cooker you told me not to worry about?”

Harris laughed. “I swear there’s nothing going on between me and the slow cooker.”

“Hm.”

“But,” Harris said cautiously, “if the slow cooker asks about you, what should I tell him?”

Troy’s heart skipped. “I don’t know. What do you want to tell him?”

Harris glanced at him quickly, then returned his focus to the bowls of oatmeal. “I’d like to tell him that I met someone, and I really like him. And I think he likes me too. And I’d like to see where things go with him, if he also wants that.”

Troy didn’t reply. He couldn’t. It wasn’t shocking, what Harris was saying. Obviously they were both into each other, but Troy still couldn’t believe what was being offered. And he wasn’t sure if he could allow himself to accept it.

“Um,” Harris said, his cheeks darkening. “Maybe I’m assuming too much. With this guy. That I like.”

“You’re not,” Troy said quietly.

“No?” Harris turned to face him, his expression hopeful.

“But,” Troy said, because he had to make this clear, “I’m not sure what I can offer. You know I’m not out, and I won’t ask you to hide with me.”

“I don’t think I could hide,” Harris admitted. “I’m kind of an open book. I’m no good at sneaking around.”

No, Harris was the most honest and sunny person Troy had ever met. He didn’t belong in the shadows. “I know. And you shouldn’t.” Troy sighed. “I like you a lot, Harris, but I need some time to figure my shit out. Maybe until then we should just, y’know, be friends.”

Harris’s smile didn’t look effortless. Or real. “Sure. Makes sense.”

Troy nodded, his head feeling suddenly heavy. “It does. Thanks.”

For a moment, neither man said anything. Then Harris handed Troy one of the bowls. “Oatmeal’s getting cold. Let’s eat.”

Troy wanted to throw the oatmeal into the sink and kiss Harris against the fridge. He wanted to take him out for breakfast, and hold his hand while they waited for their food. He wanted to make coffee for him every morning.

Instead, he silently took his bowl to the table, and awkwardly sat across from his new friend.