Shifting Gears - Troy
I knew it was Sunday. I anticipated the lazy morning, with my big man beside me. But today, he was awake first as I felt the slow, deliberate trail his lips were tracing along my shoulder blade.
A shiver ran through me. “You’re awake,” I mumbled into the pillow, a smile already tugging at my lips as his kisses pressed on my skin and I felt the stir of my morning wood.
His answer was a low rumble against my flesh as he rolled me onto my back, his big body caging me in. “Today I’m the insatiable one.”
I laughed, winding my arms around his neck as another glorious morning in his bed began. “You always are. You just beat me to it today.” And then the slow, delicious friction of skin on skin, the quiet gasps in the morning light, and the feeling of being so thoroughly, completely wanted took over.
After our chat last night, and his realization about his conversation with Smitty in his office, it seemed he couldn’t hold back his new sense of freedom. He couldn’t get enough of me last night in bed. After a deeper, rather emotional conversation, he rolled over on me and fucked me like the horny animal he truly was proving to be. Right on top of the covers. I had settled my body under his, using his giant body as the only blanket I needed. Half asleep, feeling warm and cozy as the big lug spooned himself around me, he fucked me again as we lay there, naked, trying to fall asleep, and pumped out another round into me, remaining inside me, until we both fell asleep.
Now, waking up not just next to him, but with him wanting me again made me so turned on I was the one that was moaning. No part of him was holding back anymore. Not that I was complaining. Yesterday it was me that woke him up and straddled him. Today it was him, rolling me over to slide into me to start our day off with a bang.
Ivan was a specimen of a man. He could regenerate sperm faster than anyone alive it seemed. And me? My ass was made for his cock, as no matter how many times he wanted to be inside me, I welcomed him easily.
He had a new series of claw marks on his back this morning, probably from the second time he splayed my legs out wide and mounted me, when my teeth dug into his shoulder and my fingers dug into his back, which I shyly pointed out this morning after our morning sexcapades and we were in the shower together. But Ivan took it always in stride, proud of the marks I left on him, as if he was some warrior showing off his latest war wounds.
We didn’t have to rush anywhere thankfully, as it was Sunday, so the session in bed lasted longer than our usual morning romps, and then became another sudden frenzy in the shower as the steam filled up the bathroom.
We ate a late breakfast, Ivan rather chipper and playful the rest of the morning, even suggesting we venture out together to get some things, few groceries, and other errands together.
Together.
This was a big step for the secretive man. We were two big guys, noticeable where ever we went just for the size of us. But it was especially him that always made people turn their heads. Everyone in town still knew him as the once famous hockey player, with his proud father always talking about him and boasting about him, right up until the day he passed away. He even boasted about how proud he was that Ivan was taking over the garage like a true son should when he got sick, dismissing Ivan’s career ending injury as fate to allow him to do what he was truly born to do. Ivan admitted that to me last night, as if he was letting another nugget into his golden past drop into my bucket.
Now here we were. Out together in public. Shopping. Even though we didn’t hold hands or make out as we travelled around the town, we couldn’t help but smile and be goofy with one another. This was a side of Ivan I had been waiting to see. And it just made me fall more in love with him.
Dinner was a team effort in his kitchen—our kitchen, really, now. My pasta, his garlic bread. We sat at the small table, our legs a tangled mess underneath again as we tried to stuff two big guys into a small space, our feet bare in our jeans as a new normal we both seemed to enjoy, and we talked about everything and nothing as usual. The taste of the sauce, the sound of the crickets outside, the way his eyes crinkled when he really smiled. But I realized I was the one doing all the talking.
“You’re quiet again,” I whispered.
He let out a big breath and straightened himself up, his legs extending under the table, his feet finding mine. The light caught the silver in his eyes.
“I was thinking maybe we need a bigger table.” He grinned, banging his big leg into mine on purpose to see my reaction. “Maybe we can pick one out. Do some more shopping. Together. You know, because I want you to think of this as your home too,” he said suddenly.
The words were so simple, so stark, and so utterly Ivan. They hit me square in the chest, stealing my breath. This fortress of a man was openly offering me the one thing I knew he’d guarded his whole life: his home.
A smile broke across my face, so wide it almost hurt. “Yeah,” I breathed, my throat tight with emotion. “That sounds like a good idea to me too.”
“Then…?” He reached a hand out over the table and I took it.
“Then what?” I teased, wanting him to say it.
He gave a laugh and squeezed my hand tighter. “You little flirt, making me say it.” I listened to him inhale deeply, his chest rising, the struggle for him to say the words very apparent. I was enjoying every second of it. “Then just move in. Tell your folks that you don’t need your stupid little apartment over their garage and be here. Permanently. In your new home. With me.”
I answered by getting up so fast from my chair that it knocked over, crashing to the floor loudly as Ivan pushed his chair backwards and welcomed me onto his lap, head back ready for the kiss that was coming.
I sat on him, around the chair, tasting his tongue as his hand slid into the back of my pants and right down to my ass with a growl. After spending the entire day with him, out in public, now was our private time and I couldn’t seem to control all the lust I was feeling while out with him. Seems he was letting it all out too. We made out as if we were still hungry for more than just food. I pulled at his shirt and took it off and he practically ripped mine off as our lips came crashing back together.
Our hands fumbled with our jeans, and I stood up to shove mine down and step out of them, underwear and all, as he lifted his ass and pushed his down to his below his knees. With a nod at me, he added his own spit to his hard cock, stroking it up and down as I grabbed his cock and straddled him in the chair. It creaked as I held him behind me and guided him to my hole, his big hands resting patiently on my ass cheeks, holding them open to assist, as I kissed him again and slowly sat down on his cock.
“I’ll move in gladly.” I said through a whisper as our chests met, his arms snaked around me and his face buried itself in between my pecs, where I felt his tongue licking at my skin. I put a hand onto his thick hair and held his face against me as I gasped at the depth of his cock from this position, planting my feet on the floor over his legs to steady myself, feeling him shifting under me, adjusting, planting his own feet with his jeans holding his legs together, ready to begin.
He held me tight as we started to move, me riding him again in a way that felt freer than ever in the kitchen.
This was it. It was a life. Our life. We were free to fuck whenever we wanted, regardless of what anyone thought any more. I found him. He found me. And as he pulled his face from my chest and looked up at me, I felt my body giving in to him, his dick punching my insides the only way he knew how.
I arched, and shook, Ivan holding me tight, looking down to the see the explosion first hand as I rode out my orgasm, using his cock to bring me to the edge and beyond. With a loud growl, he grabbed my hips and fucked me harder, pushing me down onto his rod as he thrusted himself upwards. His mouth was on mine again. His hands were everywhere, grabbing my shoulders, my back, my ass, my hands, my neck, like he couldn’t decide where to hold me. I was sure he was the one leaving marks on me. Until he finally grabbed my ass and used me to work it fast and hard down and up on his big tool and soon he was the one groaning and tensing and unleashing his own torrent of emotion into me. It left me hanging on to his head, holding it against my chest, hearing the panting of this big brute of a man, releasing all of his emotions, along with his cum, into my body.
I held on to him, that big naked muscled body of the man I was in love with. And I’d never been so grateful for anything in my entire life.
I was home. In more ways than one.
Epilogue: The End Zone - Ivan
The call came on a Tuesday. Troy and I were going over some invoices in the office of the shop. The kind of call you know is coming for years, expecting it for months, but it still hits you like a physical blow. My mother. Her frail body finally giving up its long, quiet fight only five years after her husband. It wouldn’t be long now. They were keeping her comfortable. For now.
I stood in the middle of the office, the phone hanging limply in my hand. The world had narrowed to a single, painful point. The last tether to the family I was born into was about to snap.
I felt a hand on my back. Troy. He’d heard my side of the conversation, the broken, single-word answers, and was now standing directly beside me.
“I have to go,” I said, my voice rough. “The hospital. It’s… she’s…”
The words wouldn’t come. The old instincts screamed at me to go alone. Like I normally did. In solitary silence. It was the only way I knew.
I turned to him, my throat tight. “Troy, you don’t have to – ”
He didn’t let me finish. He just looked at me, his blue eyes clear and steady, and took the keys from my trembling hand.
“I’ll drive,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Two words, “Let’s go” and I knew he’d be with me always.
We left the shop. I don’t’ really remember moving, but suddenly I was sitting in the truck. I didn’t even say anything to either Smitty or Big Ray. I just figured Troy did. He drove the whole way. His one hand rested on my thigh as I covered it with my own, his thumb stroking my pinky finger. I didn’t speak. I just stared out the window, watching the streets blur past, getting lost in my own thoughts of my parents as the warmth of his hand on my knee grounded me. He was my rock suddenly, when I didn’t even know I needed one. I let him take over. With him beside me, I wasn’t afraid.
My mother had been in the hospital for the past few months. I’d always gone alone to visit her. I didn’t have the courage to introduce her to Troy. I didn’t want him to meet my mother like this. I hoped she’d get better. But deep down, I knew she wouldn’t. Not this time.
I went quiet wishing now I had brought Troy earlier.
At the hospital, a nurse tried to stop him at the door to my mother’s room. “Family only.”
I felt a surge of something: fear; defiance; love? It was so powerful it straightened my spine. I looked the nurse right in the eye, my voice leaving no room for argument.
“He is family. This is my partner.”
I didn’t look at Troy, in fear that he would crack, or I would, and we’d be no good for one another. I just held the door open for him. We walked in together.
My mother was so small in the big bed, a wisp of the vibrant woman she’d been. Her eyes, the same grey as mine, fluttered open. They found me, then drifted to Troy, standing right beside me, his shoulder pressed to mine.
“Mama,” I said, my voice cracking. “I’m here. This is Troy.” I went to say more, to try to explain it all, but when I stopped, she just squeezed my hand.
She looked at him. She looked at the way he stood with me, for me. A slow, beautiful smile spread across her worn face. It was a smile of profound understanding, of relief. It was a smile that said, ‘Oh, my boy. You’re not alone anymore.’ She didn’t need words to tell me. And I didn’t need words to tell her. She saw it all. And I saw it all in her eyes and in that smile and the way she was holding my hand.
She passed peacefully that night, with both of us holding her hands.
At the funeral, I stood at the graveside. The wind was cold, but I didn’t feel it. Because Troy was there, standing right by my side. His presence was a solid wall against the grief, keeping me upright, keeping me brave, keeping me safe.
He wasn’t the only one.
I felt a presence on my other side. I looked over. It was Big Ray, in his one good suit, his wife Elaine holding his arm. He gave me a solemn, respectful nod. A few feet away, Smitty stood with his family, Amy beside him, holding the hands of their now full-grown daughters, his hat in his own hands. There was no smirk, no joke. Just the quiet, unwavering presence of men who shared my shop, and now, it seemed, shared my life.
For weeks Troy and I just lived, as he suggested. He moved in to my small house quietly. We drove in together; left the shop together. No one said anything. No one asked, or made comments. Nor did I say anything more. But the jokes stopped. The toxic masculinity sort of drifted away. We all just worked. Successfully. We were too busy to waste time in homophobic banter. Troy and I acted like two partners in the shop and in life. They knew. Deep down I wondered if Ray always knew as well as he seemed to take it all in perfect stride.
And they had come to the funeral. For me.
The priest said his final words. The crowd began to drift away. I stayed, looking at the fresh earth.
Troy’s hand found mine, his fingers lacing through mine. Right there, in front of God and everyone. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t look for disapproving looks. I just inhaled deeply and squeezed his hand tight.
I wasn’t alone. I had a partner. I had a family I’d built with my own two hands. I said a final goodbye to my mom, my last living relative, and finally turned away from the grave, walking hand in hand with my chosen family. My Troy.
I was Ivan Volkov. A son. A former NHL enforcer. An injured man. A mechanic. A healed man. A man in love.
And for the first time, every part of me was whole.
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