Chapter Text
(music) Shake Shake Shake, Shake Shake Shake, Shake your boooOOOOooOOoty Shake your boOOOOoty (music)
“What do you think this was for?” Harris asked loud enough to be heard over the warped KTel HOT Disco Hits blasting from the player on top of the dresser. He held up a worn dark blue double leather strap too short for a belt, too long for a dog collar.
“Gendarme cosplay maybe?” said Katrina, his neighbor, cocking her head.
Kat had asked Harris to help her clean out a closet at the house that François Robert Pellegaud lived at until two months ago. His daughter had asked Katrina to help clear the leftovers of a life lived well by Frank Bob, as his neighbors affectionately called him. He had been the first person to welcome Harris to the building but he moved to a nursing home in Gatineau a month ago.
Within a week of meeting him, Harris was under his big gay wing, a kind man offering a young, wide eyed country boy a wink, a drink and willingness to teach him ‘evvvvvverything’ about gay Ottawa. Harris was fond of their friend and hadn’t seen him as much since Troy Barrett erupted into his life two years ago. He had introduced Troy to François on a walk with Chiron and noted the older man’s wide-eyed up and down and up again appreciation.
Did I do all right you think?, he wanted to ask and thank François for starting him off on the right foot after college. He would plan another trip to the nursing home to see him soon.
Troy Barrett—the 5th ‘hottest’ pro athlete as determined by a HomePlateHoes.com website poll—always made an impression on most people. Shane Hollander had landed at #12 on the list and Scott Hunter at #37. Afterward, Frank Bob told Harris he might have voted more than once or even 37 times for Troy. For reasons beyond logic, Ilya Rozanov was ineligible, having been #1 the previous year. Once the best, never again?
Kat was busy with a pile of sweaters too moth eaten to wear, but in-style and expensive when they were new. Fabric salvagers may be interested in those. As he sifted through piles and bags in the smaller of the bedrooms, Harris uncovered a box in the back labeled “Save For H. Drover."
What the…?
Harris opened the faded box and saw some buckles and dull black pieces poked with holes with more leather laces. Bright orange strappy things. A few bags with contents not visible. One set of silver rings in ascending sizes in a nice glass-windowed case with “FRP” sandblasted into the glass. A gift? And some butt plugs in colors, sizes, shapes you might see in Montreal sex shops.
Oh. Hmmmm?
His phone buzzed.
Troy: O M W ready soon?
Right. They were going to meet Justine and Charlaine to prep for next weekend’s OttawaCityFunFest Fun Run. Troy was going to emcee and they needed to work out some filler chat for Troy to pull from.
“I better get going” Harris said into the corner of the alcove watching the dust through the sunstream.
“Sure, don’t forget all your boxes” Kat cough-spoke into her cobwebbed one opposite.
They had each taken things they could give away, repurpose or donate. Harris added the box to his stack, and would inspect at home.
Troy was coming up the back walk from the garage as Harris dropped the boxes on the porch.
“All that?” Troy spoke.
“Frank Bob’s treasure trove!” Harris called.
Troy pushed one eyebrow up.
“I think I can find homes for all this” Harris hoped out loud. Troy smiled knowing Harris could do anything he set to. He always made fantastic lemonade out of lemon peels and random leftover anything. This man could get shit done.
After a tender kiss and beaming into each other’s eyes for a bit, the two rambled in together, made a quick snack, fed Chiron and turned around to go out.
After the loud, silly meeting with Ottawa’s Wymyn-Loving Comedians, Troy was feeling more secure with an arsenal of one liners, short quips and possible nicknames for runners to fill the gaps in the finisher announcements. He had taken notes.
Harris thought Troy could have a fine commentator career after hockey if he wanted. His looks would only smolder more with time. He knew there were some fans who got hot and bothered by his sound when he slowed down his interviews and gave a word extra care in a lower register. The comments he read after every Troy video post confirmed his own spike in heartbeat was shared.
Ottawa was in the playoffs again after winning the Cup last year, and Harris knew any time with Troy alone was going to be brief. The team was focused and as the season extended into May and maybe June, Harris had more and more to do as communications director. He was overjoyed the Centaurs were getting better and better, even if it meant long hours working that he usually had off in early summer.
Troy and the team had worked so hard for years. There was no doubt they were contenders, having made the playoffs again last year so the expectations were high. Did the fans remember when the team was laughably last a few short years ago, before Ilya? Before Troy? Before Shane? Before Luca? Did they realize capital G GayLove™ saved this team’s fans and brought them a playoff contending era? No, probably not.
Harris’ life was also divided into Before Troy and After Troy. Before was a hazy blur of establishing a life, working late nights, and making a way to his dream job. After was an explosion of sex, love, happiness and spending his time as half of an Ottawa It-couple.
And then it was over. The buzzer sounded--Ottawa had lost at home in game 5 of the quarters, and the home crowd deflated like a sad whoopee cushion. Going from manic noise to 20,000 sad faces saying nothing was devastating. Everyone wanted out. It was at losses like these that Harris hated hockey stretching into the summer. Walking out into daylight at 9 p.m. after a loss was impossible to enjoy. A dark January loss meant there was still time to win again.
Not that he got out soon after most games, but his crew had it covered. A loss didn’t require as much social or media coverage. The winners from Edmonton were getting all the electronic attention. He came home, buried his head in Chiron’s neck and was down for a few hours, and then regained some equilibrium. He was tired. Really really tired. This season had been more work than any before.
He knew Troy would be down for a few days. After the team met briefly and parted, he would be home. Some of the guys would get together on in a few weeks for a season-ending blowout at Bood’s but the ones who had to return to family overseas or across the country were likely leaving tomorrow morning.
Troy was showing disappointment when he opened the door, but he quickly replaced that with a curious smile when he saw Harris greet him with a bright red translucent dildo pouring out the front flap in Harris’ lounger bottoms.
“Consolation prize” Harris half-whispered, smirking, knowing Troy needed to start winding down and take his mind off. One of the scores from François’ haul he guessed.
They laughed a bit together to patch up the sadness. Troy took the toy and swatted Harris backside.
“I’m consoled.”
You did great baby, you all did.”
‘They were better this time” Troy’s voice cracked, and put his head on Harris shoulder. He knew he could cry over a loss like this and that it wouldn’t last forever. He let himself cry it out, and cry for his teammates who felt this pain too. He knew Harris could take any sadness and hold it along with him, together. And that getting it out was part of getting better.
Troy broke his hold and kissed Harris gently on the lips, smiling through tears. All the tension of the season starting to run out his eyeballs.
He gives me room to be so many things, even sad and falling apart. Troy thought.
The dildo lay on the ground, Chiron sniffing it, looking suspicious and a bit sheepish. Troy scruffed the pup and put his face between the dog’s ears. “ That’s not for you. You don’t know where it’s been! Paws off”
“Well, we know where it’s been” Harris snarked and Troy laughed.
“Have a snack?”, Harris suggested, and both his boys wagged, a tail first from Chiron, then Troy, picking up and wagging the thick red wand in his face.