Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Game Changers | Heated Rivalry - All Media Types

Relationships:

Troy Barrett/Harris Drover, Troy Barrett/Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Troy Barrett/Harris Drover/Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau

Characters:

Troy Barrett, Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Harris Drover

Additional Tags:

Threesome - M/M/M, Established Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Porn with Feelings, Enthusiastic Consent, Bisexual Cliff Marlow | Cliff Marleau, Troy Barrett loves Harris Drover, Bottom Harris Drover, Monsieur Marleau loves Paris, Eiffel Tower, Fanwork Creator Knows Nothing About Hockey, winners room, Dom/sub Undertones, Body Worship

Language:

English

Series:

Part 3 of The Talented Mr. Marleau

Stats:

Published: 2026-04-28 Words: 6,428 Chapters: 1/1

Winner's Room

Summary

Winners Room: The player who scores the game-winning goal in a championship game is given the opportunity to pick a player of the losing team for the night.

As far as Troy knows, no one has ever actually gone through with it. That is, until Cliff Marleau requests him — and Harris decides to call his bluff.

OR: Harris thinks Cliff is bluffing, Troy isn't so sure, and Cliff loves playing with them both.

Notes

The Ottawa Centaurs did not win back-to-back cups. It had been close, their chase at following up last year's win, making it all the way to game seven against Boston.  But in the end, Cliff Marleau was able to get one last puck by Hayes, and the game was over. 

Troy didn’t let himself linger on the loss as the buzzer sounded and the Boston team crowded the ice.  Instead, he followed the rest of his team to the locker room, drowning out the sound of the screaming fans and loud announcers.  No one blamed Wyatt for the last goal of the game, and everyone had played their hearts out tonight.  Even with the magic of Shane and Ilya on their team, it just hadn’t been enough this time.

It’s quiet in the locker room after, as they sit in the uncomfortably small room, taking off their skates.  Again, no one is blaming each other, but that doesn’t mean any of them are ready to talk about it.  There will be time in the future to review the game footage and dissect every mistake they made, but not tonight.  Tonight, they’ll return to their swank Boston hotel and sleep off the loss while the Raiders team celebrates with their city.  

When the door of the locker room swung open, Troy expected one of two people.  The first being Coach Weibe, coming to check on his team.  The second being Harris, who had traveled with the team with the hope he’d be doing media for their second cup win. It’s neither of them in the doorway, though.

No, stepping into their locker room, all cocky grin and sweaty face, is Cliff Marleau. 

Troy has never really formed an opinion on Marleau.  He’s played against him many times, and he is generally wary of anyone who has a loud reputation as a “ladies' man” after his misplaced friendship with Dallas Kent.  But Marleau is, or at least was, friends with Ilya, so that earns him some points.  

It’s this fact that is probably saving him from a fight eight now.  Coming to the losing team’s locker room after a cup to gloat is incredibly bad form.  Bad enough that even Ilya looked pissed at his friend. 

“What do you want, Marly?” Ilya asks, still hunched over on the bench, messing with his gear, not even looking at Marleau.

Shane sits next to Ilya, also removing his gear and actively avoiding Marleau's gaze.  Not in anger, but something more confusing, a flush present on his cheeks that Troy doesn't think was there before.

“What else, Roz? I’m here to collect my reward.” Marleau says, his grin unfettered as he looks around the room.

“What is he talking about, Ilya? Did you two have some kind of bet?” Shane asks, his voice a little annoyed and slightly disappointed.  Troy wonders whether Shane often has to discourage Ilya from making bets. 

“No, we didn't have a bet.  I have no idea what he’s talking about,” Ilya says to Shane, and then turning his attention to Marleau, “Is the cup not enough for you? What reward are you talking about?”

Cliff smiles, like he’s been waiting for someone to ask, and now has his chance to explain “My winner room pick,” he says.

There are a variety of reactions across the locker room.  Evidence of the different teams each player has been on and what the culture of their teams has been.  Troy is aware of the winners' room concept from his days in Toronto.  It was something they joked about, but never something that was actively collected —ever. 

Evidently, the Winners Room myth has not made its way to Montreal because Shane is the first to ask, “What is a winners' room pick?”

Ilya hesitates, looking at Marleau with his face scrunched, “It's…I’m not sure what the right word is.  Something that’s made up.”

“Essentially an urban legend,” Troy supplied.

“Okay, but what is the legend?” Shane asks.  Marleau was still watching the chaos unfold, his smile not dropping for a moment.

“It is an old joke we used to say in Boston.  That the player who scores the winning shot of the game gets to pick a player off the losing team to… well, we always said: “do whatever they want.” But the implication was always sex.” Ilya glanced at a shocked Shane. “But we never actually went through with it.  It was always just a joke.  No one has ever actually collected on it.” 

“That’s because it was gay,” Marleau said, his voice even.  Not saying it in a bad way, just plainly like he was reacting to historical facts. “But then Scott Hunter came out when he won the cup, and now half the league is gay.  Or at least half your team.”

If Ilya were a cat, Troy was pretty sure he would have hissed at Marleau in warning for that comment.

Marleau was undeterred by the lethal expression Ilya sported.  “So, I’m here to collect.”

“You’re here to pick someone to... fuck” Shane asked, the flush he was sporting earlier creeping down his neck.  The rest of the locker room was silent. 

“I won, so yes,” Cliff said, like he was explaining why he got to pick from the treasure chest in the teacher’s classroom. 

“No way, Marly,” Ilya said, speaking for the room and possessively throwing his arm around Shane’s shoulder like Marleau was going to throw him over his shoulder and carry him away caveman style, “Not happening.”

Something passed between the two men.  A conversation held entirely in the quirk of lips and widening of eyes, entirely indecipherable to the rest of the room.  

“I'm not picking you, Roz,” Marleau said, and then glancing at his arm still wrapped around Shane’s shoulders, “or Shane”.  It was impossible to miss the way Cliff said Shane’s name.  A full octave lower, more sultry.

“Then who would you theoretically pick?” Luca asked, and Troy did not miss the way that he sat up straight, like he was a pageant queen hoping the judge picked him.

“Barrett,” Marleau said, turning to face Troy with a smirk.  

“Excuse me?” Troy said, still registering his last name on Marleau’s lips.  It must be some kind of weird joke.  Hazing was coming two and a half years after joining the team.

“Yeah, you’re gay, right?  I pick Barrett,” Marleau said with a shrug.

“I am gay, but I’m also dating Harris.  Not to mention, I’m not a vegetable you’re picking out at the grocery store.  You can’t pick me.”

Cliff opened his mouth, surely ready to make some snarky retort, but was interrupted by the locker room door opening and Harris sweeping inside. 

Harris took one look around the room at the players frozen, spectating the exchange between Cliff and Troy. “What’s going on in here?” he asked.

“Marleau says he has the right to fuck your boyfriend since he won the game.  Winner room rules,” Ilya said, like he was tattling on his older brother, awaiting their parent’s punishment. 

Harris turned to Cliff, looking him over with a pensive expression, “Is that so?”

“I take it you’re the boyfriend?”

“I am” 

Cliff looked Harris over again, seeming to size him up in a way that had Troy’s palms itching.  “You can come too, then,” Cliff said with a smile. 

There was a momentary standoff.  Everyone in the room was holding their breath as they waited for Harris to react to that.  Harris was known on the team for being kind and approachable.  He was not a short-tempered hockey player ready to fight at the first drop, so it was a real toss-up on what he’d do with this situation. 

“Okay, sounds great,” Harris said, his smile painted on.  “You two can shower, and Troy and I will meet you after.” 

Yeah, take that, Cliff. Wait —what?

“Wait, what?” Troy asked, his thoughts coming out.

“I’m calling his bluff.  I think Marleau is just trying to rile up the team and chose you as a target.  So, sure, Marleau, you want us for the night, we’ll come with you.  I don't think you’ll actually go through with anything.”

Cliff’s answering grin was gloating, “Great, I’ll meet you in the hallways after I shower.  Looking forward to it,” he said before heading back out the doors, leaving behind a trail of silence and confusion in his wake. 

Approximately twenty minutes later, Troy stood in the hallway, freshly showered, next to Harris.  Harris had insisted about ten times that he knew what he was doing and that Marleau was going to chicken out for sure.

Troy wasn't so sure.  

To start, Cliff Marleau had a reputation in the MLH as the “threesome guy”.  You had to do something a lot to earn a reputation like that, which had reached every team in the league.  There was no chance that every threesome he’d had had only been with women; statistically, it didn't make sense.  So if Harris was banking on Cliff being straight and ducking out, Troy wasn't sure that was the best bet.  

The other point was that Marleau seemed the stubborn type.  Not a simple kind of stubbornness, but a more permanent one.  Someone who would get a tattoo just because you said they wouldn't.  Playing chicken against him seemed like a very bad idea.  Troy was able to dig his heels in, typically, but he wasn’t sure that he could outplay Cliff in a game like this. 

His fears felt warranted as Cliff sauntered down the hallway a few minutes later, stopping just a few feet short of Troy and Harris.  “Ready to go?”

“Absolutely,” Harris said, “Did you drive?”

“Yeah, the car is this way.  Let’s go,” Cliff said, walking past them to the double doors of the exit. 

Troy and Harris trailed after him, and Troy glanced at Harris, trying to convey with his eyes that this was a bad idea.  Marleau was not going to break first in this game of chicken.

Harris seemed unconvinced about Troy’s apprehension, so much so that he easily climbed into the passenger seat of Cliff’s car without invitation. 

Troy climbed into the backseat, glancing between Harris and Marleau the entire drive and waiting for one of them to call the whole thing off.  

Neither did. 

Troy half expected Cliff to drop them at their hotel and give some throwaway phrase about the entire thing being hilarious before kicking them out of his car.  It never came.  Instead, Cliff pulled up to the high-rise building and used a black keycard to open a gated section of the parking garage, then parked and turned the car off in silence. 

Cliff took a loud breath, and Troy waited for him to cave.  Again, he didn’t, just unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the car, closing the door behind him and leaving Harris and Troy in the quiet car for a moment.

“Harris, he’s not joking around.  He will absolutely go through with this,” Troy whispered to his boyfriend.

“I’m telling you, he won’t,” Harris answered, before unbuckling his own seatbelt and stepping out of the car.

Troy took a deep, bracing breath alone in the backseat.  Curious how he had found himself in this situation.  He should be in the hotel, eating ice cream with Harris in bed, wallowing in self-pity after their loss, and not having a threesome with Cliff Marleau just to prove to his boyfriend that Cliff would do it.  Fuck, how did he get himself tied up in this?

With a curse and a sigh, he, too, unbuckled and slipped out of the car.  He joined Harris and Cliff about two paces away, standing in front of the elevator doors. 

“I thought we lost you there, Troy,” Marleau teased.

“Nope, still here,” he said, agitation in his voice. Fucking hell, why was he still here? 

They took the elevator up to the penthouse apartment —of course— and stepped out together. 

Cliff’s Boston penthouse was immaculate, because what else would it be?  It was neat, not a single speck of dust anywhere he could see, the stainless steel fridge polished enough that Troy could see his own reflection in it.  It looked like the kind of place his Dad would like, and that was not a compliment.  

The whole place felt cold and lifeless, like it was a model apartment, not a place someone actually lived in.  It made Troy feel a little sad for Cliff.  Troy had had an apartment like this before Harris, and he remembered that no matter how nice it had been, it hadn't made him even a fraction as happy as he was with Harris and all his throw pillows.

Cliff shrugged his jacket off, laying it over the top of an armchair in the living room.  “Do you want a drink first, or should we get right to it?” 

Troy was not waiting for Harris to answer that one.  If they were going to play some fucked up game of sexual chicken, then the least he could get out of it was a nice glass of liquor.  Cliff seemed like he’d have nice liquor. “Drink first,” he quickly answered. 

“Sure,” Cliff said, walking to a cabinet and producing three crystal tumblers from inside it.  Troy couldn't help but notice that the cabinet had ONLY three of the tumblers.  Cliff Marleau was such a pro at threesomes that he didn’t even have a full set of tumblers.  Just enough for himself and two guests.  This was wild. 

“Whiskey?” Cliff clarified, producing an extremely nice bottle from the bar cart in the living room.

“Sure” 

Cliff poured each of them a small amount, handing out the glasses. 

“Cheers,” he said, Harris and Troy echoing him, and they all took sips of the amber liquid. 

It was fantastic whiskey, of course, only the best for Marleau.

“This is your second cup win, right, Cliff?” Harris asked amicably, unable to let the prolonged silence linger.

“Yeah, the first was with Roz, and the second was against him,” Cliff said.

“You two were good friends in Boston?” Harris clarified.

“Yeah, he’s a good dude. Super happy for him and Hollander,” Cliff said with a smile that seemed incredibly genuine.  

Cliff had been Ilya’s best man at Shane and Ilya’s wedding two years ago, but Ilya was very quiet about their friendship.  It seemed like Cliff missed Ilya, though.  Again, Troy felt a twang of pity for him.  The lonely life Troy had lived before Ottawa, before Harris, flashed back to him.

Troy gulped the remainder of his whiskey.  There was no use for prolonging whatever this was. Someone needed to back down in this game, and he was happy to make it himself if it meant he got to go back to the hotel with Harris. 

“Alright, let’s get on with it then,” Troy said, eliciting shock from both Cliff and Harris.  “How did you usually do this, Cliff?”

“Oh, you want me to talk you through it, Barrett?” Cliff teased, taking a swallow of the remainder of his whiskey. 

“Sure, do your worst,” Troy challenged.

“Well, believe it or not, I don’t have a set routine—different techniques for different people.  Sometimes I take things to the bedroom immediately, sometimes I start with a kiss or a touch. Did you want to take notes?” Cliff asked, a brow raised like he was a professor lecturing on his area of expertise. 

“How would you start with us?” Harris asked, ushering Cliff a little more.

Cliff didn't answer with words, instead opting to remove his shirt and toss it on one of the armchairs nearby.

Now, Troy saw a lot of half-naked men in his life. A lifetime of hockey had guaranteed that. But in the locker room, it was clinical, like a doctor seeing their patient in one of those paper-thin gowns, just part of the atmosphere, not something sexual.  

It was different, however, standing in Cliff Marleau’s living room and looking at him shirtless.  Troy let himself take in the ridges of Cliff’s chest, the smooth lines of his abdomen, and the smattering of hair across his pecs. It sent a jolt of arousal through him that was unexpected, unanticipated.  Then the arousal was immediately followed by a tide of guilt for looking at another man when his boyfriend was five feet away. 

He was ready to put a stop to the whole thing, to throw in the towel and let Cliff win, throw Harris over his shoulder, and storm back to their hotel.  If not for Harris’s expression.  Harris was watching Cliff in fascination, his lip pressed between his teeth and a flush creeping up past his beard. Harris was watching Cliff with a desire that Troy recognized intimately.

He waited for the inevitable jealousy he was supposed to feel.  He had just caught Harris blatantly checking out another man (yes, he’d also looked, but semantics), but the jealousy was nowhere to be found.  Instead, the guilt he’d felt earlier washed away and was replaced with more intrigue, more desire. 

Cliff smiled at the attention, then quietly stalked to Troy.  “For you two, I think I might start by kissing Barrett.”

Oh dear God, this was actually happening.

Troy’s eyes met Cliff’s, closer than he’d realized.  Cliff had a knowing smile on his face, like he knew this was the straw to break the camel's back.  The same smile he’d worn after scoring the game-winning goal tonight.  Pure arrogance about winning. Troy resolved himself not to give in just yet.

He tipped his chin up a little, bracing himself for impact.  He closed his eyes a little earlier than any kiss required, like he was going uphill on a rollercoaster, trying desperately not to look down.  Then he waited.

And waited.

But the kiss didn’t come.   When he cracked his eyes open, he found Cliff Marleau an inch away from his lips with a grimace.  Then Cliff pulled back and said the words that Harris had been predicting all night.

“I can’t do it.”

Harris jumped on the defeat immediately with a joyous “I knew it!” 

But Cliff was not so quick to admit defeat without justification, “It was never a fair game, and you know it,” he retorted.

“What do you mean?” Troy asked curiously

“It’s fun to see if you would participate, but not if you don't actually want it! I’m not going to force anything; I prefer my sexual partners to be enthusiastic about sleeping with me.  I was going to kiss you, and you looked like I was about to punch you, Barrett.”

Troy opened his mouth to speak, but found nothing coming out, looking silently between Cliff and Harris.

“You did look rather pained,” Harris admitted.

Traitor.

“So why did you even suggest it?” Troy asked, confusion settling over him as well as…respect.  Who would have thought Cliff Marleau would be an unspoken king of consent and boundaries?

“I thought it would be fun—you’re hot, I’m hot.  I thought you were acting a little coy in front of the team, but would enjoy it once we were alone.  Clearly, I miscalculated.”

“Oh” was all Troy could come back with in response. 

“It’s not a big deal.  I can call you two a car back to the hotel and let you get on with your night. I’ll even let you tell the team that I was the one who blinked first.”

Harris and Troy both had a chance to agree.  It was a very generous offer to let them throw him to the wolves on the team, and yet, neither of them spoke up.  Neither of them took Cliff up on his offer.  A glance passed between the two men, an unspoken conversation flowing between them.

Harris voiced it before Troy could: “What if we actually agreed?”

“To the car.”

“No, to the original offer.”

Cliff seemed to mull it over, his tongue sweeping over his teeth in a very distracting move.  “I’m not sure what’s prompting the change of heart. But I’m never one to turn down fun, so I’ll make you a new deal.  Why don’t you two start up like you normally would?  If, after a few minutes, you decide you want some company, I’ll join in.  If not, I’ll call the car, and we can laugh about the whole thing the next time we see each other. Deal?”

“Okay,” Troy agreed all too easily.

“Yes,” Harris echoed.

“Great,” Cliff said with a smile, the slightest arrogance back on his face.  A winner after all.  He wandered to the kitchen and began poking around in one of his cabinets.  “Whenever you’re ready,” he called over his shoulder casually.

Troy glanced back at Harris with a sheepish smile, officially in uncharted territory.  Harris just shrugged and closed the distance between them. “Are we really doing this?” he asked quietly, his voice slightly excited.

“I guess so,” Troy said, mirroring his quiet excitement and nervousness.

Their lips met easily, a familiar dance after two years together.  At the first brush of Harris’ mouth over his thigh, Troy felt his nerves slip away, soothed by the familiarity of Harris ’ touch.  Any skepticism died on his tongue, replaced with fevered anticipation of what was to come.

It was always easy with Harris, kissing leading to touching, and touch leading to something more.  Troy lost track of time kissing Harris; had it been minutes or merely seconds when Cliff interrupted them?

“What are we thinking?” Cliff asked them from a few feet away.  He sat in an armchair —still shirtless — leaning back with another finger of whiskey swirling in his tumbler.

Troy turned his head back to Harris and lowered his voice, “What do you think?”

“I think we should try it.”

“Okay, let’s try it,” he agreed and then turned back to Cliff.  “We want to try, but you may have to help us out with the logistics.  This is a first for us,” Troy said, his cheeks a little heated to admit it.

Cliff’s smile was devilish. “You’ve come to the right person.  Go back to kissing and just trust me.  You can always just say stop if you’re uncomfortable,” he said, and Troy did as he was asked, bringing his mouth back to Harris’. 

Troy fell back into kissing his boyfriend, tongue sweeping into Harris’ mouth, and hands roaming his body.  He let himself get lost in the sensations of it all, only resurfacing from the oblivion when he felt another pair of hands brush against his.  

Troy blinked his eyes open to see Cliff pressed against Harris’ back, kissing along his boyfriend's neck, his eyes latched on to Troy.  Again, he waited for the burn of jealousy, but felt only arousal at the sight.  Harris was so good, so perfect, didn't he deserve two men to worship him at the same time?

It was that thought that spurred Troy on, back to kissing Harris, but with a ferocity he didn’t have before.  He had a goal now, to please his perfect boyfriend in every way he could. And there was very little that could get between Troy once he had his sights set on a goal. 

Troy moved a hand down Harris’ body, cupping him through his jeans. Harris was already hard, and Troy moaned at the feel of his cock through the denim.  Even with fabric separating his hand from him, Troy was always elated to feel the effect he had on his boyfriend.  Nothing turned him on more than getting Harris off.

He pulled his lips back for another moment, opening his eyes to take in the sight before him.  Harris opened his as well, his pupil wide and his lips red, Cliff still pressed against him with a fiendish grin.

“Should we move to the bedroom?” Troy asked, feeling a new boldness now that his sights were clearly set on Harris’ pleasure. 

Cliff smiled and stepped back, “Sure, second door on the right.  Go ahead and get started without me. I’ll be there in a moment.” 

Troy didn’t need any further prompting; he crowded Harris down the hallway, halfway pushing him into the bedroom that Cliff had pointed out. Once inside, he immediately got to work on stripping Harris down, removing Harris’ shirt, then his own.  Harris’ pants, then his own.  When they were both in their briefs, Troy shoved the other man roughly onto the bed, climbing on top of him immediately. 

“You’ve had quite the change of heart,” Harris panted into his mouth.

“Yeah, I realized how hot it would be for you to have two people pleasing you at once,” Troy whispered into Harris’ mouth, nipping at his lip.

“Fuck” was Harris’ reply.  His tone closed any doubt that Troy might have had of his interest in the situation.

They rutted against each other in the bed, enjoying the decrease in barriers, but still clothed in their briefs, hard cocks eager to be freed of them.  Troy waited eagerly for Cliff to arrive, but he was not especially patient with Harris.  So, after waiting a good minute, he decided to start the party without Cliff.

Troy kissed his way down Harris’s body, stopping for a moment to tease his nipple with his tongue, before moving southward again.  When he got to his destination, he peeled Harris’ briefs down his legs, dropping them haphazardly on the floor. Then he brought his mouth to Harris’ needy cock, wrapping his lips around it and bringing it into his mouth.

He wasn’t sure of the rules in a threesome.  Was he supposed to tease Harris, make him wait as long as possible to cum so that they could stretch this out?  He wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going ever to give Harris anything but his best effort when giving head.  

“Well, isn’t this a pretty sight?” 

Troy’s head popped up at the sound of Marleau's voice, looking over his shoulder to see the man standing in the doorway, completely naked.

Fuck, talk about a pretty sight. 

Cliff sauntered over like he owned the place —which he did, of course. Stopping at the end of the bed and surveying the scene before him like he was at a bakery, he pointed through the display case at what he might try today. 

“Troy, move over and turn ninety degrees,” he requested, like he was commanding a drill on the ice, succinct and efficient. 

Troy followed his instructions, Cliff mirroring his position on the other side of Harris, before bringing his mouth down and easily wrapping it around Harris’ cock.  Like he’d done it a thousand times before, hell, maybe he had.  Troy was beginning to understand that he knew absolutely nothing about Cliff Marleau.

Cliff worked Harris easily with his mouth, giving him deep sicks and then small licks, a master at dragging things along clearly.  Troy only had a moment to watch before he felt a sharp tug in his hair, and Cliff guided Troy’s mouth down to replace his on Harris’ dick. 

Troy wasn’t normally a fan of being bossed around in the bedroom.  Harris wasn’t really demanding like that, and it wasn't something Troy really craved.  But there was something very different about having someone else push him around to please his own boyfriend.  In simple terms, it was unbelievably hot. 

Cliff used his grip in Troy’s hair to control him, setting the speed at which Troy’s mouth worked over Harris. Occasionally, he’d stop and murmur praise them both.

“Tro,y you’re doing such a good job with your mouth, look how good you’re making him feel.  Doesn’t he look so good when he’s in pleasure?”

Little words of affirmation that shot directly to Troy’s cock in a way he’d never experienced. 

Harris was simply beside himself, muttering incoherent sounds of pleasure and expletives.  “More, yes, so good,” all interspersed between sighs, moans, and grunts.

Cliff increased the pace at which Troy’s mouth moved, and upon seeing how it made Harris tense, his breath growing faster, he pulled him back.  An orchestra conductor is not quite ready to bring the final crescendo. Harris’ face twisted in annoyance. 

“I was so close,” Harris complained.

“I know,” Cliff said with a smile,” but I don’t think you should come yet, and you said you’d trust me, right?”

“Right,” Harris said, sinking back into the pillows with a deep breath.  

Troy sat back on his heels, waiting for further instruction from Cliff.  Apparently, his reputation was well-earned, because Troy was ready to do whatever he said.  He clearly knew exactly how to do this. 

Cliff seemed to be mulling his next move over when Harris spoke.

“Could you?” Then he paused.

Cliff’s smile became a full-blown grin. “Can I what?” he asked with curiosity, unhidden joy, like it was rare for anyone to ask for anything he hadn’t already anticipated.

Harris’ face was red, either from his lack of orgasm or embarrassment of his request, Troy wasn’t sure. “Can you two kiss each other?r” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Cliff’s smile was shining, like he’d never been asked for something so innocent as a kiss. “What do you think, Barrett?” he asked him, his eyes bright.

“Whatever he wants,” Troy said, his enthusiasm impossible to miss. 

The two men collided over Harris’ body.  Cliff was an incredible kisser.  He guided the kiss like he seemed to guide everything else in the bedroom, with confidence and ease.  He wasn’t rushing, his mouth deep and claiming.  Troy was here to please Harris, but he couldn't deny how much he was enjoying himself. 

Cliff Marleau knew how to show a man a good time.  Who would’ve known?

All too soon, Cliff pulled back.  Troy had the chance to take in Cliff’s cocky grin and Harris’ lust-fueled gaze all at once.

“Now what?” Harris asked, his voice breathless.

“Do you two mind a little rug burn?” Cliff asked, tilting his head to the floor.

“No, I guess not,” Harris answered.

“Great, Harris, go kneel on all fours, Troy, kneel behind him—naked, please,” Cliff said, his commands easy to follow. 

They did as he’d asked, almost giddy as they knelt on the floor together, Troy running his hand over Harris’ back and ass.

Cliff retrieved the lube from a drawer next to the bed, tossing it at Troy. He caught it easily.  “Do you two want a condom?” he asked, an ever considerate host.

“No, we don’t use them,” Troy answered, then added, “Our tests are all negative, and we check regularly.

“Mine as well, it’s a monthly requirement on the raiders team.  I’m pretty sure that Roz started that after an unfortunate incident with some rookies about seven years ago.”

Troy shook his head. He could only imagine. He’d heard the rumors about the Raiders team and the kinds of things they got into.

Troy didn’t need Cliff’s instructions to understand the plan from here as Cliff knelt in front of Harris.  He covered his fingers in lube and began the familiar dance of opening Harris up.  Harris was already shaking from pleasure when Troy only had two fingers inside him, the earlier orgasm he’d been denied leaving him restless and on the edge. 

“Please, Troy,” Harris moaned when Troy finally was able to add a third finger, fucking his fingers into Harris slowly.  

Troy looked at Cliff for confirmation and received a nod. Without further thought, he lined himself up with Harris and slowly pushed inside.  He went slowly, even with Harris begging him to give him more.

When he was fully seated, Harris was already whimpering around him, clenching his ass on Troy’s cock.  Marleau then lined up his cock with Harris ' mouth and began to slowly fuck Harris’ mouth. Cliff kept an easy pace with it, Troy matching it.

After a minute or two, he interjected, “You can go harder,” he told Cliff, picking up his pace, “He can take it.  He’s not going to break,” He said, echoing a sentiment Harris had shared with him early in their relationship. 

“Is that so?” Cliff asked, giving a sharp thrust into Harris’ mouth that had him choking on Cliff’s dick.

“Yeah, he likes it a little rough,” Troy said, gripping his hips with pressure as he gave rough thrusts into him.  Harris was moaning around Marleau’s cock, evidence of his enjoyment of their mutual rough treatment. 

It didn't take long for all three men to be shaking from the pleasure, Cliff’s hands knotted in Harris’ hair, and Troy’s hands surely leaving bruises on his hips. 

“Fuck, I’m going to come,” Troy bit out, unable to withstand the pleasure anymore as he felt Harris clench around him and watched Cliff use his boyfriend's mouth.

“Me too,” Cliff ground out, and Troy couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been waiting for Troy to break first, always a competition. 

Troy came with a deep grunt, and then, in a final stroke of genius that he knew would push Harris over the edge, he grabbed the back of Cliff’s neck and pulled their mouths together.  Kissing him deeply over Harris’ form as Cliff came down Harris’ throat. 

The kiss did the trick; he felt Harris’s body shake as he came, clenching his ass tightly on Troy’s dick in a way that had him clenching his teeth, the sensation completely overwhelming on his overstimulated dick. 

“Fuck” he sighed as he pulled himself out of Harris, watching as his cum dripped out from Harris’s hole in the wake of his cock. Unable to resist, he used a single finger to sweep up an errant drop and fuck it back into Harris in a move that made him whimper.

Cliff leaned back on his thighs, his breath panting as he’d just finished sprints on the ice.

Troy wrapped an arm around Harris, bringing him to his knees and pulling his back against Troy’s front.  He turned Harris’s head so he could give him a slow kiss over his shoulder. Then a softer one on his brow.

Harris was a little dazed, his eyes unfocused and his breath slow. “So good”, Troy praised into his hair. He rearranged Harris, so he was draped in Troy’s arms, carrying him over to the bed and placing him back on the soft cover.

He looked around, finding Cliff missing, but he quickly spotted him coming out of the bathroom, two washcloths in his hand.  He silently handed Troy both before walking away again.  Troy went about cleaning Harris with the cloth, then haphazardly cleaned himself off afterward.  Cliff returned about halfway through with two glasses of water, handing one to a sleepy Harris and one to a thankful Troy. 

“Good?” Cliff asked Troy quietly, both a question and a statement. 

“Good,” Troy agreed, snuggling Harris into his side as Harris slipped into sleep.

Cliff nodded and left the room in silence, closing the door behind him with a soft click. 

Troy lay for a while in silence, stroking Harris’ hair as he slept and pressing soft kisses onto his boyfriend's shoulder, forehead, hair, really anywhere he could without disturbing a peaceful Harris. 

When Harris was quietly snoring, wrapped tightly in a blanket, Troy pulled his clothes, briefs, and shirt back on and slipped away for a moment.  He found Cliff sitting on his balcony, staring out at the city in silence.  As Troy opened the sliding door, Cliff turned. “Everything okay?” he asked, concerned.

“Yeah, Harris is asleep. I’m just so keyed up after games, I have trouble getting to sleep,” Troy said, sitting in a chair next to Cliff and taking in the late-night streets of Boston stories below them.

“Can’t sleep, I must not have done my job very well,” Cliff joked.

Troy ignored the humor, Doo you ever get tired of it?” 

“Of sex?” 

“Of sex with people who aren’t yours. I won't deny you’re excellent at it, but it seems really lonely,” Troy said, glancing around at the empty and soulless penthouse they were in.

“Ahhh,” Cliff said with a nod, “I get it, this is where I’m supposed to confess that I’m deeply lonely and unhappy and you tell me that the right person will fix it all.”

“Not necessarily, but it did for me,” Troy admitted.

“Alright, I’ll tell you the big secret, Barrett, but you have to swear you'll keep it secret.”

“Sure, I swear.”

“I like it.  I really do.  I’m not lonely or longing.  I like being hot, rich, and single.  I have a lot of fun being the guest star in other couples' shows.  I get to be part of the best night of sex they’ll ever have, and I pride myself on it.  There’s no deep dark longing for a life of domesticity.  You might be a Charlotte, but I’m a Samantha.” 

“What?” Troy said the words gibberish to him.

“Sex and the City, Barrett.  God, Troy, you’re supposed to be gay,” Marleau said with a huff.

“Okay, as long as you’re happy.  I just felt like checking, the empty penthouse reminded me a little too much of me when I was miserable in Toronto,” Troy admitted.

“Ah, that’s the real secret,” Cliff said with a smile, “I don’t live here.”

“What?” Troy asked, glancing around like the real owners would come home at any minute.

“I own it, but I only use this place for sex.  I have a house further out of the city, filled with all the crap you're looking for.  Throw blankets, my mom insisted I have, drawings from my niece scattered about, magnets from different cities on the fridge.”

Troy’s jaw must have been open, because Cliff laughed.

“It’s not that ridiculous to have a separate apartment for sex, Troy.  I know several MLH players who do.  I don't want to bring someone back to my actual house and then find them stalking me weeks later.  This is just easier.”

Troy still couldn’t wrap his head around it: “Wow, I think I might be doing this whole rich MLH player wrong.”

“Probably, but you and your boyfriend are very cute together, so I think you’ll be okay.”

Troy smiled at that, thinking of Harris nestled in bed.  He stood nodding at Cliff, “Thanks for tonight, it was…good.”

“It was the best night of your life, and you know it,” Cliff said with a grin.

“I wouldn't go that far,” Troy said with a laugh, walking back to his boyfriend and falling asleep almost immediately when he was curled back up beside Harris.