Harrisburg Railers Box Set 1

by R J Scott

  “Look at you all,” I gushed, hugging as many as I could. Some, like Scotty the ten-year-old transgender girl, were exceptionally special to me, but I adored them all. “Are you going to give the TV show cameras your best today?” I asked, moving through the adoring fans to get a last-minute costume and make-up check. They all shouted yes. They made me so proud.

  It had been decided that I’d do one of my short programs from Sochi and then work with the kids, bringing in the Railers to show how harmonious we all were and how inclusive ice sports now were. Which was a huge pile of steaming shit. I remembered all too well the scathing remarks made about me by TV announcers – who were retired figure skaters – during my silver-medal performance. I’d been called many terrible things since I’d first come out about liking boys at a tender age, but what those announcers had said about me being too feminine and too odd to be associating with young boys still turned my stomach. It had made me cry back then, and it would today given my state of mind if I’d only let it. But I refused to give shitful people like that the pleasure of seeing my tears. Besides, my skaters needed Trent to be Trent. And so, for them, I was always brave in public and shed the tears in private.

  “We need to get this jacket up just a bit more,” I told Gayle. She pulled out box of pins from her purse – she was learning how to agent a figure skater well – and began pinning the hem of the short white jacket. “If it’s too low it hides the curvature of my ass.”

  “Hold still before I jab you.” She worked quickly.

  I smiled at the children, then found the hockey players lined up on the other side of the boards. I could feel Dieter before I could see him. I knew his eyes were on my ass, which was why I had to make sure that it was viewable.

  “Are you feeling better?” Gayle asked.

  “Yes,” I lied. “Thank you for coming over and talking to me this morning. You’re an angelic agent,” I whispered as some tall man with a bun and garlic breath touched up my eyeliner and gloss. As if it needed touching up. I knew how to apply, thank you.

  “Remember that when the producers of the show ask to go on a date with you.” She smiled at me, then gave the sparkly white jacket a firm tug. “There. All pinned and high enough to show off that pert ass. Now go show the people at home why you won that silver medal.”

  We bussed cheeks, then I skated out to center ice, inhaled, artfully raised my arms over my head, dug my toe pick into the ice and waited for the music. It was one of my favorite routines, performed to “Carmen”, and showcased my flair and strengths. As soon as the music began, my mind went to the routine – the jumps, the sass that signaled that Trent Hanson was performing this skate. Through the salchows and lutzes, the toe loops and axels, I felt hot, steady eyes on me. Knowing Dieter was right there, engrossed by my ability and my body, feeling his hungry eyes on me as I worked my magic, made me feel lightheaded and giddy. Combined with the sheer joy of ice and music, when I ended with an impromptu Johnny Weir slide, the darkness of the morning had lifted.

  The kids boiled out onto the ice like ants from a hill. They were followed by the Railers. My gaze locked with Dieter’s, and the rest of the hoopla melted away like spring snow. He wanted me. Right now. I could see it in his eyes. I wanted him just as badly. That kiss and all the sexual promise it held mixed with the churning emotions inside me left me in a state of heightened bubbliness.

  The next hour was remarkable and torturous. I loved my kids and my rink, and I was beginning to like the apes on skates as well. The Railers were wonderful with the kids, laughing and showing them that they also had skate prowess. Adler and a few others picked up the smaller figure skaters and raced around the rink with them. There was so much laughter and happiness that I knew I’d be frothing over like a freshly popped bottle of champagne when we left the ice.

  And I was. See how well I know myself.

  “Let’s all gather together and go somewhere to eat. The studio will pay for it!” I announced in my most spirited voice. The show producers began to balk, but the chance of us all being out and getting the public’s reaction was just too much for them to pass up. “I’ll just slip into the locker room and change. Can someone run to Dan’s office – he’s the rink manager – and get my street clothes from the chair in the corner?”

  And just like that I found myself waiting in the men’s locker room for Dieter Lehmann to come back with my city togs. I removed the white skates and placed them neatly by my feet, folded my hands in my lap, and waited. He appeared not two minutes later, filling the doorway and then the damn locker room with his broad shoulders and appealing sulking demeanor.

  “Bring them to me,” I said flatly, my hands still lying in my lap.

  He seemed to be locked into some kind of internal battle. Maybe he wasn’t used to a man who was so much smaller than him being so pushy and domineering. If he knew me better, he’d know that I’m always pushy and domineering. As well as a few other less than flattering terms.

  Finally, his big feet broke free and he walked my clothes to me. I remained seated, but my eyes traveled up his body. He looked edible in that blue jersey and jeans. His eyes were smoldering green and gold embers that never moved from my face.

  Funny how what I reached for wasn’t my trousers, dress shirt and sleek blue vest. Maybe my reaching for his belt and pulling him to me wasn’t funny at all. Maybe it was chapter two in my stupid book. Probably. But oh, how my body hummed with desire the closer he came. I brushed my nose against his jersey and drew in deeply. He smelled like dark sandalwood and mystery with a dash of sex. Just my type. Add in a sprinkling of heartbreak and you’d have all my past lovers. But who cares? One quick blowjob in the locker room wouldn’t hurt anything. So I slid off the bench, so hot to have him come down my throat that the knowledge that I was ruining the white knees of my skating slacks had no impact. That was how bad I had it.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice thick and smoky.

  I tugged down his fly and slid my hand inside his briefs. The backs of my fingers brushed a wet spot on the cool cotton of his underwear. Someone had been aroused for a long time. That knowledge made my dick throb in time with my rapid pulse. Out came his cock. I had been right. It was fat and long. Hard, too, and slick with precum.

  “Do you really not know?” I asked before I licked the round head of his cock clean. He sucked in a sharp breath, my clothes still in his hands.

  He groaned. “Hurry up. I’ve been hard for fucking hours because of you.”

  “Only hours?” I rolled my tongue around him, pressing on the knot of nerves under the head of his cock. My fingers held the base of his dick firmly. I felt the shudder that rolled through all those powerful muscles.

  “Days. Ever since that kiss. Shit, Trent, stop teasing and suck me off before someone walks in.” He thrust his hips outward, his cock sliding from my lips across my cheek. “I dreamed of seeing that gloss of yours smeared on my cock.”

  I turned my head to swallow him down, eager and hungry, I took him as deeply as I could.

  “Fuuuuuuck.”

  There was no time for finesse. We both knew that. He tossed my clothes aside and slid his hands into my hair.

  “Gelled, too. You’re high maintenance, aren’t you? I bet you are. I think I could get into that.”

  I had too much cock in my mouth to reply. He didn’t really seem to be searching for an answer. He just started pumping, and I started sucking as hard as I could, my hands on his hips urging him to fuck my mouth.

  His final thrust made my eyes water. I swallowed greedily, pulling off the best I could to ensure all that cum didn’t go down my throat. I wanted some on my tongue. I needed to savor the taste of the man. He released his hold on my head and watched as I pulled off his prick then licked him clean, my hand still wrapped around him.

  I got him as clean as I could, then sat back on my calves, glanced upward, and used the tip of my index finger to dab at the corners of my mouth.

  Dieter just stared down at me
, his chest still heaving and his eyes glassy from lust. I still wanted the man. The head I’ve just given him had been an appetizer.

  “Are you shocked?” I asked, then shoved his still-wet cock back into his jeans and carefully zipped him back up.

  “I’ve never been with a man like you.” He offered me his hand.

  I took it and he tugged, getting me up off my knees quickly. “There are no other men like me.”

  He smiled. It was akin to someone pulling back the drapes on what had been a room filled with mourners and allowing life to reenter. It rocked me to the core and set off about four hundred warning bells. A man this stunning with so many dark corners was bad news. Bad, bad, bad news.

  “Yeah, I believe that,” he replied, and swept in to take a kiss that ended with me flat against the wall and his hands down the front of my white spandex pants. “I want to get at you now. You good for that?”

  “God, yes,” I panted, then nipped at his bottom lip. We’d have been rutting like wild beasts had his cell not rung at that moment. “Ignore it. I need your mouth on me.” I grabbed fistfuls of hair and pulled his mouth back to mine. The damn phone kept ringing. He leaned into me, pressing all that firm hockey player against my chest. I was finding it hard to breathe. I was fucking loving it.

  “Yo, Deet, man, you coming or what?”

  The sound of his name rolling out of one of his teammates doused the fire well. Dieter danced away from me, his face flushed and his pupils so large it was hard to see any color at all. I spun around to try to do something with the stiff dick tenting my pants, but there was nothing to be done with it. The dance belt I wore under my skating pants didn’t hide erections well. Maybe I needed one with more padding…

  “Yeah, I’m just waiting for Trent,” he shouted, then jogged to the door to block off whoever it was who had come looking for him. “He’s taking a shower.”

  “Oh, okay.” I ran in the direction of the showers and hid behind a cool tiled wall. “We’ll meet you at the restaurant. It’s a Brazilian steakhouse over on Chestnut Street that Trent’s agent said is the hot new spot to be seen at, so the show is all behind us getting there now.”

  “Right, okay. We’ll find it on Google maps. Catch you later, Arvy.”

  “You okay? You sound spacey.”

  “I’m good.”

  The conversation faded off. I let my eyes close and rested my brow on the tiles. Then I heard him come around the corner. I lifted my head and opened my eyes. He pushed the pile of my clothes at me.

  “I still want to get at you,” he informed me.

  I took the clothes from him and wet my lips. His gaze settled on my mouth. “I still want you to get at me.”

  With that, I slipped around him, wrinkled outfit in hand, and left him staring at my ass. The ball – or I guess that would be a puck – was in his court. At his end of the ice. Whatever. I suck at making sporty witticisms but excel at leaving men wanting more. I chanced an over-the-shoulder peek, just to be sure, and saw that his sight was riveted to my ass. Mm-hmm. As I thought. His gaze darted up to ensnare mine. This was going to turn into way more than just a quick BJ in the locker room; I could feel it riding the air currents like a line of summer storms.

  Six

  Dieter

  What I really wanted right the hell then was to follow Trent into the shower, but that would have been taking too much of a risk. What if one of my teammates walked in on us?

  Not that I cared what people thought of who I chose to have sex with, but the whole ‘having sex in the team showers’ thing wasn’t exactly fair.

  So I sat and waited, and twenty minutes after he went in, Trent appeared at the door to the showers, fully dressed – much to my disappointment – and brushing damp hair from his face. He’d rimmed his eyes in that black again, but there was no lip gloss. That disappointed me on a visceral level. His gloss had tasted of strawberry and slicked our kissing, and the fact that it was smeared on my cock was an image and sensation I would carry to my grave as a highlight.

  Jeez, the man was a temptation in tight pants.

  “Come here,” he said, and crossed to the mirrors with the hair driers. Like a puppy, I did as I was told – anything to get up close and personal. He switched on the nearest hairdryer, aiming it at his hair, his hands moving in some kind of rhythm that had him styling at the same time as rough-drying. “Kiss me,” he mouthed over the noise of the drier.

  I didn’t say no. Cradling his face, I kissed him as he dried his hair, and it didn’t matter what he was doing – he could clearly multitask, because the kissing was hot.

  And then we parted and he turned to the mirror. A few flicks of his fingers, and his hair was perfect. He pouted at his reflection, slicked gloss onto his lips, ran the tip of his index finger along the black to smudge around his eyes, then he turned to me.

  “Think I’m ready for my closeup?”

  I was lost for words. How had I lived twenty-five years without having something as perfect as Trent? How had I been into men for at least ten of those years and never wanted to kiss a man like him, with his colorful flamboyance and take-charge persona? I was hard, so damn hard, and I palmed my cock in a very deliberate motion. All Trent did was smirk, the fucker.

  I followed him out of the changing area; a quick glance at Trent in tight jeans had me reaching for him without thinking. Then I stopped. There were cameras here, and we needed to do the promo thing.

  We found the restaurant, no more than a ten-minute walk from the rink, and the entire way I walked to the right and just slightly behind Trent. I was his bodyguard, and I saw the second looks he got. They could be because he was famous, or because he wore a flowing scarlet shirt you could see right through to the tight-T-shirt beneath. Who knew? He didn’t appear to notice any of them, but I can guarantee you that they all saw me behind him, glowering at each and every one of them.

  He opened the door for me, which was something I wasn’t used to, but I didn’t argue, simply stepped in and headed directly for the table where the rest of the Railers sat. There was a space next to Arvy, and I took it, aware that the only other spare seat was down near Stan. That put an entire table length between us, which was probably the safest thing to do. Cameras moved around the table, and I got a sense of what they were looking for. Mostly Trent, who laughed brightly up at huge, muscled Stan who took up nearly two chairs. Trent was tiny next to him, and I could tell from some of the angles the camera guys used that they were focusing on that difference.

  “I hope Stan doesn’t fall off his chair and squash the kid,” Arvy said from my side, leaning back in his chair and patting his belly. He’d somehow managed to down the largest steak served in the place, whereas I was only halfway through my dinner.

  I knew why. I was all riled up, and blown away, and needy, and clearly that played havoc with a man’s appetite.

  “He’s not a kid,” I said, and forked in another piece of steak. It was melt-in-your-mouth delicious, like I didn’t need to chew, even though I actually did so I looked normal.

  Arvy leaned into me. “Looks like a kid at the grown-up table,” he said under his breath.

  I side-eyed him and hoped to hell the cameras hadn’t caught that comment or my reaction. “He’s sitting at a table of giants,” I said back.

  Arvy grimaced and rubbed his belly again. “I need to hit the gym early in the a.m. –, you with me?”

  I wanted a lot of things at that moment, but working in the gym at some ungodly hour wasn’t on the list.

  “Earth to Deets, come in Deets.”

  “What?” I asked, focusing back on Arvy and away from Trent, who was doing something impossibly cute and incredibly sexy with his steak knife.

  “I said gym, six, I’ll bang on your door?”

  We were all at the Philadelphia Club Hotel on Chestnut Street, a fairly standard room setup, but a hotel with an extensive gym and a pool.

  “Yeah,” I said, and concentrated back on my steak.

  I half hoped
Trent would give me some kind of subtle sign that suggested we’d go back to his place, wherever that was, and fuck like rabbits, but if he did, then I missed it. When he left at just after ten, after stealing a mouthful of Stan’s dessert and making everyone laugh when Stan got all grumpy and Trent had to tease him out of it, I was bereft.

  No, not bereft – disappointed, maybe. All I had to do was recall Trent’s mouth on me and I was a goner. I really wanted more.

  The next day wasn’t any better. The gym was brutal, because it seemed like every part of me ached. I took two pills for the knee ache, but I stopped after that. I wanted to be sharp for Trent, to lure him somewhere quiet and listen to his voice as he told me what he wanted. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to talk to him privately.

  That morning’s session was all about angles and balance, and Trent, in sapphire blue from head to toe, picked on Stan as an example.

  He spoke into the cameras as he fussed around the big Russian.

  “Stan is the goalie and has impressive stretch and reach, he can move on a dime, but his skating is hampered by the gear he has to wear.”

  “So what can you do for him?” the interviewer asked Trent, looking from Stan back to Trent as he talked.

  “He’s mentioned that he wants more explosive power in his legs, the kind of thing we have as figure skaters when we’re jumping into spins, and I just want to work with that this morning.”

  He had us all jumping literally like ballerinas, which some of the guys, including me, found hilarious. A couple were too embarrassed to try, which the interviewer loved. There was some in-depth questioning about why they were embarrassed – I think they were hoping for one of the guys to say they weren’t going to do some girlie jumps. Arvy just explained he was scared of falling on his ass in front of the camera. Stan looked pointedly at his gear and raised a single eyebrow to explain why he didn’t want to jump as high as Trent wanted him to.