Page 45 of Stroke Rate

"Alright, then, we will deal with that problem another day." River said as he continued to wash Chris, trying to help him relax. He was so nervous about the family dinner later that night, he looked as if he was either going to throw up or bolt out of the house and never come back.

“What do you need? You’re so tense,” River said, massaging Chris' muscled ass.

“I need to get out of my head. Please,” he pleaded, as he dropped to his knees.

River grunted as Chris took him into his mouth. He was soft, but the wet heat of Chris’ mouth surrounding him had his cock swelling in no time. Chris didn't suck; he just held River on his tongue and rested his head against River’s thigh. Allowing River to card his fingers through Chris’ wet hair, pushing it off his forehead so he could see his eyes. Lashes curled back and wet from the shower, his stare was so full of admiration and fuck, he was so beautiful—River couldn’t believe how lucky he was—and how deeply he loved him. Just tell him, you fool.

“So pretty, baby. You feel so good.” The sentiment made Chris blush, as his mouth started a gentle, rhythmic pull on River’s dick. He wasn’t sucking, just pulling on him with a soft rhythm similar to the lapping of the tide against a shoreline. It was always the same mouth motion Chris used when he needed to disappear. The movement was soft on the underside of River’s cock, enough to keep his cock full and thick, soft but plump, but not enough friction to get off. That wasn't the moment's purpose; it wasn't about River or getting off. The focus was on Chris, and his need for comfort and escape. “I'm so lucky. So lucky you chose me. My perfect boy.” Running a hand over his cheek as Chris hummed and closed his eyes. “My good boy.” Something about being told he was good and letting River use him allowed Chris to get out of his head, and who was River to judge?

They stayed like that, River’s back against the shower wall, Chris on his knees with River in his mouth, until the water ran cold. “Baby,” River cupped the side of Chris’ neck. “Time to come back to me,” he whispered as his cock fell from Chris’ mouth.

“Tell me again,” Chris said.

“Hmm.”

“Tell me I’m good,” he murmured into the crease of River’s hip.

“So good, baby. Always so good. Come here.” Chris stood, and River turned off the water, helping him from the shower, and drying him from head to toe. On his knees, River looked up, and a calm, sated Chris smiled at him. And all River could think was I love you. I love you so fucking much. Fuck, he should just tell him. “Let’s get dressed,” River said before placing a kiss on Chris' hip and leading him to the closet.

It was, River thought, a horrible idea to go into Chris’ family home without a plan. They hadn’t talked about ‌what they were going to tell anyone about what they were; what they had become to one another. That they had become more. And as they drove, minutes ticking by, River’s anxiety ratcheted up and he felt as though he might be sick.

The heat radiating from the steering wheel seeped into River’s grip as he looked over at Chris, whose face was etched with the same unease River felt. Chris’ head ‌was pressed against the window, jaw clenched, and a furrow between his brows. Gone was the sated, sleepy, angelic face from the shower; instead there sat ‌a man who looked like a nervous little boy.

He was wringing his wrists almost obsessively; a tic River had come to associate with Laura. Chris only exhibited that behavior when he was talking about or going to be in contact with his family. So River extended a hand, palm up, towards Chris; the gesture gave Chris the power to touch River or not. To say if he needed the comfort of River without having to say anything. Chris watched from the corner of his eye, as if he was waging a war on whether to take River’s outstretched hand—River didn’t have to wait too long before Chris slotted his hand into River’s and gave it a tight squeeze.

They drove like that, hands clenched together until they pulled into the long driveway that ended in front of a large, beautiful home. This house resembled Chris', built with the same river rock, stucco, and wood construction, just scaled up to a large degree. Acres of manicured landscape, not wildflower fields, embraced the residence. From the car, the house seemed inviting, homey, but Chris’ demeanor told a different story.

They sat in silence, looking at one another, breathing in sync; a loop of nerves seemed to pass through their linked hands.

“It will be fine. Just stay close.”

“Are you trying to prepare me for my own family?” Chris' statement was harsh, spat out like an insult would have been.

“You seem to need it.”

Chris huffed out an annoyed sound, dropping River’s hand, before exiting the car.

“Just…” Chris started as River joined him on the sidewalk up to the house. “I’m going to apologize in advance,” he said as he turned the knob, letting them into the house.

Something felt…off. The energy of the house felt more attuned to a frat house as the door closed behind them, not a family house. Loud jam band music echoed around them; the potent aroma of alcohol and marijuana choked River, and the raucous noise of people talking over one another drifted throughout.

“Come on.” Chris checked his shoulder into River’s arm, “Let's go find Brooke.”

Laura eyed them as soon as they entered the kitchen, a large red cup in one hand and a joint in the other. “There you are.” Sauntering over to them, River tracked a slight wobble to her gait, as if she might tumble over her own feet. “Took you long enough.” Slurring as she leaned in, kissing Chris on the mouth, turning to River with that wolfish smile she had the last time. “I see you are training him well. He looks better, thinner,” she said, poking Chris' side as he looked at his feet, nodding his head.

River didn't know what to say, so confused by…well, by everything. “We’ve been working hard.”

“Hey brother,” a large, burly man pulled Chris in for an awkward-looking side hug, patting his back too forcefully to be friendly. “Introduce me to your new coach. I’ve heard a lot about you, man.” The man looked like a stereotypical frat bro with his backwards hat, a Colorado Nuggets t-shirt, and basketball shorts. His paw-like hand was huge, hot, and calloused, engulfing River’s in a firm shake.

“Yeah, Harrison, this is River Arroyo. River, this is my middle brother, Harrison.” Just as he finished that introduction, another man and a smaller woman walked up, bumping everyone's arms with their shoulders.

“Who do we have here, Humpty?” The woman sneered as she looked from River to Chris. “Don’t be rude, introduce us.”

“Casey, Flynn, this is River. My new coach.” Casey tried to pull River in for a hug, but River stepped back, holding his hand out.

“Nice to meet you both,” River said as Casey and Laura stumbled off to the bar area, leaving the four men to stand there in uncomfortable silence.

“So, Arroyo.” Harrison said it more like a-rolo—as if he was talking about the chocolate candy, not River’s last name. “Um, you Mexican or something?” Harrison asked, an ugly scowl on his face. “Ouch, what the fuck?” He asked, rubbing the back of his head as Brooke appeared out of nowhere.