Neither This Nor That Box Set 1

by MariaLisa deMora

  Wrench couldn’t stop the gasp from escaping his lips when Po’Boy’s hand gripped his cock, a slight tug pulling him into alignment. Then there was a blazing heat all along his length when Po’Boy pressed their erections together, holding them in one hand. Their hips and shoulders jostled for space, but Wrench didn’t look up to see what Po’Boy was doing, his attention entirely captured by the sight of his dick, something so well-known and memorized suddenly foreign because another man’s hand was holding it tightly. A click, and movement, then another click. “Got it. Good one.”

  The iron bands of Po’Boy’s fingers disappeared, as did the silken slide of his dick and Wrench heard a sound of frustration in the room, realizing it came from his throat. Then heat along his shoulders, and Po’Boy whispered in his ear, hot breath gusting along his skin, “Look up.” Blindly following instructions, he stared up at the phone held in a ubiquitous selfie pose. The camera was reversed and he could see their faces, side by side, Po’Boy’s grin again wolfish, the look on his own face stunned and bewildered. Click. “Smile, Wrench,” another whisper and the arm around his shoulders squeezed. “Smile,” Po’Boy reminded him, and he must have complied because he heard a click. “Handsome boy. She ain’t gonna turn this shit down.”

  Po’Boy abandoned him, reclaiming a seat on the edge of the mattress, head bent over the phone, “Sending the dick pic first, because that’s some impressive shit. You’re a fuckin’ bull, man. She’s gonna lose her mind.” His tone changed, and Wrench knew it was because he’d shifted to narration mode again. As Po’Boy moved, his hair brushed Wrench’s erection, each tiny touch a seismic quake of sensation.

  All it would take is for him to turn his head.

  An image of Po’Boy’s mouth on his dick overwhelmed him, ghost heat snaking down his spine to curl around his hole and balls, causing him to clench every muscle in his thighs and ass, each movement giving him a much larger curl of desire. “Don’t share this with anyone. It’s only for your viewing pleasure, baby.”

  A pause.

  A chime.

  At the sound, Wrench watched, riveted by the sight of Po’Boy’s cock jerking. Whatever she said was good. His voice had a lilting falsetto tone when he said, “Jesus H. Christ. I nearly choked on my tongue.”

  Po’Boy lifted his head to look up into Wrench’s face, ignoring the cock nearly touching his cheek. “I’d say we’re a hit, man.” Po’Boy’s head tipped to the side, and now Wrench’s dick did touch him, slipping along the edge of his jaw, the rasping grind of stubble nearly too much against the sensitive head of his cock. Wrench watched in fascination as the unexpected contact left a shining smear of fluid on Po’Boy’s face. “Moment of truth.” Seemingly oblivious, head tipped back down to the phone, Po’Boy worked the keyboard. “And now our smiling faces.”

  Pause. Chime.

  Po’Boy didn’t say anything for a moment, and Wrench’s gut clenched. He roughly yanked up his pants as his legs gave out, so he sat heavily on the side of his bed, mostly clothed, hard cock buried from view by the loose fabric. “What? What’s she saying?” He hadn’t realized how much he had invested in this little bit of play, but if she turned them down, he didn’t know what he’d do. I want this, he thought and gritted his teeth waiting on the inevitable letdown. “What’d she say?”

  Po’Boy’s lips spread in a slow, grin, looking self-satisfied and predatory. Intense. “Hell, yeah.”

  ***

  Crissy

  She stared down at her phone for a moment, then flipped back to the text app. Scrolling down, she found the conversation she wanted and started typing.

  Don’t laugh. I got another dick pic today. The difference was, I wanted this one.

  She picked up her glass and twisted to sit sideways on the sofa, staring out the front window. Drinking deeply, the iced water was blessedly cool as she swallowed. Lewis knew Ty. Lewis alone was almost more than she could handle. They hadn’t done anything she didn’t want last weekend, not at all. In fact, she’d enjoyed everything to a level she hadn’t ever before experienced. Under his gentle urging, she felt free to explore all the things she’d wondered about. Books and movies built sex up to such a frenzy, she had come to believe the lackluster activities of her past were normal. Not disillusioned, just accepting.

  Then Lewis had blown in and torn down every preexisting expectation, shoving aside her past boyfriends and hookups in a blaze of fulfilled passion. Crissy felt a rise of heat in her cheeks. They’d done so much, so many things in the hours spent together. Her thighs clamped together, and she squirmed on the couch, gulping another big mouthful of water. He was a mouthful, she thought, and nearly spit the water back out.

  Lewis and Ty.

  Am I going to jump in with both feet?

  She looked at her phone, changing conversation views with a slide of her thumb. Stopping on the picture of their cocks, she stared for a long moment. The two men’s erections were nearly the same length, Lewis’ was slightly more slender, the exposed crown flush with color. The cock she assumed was Ty’s had more breadth to it, Lewis’ fingers cupping it alongside his own. Ty’s foreskin was stretched tight, pulled back to show her the streak of fluid along the flesh. She licked her lips. From the angle, she could see Lewis’ sac hung low and heavy, and she remembered pulling it into her mouth, rolling his balls with her tongue, two lubed fingers stroking inside him while he groaned loudly and complained about holding still as she’d ordered him. She squirmed again, lifting the glass to roll the chilled surface against her cheeks.

  Is it possible to like two guys at once and not have it be a disaster?

  Crissy sighed, staring through the sheer curtains. Lewis had said it would be Wednesday before he was home. That was four days away. “You’re assuming they don’t have anything better to do than you when they get home.” Shaking her head at the absurdity of talking to herself, she concentrated on keeping her dialogue internal. Even if they don’t have jobs, I do. Saturday. The absolute soonest they could explore this idea Lewis had.

  I told you I was with the one guy, Lewis. He was … is amazing.

  Tipping her head back, she let her mind wander back to those hours spent in New Orleans with Lewis. Sometimes you can know a body forever, and yet not know them at all. She conjured up an image of his eyes as he moved over her, moved in her. He’d been staring down to where they were connected, and when he lifted his head to look at her, he let every feeling show on his face. Desire was there, of course, and lust. So hot. Everything we did. Pupils dilated, his enjoyment of the act was undeniable. What she hadn’t expected was how much he’d like how into it she was.

  Unselfish in bed. Not that he didn’t know, and demand, what he wanted. Rhoda, it was more that it mattered more to him that I find mine than he get his. You know?

  The way his arms had framed her face, not letting her hide anything, that had been his demand for emotional access. Someone who studied a person that intently did so for a reason, and his was to take care of her. For the space of a day or more, he had taken very good care of her. He’d never hurt me. She knew that with certainty, deep in her belly. Could that extend to others, though? Ty had been pretty brutal to the woman, Sam. She deserved every word, coming at him like she did. In fact, Crissy remembered Ty containing himself and giving advice to Sam’s boyfriend. Even with not liking the woman, and really not liking how she was behaving, he’d still taken care.

  The other guy, Ty, he’s not just hot, but he’s kind.

  In the aftermath of the shouting match, when he’d come into her home, even then every word he’d said was taking care. That time it had been of her. I don’t think he’d hurt me, either. Pulling in a deep breath, she looked down at the phone again.

  I miss you. So much. Every day, honey. I know what you’d say, though. Go for it. If it’s what you want, don’t be afraid to reach for it.

  Friday night, maybe. Crissy shivered as her mind returned to her previous thoughts, and she looked at her phone, changing conversations again.
Lewis had sent her three pictures total, the first one of their erections had taken much of her attention. This time she looked at the other two images, surprised all over again to recognize Ty’s handsome face alongside Lewis’ striking features. In the first picture, both men were smiling, standing shoulder to shoulder, leaning in so they were in the frame. Lewis’ grin held a naughty promise she already knew he could deliver on. Yes, he surely can. Ty’s smile was softer, his gaze into the camera intense and focused. He looked a lot like the last time she’d seen him, right after he’d kissed her senseless. He appeared aroused and ready to act on it.

  She flipped to the third picture. It had come in after her and Lewis’ final discussion about possible details for their meeting, but the pose was so similar to the other one it had to have been taken at the same time. Angled differently, this one had their faces and shoulders across the breadth of the image and framed in the mirror behind them, their bare asses. In this picture the expression on Ty’s face was different, he looked almost stunned, and the reflection showed his hands were clenched into fists. Lewis’ arm was around his shoulders, holding him close, providing support that looked necessary. Maybe I won’t be the only one new to the idea, she thought.

  Unable to help herself, she flipped back to the first picture, staring at their erections cupped in Lewis’ hand, thinking she understood the look on Ty’s face all too well. I probably looked just as stupefied the first time Lewis laid a hand on me, too. Lifting the glass, she drained the cold water, gasping for air.

  ***

  Wrench

  He and Po’Boy had rolled through Deridder about an hour prior, which meant he had about three hours before he pulled into the condo parking lot. In another forty-five minutes, they’d stop for fuel in Opelousas, and he’d try to sort out how Po’Boy wanted to handle this whole thing. There was no doubt in either of their minds who was in charge of the planned encounter. What should I call it? He wondered, worrying various words through his head. Threesome. Ménage a trois. Nothing sounded right, and as he followed Po’Boy around another semi, shifting lanes effortlessly behind the man, he made a conscious decision to set it aside. Doesn’t matter, anyway. If it works, it’ll work. No need to classify something like this.

  Half of him hoped it wouldn’t work out. That Crissy would get cold feet at the last minute. It would be worth it to hear Po’Boy grumble about it without having to try and perform in front of the man. The other half? Quivering with anticipation, he’d gotten off the bike at each stop with the head of his dick sitting in a sticky puddle in his jeans. Possible scenarios running through his mind constantly, and from the knowing grins Po’Boy gave him, it must have been plain on his face at times.

  He’d seen enough brothers double-team bitches at parties to have some familiarity with the concept. Pussy and mouth were popular targets, but he remembered one party in particular where Twisted had lifted a girl so her legs were around his waist, and impaled her on his dick. Standing up while fucking wasn’t new to Wrench, but he’d been mesmerized when Po’Boy had come up behind her…he sucked in a hard breath flavored with diesel and the dense scent of rotting vegetation so peculiar to southern Louisiana, shaking his head to rid himself of the memory.

  Ever since the night of Twisted’s party, it seemed as if fate had conspired to throw Po’Boy in his path. After that moment of insight where he had realized something in the man was appealing, the only time they’d not been together was when he’d run to Kentucky. Even then, Po’Boy followed him, never knowing how he’d haunted every dream Wrench had. On this trip out to El Paso and back, the awareness of Po’Boy had been a thrumming vibration barely under the surface of his skin. The nights sharing a motel room torture. For me at least. He snorted. Po’Boy didn’t seem to be disturbed in the least. He was calm to the point Wrench had wondered if he had imagined the desire he’d seen in Po’Boy’s face.

  Then, last night they’d again avoided paying for a room by staying in a rest area, and Wrench had gotten a show. Bright moonlight shining down had kept him up later than normal, so when Po’Boy rustled around, adjusting his position in the thin sleeping bag, Wrench was still awake. Awake and watching as Po’Boy released his cock into the nighttime air, working himself over in a frenzy, then slowing with a groan before jacking his dick faster again. That groan, however, was Wrench’s undoing, sending his cock harder than a steel rod, wedged between his hip and the cement tabletop beneath him. The groan that contained his name.

  Pulsing lights ahead of him snagged his attention, and he followed Po’Boy into the left lane, slowing slightly as they rolled past a group of bikes stopped on the side of the road by two state patrol cars and what looked like at least three sheriff trucks and SUVs. The bikers’ heads swiveled as one to watch him and Po’Boy ride past. He knew it’d be a tossup if one of those trucks would pull out after the two of them since they were proudly wearing their colors. Things had changed in the past decade and a half, and every club knew it was bullshit like Deuces had been pulling which made the police turn their eyes towards the clubs. Pretend clubs kept popping up everywhere, wanna-bes who felt putting a set of patches on their back gave a license to do anything they desired. Then there were the groups like Thorne’s riding club who had an idea in their head about what the biker lifestyle was all about, never really understanding it was a way to live, not a lifestyle.

  He kept one eye on his mirror, breathing a relieved sigh when they rounded the first curve without any sign of lit up bubblelights behind them. A few miles farther up the road, Po’Boy signaled a stop and they pulled into a small, country gas station and convenience store. Po’Boy halted at the first pump, and Wrench pulled around him, shaking his head as he idled up next to the next set of pumps. Asshole.

  Crissy’s mouth kept intruding on his thoughts. How hungry she’d seemed, how responsive. The bereft look in her eyes when he tore his mouth off hers. I coulda fucked her right there. He licked his lips. I shoulda. The muscles in his stomach jerked. Mouth that sweet. What Po’Boy said about her? Woman’s gonna fucking kill me when we get together.

  He killed his engine and heeled down his kickstand, then was in the process of easing backwards into a long-needed stretch of his muscles when he felt a hand on his neck. Jerking sideways, he looked up into Po’Boy’s grinning face. He barked, “The fuck you want, asshole?”

  “You deaf, man? You sat here and idled for a longass time. Fuck, man. I called you like five times. They got a hot buffet bar with a couple of tables inside. I need something to eat. I know we’re nearly home, but it’d be better if we stuck together, I think. You see the shit on the highway back there?” Po’Boy shook his head, reaching down between Wrench’s legs and twisting the gas cap off his tank. Wrench stared as the man grabbed the handle from the pump, wedging it into the open hole and swiping his card to authorize the pump. He turned back to the bike, engaging the handle lock so the gas would start to flow. As he did, his hand grazed Wrench’s crotch, waking his dick up even more. Another seemingly honest miscalculation had Po’Boy’s fingers slipping down Wrench’s thigh, causing his ass to clench. Po’Boy spoke as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t noticed what he was doing, “That was a crew from down by Terrebonne. They were tight with VWMC back in the day. I ain’t heard shit about ‘em since Ragman did his thang. Wonder what they did to crawl up po-po’s ass?” Po’Boy stepped back, crossing his arms across his chest as he surveyed the store and parking lot, head swiveling back and forth.

  “The fuck are you doing, Po’Boy?” Wrench hadn’t even dismounted his bike and had no idea if Po’Boy had already finished fueling his own bike.

  “Gettin’ your ass in gear, man. I done tole you, I’m hungry.” The gas pump clicked off and Po’Boy’s fingers wrapped around the handle, expertly topping the tank off. Wrench grabbed the cap back from him, feeling an electric zing as their fingers touched. The smile faded from Po’Boy’s face, and Wrench knew he couldn’t be the only one feeling whatever this was.

  “I got
it. Go park, I’ll see you inside.”

  Without looking up, he started his engine and punched the shifter into first, idling away from the pump and around to the front of the store. By the time he had parked, Po’Boy was backing in beside him. Tipping his chin, he tried to analyze the expression on Po’Boy’s face, unsure if the entire thing at the pumps had been a way to get him off center, or if it was how Po’Boy was with his friends. Am I his friend? He gave a short headshake. We’re gonna be fucking the same woman. We should be friends before we start down that path, shouldn’t we?

  Inside, he nodded at the woman behind the register and grabbed a plastic tray, standing in the line for the cafeteria-style hot food bar. Another woman was working there, quickly moving from spoon to spoon, ladling each customer’s selections onto a plate that was delivered at the register, money exchanging hands there along with rolled silverware and packages of condiments. An efficient system, with accessible buckets filled with packages of chips or iced soft drinks along the way. Po’Boy was behind him, crowding Wrench, leaning over his shoulder to look at this entrée or that one, poking his arm to bring his attention to the pulled pork, bumping him to get a look at the peach cobbler. Wrench was excruciatingly aware of each touch, each brush, the heat along his side from where Po’Boy had gotten close. It felt as if every eye were on them, and he didn’t understand how no one seemed to notice the way Po’Boy had invaded his space. A hand on his arm startled him, and he jerked around to see Po’Boy right there.

  “Relax, brother.” That’s all Po’Boy had to say. A squeeze of his bicep was there and then gone, and then he heard Po’Boy repeat himself softly, “Relax, man.”

  Three men were rising from a table as they approached, and Wrench took possession of the bench facing the front of the store. Po’Boy wrinkled his nose but didn’t say anything, seating himself on the other bench, back to the door. The two men ate in silence, and Wrench realized this was normal for them. They didn’t need to fill the silence with posturing or bullshit. Somewhere along the way, the silence of avoidance had simply become what they did. If there were something worth saying, one or the other would say it. If there wasn’t, then both of them were comfortable with quiet.