Neither This Nor That Box Set 1

by MariaLisa deMora

  “I hope you’re right, brother.” The tight line of Retro’s shoulders eased as he visibly relaxed. Then in a sing-song he asked, “Po’Boy, wanna tell me about the beauty you snagged down at Plaisirs Caches?”

  Retro’s question had pulled Po’Boy tight as gut on a crossbow and he glared at Retro. “Want a beer?” Turning on his heel, he stalked away from the fire, ignoring the four men laughing behind him, knowing the silent mouth belonged to Wrench, who was probably just as freaked out as he was right now. Plaisirs Caches was the bar he’d met Crissy in, the bar where Po’Boy picked up his hookups, the bar where he’d seen Wrench that first night. The fact Retro knew about the bar didn’t surprise him, but him knowing about Crissy? Buckets of cold water wouldn’t have caused a bigger chill down his spine.

  Inside the suite, Po’Boy slung the bag to the floor at the foot of the bed. He kicked off his boots on the way to the bathroom, and after a quick shower toweled off, each movement brusque, rough. Tugging on clothes from the dresser in the bedroom, he found himself impatient with the way the fabric clung to his still-damp skin. Phone in hand, he paused when he saw he’d missed a pair of texts. Thumbing open the app, he stared at an image he’d received. It was one of him on the bike, feet up on the highway bars, head tilted back with a big smile as he rolled into the parking garage about twenty minutes ago. The second image was a selfie of Wrench touching his pursed lips with the extended tip of his middle finger, posed in front of none other than Plaisirs Caches, the bar only half a block away. That had come with a message. I’ll be waiting.

  Shrugging into his cut with automatic movements, he was already stalking towards the door as he tapped out a response. Slowing, he turned, studying the room for a moment. Flipping back to the selfie, he looked again, seeing Wrench was wearing a plain T-shirt. He removed and folded his cut, laying it on the dresser then headed through the door, pulling it tight behind him.

  ***

  Wrench

  He leaned along the short side of the bar, back to the wall, keeping his eyes on the front door. It opened in a flood of light just as his phone vibrated in his pocket, and he didn’t have to check the device to know who had texted him. Po’Boy stood in the doorway, highlighted by the sunshine behind him, scanning the interior of the bar for a moment before his gaze landed on Wrench.

  Those eyes stayed on him with a weight which was palpable, goose bumps raising on his arms as he shivered. Not angry, but intense, and filled with a promise Wrench wasn’t sure he was ready for. What the fuck am I doing here? That thought had run through his head a dozen times on the ride over, and a dozen more as he waited. Crissy wasn’t here, and the fact he didn’t care confused him. Without her as a buffer, what did it mean that he couldn’t wait to be alone with Po’Boy? What? Am I suddenly gay? That thought winding through his brain didn’t leave the residue behind he’d expected. Nothing bad, nothing frightening, just knowledge if that was how things were, then he was okay with it.

  Before he could complete the thought, Po’Boy had leaned against the wall, standing so close the heat from his arm felt like a touch. The fine hairs on Wrench’s arm raised and he shivered. Low and quiet, Po’Boy asked, “You been here long?” As if they’d planned on this meeting, as if Wrench hadn’t surprised him by showing early, and his easy acceptance was a balm.

  “Not long.” He paused, lifting two fingers in response to the bartender’s questioning look and receiving a nod in response. “Want to eat something?”

  “Nah, I’m good.” Po’Boy shifted as he spoke and his shoulder lightly brushed against Wrench’s, pulling another shiver from him as sudden desire plumped his cock. When he glanced over, Po’Boy’s knowing smirk had pulled his lips to the side, and he stared at Wrench, the corners of his hooded eyes crinkling in amusement. Without looking away, Po’Boy called out, “Truman, gimme those two to go, add four more.” The bartender made quick work of putting a cardboard holder with six beers on the counter, and Po’Boy flipped out a bill as he twisted to look at Wrench. “You comin’?”

  God, I hope so. Startled, he checked himself to make sure those words stayed in his head. “Yeah,” he muttered, watching Po’Boy lift the beers and offer the bartender a two-finger salute. The man’s eyes flicked to Wrench, looking down and then up before aiming back at Po’Boy as he returned the gesture. Even though he seemed to have an easy and familiar attitude, Wrench saw a flash of irritation cross the man’s face. Once they were outside, unable to stop his mind from turning over the expression, Wrench looked at Po’Boy, and asked, “You know him well?”

  “Who?” His stride loose and long, Po’Boy glanced towards Wrench and then back down the block towards the bar. He tipped his head with a grin, sidling sideways to bump into Wrench’s shoulder. “Truman?” Po’Boy shrugged. “He’s been working there for a long time.”

  “You know him, don’t you?” Wrench mentally compared himself to the man, coming up unaccustomedly short. Truman was clean shaven, hair styled over the collar of his pressed button-down shirt. Even under the clothing Wrench could tell his body was fit and sleek, like a swimmer. Definitely an athlete. Wrench ran the past couple of minutes back through his head, again seeing the expression of frustration on Truman’s face, marking how the bartender’s eyes had tracked Po’Boy moving through the door before angling to determine his destination and landing on Wrench. A single look from the bartender which judged and found him wanting. “He sure knows you.”

  “What? Truman? Oh, hell naw, man.” Po’Boy jostled his shoulder again, the bottles clinking softly in their carrier. “He don’t do it for me.” Wrench sipped at the air, trying not to let his breathing accelerate audibly. Everything they’d done so far had been bridged by Crissy’s presence, and this might be the first out and out statement by Po’Boy that he was open to something more than sharing a woman. Ignorant of the tremor caused by his words, Po’Boy continued, “Tru is a pretty boy, and nothing wrong with such a thing once in a while. Each his own, I always say. Just don’t do it for me. I like…” Po’Boy’s voice trailed off as he punched in the code to get into his building.

  By unspoken agreement, the silence stretched as they waited for the elevator, and by the time they’d entered the suite, Wrench knew the moment had passed for him to question anything. Po’Boy had withdrawn, saying nothing as he set the six-pack on the kitchenette’s counter, taking four of the bottles out to put in the refrigerator, then opening the remaining two. He was fussily folding the cardboard container, and Wrench watched as he tucked it between the backsplash and the microwave, the action so practiced he would have known just from that how much time Po’Boy spent here, in New Orleans, where few people knew him.

  Testing the waters, Wrench walked to stand beside Po’Boy, accepting the bottle slid across the counter to him, cupping the cold glass with his fingers. Po’Boy stood, stared at the blank cabinet door as he mechanically lifted his beer and took a deep drink. Quietly, Wrench asked, “What’s going on in your head?”

  “Trying to figure out how this is going to end up.” Po’Boy’s words dropped into the air between them with a bleak finality, as if whatever they were doing had an inevitable bad end. “I figure if I can map out the ways I can fuck something up, I can at least avoid those.” He lifted the beer and drank, muscles in his jaw moving with each swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, the cords on his neck stood out briefly, highlighting the hollow of his throat. “This place—” He tilted his head, looking at Wrench from the corner of his eye as he gestured around them. “—has been my sanity for a while now. There’s a fetish club in the penthouse. That’s why I got the place, figured easy access would help me find what I wanted. Then it just was a place I could come without dealing with all the bullshit it’d bring down on me back across the causeway.” His cheek lifted in a grimace as his eye narrowed, the corner of his mouth curling down. “I always kept shit separate. Never wanted to break the rules, man.”

  “Why are you now?” Wrench shifted, leaning against the countertop, cro
ssing his arms while still holding the beer, the cold and wet of the bottle surprising him when it hit his bare arm. “Why’d you open the door, Lewis?” He used the name intentionally, knowing any regret or misgiving Po’Boy had were tied up in the clubs and members. “I’ve been wondering.”

  Lewis turned to face him, fingers sliding the empty bottle away from the edge of the countertop. They were standing close, less distance between them than might be comfortable in public, but it wasn’t close enough for Ty. Unfolding his arms, he reached out, losing his confidence at the last minute, letting his hand dangle at his side. Lewis smiled, the teasing expression spreading slowly across his face and he took the bottle from Ty’s other hand, lifting it to his mouth and draining it. Letting it clatter to the countertop, he finally responded to Ty’s question. “I don’t rightly know, but I know I wanna. There’s something…just something different here, you know?”

  Ty dipped his chin in agreement. “What happens…what do you…how do you know what…?” He shook his head in frustration. “Behind closed doors, right?” He’d meant to imply they depended on each other to keep the secrets they had to hold close. “But how did you know I’d…?” His voice wavered because he didn’t know what he’d be willing to do anymore. Every single thing they’d done so far had been out of this world hot, but everything had also been outside his range of experience. The idea Lewis had been confident enough to approach him was boggling. “I’d never expected to be here.”

  Lewis took a step, then another one, erasing the small distance between them, stopping only when his firm chest brushed against Ty’s pecs. Firm, not soft. Steel wrapped in strength.

  Ty felt disoriented, lightheaded, as if he’d been playing with fire and narrowly escaped being burned. Dizzy, he closed his eyes for a moment then reached out to find something to hold to, and his hand encountered Lewis. Fingers sliding along his hip, Ty gripped and held tight, digging in.

  The scent drifting to his nose warned him, musky and clean, not filled with oil and gasoline residue. It smelled like Lewis had showered off the stink of the road before coming to the bar, and Ty wondered at the preparation. Was that a way of setting aside his club persona? Should I have…done something? Distracted by his thoughts, Ty startled when he felt the heat radiating from Lewis against the skin of his cheek, his neck, his arm. Strands of hair brushed across his face, that the only contact between them for the longest time, seconds stretching as if in a wormhole.

  Everything snapped back into focus when Lewis nuzzled against his neck, for an instant the rough scrape of his short beard as startling as it had been the first time, but now a known touch. Known and desired, and Ty found his fingers gripping tighter, winding into the belt loop at Lewis’ waist. A hot mouth tugged at his earlobe, then teased Ty with a sharp bite immediately soothed by gentle sucking. Lewis’ hand landed on his arm just above his elbow, fingers digging in fiercely, pulling them even closer so Ty felt the first touch of Lewis’ erection against his hip.

  God, I missed this, he thought, angling his chin so Lewis could kiss along his jawbone. How can I miss something I never had? He shook his head, dislodging the thought, and Lewis chuckled, deep and rasping in his throat as he said, “I don’t know what happens, Ty. I just wanna fuckin’ feel for a while. You make my head quiet when it’s fuckin’ loud all the time. Help me find the quiet?”

  He felt Lewis’ lips moving against the skin on his neck. Then Lewis’ hair was back in his face, teeth gripping firmly at the top of his shoulder. Lewis’ hand slipped down his arm to his side, then around to the small of Ty’s back, pulling him closer. A clever flick of Lewis’ fingers earned entrance underneath Ty’s shirt, and then a hard hand had slid into the back of Ty’s pants, beneath his briefs to palm his ass, gripping and tugging him forwards, the pressure against his erection exactly what he needed. He pumped once, then a second time against Lewis’ crotch, spreading his feet wider and not giving a shit if things were lining up because he just needed another couple of moments of this and he’d come.

  Lewis shoved his hand down further, his fingers curling under Ty’s ass, sliding in until fingertips were stroking his balls. Ty groaned when they tightened in response to the caress and let his head drop forwards, twisting and pressing close as he sought access to Lewis’ skin. His mouth skidded along Lewis’ neck and Ty bit firmly, his other hand lifting so he could grip Lewis’ arm. He breathed a quiet warning, “Gonna come.”

  “Fuck yeah, gonna get you off, Ty.” Once the silence was broken, Lewis seemed to gain momentum, and from that moment his voice flowed over Ty, pulling him along as it always did, his filthy words exactly what Ty wanted. “Gonna get you to blow so hard. Bust a nut for me, gonna blow the top of your head off, man.” Lewis moved, one leg slipping between Ty’s, and he ground firmly, pulling Ty’s ass cheeks apart with the strength of his grip. “Your dick’s so fuckin’ hot. Feel it through my jeans. Scorchin’, like you.” Ty’s hips moved again, and he felt his orgasm building.

  “Fuck,” Ty gritted, turning his head to look down between them, the tented evidence of Lewis’ arousal appearing as he pulled back. Ty watched as their bodies crashed together again, the rough fabric of their jeans making a hissing sound as the material moved with them.

  “Want my mouth on you. I’m a greedy bastard.” Together, apart, sliding up and down Lewis’ leg, he watched, the sensation of rubbing against Lewis amplified by the visual. “Gimme your goddamned fuckin’ mouth.” Hard fingers tightened in his hair, and Lewis lifted his head with a strength Ty couldn’t fight, covering Ty’s mouth with his own. Perfectly timed with the thrusts of their hips, he stroked into Ty’s mouth, teasing his tongue until Ty was drowning in sensation. Ty flicked his tongue in response to a playful lick, their gasped breaths mingling, Lewis’ mumbled words vibrating against his lips.

  Lewis’ grip was certain, and Ty fought only a moment before he gave himself over to the feeling of being controlled, held, his mouth fucked hard. Fluid wept from the tip of his cock as Lewis’ grip on his ass shifted, fingers wedged in the cleft of his ass holding him close, fingertips glancing across his hole raising sparks of sensation. More a rubbing than a thrusting now, he ground against Lewis’ leg, grunting deep in his throat when he came, the swiftness of it overtaking him in an instant. Ripping his hair free from Lewis’ grip to break the kiss, he pressed his forehead to Lewis’ throat, the pulsing heat from his cock all consuming, thrumming through him.

  They stood like that for a moment, the sound of Ty’s harsh, panted breaths filling the air. Slowly, Lewis untangled them, giving Ty’s ass a final squeeze as he slid his hand up and out. Chill settled in all along Ty’s front, accentuating in his mind how hot Lewis had felt against him. With a shaking hand, he picked up his beer, forgetting Lewis had drained it, laughing awkwardly when the tilted bottle failed to deliver more than a drop or two. “Can I shower?” he asked, abruptly feeling uncomfortably sticky from the semen soaking into his underwear.

  When Lewis didn’t answer, he glanced up to see the other man looking steadily at him. Without a word, Lewis turned and walked towards the bathroom and disappeared inside. A moment later he heard water running, and a now shirtless Lewis appeared in the doorway, gesturing impatiently at him with a wave of curled fingers. “’Mere,” Lewis called, then turned and disappeared again.

  ***

  Po’Boy

  Lewis grinned at the reflection of himself in the bathroom mirror, pausing to admire his physique for a moment. No wonder the guy looked stunned, he thought, flexing to watch his muscles bunch and slide. He felt the smile fade from his lips as he stood there alone longer than expected. Ty hadn’t followed him. Fuck. Too far, too fast. An uncertain Ty was a freaked-out Ty, and that wasn’t what Lewis wanted. Not at all.

  Discarding his vague idea of showering with Ty, Lewis adjusted the heat of the water again, nodding with satisfaction when hot steam started rolling out of the enclosure. He left the bathroom to find Ty still standing in the same spot, frozen in place. Fuck.
As casually as he could, Lewis strode to the dresser and pulled out another clean shirt, yanking it over his head. His actions seemed to pull Ty out of his thoughts, and he spoke, his words quiet. “You’re not…?” Ty made a vague gesture towards the bathroom, where steam had begun to wisp out the top of the door.

  “I ain’t eat yet.” Lewis deliberately used the cadence and tone he would if he were north of the lake, slipping into the dialect as comfortably as an old pair of jeans. “Figured you ain’t either. Gonna hit the bar, get us somethin’ for supper.” He let his voice dip to a lower range. “Crissy’ll be here soon.” He grinned, aiming for a leer and figuring he hit the mark when Ty grinned back. “Gotta keep up my strength.” With a gesture towards the bathroom, Lewis said, “Go. Shower. We’re of a size, and I got shit here.” He thumbed over his shoulder at the dresser. “Extra key to the suite is in the top right drawer if you need to step out for somethin’. I’ll be back in thirty, mebbe forty-five minutes. Take your time, man. It’s all good.”

  He pulled the door closed behind him, leaning back on it for a moment while he blew out an unsteady breath. For a moment there, it seemed things were riding the edge of disaster, no matter Ty had shown up early, and forget the fact the man had been openly jealous of Truman. The idea they’d had a moment like that one with just the two of them had nearly sent Ty’s barely-bi ass back to straight town.

  Seated on a stool at the bar, order placed, he pulled out his phone to call Crissy, seeing she’d texted him earlier. On my way! It had been followed by a series of repeated eggplant emoji, and he snorted a laugh. Our Crissy’s got a little raunch in her. He tapped out, Come to the bar, and set the phone face down on the bar in front of him, reaching out to pull the glass of beer closer.

  Eyes on the TV over the cash register, he didn’t pay attention when the back door opened and jerked in surprise when the stool next to him scraped back. Crissy’s jeans-clad ass settled on the cushion, and she leaned close, pressing her cheek against his shoulder before sitting back upright. “Hey,” she greeted him, her voice soft and affectionate as she reached for his nearly empty glass. She drained the rest of his beer, flicking a finger at Truman as she set the glass back on the bar.