His bedmate’s eyes peeled open, fixing on him in the dark.
“What are you doing?”
Marc froze, his cock still in his hand, as Ash’s expression hardened. The man’s gaze moved from him to the river of semen running down that body, which only a moment ago had been so responsive to Marc’s touch.
“Nothin’,” he answered. “I’m not doin’ anything.”
“Like hell it’s nothin’,” Ash shot back. “What did you do to me?”
“You…it seemed like you wanted it. You told me not to stop.”
“Like fuck!”
“You did. I heard you!”
“I was dreamin’, you freak!”
Marc sat perfectly still, just focusing on his breath as he returned Ash’s stare. He knew this was bullshit. Ash hadn’t been asleep. He’d known exactly what he was doing. He’d wanted it. But what could he do now? Call Ash a liar? Hell, the spray of cum across the guy’s stomach was doing a fine job of that already.
“Yeah? Looks to me like it was a pretty good dream.”
Ash was up from the mattress like a daemon, shoving Marc hard in the chest and sending him sprawling across the floor. “What’s that supposed to mean, faggot?”
Marc stared at the man who’d been nothing but inviting charm and sex up until now. In total control, tempting others with his handsome face, beautiful body, and cock. Now, exposed and humiliated, he was royally pissed off.
“Answer me!”
Marc swallowed his fear, resting a hand on his gym bag, still packed with all his stuff. “Go to hell.” He snatched it up, along with the few clothes he’d left around the apartment. Ash’s firm hand suddenly gripped his shoulder, pulling him back and shoving him up against the front door. He winced as Ash pressed his strong forearm into Marc’s chest.
“Answer me, cocksucker!”
A dozen or more answers crossed Marc’s mind. Ash had liked it. Pushed harder when he could easily have pulled back. He’d draped himself over Marc all night…Fuck! Ash had pushed down the sheet. He’d wanted it, and Marc had provided. End of fucking discussion. Still, he knew he had to choose his words carefully.
“What were you dreamin’ about?”
“What?”
“I said, ‘what were you dreamin’ about?’”
Confusion crossed into Ash’s frown as the strength in his arms wavered. For a moment, they just stood, staring at one another, breathing heavily, until Ash let him go, turning his back and stalking off.
“Fuck!!!” Ash brought his fists down hard on the flag-draped table.
Marc quickly found his jockstrap in the pile of clothes he’d been able to salvage and slipped it on. Gay, bi, or gay for pay, what the hell did it matter? The guy was fucking nuts.
“I’m sorry,” Ash said.
For a moment, Marc just stared at the naked figure, still heaving with each breath in the moonlight. The voice had been Ash’s, but unlike Marc had ever heard it. Quiet and uncertain, asking forgiveness instead of just throwing out an empty apology and expecting it.
“What?”
“I said, I’m sorry.” A hint of anger had returned to Ash’s tone, but Marc couldn’t say whether it was directed at him or something else. “I just get...confused sometimes.”
“You’re confused?” Marc challenged, staring at the cum-covered jock. He tensed as Ash squared his shoulders again, his fists clenching. But nothing followed. Instead, Ash picked up a t-shirt and wiped the seed from his body before tossing it aside.
“Do you want water or anything?” Ash asked, his voice still quiet.
Marc shook his head, watching as Ash headed for the kitchen without waiting for his answer. He knew he should leave. Knew he should grab the rest of his shit, shut the door behind him and not look back. No. Forget his shit. He had to go. He couldn’t give Ash another chance to freak out on him like that. He even had his hand on the goddamn door handle.
The thing wouldn’t budge. He’d locked it. The goddamn psycho had locked him in!
“Marc? I said, you want anything?”
Yeah, the key, asshole! He couldn’t say it aloud. His voice had seized up. He grimaced as the cold from the door handle seemed to invade his hand, passing through his knuckles and through his wrist, finally wrapping itself around his forearm where it stayed like an icy ring pressing into his soft, pale flesh. If Ash was saying anything now, he couldn’t make it out. What the fuck was this? The cold…like a ring of fog had pressed around his arm. It was starting to hurt.
“Marc?”
He startled, turning back to see Ash sipping a glass of water, holding another out to him. He took it, not realising until he was gulping it down that the cold pressure was gone.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I guess,” he murmured, finishing the water.
“I…I’m real sorry, man.”
“Yeah, you said.”
“No, I mean I’m sorry for lyin’.”
“Lyin’?”
“I…I wasn’t asleep, all right? That what you wanna hear?”
“Whatever, man,” Marc scoffed, picking up one of his t-shirts and slipping it over his head. “I should just go.”
“No, I don’t mean…shit.”
“Hey, will you just unlock the door? I don’t think this is gonna work out. I’ll find my own place.”
Ash frowned at him, confused. “Unlock the...What do you mean, unlock it? Just turn the knob, man.”
“It won’t move. Look, this ain’t funny, all right?”
“I ain’t tryin’ to be funny,” Ash spat back, grabbing the door handle and turning it effortlessly, letting the light stream in onto his pale, naked chest. He grabbed the outside handle and jigged it a few times, just to prove his point. “See? Locks automatic on the outside, never on the inside. Nice and easy. I thought I showed you that?”
“No, you didn’t, and it wasn’t movin’ just now, damn it.”
“Well, then you were movin’ it wrong, because it works just fine.”
Marc grabbed his bag, gripping it so tight he felt his fingernails against the flesh of his palm. Damn it. It had been locked. He knew it. Ash had pulled some sly shit to make him feel a fool.
“Marc?” His voice was quiet quiet enough to make Marc pause his packing. “Did you hear what I said?”
“Yeah, I heard you, it’s not fuckin’ locked.”
“Not that! About lyin’ to you, about bein’ asleep. I knew what you were doin’. I shouldn’t have pushed you. That was not worthy, Marky. I’m sorry.”
“Okay,” Marc muttered, picking up his bag, still full with most of his clothes. “Fine, whatever. Apology accepted. I shouldn’t have… Maybe I just got you mixed up. Look, this isn’t a good idea. You’re gay for pay. I get it. I’m gonna go.”
“No, stay, damn it.” Ash interrupted, shutting the door with a loud bang. “Jesus, what’ve I gotta do? Spell it out? I liked it, man. I liked it.”
Marc swallowed his nerves once more, gripping his bag tight as Ash sauntered over to him, not the same way he had at the club but just as seductive. Marc couldn’t help but drink in Ash’s face as he stopped just inches away from the light that shone off that golden hair, to those bright blue eyes, the sharp cheekbones and jawline, all the way down that lean body to the perfectly shaped cock that hung a good seven or eight inches beneath a soft thatch of blond hair. He barely felt Ash’s hand on his shoulder.
“Look, man, if you want to fool around, just keep it our secret, all right?”
Marc scoffed, then instantly tensed as he noticed the flare of Ash’s annoyance.
“All right, all right. You don’t have to if you don’t want it. I just... hell, I don’t want you to go.”
He focused on Ash’s eyes, determined to find the hidden agenda. The lie of a pretty Quarter hustler who a few hours earlier had sworn his flirting and fooling around had meant nothing. But then, weren’t those same words on the table now? Fooling around?
It sure hadn’t felt like fooling around whe
n Ash had slammed into him.
“I need you, man. I need a roomie and maybe a guy I can trust with certain things.”
Marc tried to ignore the brush of Ash’s fingers as they lifted his shirt. He failed, or his cock did at least, rising with the same attentiveness it had shown Ash all night.
“You need somebody to show you the ropes. Help you out with dancin’. Hell, do you know this town at all?”
He shook his head. That was one question he had a sure answer for.
Putting his other hand on Marc’s shoulders, Ash finally smiled. “Tell you what. You stay here tonight. You still wanna go tomorrow? I ain’t gonna stop you.”
He couldn’t find the lie or deception he’d been looking for in Ash’s eyes. He couldn’t exactly say why he still wasn’t freaked out as hell, or why he dropped his bag and put his hands around Ash’s waist, letting his forehead rest against his roomie’s just for a minute. But what the guy said made some sense. He couldn’t just go running off into the night. Besides, Ash had explained what had happened. So, neither of them were quite as gay for pay as they’d said. So what? And there was something almost familiar about the way Ash smiled at him. He didn’t trust the guy. Didn’t even like him in a lot of ways. But he felt like he understood him. Something in the two of them connected, and, hell, Ash had a point about how much they needed each other, at least for the time being. At least for tonight.
Marc eased himself out of Ash’s grasp and nodded.
Ash’s grin grew wider as he backed off toward the mattress. “Well, great. Then come back to bed, you crazy fuck. I got you a shift on the bar tomorrow.”
He almost laughed. No, he didn’t know what had compelled him to stay. But as he pulled the sheet up once more, listening to Ash’s steady breath, not daring to touch the man again for fear of pushing his good luck, he barely noticed the weird ring that had bruised up so nice on his forearm. Right where he’d felt the cold pressure before. He guessed what the folks back home had told him was true. For better or worse, New Orleans changed people, in ways they couldn’t begin to expect.
KYLE
“Yeah, you’ll do fine. Get down here.” The grizzled looking guy behind the bar tossed a dishcloth into the sink.
With a nervous swallow he hoped wasn’t too obvious, Kyle lowered himself and nimbly hopped down off the bar, landing between two bar stools.
“And don’t let me catch you doing that shit either. Bars get wet, smart guy. They get slippery.” He pointed at the end of the semi-circular bar, which ended at both ends in a short flight of steps to the bar floor. “Stairs up, stairs down. No exceptions. We ain’t offerin’ insurance here.”
“Got it. Sorry.”
“All right, all right. So like I told you, it’s twenty bucks a night to cover your space. Best to see it like you don’t work for us. You work for yourself. Keep track of your tips and report ‘em at the end of your shift. Don’t worry, they’re yours to keep over and above your twenty. Boss just likes to know what’s pouring through the place, that’s all.”
“Umm, sure. I guess that’s okay.”
“All right, cool. And if one of these guys wants to take you out of here? Two rules. One, you do not leave before your shift’s done without asking me, and it’s no sure thing we can let you go. We got a timetable here. Second, and most important, if somebody takes you out? We don’t know nothin’ about it. What you do, what you charge, or what trouble you get into once you go out that door is not our problem. Understood?”
“Hey, woah. I…I ain’t into that. I mean, they don’t expect, like…I’m just here to dance, you know?”
“Yeah, yeah, calm yourself down. Dancing’s all we need you to do. You’ll get the hang of it. When can you start?”
A short blond guy with a deep, muscle-packed tan pushed past, clipping Kyle in the shoulder with a gym bag.
“Later, Dan,” the guy said, handing over a piece of paper.
“Goodnight,” the bartender said, running his eyes over it. His brow darkened. “Hey, wait a second.”
The muscle dude yawned, stretching out a pair of biceps that bulged from an olive-green polo shirt before cracking his neck to both sides. Standing there in just his briefs and trainers, rubbing the shoulders he’d once thought to be pretty athletic for a guy of his build, Kyle suddenly felt as skinny as a seven-year-old.
“Alex, you holding out on me again?”
The muscled guy lifted his arms in a wide shrug as he backed toward the door. “Man, you want ’em to tip more, you get ’em drinkin’ more. Ain’t exactly rocket science.”
“Yeah, yeah,” the barkeep muttered. “Get out of here.”
Kyle waited for the guy to leave before piping up again. “You want me to dance on the bar next to that.”
The barkeep shrugged. “Up to you, kid. Got a slot open tomorrow night if you want it.”
“Uh…” Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Could he really do this? He could dance, sort of. But what about the rest? What about when a dance wasn’t enough? The stuff the bar didn’t want to know about? Even if Antoine didn’t freak out about him dancing, he’d sure as fuck—
“Hello?” The bartender snapped his fingers twice in Kyle’s face. “Tomorrow. Mañana. You in or out?”
“Yeah…yeah, I’m in.” Fuck it. He needed cash, and he needed it soon. “Like, eight?”
“Hah! That’s cute, farm boy. You play up that shtick, and you’ll do all right. No, dumb ass. Eleven ‘til three. Peak time on a weekend. I got some of the better guys on then, so you can see what they do. You’ll do fine. Now get dressed and get out of here. I got to close up.”
Kyle scooped his jeans up off the floor and slid into them before slipping his t-shirt on, relieved to no longer be so exposed as another one of the dancers emerged from the red curtain at the back carrying a small paper.
“See ya, Dan,” the guy called, tossing his paper on the bar.
“Jesus, are you still here?”
“Awww, you know y’always miss me.”
“Sure, sure. Fuck off.”
The guy’s voice was far too familiar, but it wasn’t until the dancer was staring him in the face that Kyle recognized him as the guy who had tried to pick him up in the bar with Antoine. The dirty blond hair, the delicate lines of his nose and jaw, the high cheekbones which belied the misshapen top tooth that emphasized the guy’s cocky grin.
“Well, will you look who it is?”
“Jesus Christ,” Kyle muttered.
“Hey, don’t be like that.”
“You ladies want to take it the fuck out of my bar?” the bartender snapped. “Go on, get.”
Kyle left, not saying a word, trying to ignore the asshole following way too close behind. His temper lasted almost a full block before he turned. “Why you followin’ me now?”
“Just my way home, princess.”
“Well, fuck that. Go some other way or the other side of the street or somethin’.”
“I might have told you the same thing. Though I was gonna say it nicer.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
The blond guy shook his head, taking out a cigarette and lighting it before offering the pack to Kyle, who waved it away. “Three thirty in the a.m.? Ain’t nobody but you and me on the street, and you’re just strollin’ along, all these cars parked along the curb.”
“So?”
“So, you want to be walkin’ on the other side of the street where nobody’s parked. That way, no son of a bitch hidin’ behind a bumper is gonna jump out in your face and—” he drove his fist into his palm so fast, Kyle jumped.
Kyle glanced at the other side of the street. Well lit. No cars. He could see the guy’s point. “Why are you telling me this?”
He shrugged, muscles flexing in his thin, wiry shoulders under the flimsy white cotton of his tank top. “You seem like a nice enough guy. When I saw you at Oz that time—”
“What? What about that time?”
The guy’s mouth split into that same grin ag
ain. “Got a short fuse there, don’t ya?”
“Thanks for the tip,” Kyle huffed, quickly scanning the street before stepping out between the cars to cross.
“All right, all right,” the guy said, grabbing hold of his hand. It was a lot softer and dryer than Kyle had expected. Maybe it was the humidity or just the guy’s smarmy attitude, but he’d expected it to be damp and clammy somehow. “I was an asshole that night. But don’t go gettin’ mad about it. That other guy was kinda cute. Maybe I was a bit jealous.”
“You called him a goddamn nigger.”
“Not to his face.”
“What the fuck difference does that make?”
“All right, all right. You’re right.” He let out a long, silent breath through his teeth, raising his hands in open, symbolic surrender. “That was not worthy. If he’s your friend, I’m sorry, all right? I. Apologize.”
The gesture just pissed Kyle off all the more. “Thanks for the tip,” he muttered again, not caring if the idiot heard. He’d reached the opposite curb before the guy spoke again.
“I saw you dance.”
“What’s that?” he asked over his shoulder.
“I said, I saw you dance.”
“Yeah? Great. You can give me a dollar.”
“Don’t imagine I’ll be doin’ that. Don’t imagine hardly anybody will.”
Kyle felt his fists clench. This guy…
He was across the road before he could gather his thoughts. Was he looking to get laid out? Kyle might have taken a swing already if…goddamn it, he was hard. Why the fuck was he hard? The guy was smiling at him now, almost seeming embarrassed as he glanced down, dimples deepening, the stronger lights only emphasizing his high cheekbones. When he looked Kyle in the eye again, the smile seemed almost sincere.
“You’re way too tense up there, man.”
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