by Wade Lake
Feels like shaking hands with a bear trap.
Mack works with wrenches and pipe cutters every day, so he feels compelled to match Jim's grip … and up it incrementally.
Jim must feel it, but his smile doesn't skew.
Their handshake lasts twice as long as Jim and Chase's before Jim finally disengages.
“You’ve quite a grip,” Jim compliments Mack.
“You, too,” Mack nods.
“Not like yours—you must have lived a very lonely life.”
What the fuck? Mack doesn’t say it, but he thinks it.
"And this is your … boyfriend?" Chase jumps in, smiling kindly at the younger neighbor.
"Husband," Jim corrects. "His name is Jeremy."
"Good to meet you, Jeremy."
"I'm Jeremy," Jeremy says.
"We're married, too," Mack says, pointing to himself and Chase. "Four years and change now."
"This is where you invite us inside," Jim says.
"Oh, absolutely," Chase says, stepping aside and sweeping them in with a broad gesture. "Don't judge us," he adds. "There's potential in this place, but potential's 'bout all we got at the moment."
"I wouldn't dream of judging," the older neighbor says. "Not this early in the relationship."
"I'll give you the tour," Chase volunteers.
Jim eyes the pyramid of boxes. "I'd like that, but not today. A peek is good enough." He leans his weight on one foot and bounces slightly. "Floorboards are paper thin. You'll have to replace them."
"Not high on our to-do list," Mack says.
"I understand the old wood makes these places cozy," Jim says, "but these houses weren't built to last a hundred years."
"Actually," Mack disagrees, "this place was built well. Really well. I made sure of that before we bought."
"Yeah?" Jim says.
"Yeah," Mack says. Awkward. He lets the moment hang a couple seconds before continuing. "I work on a lot of remodels—floors aren't my thing, but I know the basics, I can spot good wood."
"Something we have in common," Jim says.
Mack grins politely and glances sideways at Chase. He's fairly sure their neighbor just made a penis joke. Is this middle school?
"You're right," Chase agrees. He's speaking to Jim, not Mack. "Ideally, I'd like to replace the floors with old Cyprus," Chase says.
"Ideally," Jim says, "but good luck finding it at a price you can afford—I don't mean to assume anything, but if you boys had the means to buy Cyprus, you wouldn't have burdened yourself with this project. I could be wrong." He steps around Mack into the adjacent room. "What shape is the kitchen in? Oh dear."
Mack grabs his shoe and follows Jim into the kitchen.
Chase and Jeremy follow close behind.
“Now in here,” Mack says, setting the egg basket on the laminate countertop. "Now in here, there is a lot of work to do.”
"Nothing's going to be up to code," Jim says. "You buy this place as-is? That takes twenty percent down. I hope you didn't blow all your cash on a down payment."
Is he trying to establish our net worth on the first visit? Forcing himself to maintain a pleasant smile, Mack says, "Chase is a licensed electrician. He's gonna rewire the place. And he's got connections with all the contractors in town. Everybody's happy to work with him on trade."
Jim's eyes drop to Chase's crotch. "I bet they are."
Mack's jaw drops.
Chase speaks up. "We've already got good deals lined up on cabinets and appliances."
"What kind of cabinets you thinking?"
"White oak," Chase says.
"Mmm." Jim looks disappointed.
"Rift sawn, of course,” Chase says. “Custom swing-out pantries. Copper hardware."
"Nice."
"We're looking forward to doing most of the work ourselves," Mack says.
"Not everybody can do that."
"Chase has skills," Mack says, and immediately wishes he hadn't. He avoids looking at Jim, certain there's a sophomoric grin budding on the man's lips. "Plus," Mack adds quickly, "I'm an independent plumber—you probably figured that out from my truck."
"I did," Jim says, waiting for Mack to look back at him before he adds, "I'm hoping you aren't planning on leaving that thing parked like that."
"Like what?"
"On the curb with signage visible. It feels like advertising, which isn't what people want to see when they look out their windows. The Tremé isn’t what it used to be—if you know what I mean?”
Wow. Mack knows what Jim means. And he’s not sure how to react.
“Just a suggestion. I’m sure most of your neighbors would appreciate it if you find someplace else to park it.”
Mack's squeezes his fists. There's literally no place to park except the curb.
"We were just about to make breakfast," Chase jumps in with the rescue. "These eggs will be perfect."
"We get them at the farmer's market on Tulane Square," Jim says and turns his whole body toward Chase so that Mack is left looking at his backside. "A young widower named George brings them every Tuesday. His hens eat nothing but crawfish and minnows, so the eggs have a fishy taste. But they're healthy."
"George is pretty," Jeremy says. It's the first thing the younger man has said since entering the house.
"That he is," Jim chuckles. "Pretty and clueless. I pay him in cash, and when he gives change, he presses the coins, one at a time, into my palm, and it feels far more intimate than he intends. Sometimes I ask him for a quarter's worth in pennies. By the time he's done, my whole hand is thoroughly satisfied."
Mack scowls visibly this time, but no one is looking. He works his way around Jim and Chase to the kitchen sink. He has to hide his face for a moment. This is not someone he wants in his house. Busying himself, he grabs the coffeepot out of a box on the counter and plugs it in. In the same box, he finds filters, mugs, a bottle of Fireball, and a bulk-size bag of ground coffee beans. Behind him, Chase and the neighbors are talking about light fixtures now. Mack holds the coffee carafe beneath the faucet and turns the cold-water knob—
A rush of whispers fills the glass carafe.
Mack quickly turns off the water. Looks over his shoulder at Chase. "Did anyone … " he says quietly, "anyone else hear that?"
"What?" Chase asks.
Mack doesn't answer for a second. Finally, he says, "Did anyone else … want coffee?"
"I don't drink coffee," Jim says.
"I don't drink coffee," Jeremy says.
Chase glances at the box with the coffeepot and mugs. "Think I’ll just have a milk punch.”
“We got no milk.”
“That’s alright,” Chase says, grabbing the bottle of Fireball. “I prefer the punch,” He gives Mack a wink and, with that, he leads the neighbors outside to show them the storm shutters. He must have sensed Mack needs some space.
When they're gone, Mack turns the water back on.
He hears it again.
Words. Definitely words. Soft … secretive … overpowered by the sloshing water. Mack leans over the sink to hear better, but the carafe is full now. He turns off the faucet, pours the water through the coffeemaker, and inserts the carafe beneath the filter cup without loading the coffee beans.
He watches as the hot water drip drip drips into the carafe.
He thinks about it for a full minute before he does it; and he he glances out the window first to make sure Chase and the neighbors aren't on their way back in. Now he turns the water back on. Both knobs. Full blast. He opens the cabinet doors beneath the sink, crouches, ducks his head into the dark space. He could use a flashlight but doesn't have time to go to retrieve one.
He's already inspected these pipes—all the pipes—before he bought the house. They were old, but no leaks. No signs of leaks in the recent past. There are two shutoff valves to the kitchen water supply under here. He places a hand on each valve. One is warm, one is cool. The tremor in both grips tickles his fingers. Sounds like a high-pitched giggle. "What are
you trying to tell me?" Mack asks softly.
"He's going to cheat."
"Fuck you,” Mack replies and hastily pulls himself out from under the sink.
He feels like a fool.
What would Chase think if he knew Mack was having these doubts about their relationship? It would break his heart.
Mack will never forget the first time he saw Chase genuinely sad—a painful-to-watch, hopeless kind of sad. It was New Year's Eve, nearing midnight, and they were alone with ten thousand strangers on Frenchmen Street. There was a clown convention in town for the holiday, and it seemed half the crowd was wearing giant shoes and a round red nose.
Chase had been fired from a job that afternoon, which happens occasionally to tradesmen on public projects. There's a lot of nepotism in construction. If your team is let go, it isn’t necessarily a gesture of disrespect. But Chase was taking it as a personal insult. His primary concern seemed to be Mack, or rather, whether his sudden unemployment would change Mack’s view of their relationship.
They had been living together for two months at that point. They were a solid couple. Inseparable. Chase often said the only relationship worth pursuing was a partnership. Mack agreed, and that’s what they were building. Chase often criticized Mack's friends—particularly those in a relationship where one partner didn't appear to pull his or her own weight. On this New Year’s Eve, his critical nature had no target except himself. Suddenly jobless, he worried how could he possibly pull his own weight. He seemed gravely concerned that Mack would think of him as a failure, a man who starts the new year with nowhere to go. When Mack assured him that it changed nothing, that he loved him, employed or unemployed, Chase assured Mack that he’d have another job by the end of the week—end of the month at the latest. Chase didn’t want pity. He said that over and over. The more he drank, the more frequently he said it. It pained Mack to watch Chase become so self-conscious.
To make matters worse, when Chase dug into his pocket to pay his bar tab, his wallet was missing!
The crowd in the bar that night stood shoulder-to-shoulder, perfect for pickpockets. Confused and panicking, Chase began searching the dance floor. Desperate, he dropped to his hands and knees and began crawling between patrons’ legs. He pushed his way over and around the obstacle course of floppy, jumbo-sized clown shoes. “I can pay our tab!” Mack shouted, following behind him. Chase absolutely refused. He assured Mack that he’d had his wallet with him when they left the apartment; he didn't leave it behind on purpose. Mack assured him it didn’t matter, this wasn’t a problem.
The fleur-de-lis on the big screen began dropping. The band began counting down from ten. The crowd joined in. The New Year began. A hundred clown couples kissed, squeezed horns, and threw confetti. Chase sat down on the floor and began sobbing. Mack sat down beside him and held him tightly.
They made love that night on the bed they shared in their second-floor apartment near Washington Square. When Chase was about to cum, his jaw clenched, and he stopped breathing. Mack stared up at him and imagined the whole city holding its breath. It seemed to go on for minutes. The whole of New Orleans in absolute silence. Mack remembers thinking late-night revelers from Tulane to The Marigny might collectively pass out if Chase didn't take a breath soon. Finally, as if to resuscitate the city, someone below their window squeezed a horn. Honk-honk. With a gulp of air, Chase came back to life. He pulled out and grabbed the base of his cock with both hands. His jaw fell open, his back arched, and for twenty seconds, heavy jets of semen pounded the headboard.
8
Once the neighbors finally leave, there’s no time to go out for breakfast. Mack and Chase cook up the eggs, which taste terrible, and spend the rest of the morning unpacking boxes.
Come lunchtime, Chase decides to run out to pick up burgers. “Come with me,” he tells Mack. “I’ll let you blow me in the drive through.”
“It’s tempting. Very tempting,” Mack says. “But I need to finish scrubbing down the kitchen while I still got a bucket of hot water. Maybe they can play around after lunch?”
“Maybe,” Chase says on his way out the door.
Mack quickly finishes mopping the kitchen’s laminate tile floor, and even has time to organize the cabinet shelves before Chase returns.
They eat the burgers in the living room but continue working as they eat. Mack hands Chase books from deep boxes, and Chase loads them up on the built-in bookshelves. Most of the books belong to Chase. He’s been reading a lot lately. Mostly trash, as far as Mack can tell. Men-for-men erotica and detective stories. That began when they got rid of their cable and streaming services. They were cutting corners to add to their down payment. At first, getting rid of TV was a money saver. But Chase goes through a lot of books. Mack downloaded an eReader app to Chase’s phone because Mack heard you can get digital books for free, but Chase won’t use it. He says electric books are bad for people like himself. People with sensitive brains. He can only read “real” books. Mack likes to follow Chase around through used bookstores—there’s some good ones in town—but Mack doesn’t read much, himself. He wants to someday, but … not this year.
After they load the bookshelves, they scrub the windows, inside and out. It’s pleasant work, and they smile at each other a lot through the glass.
For dinner, Chase runs out for burgers again. It doesn’t take him as long this time, and the burgers are warmer, but Mack doesn’t much like burgers. Plus, if they stick to their food budget, they’re now done with eating out for the month. Chase says it doesn’t count, though, because, even though they didn’t make the burgers themselves, they ate them at home. Technically, it wasn’t eating out.
That evening, Mack decides to sleep on the bed rather than his sleeping bag—the box fan has been running all day, and the mattress isn't too damp now—but Chase elects to remain on the couch.
✽✽✽
The next day is a workday, and a pattern is developing: They labor at their regular jobs all day, come home with burgers in a take-out bag, unpack boxes until midnight, and sleep in separate rooms.
Mack hates sleeping alone. He's not getting much actual sleep. He just lies there most of the night. Chase seems content on the couch.
On their fourth night in their new house, Mack can't take it anymore. He can't sleep alone another night. He catches Chase on his way to the couch and assures him the mattress is now dry. "Lay down on it, see for yourself."
A groove forms across Chase's forehead, revealing his skepticism.
"Please," Mack says.
Reluctantly, Chase pulls up the top sheet and climbs onto the bed, He lies there stiffly for a few seconds … finally, he sits up, pulls off his t-shirt so he can better detect any moisture, and lies back again, alert for any raindrops still working their way to the surface.
Mack holds his breath.
He knows the bed is dry.
But he knows Chase.
Knows that it isn't really about whether it's dry, it's whether Chase is willing to admit it's dry. That's something Mack has to accept. Something he had to accept years ago. There's no convincing Chase of something by pummeling him with facts. It's always a matter of choosing the right moment—a moment that will allow him to change his opinion without changing his argument.
Chase lies there for a full minute. Eyes on the ceiling. Refusing to blink. Whole body focused on his back. "Not exactly dry," he finally says. "but dry as it's gonna get this time of year."
Mack jumps in beside him, causing the headboard to wobble. "I'm glad."
Chase rolls himself toward Mack and winks. "Me, too."
Mack throws an arm over him, urging him closer. Their eyes meet. There’s a look in Chase’s eyes: a familiar and welcome hunger. Mack’s cock immediately swells. They’re going to do this. Finally. They’re going to put the bed to proper use. They’re going to celebrate being new homeowners the way every couple celebrates that milestone: by making each other cum. First in the bed—that’s only proper, traditional—then eve
ry room in the house. There aren’t many rooms in the house, so they might end up in the yard or on the roof by the time this night is over. Okay, they’re a little too old to do that tonight, but it’s a goal. This is a good moment. A moment Mack has been waiting for all week. He raises up just enough to lean in toward Chase’s mouth. He holds right there for a moment … waiting for Chase to make the next move.
Eyes still locked.
Chase raises up just enough for his lips to meet Mack’s. The kiss is soft. Warm. Dry. Now, without making it a kiss, Chase runs his tongue across Mack’s lips—all the way across his upper lip, then, in the opposite direction, all the way across his bottom lip. They kiss again. Wet this time. Mack opens his mouth. Their tongues touch. Chase makes a soft growl. Mack’s cock is throbbing. His whole body is throbbing. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get out of his pants in time. He pulls away for a breath—
Chase slips out from under his arm and climbs out of bed.
"Wait? What? Where ya going?" Mack asks, flip-flopping over the words.
Chase points to the living room. "To get my book off the coffee table."
They still haven't made love in the new house. It seems to Mack like something they should have already done. Should have done it on day one. And every day since. In every room. On every flat surface. Four days without fucking. That’s twice their previous record. Every time he looks at Chase, he fantasizes about pressing him to a wall, one arm to either side so he can't get away … leaning in for a long, hard kiss. All day, it seems, he's thinking about Chase's body. The texture of his lips. His palms. His fingertips. The soft center of his belly. The elegant muscles in his back—how perfect their relationship becomes when Chase is on top and Mack is holding on as if his life depends on pulling him closer. The feel of it, the sensation beneath his own palms when all those spectacular muscles rise to the surface of Chase's back: how they ripple like waves rising on the sea, how they spread beneath Mack's hands, pulling his fingers wide open. Feels like his body is all ropes and anchors. There's nothing better than being held tightly. Fastened to someone you trust. Gulping breaths. Drowning together.