Chapter Three #2
They hit it in a tangle, Cherry’s back against the leather, Suit Guy looming over him, one knee braced between his thighs.
The weight was good. Exactly the kind of solid and real detail needed to settle him in the moment.
Cherry gave in and arched up, hips chasing more.
Suit Guy grinned against his mouth before kissing him hard, then pulled back, breath ragged.
“Fuck, you’re hot,” the man muttered, hands sliding under Cherry’s shirt, rucking it up to bare ink and muscle.
Cherry laughed, breathless, and yanked at Suit Guy’s shirt in return.
“Back at you, asshole.” Buttons popped, fabric parted, and then it was skin on skin, heat searing through him.
He dragged his nails down Suit Guy’s back, earning a hiss and a harder grind of hips, cocks rubbing through denim.
Too much, but still not enough. Need more.
Cherry’s head spun, every touch lighting him up like a live wire.
“Name,” Suit Guy panted, lips trailing down Cherry’s neck, teeth scraping. “Gimme something to call you.”
“Cherry.” It slipped out, his road name, not government, and he didn’t care. It feels right for here and now. “You?”
“I’m Denis. Hi, Cherry. Good to meet you.” A nip at his collarbone, then a hot mouth moved against his skin. There was humor in the man’s voice. “Fits you. Cherry. You taste sweet as one.”
“Shut up and kiss me,” Cherry growled, hauling Denis down, and the world narrowed again to those lips, the wandering hands, and the creak of leather under them. Outside, the city hummed, oblivious, but in here, it was just them, burning through the night.
***
Later, it could have been minutes or hours, Cherry was sprawled on the couch, shirt gone, jeans half-unzipped, Denis a warm weight slumped against him.
The beer buzz had faded, replaced by a different high, one carved out of shared gasps and the ache of new bruises.
He stared at the ceiling, chest heaving, gaze tracing tiny cracks in the plaster like they’d map where this was going.
Denis shifted, propping an elbow to look down at him, hair mussed and eyes lazy. “You good, Cherry?”
“Yeah.” He was. Way better than good, alive in a way he hadn’t felt in years. Maybe ever. The rushed grind had still been more satisfying than anything else he’d ever experienced. A sudden stab of concern made his breath catch. “Fuck yeah. You?”
“Fucking great.” Denis smirked, brushing a thumb over Cherry’s jaw, lingering on the stubble. “Worth every second of that dancefloor tease.”
Cherry snorted, shoving at him half-hearted. “Tease, huh? Who jumped who?”
“Mutual jumping,” Denis countered, leaning in for a lazy kiss, softer this time, less frantic. Cherry sank into it, letting the edge bleed out, replaced by something steadier.
When they broke apart, Denis rolled off, and grabbed a couple sections of paper towel from the kitchen, handing over half even as he worked to mop up his abs.
Cherry went at it more slowly, gaze locked on every movement the man made.
Denis made his way back into the kitchen, grabbing more beers from the fridge and came back to the couch, handing one over.
Cherry took it, sitting up, the cool bottle a shock against his overheated skin.
“So,” he said, voice gravelly, “this a one-off, or...?”
Denis paused, mid-sip, then met his eyes, serious for once. “Up to you, man. I’m not running. You?”
Cherry thought of the club, the vest folded back home, the life he’d built. Then this, the feeling of being with Denis, the night, the taste of freedom, the sensation of setting his own course. “Not running,” he said finally, clinking his bottle against Denis’. “Let’s see where it rides.”
***
Denis
Denis watched Cherry sip that beer, the bottle tilting just enough to catch the dim light of the living room, casting a faint sheen across the ink that snaked up his arms. He’d identified tangled designs of skulls, chains, and something Denis couldn’t quite make out, faded with time.
He sat sprawled on the couch, leather jacket slung over the armrest, all edges and muscle, like he’d been carved from mountain granite.
He belonged there, somehow, in a way Denis couldn’t explain, and something twisted in his chest. It was sharp, unfamiliar, a pang that wasn’t lust but wasn’t not lust either.
They’d both just come, sweat still hot on their skin, so it wasn’t a misplaced urgency.
Even though things had happened similar to so many meaningless encounters, because hell yeah, he’d had hookups before, plenty of them.
Always quick, transactional, a blur of bodies in dimly lit rooms. But this?
This was different. Cherry wasn’t just a body, wasn’t just a release.
Different even from the single time he’d attempted a relationship before.
Big fail there, Ricardo hadn’t understood the nuance of “exclusive.” There was a story with Cherry that intrigued, etched into every scar and tattoo, a history Denis wanted to unravel, patch by patch, as if he were peeling back the layers of a case he couldn’t leave unsolved.
“You’re staring again,” Cherry said, his voice rough around the edges, a drawl laced with something softer. He smirked, but his storm-gray eyes were a little less guarded now, the steel wall he’d walked in with starting to crack.
“Habit,” Denis replied, grinning as he settled beside him, their shoulders brushing.
The contact was deliberate but light, a test. “You’re still worth it.
” He nudged Cherry’s knee with his own, feeling the solid weight of him, the way he didn’t flinch or pull away.
“That ‘ride’ comment earlier, you got a bike stashed somewhere?”
Cherry’s laugh was low, warm, rumbling up from his chest like an engine kicking to life.
“Yeah. Big bastard too, full custom paint job, got it done in blue like the IMC wings.” Pride flickered in his voice, sharp and bright, and Denis filed it away.
IMC, huh? Incoherent Motorcycle Club, had to be.
It fits. The ink, the scars, the way Cherry carried himself like he could take a punch and give two back, all spoke of a life lived hard and loud.
Former military, too, Denis guessed, catching the hint of command in the way Cherry’s shoulders squared even at rest. Decades of discipline under all that chaos.
“Gonna show me sometime?” Denis asked, aiming for casual, but the words came out heavier than he’d intended.
He surprised himself with how much he meant it.
Being with Cherry on a bike, wind tearing past, him riding bitch just to feel it, to press himself against that broad back and let the world blur away.
The intensity of the image hit him square in the chest, a rush of want he hadn’t expected.
“Maybe.” Cherry’s gaze slid sideways, assessing, those storm-gray eyes catching Denis’s and holding them for a beat before he grinned dangerously. “You’d look good on it.”
“Damn right I would.” Denis laughed, and the tension between them eased, settling into something comfortable, dangerous in its own way, similar to the quiet before the readout of a verdict.
He leaned back, arm stretching along the couch behind Cherry, not touching but close enough to feel the heat radiating off him.
“Stick around, Cherry. I’ve got more beer, and I’m not done with you yet. ”
Cherry’s smirk was slow, deliberate, a flash of teeth that sent a shiver down Denis’s spine.
“Good. ‘Cause I’m not done either.” He set the beer on the coffee table, the clink of glass on wood punctuating the moment, and turned his body just enough to face Denis more fully.
His knee pressed against Denis’s thigh now, a steady, grounding weight.
Denis held his gaze, letting the silence stretch, thick with unspoken things.
He could see the understanding now, the flicker of hesitation in Cherry’s eyes, the way his fingers flexed against his own knee like he was bracing for something.
This wasn’t just another night for him either.
Denis had caught the way Cherry had stiffened earlier, when their hands brushed reaching for the same bottle, the way his breath had hitched before he’d covered it with a laugh.
First time with a man, Denis realized, the pieces clicking into place, and in the moment, Cherry had lost the sense of hesitation.
If he’d been military during Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, well, it meant he’d likely been closeted for decades, carrying that weight alone.
No wonder he’d been all sharp edges when he’d walked in, like a man expecting a fight.
“You don’t have to—” Denis started, voice softer now, giving him an out, but Cherry cut him off with a shake of his head.
“Don’t.” Cherry’s tone was firm, but not harsh. “I’m here ‘cause I want to be.” He leaned in, just a fraction, his breath warm against Denis’s jaw. “Been a long time comin’, that’s all.”
Denis swallowed, his pulse kicking up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Cherry’s hand moved then, tentative at first, resting on Denis’s thigh. It was big, calloused, with a biker’s grip that tightened slightly as he found his nerve. “Gotta say, you’re makin’ it real easy, lawyer man.”
“Denis,” he corrected, voice rougher than he meant it to be. “And you’re not so bad yourself, Cherry.” He tilted his head, closing the distance until their lips were a breath apart, waiting, letting Cherry decide.
Cherry’s exhale was shaky, but he didn’t pull back.
“Fuck it,” he muttered, and then he kissed him.
It was hard, hungry, a dam breaking. It was all heat at first, more decades of pent-up want crashing through, but Denis met him there, hand sliding to the back of Cherry’s neck, settling him.
The kiss softened after a moment, turned searching, and Cherry groaned low in his throat, a sound that vibrated through Denis’s chest.
When they broke apart, Cherry’s forehead rested against his, both of them breathing hard. “Didn’t think it’d feel like this,” Cherry admitted, voice raw, unguarded in a way that made Denis’s heart stutter.
“Like what?” Denis asked, thumb brushing along the stubble of Cherry’s jaw.
“Like I found something I’ve been missin’ my whole damn life.” Cherry pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, and the vulnerability there, the depth of his trust, hit Denis harder than the kiss had.
He grinned, leaning in to steal another quick press of lips. “Good thing I’ve got nowhere to be. We’ve got time to figure it out.”
Cherry’s laugh was quieter this time, but real, and he settled back against the couch, his hand still on Denis’s thigh, possessive now. “Yeah. Guess we do.”