Switch & Burn (Royal Bastards MC : Idaho Springs Chapter)

by Bink Cummings

  Roger that.

  Not one to make him wait, I bump shoulders with Tank before climbing between the ropes and jumping down from the ring. I leave them to chat as I do as I’m told. If Burn says we’ve got shit to do. We’ve got shit to do. And spending time with him is my favorite thing to do anyhow.

  The locker room is quiet as I strip naked beside the long wall of showers and use the soap dispenser to get business done. It takes less than two minutes under the spray before I’m drying with a towel and dressing in a clean pair of boxer briefs, black joggers, and a long sleeve t-shirt. I slip my feet into sneakers, shoulder my gym bag, along with my dirty gear, and meet Burn outside the room in less than ten.

  He’s seated on the bench as I exit.

  “We’re leavin’ from here. Don’t have time to take your stuff up to our room. Already told Tank to have a club whore get it handled later. You cool with that?” Burn gestures to my bag.

  Cool with whatever, I set my bag on the bench beside him. If he knows it’ll get back to our room, then I’ll trust him. He runs this club. They listen to him. It’s not like we do our laundry anyhow, or stock our bedroom with food. Someone else takes care of those things.

  I nod in the affirmative as he zips my bag closed and pushes it against the wall before getting to his feet. “Good. Let’s hit it.”

  Leading the way, Burn takes us through Iron Hell and out the backdoor into the early afternoon sun. The scent of pine and fresh-cut grass is thick in the air. It’s beautiful out here. Absolutely breathtaking. A gentle breeze kicks up my damp hair as we stand on an asphalt drive surrounded by mountains. Since moving here, I haven’t spent time outdoors. I see it day in and out through the windows in our bedroom. But I spend all waking hours training or reading with Burn, doing little else.

  Not one for small talk, my roomie saunters over to a dark blue motorcycle, grabs a helmet off the second seat and tosses it at me. “Heads up.”

  I catch it like a basketball and stare down at the visor. Turning it over, I read dozens of explicit stickers plastered across the black shell.

  Burn chuckles light and carefree as I glance up to find him straddling the bike, wearing his own helmet with stickers. “It’s not gonna bite ya. Put it on. We haven’t got all day.”

  And just like that, my feet move of their own volition. Somehow, I secure my helmet and rest a hand on Burn’s shoulder to mount the motorcycle.

  “Kick your leg over,” he orders as he plants his feet on either side, ready to take my weight.

  I do as I’m told and get on. A strange feeling churns low in my gut. God, I don’t know what it is, but excitement and fear courses through my veins as my crotch fits snug against Burn’s spine. He places my palms on either side of his waist. The leather of his vest is supple to the touch.

  I swallow hard as he cranks the engine. Deep vibrations seep into me, through me, setting off a series of confusing… I dunno what.

  Without preamble, we’re off. My feet rest on pegs as wind flaps the cotton of my shirt. I watch in awe as the world flies by. Not like in a car. Free like a bird hovering just above the ground. Something inside my chest eases. A lock bursting free after years of corrosion. I don’t realize I’m crying until wetness reaches my neck and cools in the wind.

  Burn pats my knee as if he knows what I’m experiencing. Like he’s been where I am before. Like I’m not alone.

  Through narrow mountain passes, we ride until houses come into view—a few at first, then more as we grow closer to Idaho Springs. When I came here with Bonez and Whisky, we’d stopped at a gas station just outside the city limits, but that’s as far as I’ve ventured. It’s like a whole new world outside the clubhouse. Much different than Kentucky, where I was first taken when freed from the basement.

  It’s quaint and… different, as we ride through the heart of town, past the shops and restaurants.

  Burn turns down a side street and into a community parking lot. At the end of a row, he walks us into a lineup of other motorcycles and removes his helmet. Hanging it on his handlebar, he then pats my knee. “Hop off. It’s time to check things out.”

  Check. Things. Out.

  Holy shit.

  We’re going to visit the town. Actually visit it.

  I haven’t been inside a real store since before they took me. I was a child then. Not an adult. Not covered in scars. Not this tall.

  I don’t have any money.

  Why would Burn bring me here? Why wouldn’t he discuss this with me beforehand?

  The ride was nice.

  This… I can’t do this. I don’t do well around others. He knows that. Whisky and Bonez wouldn’t let me in public for this very reason.

  Biting my bottom lip, I begin to shake. It starts in my fingertips and travels up my arms, through my center and down, until I’m a live wire ready to ignite.

  He shouldn’t have me in public.

  I’m not a good person.

  I do bad things.

  He can’t trust me.

  And I can’t trust anyone but him.

  What if someone touches me? Intentional or not, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  We need to leave.

  Take another ride.

  Not this.

  Anything but this.

  7

  BURN

  The poor, sheltered kid is freaking. I expected this might happen. Thing is, he has to walk back into the real world at some point. See people. Shop. Eat at restaurants. Not live in our bedroom forever. Sure, I wanna keep him there. Call me selfish if you want. But I also want him to experience life with me.

  Worried the bike might fall, I heel down the kickstand and grip both of Switch’s shaky knees. It’s the best I can do where I’m at, and the most he’ll probably want me to engage in, in public. Not that I give a goddamn what anyone else thinks. Ain’t nobody in this town gonna say shit to me when I’m here. They’ll stare and gossip with their friends about the burned man, but they’ll take one look at my cut and shut their yaps. Royal Bastards is a well-known name ‘round these parts. You respect us, we respect you—end of story.

  My hold on Switch does jack to calm him, so I try words instead. “We’re gonna eat pizza. Real pizza. Not the frozen crap at the clubhouse. Then we’re gonna walk around a bit. See the sites. If you wanna go into a store, we will. There is no pressure here, Switch. No need to be anxious.” I squeeze him harder. “See. I’ve got you. If you need a timeout, we’ll find a place for that. But I need you to try. If not for yourself, for me. I wanna show you around and I can’t do that with you freaking the fuck out.”

  Two twitchy hands cup the tops of mine. It feels good. Too damn good.

  “You gonna trust me?”

  A squeeze is all the response I get. I swear my heart grows a dozen sizes from his trust alone.

  Steeling his nerves on a deep intake of breath, the kid dismounts my bike.

  I’m quick to follow.

  Taking his helmet, I set it on my seat before I get a solid read on Switch’s body language… Still uncomfortable, sure, but there’s a strength there, too, simmering beneath the surface.

  “Proud of you.” I slap the top of his shoulder before I walk past, not wanting to make this a bigger deal than it needs to be. It doesn’t take but a minute for Switch to fall in step. We pass people on the sidewalk, who give us more than enough space, as we make our way to the famous Beau Jo’s for pizza.

  Inside, the place is calm for an early afternoon crowd. We sit away from other patrons, in the back of the saloon style restaurant at a table. Knowing what Switch likes on his pizza, I order a Sky Hawk for us to share and a pitcher of water. He, as I suspected would happen, watches everyone around us like they’re the enemy. What do I do? I sit back with my ankles and arms crossed and let him acclimate. I’m not gonna coddle him. He’s a grown man who can work through his own shit without my help. He did it for however long he was used as a piece of ass and can do it now, in the safety of my presence. I’m not gonna let anyone get
to him. I’m packin’ for a reason. You never know who you might bump into these days. It pays to be smart.

  Switch barely touches his water before the pizza’s delivered. Knowing he won’t do it himself, I serve up a slice. It takes a bit of silent coercing to get him to take the first bite. As time passes, the more manic his eyes become. The fierce war he’s waging inside his skull is quite the adversary. It’s even worse than I thought, when he stands abruptly, sending his chair into the empty table behind us. One look at me and I know I’ve fucked up. The demons have won. He’s about to unleash.

  Quick as a snake strike, I’m on my feet alongside him. He lunges like he’s not sure if he needs to fight or flee. Acting on instinct, I wrap both arms around Switch’s waist and drag him through the restaurant into the bathroom.

  Rivulets of sweat drip down the sides of his reddened face as he fists both hands in his hair and pulls, nearly tearing it from the roots. It’s vicious and painful to watch; to see someone you care about so deeply losing their mind to the bad shit they harbor.

  “Come here.” I push my back against the door to keep anyone from coming inside and wave Switch forward. He doesn’t move. The tugging increases, as the muscles in his neck and arms turn to stone. He whimpers and groans in torment, head thrashing back and forth.

  Fuck.

  I’ve had enough. No more suffering. Not because of me. Not because of those damn demons. Those assholes do not belong here. Not now. Not ever.

  Refusing to give up on him, I get in Switch’s space, not worried he may wanna fight. If that’s what he needs, we can go a round or two. It wouldn’t be the first time and it won’t be the last. My chest bumps his abs, and those green orbs stare deep into mine. I work off feeling alone, doing what I want, consequences be damned. I cup his face. He cringes as if my touch hurts, but I don’t back down. I get closer, pushing him backward until his spine hits the bathroom wall beside the towel dispenser.

  “No more of this shit,” I growl before slamming my lips to his in a bruising kiss. It’s harsh and brimming with unspent need. Yet, I can’t stop. We’re there, my lips on his, as I wait for the recoil. Only it doesn’t come. The fingers tearing at his scalp release to claim the sides of my face. It hurts as Switch’s nails bite into my scars. Except they’re his fingers. His touch. His mouth hard on mine, unmoving. We breathe there, our chests battling for air. I fucking love it. Crave it. The closeness. The surprising softness of his mouth.

  A broken noise ratchets up his throat, sending my stomach into fits. I stroke my thumbs across his cheeks. Switch trembles. For whatever reason, my cock decides now is the best time to get hard. Not a little, but rock-solid, shoving against the fly of my jeans making me wish I’d worn something under the denim to keep it caged.

  Not wanting him to get the wrong idea, I begin to pull away. Switch holds on all the tighter, his body pressing to mine. He nips my bottom lip, and I lose every ounce of control I have left.

  Thrusting my tongue into his mouth, I drown in Switch. He tries to give as good as I take, but can’t keep up. His kisses are sloppy, speaking volumes on how inexperienced he is. The knowledge alone feeds me, making me want this to be good for him. Better than anything he’s ever felt.

  SWITCH

  The world coalesces into a single purpose; to submit, to fall, to feel. Wet heat lashes inside my mouth, taking what it wants, stealing my ability to draw air… to think. A thickness I’ve never felt before grinds against my leg as Burn devours me. The demon cowers in its cage, afraid of him, as flutters of goodness engulf my belly.

  Sagging against the wall, knees weak, I moan in time with his assault. Against my boxers, my cock rages harder than it ever has before.

  In the recesses of my mind, I know I shouldn’t love this. That it should feel dirty. Only it doesn’t. Like on the motorcycle, I’m free. The shackles are gone, replaced with happiness.

  People in this world, I don’t trust. I can’t. Not even the littlest of girls and boys. You never know what threat they may pose. Outside the walls of the lodge, they are the enemy. Touching Burn, connecting like we do, none of that matters. Not the time, or the place, or the fact he’s a man. He accepts me despite everything. I have nothing to fear from him.

  Succumbing to lust, we kiss, and we kiss, and we kiss. It lasts forever, yet not long enough. When Burn pulls away, my lips are sore, and I’m high, floating on a sea of frothy endorphins.

  He swipes a hand across his mouth, staring straight at me. The crease in his brow is easy to discern— he’s confused.

  “Fuck.” Burn grabs his hard-on and adjusts it in his pants. I watch the outline in fascination, wishing I could see it in person at full mast. It’s impressive enough soft.

  “You good?”

  Catching my breath, I nod.

  “I… Kinda got carried away.”

  I bite my bottom lip and nod again as Burn’s nostrils flare. He did get carried away. I wish it never ended.

  “You better now?”

  I am.

  Questions I’ve struggled with have been answered. Remy may have played a part in making me this way, but I think… I’m gay. And Burn doesn’t care. If he did, he wouldn’t have kissed me like that. Wouldn’t be looking at me like he is now, with openness and concern.

  To prove I’m out of the woods, I stand up straight, fix my erection and go to the sink to splash water on my face. It’s the relief I need after… that. Burn joins me and does the same. We dry off and together exit the bathroom in silence. The spark of whatever this is still arcing between us.

  At the table, we resume our meal. Only now, I’m too focused on the taste and keeping my head down that I don’t notice those around us. Burn’s foot bumps mine under the table. I return the touch, needing it more than anything else. Back at the clubhouse, we’re always locked together when we enjoy a meal. In public, I want the same, so I sandwich one of his feet between mine. Head tipped down, Burn quirks the smallest of approving smiles and polishes off his slice.

  More relaxed than I’ve been all day, I gorge on food to the point of bursting. Burn, never one to eat much, stops long before I do. Even gives me the leftovers from his plate.

  I bite through the last slice as my roommate clears his throat. Chewing, I look up in time to watch him slide his phone across the table. “When you’re done, I need you to make a list of the things you want to experience. Never leaving the clubhouse isn’t doin’ either of us any good. You make a list and we’ll work on completing it.”

  My stomach dips.

  A fresh wave of goosebumps sprout across my arms, but I nod anyhow.

  A list.

  He wants a list.

  Nobody’s ever cared what I wanted before.

  Somewhere in the deepest recesses of my soul, a child’s voice whispers, “Burn cares.”

  8

  SWITCH

  List

  4. Shoot a gun

  12. Spend Time Outdoors

  Traipsing through the forest surrounding the lodge, I fall in step behind Burn. “Just up this way.” He points ahead, loaded down with a backpack, in boots, joggers, and a muscle tank. Not what I’d picture an outdoorsman wearing.

  Three days ago, when I made the list at the pizza place, I didn’t think he’d take things this seriously.

  Between our daily routine, he’s added this—hiking. As if my four hours with Tank in the Iron Hell this morning didn’t already wear me out, he’s determined to add sunshine to my routine. Yesterday, we hit a small trail for fresh air. Can’t say I hate the company. It’s beautiful out here. With Burn everything feels right, regardless of what we’re doing.

  His ass shifts beneath tight bottoms. I watch it flex, mouth watering at the sight as my dick thickens. I adjust it in my boxers, to keep the arousal to myself. After our shared kiss, I can’t stop watching him. Every word he speaks, every step he takes, every exposed inch of his skin, makes mine feel tighter. I get flustered and turned on at the drop of a hat. I think it’s beginning to show. Burn sa
id something about my distance in the shower this morning. How I was acting weird. I know I am. How are you supposed to tell your roommate and best friend you want him? That you want him to touch you intimately, to kiss you again, to… maybe… be more?

  You can’t.

  I won’t ruin what we have because I’m starting to realize… things. Things I stuffed down deep, afraid to shine light on. Crap Remy started and Burn solidified.

  At the base of an overgrown tree, Burn drops his sack. Once again, I’m met with the spectacular view of his tight ass. I look away, not wanting to make this any more uncomfortable for myself than it already is.

  He unzips the pack and pulls out two handguns with clips. “Here.” He offers me one. “Time to learn how to protect yourself when fists don’t work.”

  I accept the metal, adjusting its weight in my hand. I’ve never held a gun before.

  Burn steps up behind me and slides a hand down my forearm to my wrist. I shiver despite the warmth outside and press myself into him without thinking. He groans low as he forces me to hold the weapon correctly.

  “Lift your arm,” he instructs as five, thick fingers dig into my left hip.

  Wanting to do more than shoot, I try to ignore Burn’s heat radiating through my backside and do as instructed.

  He flicks off the safety. “Now aim at the center of that tree.”

  Doing as I’m told, I fire the first round. It nicks the side of a large tree.

  “Again.”

  The second and third shots fare better.

  By the fourth, I’ve squared up enough to hit closer to where I’m aiming.

  Five lands next to four and the fingers at my hip sink in, to the point of pain. Addictive pain. Not abusive or the kind experienced in the ring. Losing my ability to think, I focus on Burn’s touch and his coarse breath at my back.

  His foot wedges between mine. “Widen your stance.”