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

by Bink Cummings

  “You wakin’ up?” he whispers.

  I nod, cheek brushing the unmarred section of his chest.

  The pad of Burn’s thumb traces the edge of my face. “You said my name twice.”

  Yes.

  When I don’t respond to his remark, he pinches my chin and forces me to look up at him, my lids heavy. “You said my name twice.” Vulnerability and pleasure shimmer in his butterscotch eyes.

  “Burn,” I mutter in the quiet space between us.

  Transfixed on my mouth, he brushes the same thumb over the bow of my lips as I relax my chin on his sternum. “Perfection,” drifts from his mouth in awe.

  Taken aback by his level of unbarred affection, my face heats. Unexplainable emotions churn in my middle, floating into my chest as my best friend, my savior, my roommate, presses the tip of his thumb to the center of my mouth. On reflex, I open for him and suck the digit inside.

  “Fuck, you’re good at that,” Burn rasps as I swirl my tongue around the salty flesh.

  I’m good. He said I’m… good. Good at pleasing him.

  Savoring his compliment like a slice of the best pie, I treat his thumb as I would his dick. Picturing the organ in my mind, I make love to it with my mouth, moaning as his erection rages against my abs.

  Burn grips a handful of my hair and fucks my mouth with his finger. “Goddammit, Switch. God-fuckin’-dammit. You’re… Ugh. Fuck. That’s it, baby. I… Christ, the things I wanna do to you when I shouldn’t.”

  Drunk on him, I nip the tip, and Burn’s hips pitch off the mattress, taking me with him. “Fuuuck.”

  I do it again, and he loses control. If I were with anyone else, I’d be ready to fight. With Burn, I let him flip me onto my back. Submitting to his will, I spread my legs for him to settle between as he frees his dick from his shorts and smashes it against mine. Erection to erection.

  Fingers fit through mine, pinning my arms to the pillows. Eyes roll into the back of my skull as our cocks mate, pre-cum lubing their adventure.

  “Legs around my waist,” he instructs, and I follow along, too turned on to think.

  Poised above me, he grinds our dicks with deep, endless strokes. On and on, pleasure unfolds, turning me inside out, I writhe.

  “That’s it. You feel so fuckin’ good. Too fuckin’ good.”

  Yesss.

  “Open your eyes for me, Switch.”

  I do.

  “You feel this?” He unpins one of my hands and places it on his chest, over the worst of his scars. Beneath my palm, his pulse races. “You do this to me. Only you.” Punctuating his statement, Burn fucks my cock harder, giving no opportunity to breathe, much less think as those meaningful words worm their way into my heart. I give in and let go for the first time in my life. Fear and insecurity fade as love reigns, shining brighter than the sun.

  Lips seal in the sweetest of kisses as our chests meet. I wrap every inch of me around him, careful of the pressure on his scars. Burn doesn’t object, as he too melds us. I take his weight. He gives me more cock. More pre-cum. More us.

  Sweat clings to our skin. Moans fuel the flames. Our souls tether as if a physical entity has tied a rope between two shores. It’s all-consuming as my nuts tighten to the point of detonation, six-pack growing just as taut. Somehow, he reads my body and slows to stave off the inevitable.

  For what feels like days, we kiss, touch, and indulge in our connection. At some point, the sun sets, casting a glow over our bed from the window.

  “Don’t want this to end.” Burn nuzzles his nose to mine before stealing my lips again for a leisurely kiss.

  Cupping the side of his face, I force the man who’s turned my world upside down to meet my gaze. Green on butterscotch we stare, unmoving, noses almost touching.

  Knowing what I must do, I force the internal chains to break, not wanting them to separate us any longer. He deserves that much. “I…” The formation of syllables stall as Burn reads my expression, memorizing the moment. Significance hangs in the balance between us.

  Refusing to let the bullshit from my past win, I open my mouth for a second time. “I… I love you.” Comes out in a whisper, my voice different than I remember.

  Burn doesn’t say a thing. He doesn’t even move. He stares—at me, at my lips, at my eyes, at the scar on my chin.

  Did he hear me?

  Did he understand what I said?

  I’ve never loved another person in my life. Not that I can remember.

  “Burn,” I croak when he doesn’t respond.

  Blinking slowly, he shakes his head as if clearing it. “You’re mine.”

  My stomach dips.

  I’m… his?

  “Mine,” he repeats.

  Does that mean he’s mine, too?

  Burn doesn’t make me wait long for clarity. “You belong with me. To me. I… I want to do things to you I shouldn’t, baby. I need to care for you. I hope you understand that. What that means? I may never… put your dick in my mouth. I don’t know if we’ll be able to have actual sex. But that doesn’t mean you’re not mine… that I don’t want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life.”

  His.

  Not property.

  Given freely.

  I want that.

  Sex doesn’t matter as long as we’re us.

  I nod my assent.

  Burn brushes his lips to mine, a slow sweep that elicits the best kind of shivers. “Say it, Switch. Say what I need to hear. But only if you’re okay with this.”

  I am.

  Nodding again, I croak, “Yours.”

  “Again.” Burn forces my hand to his ass. I do so with pleasure. Nails sinking into tight, muscled flesh, my heels dig into the back of his thighs.

  “Yours,” comes out a broken sob as he fucks my dick with the slow rock of his hips.

  “Again.” My other hand is placed on his opposite cheek as our gazes forge an indestructible bond.

  “Y-yours.” A lone tear slides down my cheek.

  Ever so slowly, he licks the salty drop away and hums in satisfaction. “That’s fuckin’ right. Mine, baby,” he whispers, nose nudging mine. “Now make me fuck you like this ‘til you come.” Burn samples the seam of my lips with his tongue, and I open for him. “That’s right,” he praises a moment before our mouths merge in unbridled passion.

  For hours we indulge. I do as I’m told and bring myself to climax. Cum paints the ridges of our abs. When we’re both through, we cuddle face-to-face on top of the covers until I can no longer keep my eyes open.

  At some time in the thick of the night, I awaken in Burn’s bed wrapped in his arms as he snores quietly at my neck.

  This is what I always imagined love would feel like.

  Only the reality is better.

  10

  BURN

  Reading through a dozen Royal Bastard emails, my foot taps in time with the clock on the wall. After yesterday, I’m eager to get back to Switch. He and Tank are hitting Iron Hell extra-hard today, which means no outdoors for us. It also means he’s skipping lunch, and I’m stuck inside these four walls takin’ care of business when I’d rather be with him. I know, the club comes first, and it does. This chapter couldn’t run without me. Not with my father as president. The fat bastard hasn’t been seen in days, probably holed up in his bedroom with his latest piece and a bottle of booze.

  I take a bite of an apple and click on the next email. Someone knocks on my office door.

  “Yeah?” I call out.

  “It’s me.” Raff.

  “Busy.” The last thing I wanna do is discuss his club whore’s help with Switch yesterday. It happened. He came. We checked that off the list. Hoping that’s the only time he’ll be asking for one of those. ‘Cause I won’t bring another female into our bedroom again. Not for that. And I sure as shit have no intention of doing the deed myself, nor asking him to do it to me. The mutual dick on dick action worked well. No hands or mouths or assholes need involved.

  Fuck. What if he wants to i
nclude mouths, hands, or assholes?

  “I come bearing a gift,” Raff singsongs.

  I sigh, massaging the bridge of my nose, trying hard not to think about gay sex. “Busy.”

  “Come on, Burn. Let me the fuck in. I’ve got a fight for Switch you won’t wanna pass up.”

  Sure, he does.

  “I’m listening.”

  “You gonna let me in?”

  Leaning back in my chair, I snort an unamused, “Not a chance.”

  Raff huffs his frustration, knowing damn well I won’t relent. “Fine, asshole. The match in two weeks, Nose was set to headline. He wants to give it to the kid.”

  Not hardly. Nose doesn’t give anyone anything.

  “Why?” I test.

  “Consider this a peace offering. To reset the balance.”

  Right. Peace offering. They beat Switch and think this will somehow fix things.

  Curious, I make Raff wait a bit as I search my computer for the fight specs. Andre Spirito, undefeated in the underground circuits, runs with some evil motherfuckers. Big payday. Deathmatch. Interesting.

  “He’s gotta kill him,” I announce as if he doesn’t already know.

  Raff chuckles. “That gonna be a problem? You and I both know Switch has a monster inside him. It’s hungry for blood, just like Nose’s.”

  He isn’t wrong. But…

  “You run this by Tank?” I check, already knowing the answer to the question.

  “No.”

  Bingo.

  “Wanna tell me why?” Again, I pry for shit I already know the answer to.

  “’Cause he won’t approve. Wonderboy’s his favorite. He won’t be down with a chance of losing him.”

  Thought so. Tank’s overprotective of Switch. Noticed that myself. Hell, everyone has. Talent that raw isn’t something anyone would chance. Factor in his age and there’s no way Tank would sign off.

  Picturing the kid let loose inside a deathmatch, I see him standing over a lifeless form; victorious, a smile lighting his face, saturated in sweat, speckled in his opponent’s blood. “We won’t lose him,” I note more to myself than Raff.

  “We know that, but Tank don’t.”

  Maybe.

  I shrug, not concerned about Tank. I can handle our trainer. “What’s Nose say?”

  “He says he wants this tension gone. For shit to go back the way it was. He knows enough about Andre, that he ain’t nervous to pit the kid against him. You know Nose wouldn’t put someone else in the ring, if he wasn’t confident he’d win.”

  True.

  “I have to run this by Switch first.”

  “No, you don’t. You already know what he’s gonna… ya know, say.”

  Raff’s right. The kid would cut off his right nut to fight at this level. A deathmatch is the goal. He put it on the list. To understand why; all you gotta do is see the demon come out to play. It’s one bloodthirsty motherfucker.

  “Two weeks then.” I swap Nose’s name for Switch’s in the computer and smile the only way I can, with half a working mouth. He’s gonna love it.

  Not letting this special moment go to waste, I print the screen to show Switch. I’ll give him the sheet over dinner. Think we’re due for steak tonight in celebration. Maybe get started on the ice cream list he wants to tackle, too. Then read a little, naked in my bed where he belongs. No more of the shared room, when we can sleep side by side. After getting off with his dick rubbing mine, I think we’ve surpassed the roommate routine and moved to something else. Boyfriend sounds cheesy and far from accurate. Partner doesn’t roll off the tongue right. I don’t believe in soulmates, but if I did, he’d be damn near close to a perfect fit. Mine, is the best description. Straight and to the point. Wouldn’t you agree?

  As I roll my chair across the hardwood floor and snatch the paper from the printer to fold in thirds, Raff interrupts my internal dialogue. “We good?”

  “If Switch says we are, then yeah.”

  Raff chuckles and double knocks on the door. “Glad to have ya back, brother.”

  Head shaking, I grin. “Fuck off.”

  A deeper, humor-laced chuckle resounds. “Yeah. I love you, too.”

  Bastard.

  In two short weeks, Switch will put his life on the line. This had better be the smartest deal Raff has ever made. ‘Cause I’ll tell ya what, if Switch gets dead, Raff and Nose will be next. There’s not a thing I wouldn’t do for the kid. If he’s gone, they’re gone. Club or not, he’s mine, and I protect what’s mine.

  Let the games begin.

  11

  SWITCH

  The electric pulse of the crowd syncs with mine as I step into the ring barefoot sporting a new pair of green fight shorts—a gift from Burn. He said they not only highlight my eyes, but my scars in a way that’ll mess with my opponent’s head. Not that I care. Undefeated or not, Andre’s not a threat.

  Beneath the surface my demon lurks, rubbing his sharp, leathery scales along my spine, primed for action. Thanks to Tank and Burn, our symbiosis is far more manageable. I feel it. The tangible source of my rage, as if a different entity than myself. It breathes like me, looks like me, but it doesn’t love how I love. It thrives on discord as I thrive on peace.

  Out of my periphery, I lock onto my reason to live. A row up in the stadium, Raff stands beside my pillar of calm. An invisible cable tethers our connection. When he’s here, I’m grounded; able to take on anything and survive.

  The ref announces Andre’s name and mine over the loudspeaker. The crowd roars with bloodlust. Signs made by my fan club wave high in the air. I step forward, mat tacky beneath my feet. Sweat and blood from those before us paint the ground in their memory. Andre, a man taller than me, wider, and far thicker, bounces on the balls of his feet in the corner. He cracks his neck and shakes out his arms. Oil glistens across his tan, heavily inked flesh. A solid washboard of abs flex as he punches the air in swift jabs. He stares unseeing, visualizing his victory step-by-step.

  Ready to fight, an insatiable hunger torques my insides as I take my spot. The demon nips the open air. Limbering up his muscles, Andre stretches further. An odd scar catches in the fluorescents overhead, glistening in the oil. Wait. No. Not a scar. A brand. I blink in disbelief, then look again. Unchanged, its presence permeates the cortex of my brain. I’m not imagining things. There, just above the waistband of his shorts lies RW, a mark the same as my own. Remy Whitaker.

  The tips of my fingers trace those same letters on my flesh as I stare at the man, my kin. He may not bear the same scars as I, but he is one of us, those taken and abused by Master. Now a man, once used as a boy to fulfill a sicko’s fantasies. Maybe he didn’t endure it as long as I. Maybe this is his new life as a fighter. A fresh start. But as I turn to look upon the audience, men in suits line the higher rows. The same suits I remember as a child. Those tailored by Remy’s designer, for his men. Those closest to his inner circle. Those he shared us with.

  The demon claws at my ribs, ready to be released into the world.

  A bell dings.

  Still tracing the mark on my side, I meet Burn’s gaze in the distance as a sense of unease dumps into my system.

  I’m going to kill a man like myself.

  For the first time in my life, I don’t wanna do this, not this way.

  The concerned expression on my man’s face is the last I see before pain explodes at my temple and down I fall into the well of my past, where real demons reign.

  Tied to the bed, naked, a toy vibrating inside me, a gag dries my mouth. The scent of wood burns hot in my nostrils as the fireplace in his bedroom blazes. Men surround the bed I rest on, stroking themselves as helpless tears teem down my face.

  Master approaches from the corner and the sea of depravity parts for him as it always does. In hand, he holds a glowing iron.

  Wearing a suit and cruel smile, Master tilts his head to the side as if I’m a cute puppy he’s eager to kick.

  “Hold him still,” he commands.

  Hands
from every male grip my flesh in perversion and dominance as the red-tip from hell presses upon my skin, cooking it well-done, leaving behind his impression for a lifetime. Too weak, I sob and thrash through the torture, and what they do to me after... Hours of it. The initiation. Their bonding. My body. Sweat and pain and cum.

  BURN

  No! Switch!

  That look. What the hell did it mean?! What was he trying to communicate? Was it the scar? He touched it. Didn’t he?

  “Something’s wrong!” Shouldering through the crowd, I race to the edge of the cage and grip the hardened steel as I watch Andre beat the life out of Switch. Blood pours from his lips down the side of his face as he lays unconscious on the mat, arms loose on either side.

  Goddammit!

  “Switch!” I howl as Andre hammers his ribs. The crack that follows is deafening as bones fracture before my eyes.

  Loving arms wrap around my middle from behind, trying to pull me back from the gore. I hold on tighter, watching Switch die because of me. Because I let him do this. Because I fucking encouraged it. I’m not ready for him to go!

  “Switch!” A river of wretched pain coats my cheeks. “I’m here! I’m here! Don’t you dare die!”

  I can’t live without you.

  “Come on, Burn. Your hands are bleeding, brother. Step back,” comes from Raff.

  They are? Like I give a shit.

  Fighting off my brother, I roar my lover’s name until my voice goes raw.

  Pouring with sweat, struggling to catch his breath, Andre steps back to shake out his muscles. He scrubs a palm over his shorn skull and stares at Switch, a deep-set furrow to his brow. The giant spits on the mat and flexes his fists, waiting.

  Switch’s foot moves.

  I expel a heavy rush of air.

  Andre grins like the devil himself… A lion savoring his imminent kill.