The environment of the bar hit like a fist, a glorious roar of heat and sound. Too damn long since he’d busted out and shed the skin of the day. He was a public defender turned private gig, a grind of hard cases and rare wins, but today? That had been a fucking win. Court ended with his client walking free, and Denis watched the stress bleed out of the man’s muscles with every stride. And the cherry on top was that same client’s pregnant fiancée, waiting with open arms at the bottom of the courthouse steps.
That was glorious. Didn’t hurt that there was a broad gaggle of press present.
Tomorrow’s news coverage would bring more requests for representation, and having that knowledge felt fucking good.
Denis had cut his teeth as a public defender, spending a full decade noble and broke. He’d finally had a gut full of the kind of thankless defending that most days, left him feeling just a little bit greasy. Pulling the trigger on the change had been scary, but private work paid the rent now. Paid it and then some, so he could still throw in a bit of pro bono on the side when guilt gnawed. Today’s win was sweet, and he’d needed that...and this. Blowing off work tensions in a way that felt very, very good, but had zero ties.
Been there, done that. Won’t chase a man again.
He cut through the crowd to the bar, catching the bartender’s eye with a flick of his chin. Pointed at a mid-shelf vodka, nothing fancy, just honest, and held up two fingers. A nod came back, and Denis turned, planting his elbows on the rail, back to the bar. The dance floor sprawled out before him, a sea of bodies gleaming under the lights. Some shirts already shed, those chiseled chests slick with sweat, grinding solo or tangled up in twos and threes. A twink near the center had two bears boxing him in, head lolling back on one’s shoulder while the other yanked his hips forwards, guiding him into a shameless hump against a thick thigh. Denis smirked.Live your truth, kid.
“Ten,” the bartender called, and Denis shifted to see a glass of iced vodka hit the bar. It was way more than two fingers, the pour was generous as hell. He fished his card from his pocket, flashing a grin that got him a flirty wink in return. The guy spun to the register, card in hand, and a minute later slapped a receipt down with a pen. Denis scribbled a fat tip.Why not?He flipped the paper, jotting his number on the back with a matching wink. An easy try, even if it didn’t result in any fun.
“Oh, honey, you’re the best,” the bartender purred, brushing fingers over Denis’ knuckles as he swept past to the next thirsty soul.
Still grinning, Denis turned back to the floor, and that’s when he saw him. It was a new guy, skirting around the edge of the crowd, slow-dancing to a beat that wasn’t playing with hands up, swaying like he was lost in some private song. Tattoos spilled down his arms, vivid against the rolled sleeves of a half-buttoned shirt, just enough chest hair peeking out to tease. He was fit and lean, and his posture hinted at something more than the normal club rat. Denis damn near bit his fist when the guy turned, tight jeans hugging an ass worth poetry. Another sway, a turn, and holy hell, the front was a revelation. The man’s cock thick and unmistakable, outlined like a promise along his thigh.God almighty.
He slammed the vodka back, throat burning, and abandoned the glass with a clink. Weaving through the crowd, he threw a raised brow and headshake at another guy angling the same way.
Nope. Back off, pal.
He got a knowing grin as the dude peeled off. Denis slid in close, heat pouring off Tattoo like a furnace, and ghosted his hands along the man’s frame, settling at the dip of his waist. No flinch, no jump. There was just a steady roll of hips that said he’d seen Denis already.Permission enough. Denis pressed in, chest to back, matching the rhythm, his own cock thickening as it grazed that poetry-worthy ass. Tattoo added a beat, one hand curling back to grip Denis’ neck, and the room tilted.
The music slowed, piano notes curling through the air, and Tattoo flowed with it, spine arching against Denis’ front. Too hot, too close, and yet not close enough. Denis slid a hand down, palm flattening over a ridged six-pack, fingers slotting into the grooves like they were made for it. Tattoo’s hand twined with his, tightening, and a rough chuckle rumbled out, deep enough to vibrate through Denis’ bones. Pants straining, Denis ducked his head, nipping the edge of Tattoo’s ear, earning another laugh that hit like a shot of lust straight to his core.
“I like that, Suit Guy.” Tattoo twisted, pressing into the touch, the move guiding Denis’ lips to the sharp angle of his cheek. “What else you got?”
“Depends on what you’re chasing, Tattoo. Me, I’m after some stress relief, need to blow off steam.” Denis kissed a path from cheek to temple, then pulled back, locking eyes. “You?”
“Same deal.” Tension flickered around Tattoo’s eyes, a flash of something raw and jagged. He sucked in a breath, hard and fast, then used the grip on Denis’ neck to spin, staying caged in his arms. His voice was low and reluctant when he spoke again, “Kinda out of my depth here, Suit Guy.”
Denis eased back an inch, feeling Tattoo’s hold tighten for a split second before loosening. “If you’re just dipping a toe in, there’s easier ways to test the waters.”
Tattoo shook his head slow, gaze steady on Denis. “Not testing. Just...green. Semi-green. Don’t have much experience like this. Out in public.”
Denis arched into him, hips rocking, and grinned at the matching hardness he found. “Well, hell then.” He leaned close, stubble scraping as he traced Tattoo’s jaw, chasing those full lips. Tattoo groaned, turning into it, and Denis teased with a darting flick of tongue, swiping corner to corner, coaxing. The music shifted, rowdy and fast, and they moved with it, synced tight. Their lips brushing, hands roaming, hips locked. Denis pulled back to watch him move, and Tattoo’s mouth parted, tongues grazing for one electric second. Eyes shut, face taut with want, Tattoo leaned close, and Denis crashed into him, claiming that open mouth with a hunger that drowned out the club. Tongues tangled, wet and fierce, and the world shrank to the ragged sounds spilling between them, the groans, the gasps, everything.
