I park my bike at the end of the row of shine and chrome and black and flames. The Cave isn’t a biker bar, but there’s enough crossover between the leather, the bears, and the kink to make it appear that way. I hold out an arm to assist Kieran with his dismount. I keep my arm in place until the wobble in his legs subsides.

“Are you okay?” I take our helmets and store them in the saddlebag.

He still looks a little windblown and weary.

“I thought once you were at a steady speed, I could relax. But no. After tonight, I’ll be a happy camper just knowing that you enjoy riding. I’ll stick to my car, thank you.”

“My bike is safer than that death trap.” I laugh and grab his hand to lead him into the bar.

“My death trap has sides and a roof and doesn’t feel like I’m hurtling through the air at ungodly speeds when traveling down the highway.”

His protests end the second we enter the big, roughly hewn front door.

Where In Toto feels like someone took the interior of a futuristic alien spaceship and turned it into a bar, The Cave is your gay uncle Charlie’s old barn where he and his friends can be themselves without judgement or fear. I turn over my jacket at the front, then peel out of my t-shirt, sticking it in the jacket pocket before it’s taken away.

Kieran’s eyes widen, and I tug at his shirt. He gives a rapid shake of his head.

“You’re going to get hot,” I warn.

“Already there,” he says, his bulging eyes glued to the harness I had on under my shirt. It’s a chest harness that has extra straps that hook to my jeans like suspenders. Arm bands around each bicep complete my version of “leather.”

“Holy fuck.”

The worry and anxiety I had stored up all week for this moment falls away with an easy laugh. I’m making him hot. I had been so worried he would think I was weird, or wrong, or unattractive like this that I spent the week fretting. Our mutual masturbation on Monday was hot enough to make me double-check the smoke alarms, and he seemed to enjoy the show I gave him. But then I remembered the guys he’s used to at In Toto, or the fact that I have never manscaped, or that this is the first time ever that I will be allowing someone that I will see again to see me in leather. One look at the awe and lust on his face right now tells me I had nothing to worry about.

“Excuse me.” A soft voice and tap on my shoulder have me shifting to the side. A man wearing only a harness and a leather jock scoots into the space I’ve made near the coat check window and leans inside. “Dickey! I forgot to grab my card. Can you hand me my pants?”

I think Kieran has swallowed his tongue.

“Come on, babe. Let’s get you a drink.”

He links his hand with mine and holds on tight as we walk up a flight of rickety wooden stairs to the club floor. The scent of leather and sweat and beer is thick in the air. I drag him to the end of the bar, away from the dance floor and the throngs of mostly naked men. All in good time.

I order a Fat Tire for Kieran and a bottle of water for me. The bartender, who’s shirtless with a pair of leather suspenders attached to leather boy shorts and wearing a leather cap, gives Kieran an appreciative nod and wink.

Maybe it’s for the best that he decided to keep his shirt on. I might have had to track down a marker and tag “Mine” and “Taken” all over his chest otherwise.

We slide into a wooden booth to sip our drinks, but my hips can’t help but shimmy to the music. The quirk of Kieran’s lips tells me that he’s noticed.

“Okay, I have to ask,” he says as he leans across the table. I lean forward on my elbows to better hear him, and our noses are inches away from kissing. “How are you into leather? You’re vegan.”

I bark out my laughter. Out of everything I had braced myself for upon bringing him to the club, that was not what I had expected.

“All my leather is fake. There are kink ‘vegan’ leather stores that specialize in this shit. Harnesses, gloves, the whole bit. Even my jacket is fake.”

His forehead wrinkles as he ponders my words. He looks behind him to the dance floor. A few men brave wearing leather pants or shirts, but most know they’ll get too hot in full leather gear out there. That’s why harnesses, caps, gloves, shorts, and lots and lots of jocks are so popular. You can get your kink on, but not pass out from heat exhaustion doing it.

“But theirs isn’t,” he says, turning back to me. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

It doesn’t, but I’ve never really thought about why until he asks. It’s a good and honest question, so I give it some thought.

“I go out to restaurants where people eat meat all the time. That doesn’t bother me either. I make my own choices based on what I’m comfortable with, but I would never expect to or want to dictate the choices of others.”

“I can see that,” he says, taking a swallow of his beer and then rolling the bottle back and forth between his hands. “I guess it just seems weird to specifically have a leather fetish when you’re vegan. It seems like sort of a black and white kind of thing.”

“That’s okay. I’m nuanced,” I say with a wink that brings a bitable pink to the tips of his ears. “If it would help, you can say I have a polyurethane and cork fetish.”

“And I apparently have a polyurethane and dork fetish.” He laughs.

“As long as I’m your fetish, I’m okay with that.” I finish my water and crinkle the bottle in my hands. “Ready to dance?”

Kieran shakes his head furiously. “No. Nope. Not going out there.”

“Well, I’m going out there,” I say, sliding out of the booth and edging toward the dance floor. I shimmy my shoulders and crook my finger at him. Kieran rolls his eyes, but his fond smile gives away his true feelings, and he slowly makes his way to me on the dance floor.

I’m not the best dancer out there, but I’ve been told I have rhythm, even though in my opinion that’s not why we dance. We dance for joy. Or because we are sad. We dance for connection. And in this place, we dance because we can.

A blond in chaps clearly has Kieran in his crosshairs, and it stirs me into action, stepping forward until I can set hands on my man. I grab his hips that sway with each pounding beat, and he snakes his hand up my chest, flicking a nipple ring along the way, until it rests along my shoulder. As if he’s claiming me as his. The twinge in my dick from his quick flick is nothing compared to the fireworks set off by the other simple action.

The blond gets the message and backs off, which Kieran notices if his smirk is anything to go by. I spin him around until his back is introduced to my front and sling his arm around my neck in a move I learned watching Dirty Dancing infinite times as a child.

Kieran lays his head back against my shoulder and lets my erection guide the movement of his ass. We sway and grind through song after song until I’m dizzy and delirious. I’m lost in a hazy, pulsing cloud of strobe lights and bass, and Kieran’s body tucked safely into my arms.

I’m dripping with sweat when I lean to his ear and take a quick swipe with my tongue, eliciting a full-body shiver from my man, before saying, “I need some water.”

My voice comes out hoarse, which isn’t surprising given the amount of yelling we’ve had to do to talk over the music. And how turned on I am. Kieran takes my hand again and he leads this time. The crowd parts for him like he’s a god walking among them. It once again makes me feel the need to very publicly claim him.

We take our fresh, and thankfully chilled, waters to the upper level that overlooks the dance floor. It’s less crowded, which means cooler and quieter. It’s not exactly a back room. There are clusters of men chilling out and laughing together, men who obviously come here often by the way they tease and cheer each other. But a few couples or couples plus are tucked away in corners or against rails in positions that don’t exactly hide what they’re getting up to.

Kieran sits on a stool near the railing that overlooks the dance floor, but he keeps his back out and is swiveled around to face me. We sip our waters, and I run mine along my forehead, still trying to cool off. Kieran gets an evil gleam in his eye and tilts his bottle toward my chest until the frosty base rubs against my nipple. I snap back with a hiss.

“When did you discover you were into all this?” Kieran says after raising his hands in surrender. I can’t blame him. I was considering numerous ways to get my revenge. Still am.

“When I first moved to Fort Collins, there was a different gay bar in town. It wasn’t like this, but it was definitely more real, I guess would be the best way to put it. When it burned down a few years ago, I tried In Toto once and I just couldn’t do it. It was definitely not my scene.”

Kieran laughs. “I can’t imagine why not.”

“Right? I searched for something within driving distance, and as soon as I set foot in this place, I felt like I had found my people. Easygoing. Relaxed. I didn’t worry that my jeans weren’t tight enough or that my eyebrows weren’t whatever the fuck they’re supposed to be now.”

Kieran giggles again, and I step even closer to his stool, fitting myself between his legs.

“I had never tried leather before, but I loved how it seemed to make all these men feel so free and confident. I got my jacket first. It made sense with the bike. But then came the boots and the harness. I even have gloves and chaps at home.”

“Do you now?” Kieran’s eyes spark with interest, until his attention is drawn to the bodies invading his space to his left.

The couple next to us that was simply chatting earlier has progressed to the non-talking portion of their evening. If it wasn’t so crowded, I would scoot Kieran’s stool farther away. One of the men is almost leaning on Kieran instead of the railing.

But instead of showing discomfort, Kieran reaches out and snags my harness, tugging me closer until he can hold me against him, his hands digging into my ass. His chin tilts up as he chases my lips with his, and I don’t make him chase me for long. His lips taste of sweat and beer and man, and the chaos around us disappears as I lose myself in him.

He breaks apart with his smile still touching mine, his uneven breaths feeding my lungs from his.

“Do you think they make a harness in my size?” he asks against my mouth when he can find his words.

“You can damn well bet I’ll find you one,” I say, nipping at his lips again until his laughter makes it impossible, and I find other places to bite. Earlobes. Jaw. Chin.

Kieran leans against the railing, giving a lazy smile and nod to the couple who have also returned to conversing, and releases a lilting sigh.

“You know, Ted. I really like it here.”