“Cigarette?”
“Yep,” he agrees.
Before any sense can catch up to me, I’m out the door. I wait for it to bang shut but Jake catches it before it does, and all I hear is the music muffling as if underwater, and the crunch of gravel beneath our feet. Just beyond us, lights shine gold down the highway, becoming smaller and closer in every direction. Darkness spreads endless beyond, flat fields of cotton unseen, and above stars scatter, glittering like flecks of silver over black velvet sky.
“Shit,” I sigh. It’s been too long since I’ve felt that peculiar freedom that comes from being small and directionless, lost in the wide country and its boundless possibilities. The city convinces you that you’re big, that everything you do matters, that only now I realize how much that’s stopped me from doing anything at all.
I’ve stopped moving, and I can hear Jake come up close behind me, and I know he’s looking too.
“Don’t imagine you’ve got that in New York,” he says softly, and he’s near enough to me that when he speaks, it’s his breath I feel ruffle through my hair rather than the wind.
Vertigo unsteadies the ground beneath my feet. I’m overwhelmed by whiskey and sky, and just as much by Jake being so close that his deep voice seems to rumble through me.
“I don’t smoke,” I tell him.
“Neither do I.”
I lift a hand to rub the dizziness from my eyes but my fingers are snared and twined with his. I let him lead me, back toward the bar but not inside of it, away from the hooting and hollering of our miscreant friends enjoying their night of debauchery. We find our way to the side of the bar instead, safely out of sight if anyone does wander out to smoke, far enough away that we’d hear footsteps on the gravel if anyone came around looking for us or a spot to piss.
“I’m not normally so forward,” he intones, but my God, he is now. The weight of his body lays heavy against my own and rough brick snares my kilt when I slide back against the building. “But it’s been a long fuckin’ time—excuse my language.”
“No excusing necessary.” I swallow hard, my throat so tight it hurts, and before he’s even moved, my lips part to ease the breaths that come too short with Jake so close. “Are you —”
“I am.”
“Me too,” I say, though I guess it’s obvious enough by now. When I laugh, it sounds strangely shy despite years of being open and out. “What are the chances?”
“Pretty fuckin’ slim,” Jake agrees. He lifts a hand and runs the backs of his fingers down my cheek. They’re coarse, work-worn, and wonderful, a juxtaposition against the tenderness of his touch that makes me shiver. I lean into him, setting my hands against his chest and curling my fingers against the warmth under my palms. Our mouths meet, lips spreading smoothly together, and his lips are firm, forcing mine open further with a moan as our tongues tangle. My body rises to his, pushing together chest and hips, denim and plaid wool grinding in a hot, needy friction where our cocks press into each other.
We part gasping, struggling for breath from the force of our kiss and filling laughter with it, low and pleased. I start to snap free the pearly fasteners on Jake’s shirt and he watches not my hands but my face, dark eyes following the movement when I press my teeth into my bottom lip. I don’t bare him any more than I have to, old instincts honed from growing up gay in a red state, but I free him from his shirt enough to skim a hand beneath and grasp the thick hair on Jake’s chest.
My moan is shameless. It’s been so long, and I feel like I’m fifteen again, groping furtively outside the school building with one of the football players.
“Is it true, about the kilts?” Jake asks suddenly. My brief reverie is broken and I pinch the pebbling bud of a nipple as if to lightly punish him for asking distracting questions. He flinches and grins, clarifying. “About not wearing anything beneath.”
“I sure as hell did.”
“Too bad.”
“Is it?”
“Easier without, I reckon.”
“I reckon I’m not easy,” I answer, and with a fierce smile he sets his mouth at my throat. My knees nearly give out when he sucks just above my collarbone, hard enough to leave a mark, and I push my hands through his silky straight hair to keep him there and make sure he does. Something permanent enough, something that I can look at tomorrow and touch and remember how good it feels to be someplace so familiar.
I buck my hips against his and snare a leg around his, steadying myself to rub against the rigid line of his cock. A rough hand slides beneath my kilt and bares me to the night air, and my protest is silenced with another heated kiss when he tugs down my briefs. My cock springs free, standing stiff beneath the wool kilt. It would look absurd if I had any time to think about it, but Jake’s wide hand clutches my shaft tight enough that I can only groan.
I am at his mercy. Jake squeezes down around my dark curls of pubic hair, and fans his fingers over the wrinkled skin of my balls, already drawing high and tight in urgency. His fingertips press back beneath my sack, rubbing against the sensitive skin beneath my legs, further still and I almost stop him. Almost. But the rough texture of Jake’s touch against my hole is too good, and I gasp against his mouth, straining to spread my legs and finding them caught by the elastic waistband of my underwear. I rock down against his fingers, as if to force them into me dry and feel the fiery stretch from it split me in two.
Eyes narrowed in amusement, he denies me, and in doing so promises more, later, when we’re not outside a bar full of our friends with our feet skidding over gravel to remain upright. The kilt makes it easy when Jake starts to stroke me again, his thumb and forefinger circling tight beneath the swollen head of my cock. Long, slow pulls unravel me and I reach to feel him, too, but find his free hand against my wrist again. He pins it to the wall and hums, rumbling, pressing our foreheads together.
“Let me,” Jake says.
We all want what we can’t have, and there’s no harm in that.
So I let Jake hold me, even knowing that I could just as readily turn him to the wall and do the same. My hips jerk, my breath shortens. I rut into the tunnel of his hand with almost adolescent eagerness, shuddering a sigh when he drags the pad of his thumb against my slit. Ducking my head, I watch the movement of his wrist, fluttering my kilt like a flag. I feel unfamiliar. I wonder if my Scottish ancestors ever found themselves held against the side of a barn and fondled by burly Highlanders. Mouth dry, lips slack, I rest my head against Jake’s shoulder, eyes barely open and gaze fixed on his forearm’s flexing as he jerks me off.
“You should stop,” I manage, laughing despite the numbness in my lips from lack of breath, despite the absurdity of adding, “I’m going to come in my skirt.”
“Kilt,” Jake corrects with a grin, but he doesn’t argue the other points.
I shake out a whimper against his shoulder and fight the tightening in my stomach. It coils low in my groin, snaring harder every time Jake’s palm curls over my flushed cockhead, leaking precome that smoothes his strokes as they speed. Harder, faster, Jake tugs my dick beneath the kilt and my fingers splay and clench, trembling, when I feel the tension unfurl so suddenly it dizzies me. The humping of my hips staggers, unsteady, and my voice cracks when I pulse hot white ropes over his hand, spattering against the underside of my kilt and darkening the wool where my come soaks into it.
I gasp for air like a drowning man, and force our mouths together. A sloppy kiss, dragging messy and damp, and Jake lets go of my wrist so that I can sling my arms over his shoulders and let him hold my weight. My whole body shakes, pleasure pulsing a dull buzz in my ears, and I feel Jake’s arm move to wipe his hand off against his jeans before he leans me back against the wall.
“Shit,” I sigh, and I know my face shows an echo of guilt and uncertainty. It’s our friends’ bachelor party. We’re nearly strangers despite the nearness of our roots. It’s Texas, even if I’m playing at being from somewhere else. But there’s no reproach when our gaze connects, just a gentle
good-humor when Jake touches a kiss to my cheek, ruddy and hot beneath his lips. It seems suddenly unfair that he’s still stiff in his jeans, even if they’re tight enough not to show it, and I ask, “Will you let me?”
“Later,” Jake says, and I know by the hunger he shows when he presses his tongue to his lips that he means it.
“Tonight?”
“Soon as we’re done here.”
“I’m staying with Chris,” I tell him, bending to pull my briefs up again and sinking a kiss against his still bared chest before he can button his shirt up again.
“You’re not.”
The words snap a shiver under my skin. I drag the back of my hand across my eyes, as if it might hide the blush or delight or neediness that Jake’s brought out in me. The honesty and ease of it makes so much sense compared to the endless games I’ve gotten used to. I forgot that it could be so simple.
“Alright,” I say.
I suppose that sometimes, on rare occasions, we all end up having what we want.
And there’s no harm in that.
The End
Hunting for a Highlander
by Lila Mathews
When Aleck accidently exposes his long kept secret—his attraction to his fellow clan member Kendrick—he fears that Kendrick will have him exiled. Kendrick, though, has other ideas.
In one swift movement, Aleck Ker sliced his sharpened knife through the belly of the red deer that he had just taken down. He worked diligently, ignoring the icy stiffness in his fingers.
It wasn’t usually so bloody cold this late in March, but winter was refusing to leave the Grampian Mountains again this year. The past few winters had been brutally cold, and the winter of 1593 was proving to be no different. January and February had carried with them the harshest weather that Scotland had ever seen. Well, the harshest weather that Aleck could remember in all his nine-and-twenty years, at least. The cold temperatures had left most of the forest depleted and dry. And the cattle that had managed to survive were weak and barely producing any milk.
The malnourished livestock were the reason for the early hunt. Yesterday, the clan chief had pulled aside a few members, Aleck included, and instructed them to set out at once to hunt and collect a significant amount of wild game. The clan needed meat if it wanted to remain strong and agile in battle, and unfortunately, by today’s measures, the wild game seemed to be fewer in number as well this year. The red deer in front of Aleck was the first he had seen today, and it was nearly nightfall already.
Aleck heard the sound of boots crunching over dry earth, and looked up. His eyes locked on the tall burly Highlander coming his way. A jolt of desire traveled up from Aleck’s feet and settled in his groin.
Like the others in their clan, Kendrick Douglas had a solid and strong body. He was raw masculinity at its best, with his sharp bone structure and large, sculpted muscles. Unlike the others though, Kendrick had a set of clear blue eyes that were so light in color that it was a wonder one couldn’t look straight through them.
Anytime Kendrick had directed his attention at Aleck, Aleck was certain that those eyes could see into the depths of his soul and uncover his deepest, darkest secret. The secret that Aleck could never admit. That he was sexually attracted to men. Well, not just any man. Only the one who stood before him. He was absolutely, without a doubt, enamored with Kendrick Douglas. It was damn near a daily occurrence for Aleck to awaken with his fist clenched tightly around his cock, or with his stomach sticky with his juices, because he had been dreaming of Kendrick.
“Need some help with that?” The rich tenor of Kendrick’s voice reverberated throughout the barren and still forest. A few lone blackbirds flew skyward, startled by the penetrating sound.
Without waiting for a response, Kendrick crouched down across from Aleck and began helping gut the animal.
“You and I are the only two who caught anything today,” Kendrick said. As he worked, his knuckles brushed against the back of Aleck’s right hand. The little hairs on Aleck’s arm rose up, giving away how much Aleck enjoyed the accidental warm touch.
Kendrick continued talking, not noticing the effect he had on Aleck. “I caught a couple of mountain hares, took them back to camp already. They’re cooking over the fire now.” The muscles in Kendrick’s arm bunched as he unflinchingly removed the intestines from the deer and tossed them aside.
As Kendrick pushed his hand back into the carcass, his knuckles brushed against Aleck’s arm again, and Aleck’s cock sprang to life. Aleck readjusted his stance so his legs would block the protrusion from Kendrick’s sight.
Noticing Aleck’s shift in position, Kendrick looked up and asked, “Are you okay?” His eyes reflected concern, as a deep furrow appeared in the center of his brow.
Aleck gazed back into Kendrick’s penetrating eyes, and felt his manhood stiffen to a noticeable length. He cursed the fact that he always opted to wear high socks, instead of constricting leggings. Now there was nothing keeping his cock from tenting the front of his kilt.
“Yes,” he lied, though his gravely tone betrayed his emotions. “My legs are just tired from squatting.” The excuse flew from his tongue.
Kendrick glanced down at Aleck’s lower body, and Aleck felt his cheeks flush bright red, despite the chilled air. Now he’d done it. He’d inadvertently focused Kendrick’s attention on the one part of his body that could expose his secret.
Aleck watched as Kendrick’s eyes grew wide with what Aleck perceived to be shock. Aleck held his breath, waiting for Kendrick’s facial expression to change into one of disgust.
He waited, and waited. It didn’t happen, though. Instead, Kendrick’s face first showed confusion, most likely as he realized that Aleck preferred men. Then, to Aleck’s great surprise, the man appeared astonished, in awe. Perhaps by the size of Aleck’s member? Aleck was rather large when compared to the other members of their clan.
Seeming to suddenly realize that he was staring, Kendrick quickly averted his gaze back to the task at hand.
“When I realized you weren’t back at camp yet, I went searching for you,” Kendrick said in a neutral tone, acting as if the awkward moment that had passed just a few moments earlier had never happened.
Aleck let out the breath he’d been holding. “I couldn’t let the deer go. We need the fuel for the hunt,” Aleck explained in an equally neutral tone. If Kendrick was going to choose to ignore what happened, then so would Aleck.
“The others will be happy to see us arrive. That’s for certain.” Kendrick gave Aleck an almost reassuring smile.
Both men stood in unison once the cleaning of the deer was complete. They hoisted it on their shoulders and set off for camp. Their brisk walking pace made talking impossible, something that Aleck was grateful for.
***
As the men broke through some thick brush, a few of their fellow clan members caught sight of them and hollered excitedly. Two of the men rushed forward and pulled the deer from their shoulders, and Aleck was rewarded with multiple slaps to his back as the animal was strung over a fire to cook. The deer and rabbits would provide more than enough fuel for the ten hungry men on the hunting excursion.
Aleck sat on a log near the large crackling fire, and extended his hands and legs toward the flames. His skin tingled as the much needed heat brought sensation back to his skin. Knowing that a good meal was to be had, most of the men lounged peacefully around it as well. Their temporary shelters were already built. They had nothing to worry about for the time being.
Aleck groaned. With the darkness upon them, there wasn’t enough time to gather the wood and leaves he needed to build a shelter. He’d have to take his chances, and pray that no rain or snow would come.
As if reading his troubled mind, Torran, who sat just a few feet away from Aleck, said, “The others and I built shelters for both you and Kendrick.” He pointed to a small clearing not too far from the fire, where two small temporary shelters had been set up.
A wide grin spread across Aleck�
��s face as he thanked Torran and the others. Aleck would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that part of the reason why he was so happy was because he would be sleeping near Kendrick. Aleck glanced at Kendrick, searching for a sign that indicated that he was upset by the sleeping arrangements, but he found none. Kendrick actually appeared to be deep in thought, his eyes focused intently on the fire. There was nothing Aleck wouldn’t give to know the content of those thoughts.
“Meat’s ready,” Torran announced in a low gravelly voice, snapping everyone to attention.
Large hunks of meat were passed around, until each man ate more than his fill of it. With full bellies, they begged off to sleep. Dawn would arrive early.
Inside his own shelter, Aleck undid the thick wool kilt from around his waist, unfolded it, and reformed it into a sleep-sack. He lay on his back, folded the fabric around his body, and let his eyes drift shut.
Sleep eluded him though. It wasn’t the continuous chirping of the insects, or the distant rumbling snores of the other men, that kept him awake. It was Kendrick. More specifically, it was the thought of Kendrick, who was also most likely lying half-naked inside his own kilted sleep-sack, only a few feet away. Aleck’s cock was rock hard, just from that simple thought alone.
Aleck didn’t hear any snoring coming from the direction of Kendrick’s shelter. Was he awake as well? Aleck let his mind imagine that Kendrick was also lying awake, thinking instead of Aleck. Perhaps he was over there silently stroking his own rigid cock, muffling his moans in his shirt, as he thought of pushing his prick into Aleck’s ass. Or maybe Aleck’s mouth.
A small moan slipped past Aleck’s lips. His hand shot to the base of his cock and squeezed, holding back the hot liquid that threatened to erupt from it. Aleck’s imagination was far too vivid for his own good. He hadn’t even been touching himself, and he damn near exploded. Man, he had it bad for Kendrick.
Aleck sighed heavily, and threw the back of his forearm across his eyes. Who was he kidding, anyway? Kendrick had given no indication that he preferred men, let alone Aleck. Aleck had only assumed so, based on Kendrick’s silence earlier in the day. Why else wouldn’t he have called Aleck out? Surely, any other man would have had him exiled from the clan by now.
Plaid Nights Anthology Page 3
