Lucky Buck and a Brace of Horses
Their first and last night in Port Bath was spent on the floor in a space no larger than a poultry coop, and no’ even so sweet-smelling.
He woke to the aroma of sweat and spent desire, his head somehow wedged in David’s armpit and his butt-crack itching for lack of wash water. David had refused to make love in this hell-spawned “rooming house” with its cobweb-thin walls and splintered-wood flooring. His inner thigh was wet from frantic dreams of his bedmate’s arse, and his bladder was bursting from his affair with a bottle of Bermuda bibby.
Och, who knew that the leaves of a damned tree, crushed and fermented, could make him lose his mind and his natural restraint about buried emotions?
Gregory MacGregor carefully and slowly lifted his haunch from David’s warm body and stood, finding his trewes, pulling them up over his arse. He’d be damned if he’d piss into a tin pot. And what if his thunderous release woke David?
He pissed against a tree behind the rickety building, trying to remember yesterday.
I know David would have let me enter him, if… Aye, if he was verra drunk and far from civilization. So it didnae happen.
So a besotted Scot hadnae missed the joy of their first union. He remembered opening David’s trewes…the sweet taste of the lad’s passion on his tongue…
He resolved to drink no more damned bibby, at least not until he and his companion could do it properly.
Do it. Make love.
Shaking his head and his bod too, he re-tied the leather thong of his fly. Aye, he did remember telling the lad something yesterday, there under the trees. Something about hidden feelings, his heart-sore devotion—
He spat and walked back toward their shabby quarters. ’Twas time to get those horses, buy some food, and start their trek. Not west, but north.
With his fingers, Gregory combed back the long tangled hair from his forehead and cursed again. North, toward the damned Sassenachs and their scarlet coats. He’d assumed the two of them would naturally seek the western mountains, what these colonists called the “frontier.” To travel north would be riding back into the arms of men who’d shattered the life of his clan, even his country. The same men who’d driven David from his adopted father and his boyhood home. No good could come of it.
But David had his heart set on making sure his old home was still intact, or else mourning its loss. He couldnae blame the lad. And he resolved no’ to betray his bitter disappointment to the man who had brought joy to every inch of his body and soul. And aye, love to his barren heart.
He let himself into their room as quietly as he could. Last night, David had leaned the offending cot against one of the walls. Better to remove it than have to pay for a broken one. By the feeble light of a small oil lamp, he stood looking down at his mate—an angel with a halo of golden hair surrounding his almost-unwhiskered face, sleeping naked on a cloud of splinters and nails.
Holding the tiny clay lamp, he squatted next to David, letting his eyes travel from the lad’s pouting mouth, down to his smooth chest with its soft nipples, finally stopping at the swell of his buttocks. He was lying with one leg curled up, revealing a glimpse of soft testicles. His own cock stirred and jumped at the sight.
If only I dared take him nou.
But David would balk at any kind of intimacy in this forsaken hovel. They had a lifetime—and thousands of miles of privacy—ahead of them in this untrammeled new world. Rocking back on his heels, Gregory was content to watch the young man sleep.
This was a rare moment for both of them—alone, in a way, after weeks of being cramped and mostly separated aboard a damn leaky and reekie boat on a restless ocean. For a long time, he was bunked with his snoring cousin Duncan. After a radge assassin had tried to kill him, he’d lain witless for endless days in the small bunk of the ship’s doctor. They’d shared a wee bit of no’ so private time together, off an on, while he was healing. And then, no sooner were they on land again, they’d had to run two separate directions in their dread mission to stop a killer.
In fact, as Gregory thought back, he realized the only time he and David had ever been truly alone was in a cave near his old Alyth home, behind a waterfall. Months ago. A few precious hours with only the roar of the spate and the flickering fire as witness to their nakedness…
O’course, there was that fleeting time, weeks ago. That time when David, crazy with island beer, had sought his Scots arse…
The flame in the tiny lamp wavered, and a crusty voice penetrated his waking dream.
“Gregory, you’re dressed. Is it time—”
“Nae, David. The sun is just coming up. I think the blacksmith willnae be at his forge so early.”
David, leaning on his elbows and forearms, shook his head and smiled. “He has our horses. I’m eager to put Port Bath on my stern, as the sailor-boys say.”
“Ye mean behind your sweet bum?”
“Again the bum. For shame, sir. Turn your head while I put on my trousers.”
Gregory laughed out loud. Yesterday, this very lad had outright asked him to open the fly of those same trewes.
“Too late, David. I’ve seen it all.”
The blaze of blue eyes warned him, but he was feeling randy already this morning.
“And it may be a long time before you see it again, Mister MacGregor. I need to walk outside to relieve myself. And I don’t want to have to coax my flesh for fifteen minutes to get it done.”
Gregory, still laughing, rose and set the lamp on the floor without another word. He stood with his back to David, arms crossed, until he heard the sound of a thin door closing with a certain blunt finality.
~~~Chapter Two to be concluded soon
Looking for Chapter One? It’s on this blog, right here! https://bit.ly/2tUmVWw