Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Clint

Clint pulled the blanket around his shoulders, tucking his feet into the edges. A few mosquitoes had already wormed their way inside to bite him, but he hadn’t been able to muster the courage to go inside yet. His back was still stinging from every spot that Scotland had tugged a barb out, and Clint was determined there were a few he’d missed.

That wasn’t the reason his skin was buzzing or why he’d retreated back to the solace of the cabin as quickly as possible.

His lips were still tingling, his fingertips and his chest practically vibrating. Even his hair was stinging like it had been tugged just right.

He dragged his hand over his mouth, the bruised ache flaring. The feeling didn’t fade even as he bit his lip, chewing at the edge until he could taste copper.

“Stop it,” he whispered, glaring at the light from the battery lantern he’d set inside the firepit. He hadn’t known what the ring was until he’d spotted the charred logs within.

There was much more to the property than he’d expected, including a bug-ridden bush and the firepit surrounded by worn wooden lounge chairs. There had been a trail through the bush that he’d only explored a bit before he’d turned back, the bugs threatening to ruin his shirtless holiday.

The fireplace unfortunately wasn’t tucked away out of view, so he had to see the shape of Scotland wandering behind a pane of glass. That man moved about his house as if he were on a mission, never seeming to rest, even when he was home.

Not that I’ve been watching.

Clint’s stomach grumbled and he pulled the blanket tighter. He wasn’t hiding—not exactly. He’d been hungry for a few hours, but there was nothing in the cupboards or fridge that was tasty enough to get him out of the chair.

“Here you are.”

He looked up at Scotland’s voice, squinting through the darkness and the overbright LEDs in the fire pit. Night had closed in around him while he’d been staring off into space, the crickets chirping even louder than before.

“Here I am,” said Clint, pulling his legs up and resting his chin on his knees beneath the blanket. Well, there goes my peace. Who was he kidding? His entire day had been spent alone, and it had been the furthest thing from peace.

“Is there anything else I need to watch for in this place?” asked Clint, flicking his gaze over Scotland as he emerged into the light. “I’ve found the guard donkeys and the killer plants. Do you have a house cat that doubles as a secret agent?”

Scotland chuckled, lifting his hands until Clint caught sight of two plates balanced on his palms. “I brought dinner. Did you want to eat inside?”

His stomach grumbled again as he hugged his legs tighter. “No thanks. I’m good.”

He struggled not to drool as the scent of roasted peppers and something sweet reached him. It smelled so fucking good, like something his mom would have made him when he was a little kid. If she had been a Michelin chef.

“Come on, Clint,” said Scotland, letting out a sigh before he set the plates on the edge of the brick fire ring. “I know you aren’t exactly here by choice, but that’s no reason to be miserable. The company is good, at least.”

Clint shot him a glare. He had to be joking.

So far he’d been fucked, carried off by a donkey and stabbed by the biggest thistle he’d ever seen.

“Okay,” said Scotland, holding up his hands before he grabbed a chair and tugged it close to Clint’s. “Maybe not the company, but the food?”

“Just the food,” said Clint, reaching for the plate when his stomach gave another loud growl. Pausing, he touched the battery lantern, turning the brightness up. He’d had to turn it down when a plethora of massive moths had started to swoop toward the light. It had almost given him a heart attack when he’d seen the first one, which had seemed to be bigger than a dinner plate.

Setting the lantern back onto its spot, he grabbed for the plate. The center of it was hot while the edges were still cool as he balanced it in his lap. He pointedly stared at his food as he shoveled the first bite into his mouth, refusing to look at Scotland.

“Did you want me to start a real fire? We can roast marshmallows.” Scotland grabbed his own plate, balancing it on one knee as he looked Clint’s way.

Clint’s heart stopped at the same time his gut went tight. “No.”

The smell of ash and smoke didn’t get to him as much when he was outdoors. It was unavoidable when he drove around in the summer. People were always lighting campfires.

But flames were another thing altogether. His skin prickled at the thought, his appetite slipping away to nothing as his mouth went dry. No.

“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” said Scotland, placing a hand on Clint’s knee. He struggled not to pull away as the warmth sank straight through his blanket. It was nice and warm in the chill of the night. His lips tingled.

No.“It’s okay,” said Clint, clearing his throat. “Let’s just eat.”

“Were you ‘little’ with your husband?”

Clint choked on the piece of chicken in his mouth, accidentally spitting it out so it landed between their chairs. He hacked out a few breaths, setting his plate down on the edge of the bricks so he didn’t lose the rest of his dinner.

“What?” His face flushed as he turned a wide-eyed look on Scotland.

“Were you little?” asked Scotland, his gaze steady and piercing. “Sometimes you go quiet, and you act little. I like it a lot. Have you ever explored that part of yourself?”

When did this turn into an interrogation?

“I’ve explored every part, punk,” said Clint, untucking the edges of his blanket so he could put his feet back on the ground, bugs be damned. “I’m not a newbie— I’m the king.”

Scotland set his plate down next to Clint’s, holding his gaze steady. Clint itched to look away, those eyes burning into him and probably seeing too much in the darkness.

“Then you say something like that,” said Scotland, “and it makes me wonder if you are okay.” Scotland blinked, slow, steady, soft. He was that supportive best friend that had already been in his pants.

Clint swallowed, looking away. The chirping of the crickets was almost overwhelming without the sound of wind through the trees. His own heart was quiet and beating in metronomic thumps. “Like what?”

“You go from a kid all wrapped up in a blanket after rolling around in a field to defensive,” said Scotland, squeezing Clint’s knee. Clint hadn’t realized they were touching, and he fought not to jerk away. “You say you’re the king, but I’m not sure if you know how to play anymore.”

Clint bit his tongue, the tang of blood filling his mouth. “You don’t know me.”

“I do,” said Scotland, standing from his chair to move before Clint. His ass touched the edge of the plates, almost sending them into the ash as he dropped to one knee. “Let me show you that I do. I can prove it.”

Clint pulled his legs up, trying to escape Scotland’s grasp. The ‘no shirt during vacation’ suddenly seemed like a very bad idea. The damn guy is persistent enough.

“What do you have to lose?” asked Scotland.

Clint looked away, his face burning where Scotland’s gaze touched him. Why the hell did I turn the light up? He should have just gone inside or watched for Scotland’s approach so he could have disappeared when Scotland had started toward the house. “Nothing. You don’t— Trust me. No one does.”

The words stung at the same time his eyes did. Do I really mean that? He hadn’t meant to say it. His friends had to know him…and maybe Cutler.

No. Not a single one of them knew the real him. Not even those who had known him when Ross had still been alive.

“Give me the chance to prove it. You still have your safewords if you need them. I won’t hurt you.”

Scotland’s voice was like the sound of nails on a chalkboard during a migraine. “I’m not afraid to get hurt. I like it, actually.” Clint waggled his eyebrows, slumping his shoulders when Scotland didn’t respond with his usual quip and smirk.

“Not this type of pain,” said Scotland, touching Clint’s cheek.

Clint inhaled a sharp breath, his cheek burning. He hadn’t felt the good kind of pain in a long time. So long, that he wondered if he would even like it anymore.

“You hate how you’re feeling right now,” said Scotland, trailing his fingers to Clint’s lips. “You’re so afraid to hurt that you refuse to feel anything at all. You throw yourself into kink and lust because you think that’s the only thing left for you, but you can’t do more than watch.”

“What’s your point?” Clint bit the inside of his cheek as his eyes burned for no reason at all.

Scotland was starting to sound like his fucking therapist. He’d only seen her a few times after the fire, and it had never helped. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it then, and he sure as hell didn’t want to now.

“Give me a chance.”

A little gust of wind picked up, swirling around the fire pit and throwing up specks of white and gray. A few wisps of dust floated onto the food, coating the roasted pepper in a touch more charcoal. The ash stuck in moments, already starting to dissolve.

There was nothing to fear of the ash. He knew that, but he still dreaded the feeling on his tongue when he slipped the food into his mouth. He used to love that smell, the taste, and with his fucked-up brain, sometimes it still made him want.

“Fine.” He spat the word, elbowing Scotland to the side so he could reach for his plate. His chicken was far too good for him to let it go to waste, even if he did have nightmares. If he didn’t look at it too hard, he wouldn’t see the dissolved ash, anyway. “Do your worst, but don’t come crying to me when your Dom ass can’t handle me.”

“Okay,” said Scotland, pulling away before grabbing his plate and returning to his own chair. “Finish your dinner.”

Clint rolled his eyes, letting his inner brat out tenfold. The dynamic between a Dom and sub was sacred to him, but Scotland was pushing every single button the wrong way. “I was going to anyway.”

Scotland paused with his fork hovering in front of his mouth. “I was going to anyway…” He lifted one brow, giving Clint a pointed look.

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. “I was going to anyway, Sir.”

Scotland’s lips split in a grin. “Good boy. I never knew you’d be quite so easy.”

Clint grumbled, scraping his teeth over his fork when he bit down a little too hard. “I’m not easy. I’m polite.”

He was not tackling how nice it was to be called a good boy. He’d think about that when he had no choice, just before he fell asleep and into another nightmare. He heard the phrase all the time. Now was no different.

Scotland snorted. “Polite?” He stabbed a piece of pepper, holding it out for Clint. It didn’t have a single speck of ash on it but was charred a bit from however Scotland had cooked it, the caramelized sugars sweet and aromatic.

Clint sent him a glare, even as he grasped the pepper between his lips. Two can play at this game. He was going to have Scotland so wrapped up in himself that he forgot Clint even existed. “Thank you, Sir. Dinner is delicious. I can clean up when you’re done.”

Scotland’s grin was so pure that it made something in his chest pang.

“You’re going to be too busy to clean up. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Idiot.

Clint reached for another piece with his fork, blinking as Scotland suddenly yanked his plate away. “Hey—”

Scotland tilted the plate, scraping the rest of Clint’s food next to his own. Tucking the now-empty saucer under his full one, he stabbed another pepper with his fork, holding it out for Clint.

He should have just turned his face away or his nose up, but his stomach gave another grumble, reminding him that he was far from full. And the peppers were the best he’d had in a long time. He opened his mouth, reaching for the piece and gently grasping it.

“Thank you, Sir.” He blinked, trying to shake off the fog that was nipping at the corners of his thoughts. It was just food. Sure, he was being somewhat hand-fed, but that was no excuse to let himself slip.

“You’re welcome, love.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, dreading and yearning for the next bite. Hopefully, the term was a slip of the tongue.

* * * *

He wasn’t sure where the plates had gone, but it didn’t matter when he was perfectly full, his belly warm and stretched with how sated he was. The blanket had fallen from around his shoulders, leaving his arms exposed to the dark breeze and the occasional bug that didn’t get drawn straight to the light.

It didn’t feel quite so cold anymore, even though the leaves were rustling more now than they had all night. His skin was cool to the touch when he ran his fingertips over his arm, but the chill didn’t sink any farther.

What time is it?

“You still with me?” asked Scotland as he returned. He touched the edge of the blanket, tugging it higher on Clint’s arms until a warmth soaked into him that he hadn’t been aware he was missing. “Are you warm enough, love?”

He nodded, words drifting away as he half-closed his eyes. Scotland hadn’t stopped calling him that since he’d agreed, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be upset about it.

I’m here. He shouldn’t have eaten so much—or maybe it was because he hadn’t slept well in so long. That was the reason he was half asleep and not the sweet hand-feeding and touches that had devolved into a kiss that had made his lips ache.

He was sure they were bruised, just like the spot on his back that had hit the ground and not the thistle. A few of the small spines were still tucked into his skin, stinging every time he moved. He leaned into them, imagining them pressing deeper.

“Good.” Scotland leaned in, dragging his lips against Clint’s in a chaste kiss. His eyes were bright in the flashlight—blue and endless. “I’m going to take your hands. You don’t have to move at all. Keep your eyes open, though.”

Clint let out a slow breath as Scotland reached under his protective blanket one hand at a time, grasping Clint’s hands before kissing each wrist. Gently, he set them on top of the blanket, leaving them to rest in Clint’s lap.

“I’m going to tie your hands now, love. You’ll be nice and safe. No need to move at all. I’ll do everything for you.”

Clint hummed in acknowledgment. He wasn’t going anywhere, and he was more than happy to let Scotland tie him up. Shibari was the best, even if his hands were a bit chilly now that they were out of the blanket. “Green.”

Scotland must’ve grabbed the rope when he’d gone back to the house for a few minutes, because it wasn’t something rough and prickly that could be found outside. It was smooth, but not slippery, and slightly cool as it was wrapped around one wrist, then the next. Scotland tightened it, making a simple slip knot that could be released with one tug of his hand or Clint’s teeth.

Are we going to discuss limits?He wasn’t sure if they were really doing this or if he’d fallen into a fucked-up fantasy. That would have been strange. He’d never dreamed about Scotland like that. The closest he’d come was reliving the memories of when he’d kicked Scotland out of the club that night and the way Scotland’s expression had fallen in a way that managed to haunt him.

A click had his attention snapping to full alertness. The sound was something he’d recognize anywhere, imprinted on every synapse of his brain. Ross had smoked when they’d first met until Clint had finally managed to convince him to quit after years of putting up with the stale smell.

That click was ingrained in his memory just like the scars on his skin.

A single flame touched the air, hovering above the lighter in Scotland’s hand so close that the bright light almost hurt his eyes. His heart pounded, sweat slicking his skin as he stared at it.

There was kindling next to the fire and a few shabby pieces of newspaper that would burst into flames at the first opportunity. It would only take a touch of the breeze for the dry fall grass to catch and spread.

His chest pulled tight, his heart pounding.

“I’ve got you,” said Scotland, keeping his finger depressed on the fuel as he reached for Clint with his free hand. He tucked one finger into the rope at Clint’s wrists, the tug focusing his gaze away from the tinder. “You couldn’t even move if you wanted to, could you? No need to think of running away when I’ll keep you safe.” His voice was dark and soft, lulling Clint like a metronome.

He was right. Clint could barely twitch, let alone contemplate putting his feet in a way that he could stand without keeling over.

“No, Sir.” His voice was just a bit slurred like he’d drank four glasses of wine at dinner instead of Scotland’s lips. The fear trickled away as he focused on the ropes and the burn on the back of his wrist as he tugged at them. They were strong, resisting any thoughts of struggle.

“Good boy.”

A shiver ran over his skin, the flame flickering a tad closer as Scotland shifted to tug the blanket from Clint’s body. He tossed it to the darkness of the lawn, the smooth warmth of it disappearing. Now he was cold, the sharpness of the breeze raking over his skin.

He didn’t move.

The flame went out as Scotland set the lighter on the brick fireplace. With that same hand, he slid between Clint’s thighs a moment later, finding Clint’s cock unerringly. He could imagine a warmth to his fingertips from the fire that burned against him, but it was all in his head.

Hell.He was hard, and he gasped as Scotland traced him through the fabric of his pants. Scotland’s hand was heavy, resting against him as he throbbed.

“I want to see you.” He grasped Clint’s bound wrists, pushing them so they were over Clint’s head and resting against the chair. He didn’t need to be told what to do next, gripping the chair and holding on tight. It left his chest on display, his nipples hard and his skin tingling.

A few tugs and Scotland managed to get Clint’s track pants down to the tops of his thighs. It took everything Clint had to help him, planting his weight on his feet so he could lift his ass from the chair.

The wood of the chair was smooth against his ass as he settled back down, nothing between him and the night as Scotland slid his pants the rest of the way free. A mosquito landed on his thigh, but Scotland quickly brushed it away before it could bite him. His skin prickled from the light touch, and he fought the urge to squirm.

“Such a pretty cock.” Scotland grabbed for the lighter, pressing the igniter.

Clint’s breath hitched as the flame appeared a second time, so much closer than the last. He was almost a part of the small circle of light and heat surrounding it, the little trail of smoke on top like a beacon.

“Your heart is racing,” said Scotland, roaming with his free hand everywhere he could reach. He trailed over Clint’s belly, teasing the underside of one bound arm before pausing to squeeze his pec and play with his nipple. The insides of his thighs were next, but Scotland never got close enough to Clint’s cock to take the edge off.

“Beautiful,” said Scotland, letting the flame flicker out as he touched the edge of one of Clint’s scars. The skin was usually number than the rest, but it burned as Scotland stroked him, so sensitive that it was nearly painful.

Maybe it was all in his head. He hadn’t felt like this since the accident. There had only been numbness or pain then, but this was something else.

The flame was back, inches from Clint’s skin and flickering in the breeze that rustled the treetops. I can feel it. Fuck, he wanted it. He remembered what it felt like to have something so powerful at his beck and call—or wrapped around his skin for a split second before it was smothered.

The touch at his cock nearly had him coming as the lighter went out, only for the flame to spring to life a second later. The cool metal of the base of the lighter touched his chest as Scotland wrapped his lips around the head of Clint’s cock.

The wires in his brain crossed. He could swear it was the heat from the flame wrapping around his cock as he closed his eyes, the cold metal disappearing as he was overwhelmed by warmth and suction. He could only breathe with the rhythm of sucks and the click of the lighter each time Scotland ignited it. His balls went tight, his groin pulsing as his orgasm rushed toward him at full speed.

“You are so very good for me,” said Scotland as he pulled back, setting the lighter back on the edge of the fire pit. Clint’s body buzzed, his fingers twitching as he stared at it. Even as the flame went out, he could swear that the tip of the metal glowed. If it were to touch him, he could imagine the hiss of sound and the pulse of his cock.

Maybe there was a bit more to Scotland than half-finished tattoos and colorful hair. He blinked in the low light, unable to look away from him.

Scotland had a smile on his lips, his breathing even and soft.

“Let’s get you inside for tonight.” He grasped the edge of the rope, tugging the knot free with a single pull. It unraveled like silk, slithering along his arms as it was freed before pooling on the ground. Scotland reached for it, expertly coiling it up.

Wait… What?Clint blinked, shaking his head to try to clear his thoughts. “Sir?”

“I won’t leave you, love. Don’t worry.” The panic evaporated in a heartbeat, the throbbing of his cock thrusting to the forefront of his thoughts. He’d been so close, and Scotland’s saliva was still cool on his shaft.

Scotland followed his gaze. “Oh. You don’t get to come.” His gaze was soft, despite his treacherous words. “Come on.” He helped Clint to his feet, his pants tucked under his arm. “I’ll take the couch. You can sleep in my bed tonight.”