Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Clint

Clint shifted his grip on the ax, raising it up to near eye level as he zeroed in on the thick wooden log. It weighed more than he expected, despite Scotland calling it soft wood. And the ax was hefty, on top of that. Apparently, the wood hadn’t dried out yet, which made it heavier, whatever the hell that meant.

“Not like that,” said Scotland, looping behind him to adjust his hand placement and stance. “You look like you’re trying to bash someone’s skull in with a baseball bat. You’ll end up hacking into your leg with that approach.”

Clint shifted his feet wider, flexing his hands until his hold was steady again. He’d been a shaky mess for days, especially when Scotland got as close as he was now. The warmth of his skin made Clint want to close his eyes and lose himself to the mad calmness that he’d floated on for hours at Maddy’s. He’d still been in a daze the next morning when Scotland had said their early morning goodbyes and had driven them back to the farm. Maddy had given him a knowing look and a smile.

Sun filtered through the trees to the small stretch of lawn where Clint had piled the few logs he’d wanted to chop that morning. He’d ignored most of Scotland’s advice so far, letting his battiness reign. It was the only thing keeping him from slipping.

“Let it fly, boss.” Scotland took a step back, and Clint had to correct himself so he didn’t topple over. He just needed something to occupy his mind, and tossing a heavy and sharp object around had seemed to fit the bill.

He hadn’t been ready for lessons on how to chop wood when he’d first jerked the ax out of the stump, but Scotland was like that. Now he was hovering close by, his coffee abandoned but still steaming in the cool air.

Taking aim, Clint swung the ax down, letting its own weight carry it through the move. It struck the log with a sharp thud before bouncing off to the side, nearly making him stumble from the unexpected reaction. His hands immediately ached, the vibrations making his fingers go numb.

“What the hell?” The top of the log was completely flat, other than a narrow dent from the tip of the blade, barely noticeable between the rings of the log. A blister was probably already working its way under his skin, leaving him more marked than the wood.

“Close,” said Scotland, reaching around and placing his hand on Clint’s chest. He pulled until Clint stood straighter, his shoulders farther back than they would normally be. “Just at the last second you tilted a bit, so the ax skimmed off. Stand as straight as you can and bring it right down in the middle.

“This has to be some kind of trick wood,” said Clint, skimming his finger over the edge of the blade. He hissed, drawing his finger back as it cut into his skin.

Scotland chuckled, bracing his hand on Clint’s belly as he moved closer. Dipping his hand under the edge of Clint’s shirt, he laid his palm flat out, his finger stretching over the skin there.

Clint shuddered, closing his eyes as his legs started to tremble. It felt so good to be touched again with soft hands and so little expectation. Part of him wanted to shrink away, knowing that Scotland was touching the scars that marred him, while the other part screamed at him to be proud of them. It was hard to be proud of something that had flooded him with guilt for years.

He was still guilty. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Ross’ face and the way he used to twitch his eyebrows when he didn’t approve. But it was getting easier to shake that off and remember the smiles and the soft moments when there had only been happiness.

He was happy now with Scotland’s hands and his touch.

“It’s not a trick,” said Scotland, his breath whispering over Clint’s ear. There was something hard pressing against Clint’s ass that did not feel like a belt buckle or a jackknife. “Try again, and tighten your core on the down swing. You can’t just let it fall. You have to put some effort into it.”

“Effort?” Both of his wrists were killing him, and he was pretty sure he’d fucked up a muscle in his shoulder. “Stand back. I don’t want you to get splintered.” Clint shrugged Scotland off, grinning as he forced him away with one finger to his chest. “I’m going to hit this wood so hard that it can’t help but split in half. I’ve got a great up-and-down game, but I’m a bit out of practice.”

“Just don’t—”

“If you say chop your leg off, we are going to have problems.” Clint sucked in a breath, squinting at the log that was leaning just a bit to the left. Tucking his tongue into his cheek, he hauled the ax over his head, bringing it down with every bit of force he could muster.

With a crack, the ax sank into the log, stuttering to a halt just past the blade as it caught on something within the wood. The handle quivered in Clint’s hands, his body off balance as he went from sixty to zero in an instant.

“Fuck.” Clint stumbled to the side, sinking against Scotland as his shoulder throbbed. Even his toes ached from the swing, but the wood was still in one piece. “That’s just not fair.” He glared at the block, gritting his teeth. He hadn’t even sheared off a splinter. “Not trick wood, my ass.”

Scotland chuckled, a sound that was both soothing and infuriating. His wandering hands were slightly less exasperating, especially when he tucked one in Clint’s back pocket, cupping his ass through his jeans.

He’d officially run out of track pants to wear, so he’d jammed his ass into proper jeans that morning. It had nothing to do with trying to impress Scotland, even if it had worked.

“Let me try, baby.” Scotland kissed his neck, palming Clint’s pec and scraping a nail over his nipple. “I told you it’s hard.” He rocked his hips.

The wood wasn’t the only thing that was hard. From the feel of it, Scotland had a bit more than Clint’s own semi. With the sun beating down on them, and the fresh breeze, it was almost as indecent as when Clint had been naked in Scotland’s kitchen.

“Let’s make it a bet,” said Clint, grinning as he passed the ax over. There was no way he was losing. There had to be rebar embedded into the log or something. “You split it in one go, and I’ll grant you one wish—genie-style.”

“And if I can’t?” asked Scotland, not looking phased as he adjusted his grip on the handle before edging his feet apart.

“Then you grant me one wish—BDSM style.” Clint winked. He had a lot of wishes stored up from over the years. That’s what happened when he got to watch but not touch for so many scenes.

“Should I be worried?” Scotland raised one brow, flexing his hands on the grip. The ax looked small in his hands, especially when he tensed. The log looked like it didn’t stand much of a chance, either.

There’s no way he’s winning. Clint rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve the strain. His hands were still numb and tingly, the palms a darker pink than usual.

“So many options.” He tapped his chin before strolling to the nearest tree. It was some kind of maple, with low sweeping branches that were just out of reach. “I haven’t practiced my Shibari skills in a while, but this here looks like the perfect set up.”

Scotland’s eyes went dark as he dragged his gaze over the trunk and branches.

“Or we could do a little role play,” said Clint, leaning against the bark. “Oh, please help me, Mr. Lumberjack, only you don’t come to help.” A shudder worked its way up his spine.

“I could go for a little CNC anytime,” said Scotland.

Yeah, because consensual non-consent is the best.But that felt like a little bit too much of a win for Scotland. I’ve gotta think darker. “Or I get to tattoo my name on your side, right where it will hurt the most.”

Clint swallowed thickly at his own idea. That shit was permanent, but fuck if that didn’t make him hard. “I’m not talking the fake tattoos you did on me…or henna. Something permanent and big, right over your ribs where it will sting like hell.”

Scotland let out a breath, looking a tad unsure for the first time. “I knew you were a sadist, but shit.”

Maybe that is taking it a bit too far. “Okay, fair enough.” Clint scratched the back of his head. He probably shouldn’t be branding someone unless he was prepared for a full-time relationship with them. “A public scene of my choice—very public.”

Scotland quirked his lips, hefting the ax over his head. “Deal.” He brought it down, his arms bulging as he met the edge of the wood. Instead of stalling, it kept going, slicing through the pale surface as if it were mere tissue paper. From the force of the blow, the wood splintered, flying in different directions with one nearly striking Clint in the foot.

Clint glared at the piece of wood, the size of it much too small to be half. Scotland grinned as he gathered the pieces, holding up three nearly identical bits. “Look—a bonus.” He waved the third piece in his hand. “Does that mean I get two wishes, genie?”

Grumbling under his breath, Clint grabbed the piece that had flown the closest to his leg. This isn’t possible. He’d watched enough videos of lumberjack men to know that it was, but it still pissed him off.

He nodded, begrudgingly handing it over to Scotland when he loomed close enough. Instead of grabbing it, Scotland bypassed his outstretched hand, pinning Clint to the tree. The rough bark scraped against his back, probably cutting into his shirt and his skin.

Scotland leaned in, tracing his lips over Clint’s ear. His breath was shallow, his cock burning through the front of his pants as it met Clint’s. “Thanks for all the ideas, Genie. I’ll make sure to surprise you.”