Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Scotland

What is the best channel for news?

Scotland glanced at the text again before rubbing his hand through his hair. His client looked to be getting a bit frustrated, and truth be told, so was he. His phone had been buzzing every time he got truly focused on the piece, so he’d had to take more breaks than usual.

Clint had to be fucking with him.

“Sorry about that,” said Scotland, quickly washing his hands before tugging on a fresh pair of gloves. “We only have a bit of shading left by your wrist, then we’ll call it a day.”

His client gave him a weak smile. They’d been at it for almost three hours, and they were definitely approaching limits for the both of them. His back was still aching from his romp on the floor, and his client had been squirming for the past ten minutes.

“The wrist is the worst,” she said, scrunching one eye as he flicked the machine back on and started in on the final section of the day. He was doubting the dark shadows that he’d planned for the spot, going for broader strokes instead. The darker it was, the more it was going to hurt.

“A recommendation from one tattoo junkie to another,” he said, giving her a smile as he wiped the area. “Never get the top of your feet done. You think the wrist is bad? Sheesh.” He shook his head. “I almost passed out on foot number one, and it took me six months to convince myself to finish foot number two.”

He winced at the memory. That had been the bad kind of pain. He rarely reached that level, especially with tattoos. The stinging buzz had always been alluring for him, but the designs on his feet and wrists had been like tiny jackhammers digging into his bones. Not cool.

“Can’t be as bad as childbirth,” she said, shaking her head and grimacing as he made another pass.

“Not from what I’ve heard. I don’t have first-hand experience with that one.” He winked, holding back an eye twitch as his phone buzzed against the tabletop with another incoming text.

“They are pretty persistent,” she said, glancing toward his phone. “New partner or jilted ex?”

He chuckled. “Always looking for the latest gossip.”

Chewing his lip, he filled in another spot, digging deep to darken the blending. She didn’t seem to notice this time, apparently too busy waiting for an answer.

“Neither, I guess. Hopefully the former, but he made it pretty clear it was a one-time thing.” Epically clear—if walking out of his house naked and only checking in to make sure that they were both feeling level counted.

When Scotland had stopped by later, he’d made sure to go without a shirt while munching on a popsicle. Clint hadn’t even looked interested when Scotland had licked his lips and sucked the thing straight into his mouth. Supremely unimpressed was more accurate for the look he’d gotten.

“But he keeps texting you? Sounds like you’ve already hooked him.” She shifted in the chair, a bit of her blonde hair coming loose from its tie. She had four other tattoos by him, but most of them were covered. It seemed to mean that she was familiar enough with him that she wasn’t worried about digging.

Yeah, but— “He’s staying at my cabin right now and he’s been texting questions about the place all day. First, he couldn’t get the stove started again, then the dishwasher and the washing machine. He actually asked about a sewing kit first thing this morning, and now he’s wondering about news channels. He sounds more bored than interested.”

“Or he’s just lonely.” She hissed, her biceps flexing as he made the final pass. “You told me before that it’s pretty quiet at your place. Maybe it’s just too quiet for him.”

“Huh.” He leaned back, grabbing the cooling spray and a fresh paper towel before spraying and wiping her new tattoo. “I never thought of that.” He’d never minded the silence or the chance to be away from people and live in his own head.

“What does he do? Maybe he’s used to the hustle and bustle, and he can’t figure out how to turn that off.”

“He works at a—uh—bar. He’s the owner, actually.” He was not outing his kinky self to a client. Nuh-uh. He’d made that mistake before. “You’re all set. Take a look in the mirror before I wrap it.”

He put on another fresh pair of gloves, wrapping the tattoo and sending his client on her way after she handed him a hefty tip. When he grabbed his phone again and looked at the screen, he winced at the newest message.

Can I feed the donkeys? They look hungry. I forgot to ask their names.

Hitting the call button before he could back out, he brought the phone to his ear.

“And here I thought you were going to ignore me all day,” said Clint. He didn’t sound pissed off. He was maybe a little miffed, if anything.

“Sorry. I was at work.” He brushed one hand against his leg where a bit of ink had pooled. It smeared against the fabric, all but disappearing if not for the sheen. “I just wrapped things up so I’ll be headed your way in five. And I thought I told you their names—Dumb and Dumber.”

Clint chuckled against his ear, a sound that went straight to his gut. If only he could get that noise to come out of Clint’s mouth when they were in the same room. It would be so much better in person.

“I thought you were joking.”

Most people did when he first told them the names. “Nah. They are smart now, but they were two of the silliest colts when they were growing up. Back then, I couldn’t tell them apart very well either, so the names just kinda stuck.”

He shrugged despite being alone, his face flushing as Clint laughed. If he put the pedal to the metal, it was still a good twenty minutes home. Usually, he took his time after a client to clean up and work on a few sketches. Now he just wanted to be back.

Maybe he’d be able to catch a glimpse of naked skin if Clint went without a top again—or that epic ass, which he’d dreamed about. He hadn’t gotten nearly enough time to admire him properly, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he’d rushed things when he should have taken them slower.

Even just Clint himself would be the highlight of his day, which was just strange. Art was his life.

Then again, Clint was art.

“It’s cute. Very mature.” He could almost hear the eye roll. “I won’t bug you if you’re at work. I’ll see you when you get home.”

The line went dead with a click, and Scotland swallowed, even though every bit of saliva had gone dry. Home. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever see a day when Clint would say that word and think about the same place as Scotland did.

Fuck, I’m getting soft. It was a crush and just a crush. He’d had dozens in his life. Some, he’d thought were more serious than they were, and others he’d been surprised to see tears when he’d broken up with them. Not a single one of them had ever lived with him, though.

“Crap.” He brushed his hair back from his face, probably getting ink everywhere. It was just about time to change the color. With just dark hair, people often found him intimidating, but when he splashed a bit of color on his scalp, people suddenly opened up to him. And if he hated it, he could just cut the tips off and start over.

Time for something different. He had to get Clint off his mind somehow.

* * * *

Scotland tossed his keys onto the small antique table left behind by the last owner. The attic had been a treasure trove of multi-generational stuff. He’d given most of it away but hadn’t been able to part with the table.

Taking a breath, he headed right back outside. The air was hot for so late in August, but the humidity had dwindled, so it was tolerable.

His shirt still stuck to his skin as he hurried around the back of the house, the rush from his drive home still clinging to him. The cabin looked empty, with the interior lights off from what he could see through the two square windows at the front. The porch light was on, though, casting a bit of light as the sky went from bright to gray.

The only thing he hated about the fall was how quickly his day ended when he was working. He would barely get home most days before the darkness started to creep in, the threat of frost looming just around the corner.

Before he knew it, he’d wake up to a dusting of snow clinging to everything green and turning it brown.

Two sets of long ears poked out of the grass in the paddock, but they weren’t pointed at him for once. Clint must’ve gone through the fence, because he was standing a couple of feet from them, nothing but a few grasshoppers between them. He held his hand out, clicking to them as he gently called their names.

Scotland paused at the fence, slinging his arm over the top rail as he leaned against it. Most people were afraid of the two donkeys, probably too worried that their toes would be stomped or the donkeys would bite them.

They were the sane ones.

From what he could tell, Clint was in sandals and shorts, his toes an open target for hooves or carrot-seeking teeth alike. He seemed to have forgotten a shirt again, sweat shining on his skin as he took a slow step forward.

“You guys are the cutest fucking things I’ve ever seen,” said Clint, his voice low. He brushed a fly away from his face, his gaze focused and determined as the donkeys continued to graze, popping their heads up to watch him every few bites.

Scotland kept quiet, hiding a smile behind his hand. His truck wasn’t quiet, but Clint must’ve missed the sound of him pulling in the drive.

“Come here,” said Clint as he made the clicking noise again. “I brought an apple I found in the fridge. I don’t really like it, but I’m sure you guys will. And here,” he reached into his pocket, pulling a second apple out, “I brought two. See?”

How am I not supposed to fall in love?Scotland grinned, chuckling as the donkeys rushed ahead at the sight of the apples, nearly bowling Clint over in the process.

“You guys are cute together,” said Scotland, raising his hand in greeting as Clint looked his way in surprise. “Just don’t let them put their heads between your legs.”

Even as he said it, Dumber scooted a little closer to Clint as he chomped on his apple, dipping his nose down so it was at the level of the ground. Between one moment in the next, he closed the distance, tossing his head up between Clint’s legs.

Clint let out a little cry as he was simultaneously sacked and thrown onto the back of Dumber, who immediately whirled and took off at a donkey lope, Clint clinging to his back as his cry became a scream.

Scotland ducked through the fence with a curse. “Dumber, you little ass, put him down!”

A puff of dirt rose into the air as Clint disappeared into the grass, Dumber bolting and galloping to the far edge of the field. Dumb trotted across the space to where Clint had disappeared as he presumably searched for another apple, his long ears pricked with interest.

“You okay?” Scotland called out as he jogged over to Clint, spotting his sprawled form in the trampled grass.

Clint threw his head back, letting out a laugh as he got to his knees. Dumb nudged at his arm, searching for another treat as Clint dusted some of the dirt off himself. Scotland held out his hand, helping Clint to his feet.

He didn’t let Clint’s hand go, tugging as Dumb put his head down and started to nudge ahead again.

“Not you, too, you ass,” said Scotland, pulling Clint close and shielding him from his little prankster donkeys. Clint’s breath puffed against his ear as he kept laughing, his grip weak on Scotland’s hand.

Why did I think donkeys are a good idea?

“You okay?” asked Scotland, his breath catching when he realized just how close they were. With a field at the backs, there was only an inch between them, Clint’s naked chest smudged with grass and dirt. All he had to do was lean down and turn his head slightly and Clint’s lips would meet his. They tingled at the thought, his mouth dry as he took a deep breath through his nose.

Clint smelled of the afternoon sun with a touch of sweat and donkey. It was so familiar that Scotland went weak, his breath shuddering. Clint’s laugh stuttered to a halt, his half-lidded eyes going wide as their gazes caught.

“I’m fine,” said Clint, his voice raspy and low. “Just caught me off guard.” He moved closer, until the distance was nothing, and Scotland could barely breathe. He was like fire against Scotland’s body, his skin breaking out in goosebumps and tingles as every hard inch pressed against his own.

“They like to do that,” said Scotland, licking his lips. He couldn’t look away, finding a cute mole on Clint’s shoulder and staring at it. There was a stretch of freckles he hadn’t noticed the night before, and Clint’s skin was tinged pink from the sun. “Take you off guard, I mean.”

His heart pounded, and he pulled Clint tight, closing the final distance between them and bringing their lips together.

Clint gasped as they touched, and Scotland let out a groan as he leaned in, Clint so soft and warm that he was lost in seconds. Tracing the seam of Clint’s mouth with his tongue, he dipped inside, touching and tasting as the sweetness turned addictive.

I could live off this. The moment, the touch and the taste of Clint would be enough to sustain him for a lifetime.

Clint’s tongue met his own with a tentative touch that had Scotland’s grip going tight, heat pooling in his belly. He slid his hand into Clint’s hair, tilting his head and deepening the touch as a low groan answered his own. He tasted so fucking good, like licorice with a touch of whiskey and smoke.

There was innocence, too, of someone who had kissed and forgotten what it really felt like. Clint seemed hesitant, only following Scotland’s movements, barely there in his touches that burned with concealed hunger.

He felt Clint tugging away, and his body acted of its own accord. His grip on Clint’s hair turned punishing, their teeth clacking as he refused to give in. Twisting his tongue with Clint’s, he took one final taste before nipping at his lower lip and digging his teeth in enough that he would leave a bruise behind.

They were panting as he drew back, Clint’s lips glistening against the setting sun behind them. His cheeks were flushed, his mouth open and his lips bruised from more than just the single bite.

Christ, how can one person be so perfect?Scotland stared for a moment, trying to let everything sink in so he would remember forever. At any time, it could shatter before his eyes, just like last night. He needed Clint to be more than a wisp and a breath.

“Don’t pull away from me,” said Scotland, lowering his voice into a growl before he brought their lips back together, immediately taking possession of Clint’s mouth. Clint only fought him for an instant before he gave in, melting against him and parting his lips.

Scotland lost himself, cupping Clint’s hip with his free hand as he brought their groins together. He wasn’t hard—not yet—but his gut was aching for more as Clint responded to him. If the kiss lasted forever, it wouldn’t be long enough.

I’m in too deep. I’m drowning.

He drew back, sucking air through his mouth as his head started to swim. Clint’s eyes were still closed, his head tilted back and his lips looking so soft that Scotland couldn’t help himself.

With both hands, he grasped Clint’s ass, sliding down to his legs and hefting him off the ground with a grunt. Clint seemed to catch on, wrapping his legs around Scotland’s waist as Scotland went to his knees, tilting Clint back onto the ground. To hell with the bugs—and the donkeys, who were watching them with an attention that was just a tad creepy.

“I’m going to fuck you in this—”

“Ouch!” Clint yelped as soon as his back hit the ground, scrambling to the side and out of Scotland’s arms. “Ow, Ow, fuck.”

“Shit, are you okay?” asked Scotland, leaning back on his toes as he tried to get to his feet. His legs were like jelly and his knees hit the dirt again a moment later. “Did I drop you? Was it a rock?”

“No.” Clint winced as he looked over his shoulder. “It was a thistle I think.”

Oh shit.Scotland glanced to the spot he’d tried to lay Clint out in the grass. An absolutely massive thistle glared back at him, its sharp spines practically glinting, and the purple flower on top looking much too innocent. So much for hot sex in a field.

“Oh, I think they’re stuck,” said Clint, struggling to his feet as he kept trying to look at his back. “Ow, that is so not the kind of pain I need right now.”

“Here.” Scotland stumbled to get up, grasping Clint’s hips to try to still him as he looked at his back. There was a trail of spines in his skin, the larger ones easy to spot against the pink scars, but others probably disappearing into his freckles. He knew how tricky the buggers could be, which was why he usually went around and pulled all the thistles a few times a year.

He’d been putting the task off for a rainy day that lacked inspiration, but obviously, it was overdue.

“Come inside, and I’ll get the tweezers.” Scotland glanced to the house. It was getting darker as the sun fell fast, the porch light flicking on automatically.

“Not if you’re going to push me into another thistle the next time you get horny,” said Clint, spinning so his back was out of view. “I can get them.”

“Uh-huh.” Scotland pinched Clint’s side. It was the same thing he’d do to a bratty sub. “Get in the house now.”

Clint sent him a glare, grumbling as he shrugged Scotland’s hands off him. “Fine.” He stomped toward the house, kicking up dust along his way. “But you’re not fucking me. That was a one-time thing.”

Scotland let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair as Clint disappeared into his house. Things were going swimmingly. At this rate, Clint was going to hate him for the rest of his life.