This is an excerpt from the backstory of Kesan Glendubh, known as Trensher MacLachlan when this scene takes place, one of the main characters in my Under the Fallow Moon series. The year is 1504. Trensher is a scotsman, eldest son of a wealthy but minor landowner; Aonghus is the master gardener on the Glendubh estate and the father of Domhnall Farquarson, who helps him with his work. Trensher and Domhnall are both 14. Trensher is a complete virgin, has never even been kissed by anyone outside his family. Domhnall is a bit more worldly, since his social class doesn’t keep him as isolated as Trensher’s keeps him in the sparsely inhabited area in Northern Scotland where they live.
One May morning…
“Good morning, Aonghus. You’re looking fine and fit. Has Domhnall begged off working this lovely day?”
“Ah, good morning, young MacLachlan. Nay, nay, the lad’s down t’lower grounds, piling up t’stones we dug out yesterday.”
“He’s carrying stones?”
“Nay, young sir, he’s for using t’barrow.”
“I’ll go speak to him, perhaps move the barrow while he stacks the stones, then, shall I?”
“Ye’ve a kind heart, young sir. I’ve nae doubt t’lad’ll be glad o’t’help.”
Trensher nodded and turned away before allowing a grin to split his face. Domhnall, in the lower grounds. Alone. Perhaps they’d have the chance for Domhnall to continue telling him stories of what sailors do shipboard, the one Domhnall swore he’d heard from his cousin in the Navy. He was grateful that his sporran hung just so, to disguise the erection that began at the thought of being alone with Domhnall and hardened further remembering what Domhnall had told him so far. Did men really do that? Did they truly suck each other’s cocks? And what was the mysterious ‘and more’ Domhnall had hinted at? Whatever it was, Domhnall’s trews had bulged during the telling of the tale. He looked so big! I wonder if he’s bigger than I am? Perhaps… perhaps today I’ll dare him to prove he is, as he keeps bragging.
Domhnall looked up as Trensher approached, looked up and smiled when he noted Trensher’s sporran wasn’t precisely where it ought to be. His own cock reacted strongly. Bloody hell, I want the lad! And he wants me, by the look of it. Should I start it or will he? Domhnall, lad, you’ve at least seen two men going at it. T’lad’s seen nought o’that sort. Ye’ll have to start it, maybe do most of it this time, for I doubt he’s done more than watch t’horses. Though maybe one of the town girls…
“A very good morning to ye, Domhnall,” Trensher said softly, stopping beside the wheelbarrow.
“And to you, young master.”
“Domhnall, please. Ye know stiff formality is not what I want between us.” Tren was appalled to hear his words. Dear god, did I truly say that?
Domhnall straightened up and looked at him. “And what would ye be wanting between us, then?” When Trensher couldn’t take his eyes off the swelling in his trews and swallowed hard instead of answering, Domhnall lowered his voice, stepped closer and said, “Summat else stiff, perhaps?”
“Unhhh,” Trensher groaned.
“Tren, I’m going to burn in hell forever, but christ, I want to see what lies beneath your kilt. You’re hard, and ye look so big. Are ye, Tren? Are ye big as me?” Domhnall thrust his hips forward slightly.
“D-d-domhnall, you look like a giant. I want to see you, too.”
“Do ye? Then come w’me behind the rocks. I’ll unbutton me trews if you’ll lift your kilt.”
Tren finally met his eyes as he nodded. “Me cock’s already lifting it.”
“Aye, Tren, aye, I see that clear. Come w’me and I’ll see ye dinna expose the goods to all and sundry.” Domhnall rounded the pile of stones. “Are y’coming, lad?”
“N-n-nay, Domhn, for you’ve yet to touch me,” Tren blushed at his own boldness, but joined Domhnall behind the stones.
“Shit, Tren,” Domhnall groaned. “Ye’ve made me balls ache w’that. Lift your kilt, man, lift your kilt so I can kneel before ye and make ‘nay’ into ‘aye, god, aye’.”
Tren shook his head. “Ye’ll nae kneel before me. None o’this master and servant shit, y’hear?” Tren’s arousal chased his carefully cultivated upper-class accent into the shadows.
“Not what I meant, lad. I’ll kneel so me mouth’s in the right place to suck your proud cock until ye fill it w’your cum.”
Tren shuddered. “Ye’d… god, Domhnall, ye’d suck me cock?”
“An’ your balls and I’ll knead your arse while y’fuck me face.” Domhnall stepped so close his breath was hot on Tren’s cheek and his bulging trousers brushed against his lifting kilt. “I want ye, Tren. I want all of ye, in me mouth and when you’re ready, I want this —” he slid his hand under the kilt and brushed his fingers lightly up Tren’s length—“in me arse, fucking me into the ground.” He dipped his chin and brushed his lips lightly and quickly across Tren’s, then whispered, “Will ye fuck me, Tren? Will ye pound that cock into me hot tight hole?”
“Oh, god, Domhnall, oh god, I’m near to coming just hearing ye say it!”
Domhnall dropped to his knees and lifted the kilt. “Bloody hell, Tren, that’s a giant’s cock! Ye put me to shame.”
Tren lifted his chin with a finger. “Nay, lad, it’s a cock as needs to come, no giant’s cock. Ye dinnae need to suck me. Just… just take me in hand. A stroke or two is all ’twill take. But not on your knees. Will ye touch me if I lie w’ye? If it must be on the knees, then I’ll take myself in hand.”
“Nay, Tren, nay. Dinnae waste that nectar! Lie w’me, but I swear t’ye, I feel nae shame or lowering of myself to kneel this way.”
“Hallooooo, Domhnall, lad, where’s that barrow?” Aonghus’s call was ice suddenly clapped to Tren’s balls.
“On me way, Da, on me way,” Domhnall answered and stood, reluctantly. He lowered his voice. “Damn, Tren, damn, I must have ye.”
“Where and when, Domhnall, where and when?”
“Elevenses. Da always eats in the tool shed. God, I wish the summer house was open.”
“I’ll tell me mother I’d like t’have a look at it, that I might like t’use it for a studio. She’ll gi’e me the key.”
“Save that cum for me, will ye? Promise me.”
“God, Domhn, aye, I promise! Eleven, at the summer house.”
Tren watched his friend—and god, soon-to-be lover—push the wheelbarrow up the rise. His arse, Jesus Christ, the way his arse moves when he’s climbing the rise! I… I want him. I want t’kiss him, all over! He swallowed hard. Shit, Tren, you’re near to making yourself come thinking like that. Save it, lad, save it for that lovely boy.