Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

To celebrate finally completing this work after more than six long years, I had the incredible, talented, and lovely prismatic-cannon create a cover image for it. Please enjoy her gorgeous art and the fic in its entirety, now!

Chapter Text

Jules knew then that he was staring death in the eye. And it was staring back at him from creepy yellow pools, obelisk-like pupils that went the wrong direction at their centers. The fluffy, harmless-looking, cloud-like shapes didn’t fool him. He was going to die here; stranded on this winding country road, trapped by a seemingly endless procession of sheep. He wished, not for the first time since he left London, that he’d never agreed to take a vacation.

He should have ignored his boss’ well-meaning suggestion that he get out of town for a bit to take a breather. He should have waved off his doctor’s gentle warnings regarding burnout and the possibility of stress-induced ulcers. His father had worked doggedly on the square mile since Jules could remember, and he was, well, mostly fine. Besides, Jules was still young! Not even 25 yet, and healthy; he took better care of himself than just about anyone he knew.

Putting in long hours at this point in his career was to be expected. A job with any of the banks or firms—whether you were still going to the City each day like him or over at Canary Wharf—was not for the faint of heart. He’d known that going in. He’d survived the London School of Economics. And if he hadn’t taken any time off since things with Claude ended, so what?

That was only, what... June, May, ... oh, almost a year ago now, Jules thought, frowning. Whatever, it’s not like I’m avoiding dating. I’ve gone out with plenty of guys since. They were simply all awful, so why waste any more time on them?

Besides, at least this way he wouldn’t be leaving behind a distraught suitor when he inevitably perished out here. If not directly due to the sheep, then certainly because he’d somehow gotten hopelessly turned around, and the satnav didn’t seem to recognize his current location as being a road.

I wonder what the ratio of sheep to human beings is out here, he thought idly, leaning on the horn a few more times. It didn’t do any good. The woolly monsters closest to the car startled a bit, but they quickly got used to his frustrated attempts to scare them and kept flowing around the vehicle like so many whitecaps in choppy water. Even the baby ones were suspect; their still-clumsy cuteness as they gamboled around their mothers’ legs clearly concealing the soulless evil inside.

An aberration in the uniform sea of white caught his eye. For a confused moment, Jules thought one of the ungulates had stood up on its hind legs, until he realized that he was looking at a human figure. A shepherd boy—no, a young man, probably not too far in age from him—had turned the bend in the road, walking amidst the beasts. With a mop of pale, wind-blown blond curls on his head, he was hardly distinguishable from his herd of sheep, at least at a distance.

Catching Jules’ eye as he got closer to the car, the man waved and smiled. He was wearing a red and black kilt and a big woolly grandpa sweater in an unattractive shade of oatmeal. With sheep all around and hilly landscapes in the background, it looked like he was stepping out of a picture on a postcard.

I thought they only wore kilts like that at tourist traps or the bagpipe games or whatever, Jules thought to himself.

Debating for a few seconds whether to get out of the car, he decided that if the shepherd were watching, none of the sheep were likely to try anything. Pulling on the door handle and stepping out, Jules confronted the person responsible for the never-ending parade of terrifying creatures. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the obnoxious bleating.

“How rude!” he said, mostly directed at the sheep, then turning to the shepherd, “These animals don’t belong on the road! I swear, if I end up with damage from livestock on this vehicle—”

As soon as Jules shut the door, it was obvious he’d made a huge mistake. He’d failed to account for the presence of a lively black and white sheep dog, which was now running full tilt toward him, big pink tongue lolling out of its mouth. It jumped energetically around him, bumping into his legs and stepping all over his leather boots with muddy paws.

“Ach! That’ll do, Tibby,” said the shepherd, jogging over. The dog ran back to him just as excitedly, not quite settling down. “Oh! Ah'm so sorry! Hello! Apologies fer Tibs here, she’s a spirited one. I take it yer no' frae around these parts?” His accent was thick, probably in a way that many would call ‘charming’.

“What gave it away? Was it the lost and confused look on my face?” Jules couldn’t quite keep the irritation out of his voice.

“More the sight o’ a hire car on a farmin’ loaning, really,” replied the shepherd in a much more genial tone.

“Yes, well, I didn’t expect to end up in the sheep-fucker backwaters quite so soon, but the satnav had other ideas, apparently.”

Probably not the best thing Jules could have said to the man whose horde of potentially rabid livestock currently had him fenced in on all sides. And who was his best hope at getting directions out of this rural hellscape. He hadn’t seen another soul for the last couple of miles, at least. The hundreds (thousands?) of sheep didn’t count. Sheep were clearly demon creatures put on this planet to torment him.

In a show of tremendous patience and good humour, the shepherd merely smiled, obviously trying his best to fight a laugh. “Aye, tha' one in the dash isnae much use fer unmarked roads. Where’re ye heading?”

“A village called—” Jules had to look in the car window at the destination name on the navigation display, “East Braebaud.”

“Yer in luck, then. It’s no' far. Have a mobile on ye?”

Jules dug his phone out of his pocket. Still in data range, thank the telecom gods.

“Try Google Maps, it’s a far sight better out o' the cities than the built-in navs,” the shepherd continued, “Keep on this road an' left at the fork. That’ll hae ye back to the main route.”

Jules let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you very much.”

“Nae worries! Sorry again 'bout the flock. I didnae expect anyone tae be travelling this way,” he smiled wider, round cheeks dimpling. “I hope ye enjoy Scotland!”

“Provided I don’t end up in the path of another sheep stampede, I’m sure I will,” Jules found it increasingly difficult to remain angry at the soft-spoken shepherd, who had let out a laugh at that.

“Aye, hae a good journey!” said the man, waving and turning away, “Tiberius, walk up!” The clear command brought the dog to attention as the shepherd moved out of the path of the car.

Jules watched as the dog followed up the rear of the roiling mass of sheep, which had finished passing during their conversation, then turned the key in the ignition and sped away.

It wasn’t long before Jules reached his intended destination, a weathered sign reading ‘Walcome tae East Braebaud’ greeting him. The beautifully restored historic bed and breakfast was visible immediately, just down the road. Finally, the end of his frustrations for the day was in sight.  

Pulling in to the small dirt lot across the road, Jules got his suitcase out of the boot and began dragging it along the damp ground. A task made more arduous as the little wheels got coated in mud, then clattered near-useless along the cobblestone walkway to the entrance. Couldn’t they pave this? Ugh. Country savages.  

The quaint building was an interestingly constructed split-level. It had stairs leading up to the main residence, and an adjoining pub at ground level which was offset from the storey divisions of the other half. A newly-painted wooden sign just under the roof of the pub proclaimed it to be ‘The Equinox Public House & Inn’. The lettering had been done in a Victorian typeface—to match the rest of the building stylistically—and was bookended by paintings of two trees; one with bright green leaves and buds, the other with fiery-coloured ones falling away.

After hauling his suitcase up the stairs, Jules went to knock and noticed a sign on the door:

Checking in after 6 PM?

Come down to the pub!

Looking at his watch and letting out an audible sigh, Jules decided to leave his bags where they were, dropping the satchel he had slung over his shoulder. Whatever! If anyone decides to run off with them, there are probably only about five possible culprits in this entire place.

Entering the pub, Jules was greeted by the sight of warm leather seating and dark wood. Something delicious-smelling wafted through from the doors to the kitchen. The walls were covered in vintage whisky and beer advertisements, interspersed with the occasional tasteful landscape painting. A fireplace in the wall shared with the residential side of the building took the dampness out of the air, soft crackling noises playing counterpoint to the sounds of glasses clinking and conversation from a few scattered patrons.

“Ah, hello! Ye must be our guest, then,” said the man behind the bar, smiling wide. Jules finally took notice of him, and just barely managed to avoid staring open-mouthed. He had an eyepatch.

Of course I would end up choosing to stay in the one place in Scotland that probably thinks it’s hilarious to have a pirate for a bartender, Jules thought to himself.

“Hello, I should have a reservation—”

“Absolutely, let’s go see Alec, who emailed ye. He handles all the online stuff,” said the man, putting down the polishing cloth he’d been holding and coming around the bar. “I’m Marcus, the other owner. Nice ta meet ye.” His accent was quite mild compared to the shepherd from earlier.

“Jules,” he replied, and shook the hand Marcus had extended. He had a firm grip, but didn’t squeeze.

Marcus led him up the steps leading from the pub to the foyer of the main building. A skinny, pale man with dark hair that obscured half his face was working at the computer on the reception desk. The desk right behind the door Jules had originally gone to.

“Why the sign saying to go to the pub?” asked Jules, a little miffed.

“Ah, yes. That’s just in case it’s busy during dinner hours and we both need ta be down there. We mightn’t hear a guest come in if it’s a bit rowdy.”

“Oh. Well, my reservation should be under Jules Waverley,” he said, turning towards the desk again.

Alec unlocked a drawer and retrieved a set of keys—handing them to him with a slim folder of information—then pointed at the room number written on the first page and gestured up the main staircase. Without saying a word, he returned to the screen, continuing to type.

Rude, thought Jules. Not winning any points for hospitality, and that will be reflected in my review!

Marcus spoke from behind him and Jules started, having almost forgotten he was there.

“Do ye have any bags I can fetch?”

“Oh, right here,” said Jules, moving to open the front door. It was made of heavy, engraved wood, matching the trim inside.

“Ah, ye didn’t need ta drag them all the way up! Sorry, I could’ve brought them fer ye.” Marcus grabbed Jules’ satchel with one hand and hefted the entire suitcase with the other, as if they weighed the same. “All right, I’ll show ye to the room.”

Jules admired the view in front of him as he followed Marcus up the stairs. Once you got used to the eyepatch, he was quite handsome, really. And nobody in their right mind would complain about those arms.

“Did ye have a good trip up?” asked Marcus, speaking loud enough for his voice to carry behind him as they ascended.

“Apart from getting lost and being swarmed by a rogue herd of livestock, I suppose so. If I never see another sheep again, it will be too soon!”

Marcus’ laugh echoed in the hall of the upper floor. “Well, I hate ta be the bearer of bad news, but those won’t be the last ones ye see around here.”

“Ughhhhhhhh…”

Upon entering the room, Marcus set down both bags by the closet and pointed out a few things. Watching him gesture, Jules noticed the engraved platinum ring on his left hand, and realized it matched the rather smaller one which had glinted on Alec’s hand as his fingers flew over the keyboard.

Really? Okay, then. Whatever, he must be a weirdo, anyway.

“Right, so if ye need anything else, look in the info packet, or just ask. Umm, ask me, preferably. Alec’s not much a one fer talking,” Marcus shrugged apologetically. “Are ye hungry? We’ve got some good options in the pub, or I can suggest places nearby.”

Jules shook his head, “No, thank you. Right now I really just want a shower and a nap.”

“Right, long day o’ travelling,” he nodded, stepping through the door into the hall. “Kitchen’s open ‘til 10 if ye get peckish, but I can probably find something fer ye even afterwards. Breakfast is any time after 7, but feel free ta sleep in.”

Jules thanked him again and closed the door. He tossed his suitcase open haphazardly, hanging a few things to prevent them wrinkling further, then went over to look out the large double window. It faced away from the road, towards rolling hills that were illuminated by the sunset peeking through dissipating cloud cover. It was rather beautiful.

Maybe this would end up being a nice place to holiday, after all. He was fairly sure now that he wasn’t going to get axe-murdered by the silent goth and overly-friendly pirate that owned the place, so that was a plus. At the moment, though, all he wanted was to get into a steaming hot shower and relax. The rest of Scotland could wait.

Chapter Text

Jules awoke to his stomach growling and rolled over to look at the alarm clock next to the bed. 9:13, okay. Enough time to get downstairs and order dinner.

He tossed on fresh underwear and a soft grey t-shirt before heading into the bathroom to tame the mess his hair had become, having gone to sleep without drying it after his shower. Pulling on a pair of jeans and lightweight v-neck sweater from his suitcase, he took a moment to relish how much more human he felt in fresh clothes after a nice long nap. He was ready to face the world again.

“Ah, Jules, we were takin’ bets on whether ye’d come down again tonight!” Marcus greeted him as he entered the pub and sat on one of the barstools.

Most of the diners from earlier in the evening had cleared out, though sitting at one of the tables closest to the bar was an interesting sight; a younger man than most of the patrons Jules had seen previously. His messy black hair was cut to a few different lengths and dyed with bright turquoise streaks in the front. He was lounging half-sideways in his chair, arm draped over the back of the adjacent seat, in which sat Alec.

The quiet man tapped the table and his messy-haired friend scowled, fishing a crumpled fiver from his front pocket and depositing it on the wood surface. Alec snatched it up, then shot a meaningful look over at Marcus, who shook his head and chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah, ye’ll get your winnings when we close up fer the night. I’m busy right now!” he turned back to Jules, passing him a menu. “If ye can decide quickly, Anna’s still in the kitchen. It’s not a huge selection, but we change it up regularly, depending on what Alec has growing in the back garden, and what’s in season from the local farms. Unfortunately we’re out o’ the specials for today already.”

Deciding to play it safe, Jules ordered the pasta dish.

“Good choice. Can I get ye something ta drink in the meanwhile?”

“Do you have a wine list?” Jules asked. The messy-haired man behind him snorted, but went back to staring at his phone when Jules turned to glare.

Ugh! Trash in Scotland is just as obvious as trash in England. Can’t make that quaint with a rural setting.

“Well, that might be as close to an introduction as ye get with Sachairi,” said Marcus, interrupting Jules’ train of thought while he fetched a wine card. “He’s our chef Anna’s brother.”

Looking over the options, Jules ordered the nicest white available by the glass. A whole bottle to himself might be overkill on the first night, he figured. When Marcus set it down in front of him, Jules raised it to his nose, taking a sniff. Bright fruity and oak notes. He took a sip, immediately feeling more relaxed.

“So, do ye have any big plans fer tomorrow?” Marcus asked. Apparently Jules was not going to be left in peace to drink his wine.

“Sleeping in? I don’t know,” he huffed, starting to feel exasperated again. “I thought the whole point of coming to this part of the country was to not do much!”

Marcus laughed heartily, almost obscuring the sound of another snort from the table at which Alec and Sachairi sat. Jules could guess who had made it, though.

“Aye, it is a nice quiet place ta rest if that’s what ye’d like. Though yer stay is long enough that I recommend considering some day trips to the local sights. Plenty ta do around here. It’s not all sheep, I promise, cross me heart!” The one-eyed man actually made a cross motion to emphasize his statement before continuing. “If ye’d like, we could find one of the locals willing ta show ye around a loch if they’ve got a free afternoon. Most o’ the tourists who come through here like picnics by the water; it’s pretty scenery, and a nice relaxing way ta spend the day.”

“Hmmmm,” debated Jules aloud, “So long as there are no livestock involved.”

“Ha! Excellent. I’m sure that with the worst of lambing season over, ye can convince one o’ the lads from the village. Sachairi here knows the area pretty well. Or mah mate Aidan, who’s one o’ the local farmers. He’s probably due for a day off, anyway—” Marcus looked up at the sound of the pub door opening; a gentle bell chimed to announce the arrival of a new customer.

Through the doorway walked a short-ish blond man. Jules turned back to his glass before it could register fully, then almost choked on the wine. He did a double take, belatedly realizing who the man was.

“Speak o’ the devil!” said Marcus happily, “Evenin’ Aidan!”

Aidan cracked a big smile, just like he had on that accursed side-road. But something was different… That awful sweater is gone! Jules noted, admiring the perfectly-weathered leather jacket the shepherd sported, instead. Its deep brown colour was much more flattering with his pale, pinkish complexion, and also went nicely with the red and black of the kilt he still wore.

“Fair good e’en, Marcus! Whit like are ye?”

“Not bad, yerself?”

“Ah’m right braw t’day.”

“Glad ta hear it. I was just suggesting that our visitor here might want ta get a loch tour from ye,” said Marcus, gesturing over at Jules, who felt the tips of his ears go red with embarrassment. “Jules, meet Aidan. He’s the one I was just talking about.”

“We’ve met, actually,” Jules said in a clipped voice.

“Aye, though we didnae get a proper introduction afore. Ah’m glad tae meet ye, Jules,” replied Aidan, holding out his hand and smiling.

Jules couldn’t detect any sarcasm in what the man had said, though with that accent, who knew?

“Are you stalking me?” he asked, taking the proffered hand; finding it warm and dry, with some calluses on the fingers and edge of the palm. Aidan had a much gentler handshake than Marcus. He’d never make it in the City, thought Jules, involuntarily.

Aidan laughed, replying, “Naw, Ah’d be in the pub t’night regardless. Though I admit, I did wonder if ye’d be, when ye mentioned East Braebaud.”

Marcus had cocked his head to the side, staring at the two of them through their exchange. A moment later his visible eye widened and he laughed again. “Yer kiddin’ me! It was Aidan’s sheep that had ye trapped on the way here? Ha! They get away from Tibby?”

“Ach, nae! She an’ I were moving the beasties tae another pasture along the loaning. Jules’ haed taken a wrong turn ontae it, apparently. Tibby’s been daein’ a pure dead brilliant job fer her first lambing season,” Aidan explained, moving over to the coat hooks on the wall and taking off his jacket. Beneath it he only had on a black t-shirt.

Well, that’s even more of an improvement, thought Jules, noticing how nicely the garment showed off Aidan’s softly muscled arms and broad chest. He felt his face heat and looked down into his wine glass as the shepherd came over to the bar and pulled up a stool next to him.

“You come ta have a spot o’ supper, Aidan?” Marcus asked, leaning back on the counter against the wall.

“Nae, Ah’m all full up on Ma’s cooking. Just came fer a bevvy and a blether. Though ye can tell Anna Ah’m sorry I cannae manage whate’er she’s whipped up—it smells magic!”

With similarly excellent timing, a dark-haired woman Jules could only assume was Anna came out from the back, carrying a steaming plate of pasta. 

“Ye can tell ‘er yerself, Mr. MacSween!” she said in a sassy voice, setting the food down in front of Jules and wrapping her arms around Aidan in a big hug.

“Ah, Anna! None o’ that Mister nonsense. How’re ye, hen?”

Jules couldn’t help himself, curiosity getting the better of him. “MacSween? Like the haggis company?” he asked, breaking in on their conversation. 

Everyone else in the room burst out in laughter and Jules looked from one to the other of them, slightly bewildered.

“Ach, nae relation! Though yer no’ the first tae ask, and ye’ll no’ be the last.”

“Annnnnnaaaaaa... Are ye near done? Alec won mah last fiver an’ the patter’s shite. Let’s away tae the flat,” whined Sachairi, though exactly what the man meant by any of that nearly unintelligible collection of sounds, Jules didn’t know and didn’t care. He busied himself with starting in on the plate of pasta, pleasantly surprised by how tasty it was.

“Quit yer whingeing, Sachairi! Mysel’ well aware tha’ were no’ yer last fiver, unless ye spent the whole paycheque t’day,” replied his sister, slightly more understandable, though something about their accents was particularly challenging for Jules compared to the other Scots in the room.

“Ah’m owing ye a few rounds anyway, Sachairi, fer all yer help with the lambs,” Aidan broke in, obviously trying to placate the messy-haired man. “Marcus, get ‘im one an’ put it on mine.”

“Another glass o’ what yer drinking?” the man behind the bar asked.

“Nae! If Aidan’s paying, Mysel’ am gunnae have something more dear than this shite brew!”

With the rest of the people in the room apparently enthralled by a rousing discussion of which ale was the best choice, Jules returned to his meal. He only managed a few moments of eating in peace, though.

Aidan turned in his chair and asked: “Are ye enjoying it? Anna’s a fab cook.”

“I am,” replied Jules, downing the last of his wine while trying to figure out what else to say. “So, you aren’t the wealthy heir to a prepared meats empire, then?”

Aidan laughed again, quieter this time. Jules wondered at the fact that he was only now noticing the musical quality of the other man’s laugh, and chalked it up to the distraction of the others.

“Nae, sorry tae disappoint. Ah’m merely a humble farmer.”

“Unsurprising. I can’t imagine anyone with an empire spanning Tesco to Waitrose choosing to—”

“Live in the sheep-fucker backwaters?” Aidan said, eyes glittering mischievously. 

Damn, he ’s quick.

“Oh no! Jules, ye didn’t, did ye?” Marcus asked, having apparently finished with the great beer debate and returning to his other customers. “If ye implied Aidan’s a sheep fucker… ah, we’ll never hear the end o’ it!”

Jules drew himself up in his chair and looked down his nose at the two of them. “Ugh, hardly! I merely suggested that I was lost in an area which could potentially be home to sheep fuckers. I didn’t mean him, specifically.”

“A fair assumption, Ah’d say. What about you, Marcus?”

The taller man held both his hands up in front of his chest, palms facing out. “Nope, I’m not getting inta it. How ‘bout I get ye a drink, instead?”

“Aye, a wee dram would suit me,” Aidan nodded, and Marcus went to the shelf behind the bar for a bottle of whisky. “Oh! Now, where’d I leave off? Ach, yes, most people think golf’s our national sport, but dae ye ken it’s actually sheep fucking? Long history o’ sheep fucking in Scotland. Most o' the tour guides wouldnae tell ye tha'!”

Marcus deposited a glass of whisky and small carafe of water on the top of the bar. “Aidan, yer awful. Don’t harass the guests!”

“Marcus, Ah’m hurt!” he replied, putting a hand over his heart, “I was only giein’ yer lovely guest a taste o’ the true Scottish experience, is all!”

Marcus shook his head in the manner of someone long used to humouring a friend’s antics, leaning back on the counter and crossing his arms.

“I ken ye’d like tae see some lochs, but I could also take ye to the museum o’ sheep fucking, if ye like. It’s just two counties o’er, about four days as the herd walks,” Aidan continued, smirking.

“God! I’m sorry, okay?” spat Jules, trying to keep his voice level and not quite succeeding, “I was a complete arse earlier. Trust me, I know.” He shot a glare at the man beside him, but couldn’t maintain it when he saw how Aidan’s face had fallen.

“O- oh, nae! Ah’m the one needin’ tae apologize…” replied the shepherd quietly, his big eyes earnest, boring into Jules’.

“For what?” Jules snapped, breaking their tense gaze to look down at where his hands had balled into fists in his lap. “I was rude. You have every right to be annoyed.”

Ugh, could this be any more awkward? I could just die! Jules thought, noticing that even Marcus had busied himself with the glasses, pretending not to listen.

Aidan shook his head, tousled hair bouncing. “Ah’m no' angry. Was just teasing ye, haeing a wee bit o’ fun…” Jules started at the feeling of a hand on his upper arm, warm and solid. “I didnae mean tae upset ye, Jules. Ah’m fair sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m not upset!” said Jules, shrugging his shoulder out of the other man’s grasp. His slightly erratic respiration belied the statement.

“Umm, let me buy ye a drink an’ make it up tae ye?” Aidan asked, almost timid. “An after dinner whisky is an excellent way tae kick off yer time in Scotland.”

Jules inhaled and exhaled deeply before glancing over at the shepherd, who had curled in on himself a little and looked distressed. Ugh, how am I supposed to resist that kicked puppy look? he thought, sighing, and decided to take the olive branch being offered.

“Fine. What are you drinking?”

Aidan’s face lit up immediately, and Jules felt a strange warmth flood his chest at the sight of the other man’s smile.

“The Deanston Virgin Oak,” answered Aidan excitedly, “It’s one o’ the local distilleries. Nice Highland whisky, on the fruity side.”

“Single malt?” asked Jules, while he internally wondered if the shepherd was on the fruity side.

“Aye.”

“Good. I’d rather drink piss than a blend, and I don’t like them too peaty.”

“Me neither!” Aidan was much cheerier, now. He called to Marcus, who had drifted over to the table at which Sachairi and Alec were still drinking their beers. “Oi, Marcus, anuther dram on mah tab, fer this fine gentleman.”

Jules nosed the glass and took a small sip of the neat drink. “Mmmm, you’re right, that is quite nice. I’ve never tried this distiller before.” He poured a few drops of water from the carafe into his glass, swishing it slightly and smelling it again.

“Aye, Glengoyne’s the most well-known frae this area. Deanston’s just as good, in mah opinion, an’ easier on the purse.”

They sat in silence, sipping from their glasses, Jules uncertain what to say next.

“So, did ye get a chance ta discuss visiting one o’ the lochs, yet?” Marcus asked, coming to their rescue, “If ye want ta order a picnic lunch to take with, Anna can whip one up an’ get it packed the morning of.”

“No, we hadn’t,” replied Jules when Aidan said nothing, looking over at the shepherd. “I don’t know any lochs other than Loch Ness, and I take it that’s not near here.”

“Ha! Nae, tha’d be up in the Highlands proper,” said Aidan, “Most o’ the folk visiting the Trossachs want tae see Loch Lomond—prolly ‘cause it’s the biggest—though Loch Katrine’s prettier, Ah’d say.”

“Well, if you aren’t busy, can I hire you as a guide sometime this week?”

“O- oh! Nae hiring necessary. Ah’d be happy tae show ye around… besides, Ah’ll prolly be a more pleasant guide than Sachairi,” he added in a stage whisper.

“Ach, get tae fuck, Aidan!” came the ornery reply from the table. Aidan smiled again, and Jules couldn’t help the corners of his own mouth turning up.

“There’s a Victorian steamship if ye’d like tae book a tour cruise, too. Quite the view, frae the boat, if yer interested in that sort o’ thing.”

Jules nodded. “What day were you thinking?”

Aidan turned in his seat again. “Oi, Sachairi, yer still coming by th’morra, yeah?”

“Aye. But dinnae push it, ye chancer,” replied the messy-haired man, still in an ill-temper.

“Thank ye, Ah’ll see ye the usual time then,” said Aidan before turning back toward Jules. “I can dae any o’ the next two days.”

After working out lunch arrangements with Anna and finishing off their whiskies, Aidan was stifling yawns.

“Right then, Ah’ll come round the back o’ noon?”

“Yes. I’ll see you then,” replied Jules, already starting towards the stairs leading up to the inn.

“Brilliant. Good night, Jules!”

“’Night.”

As he reached the landing, Jules could just hear Aidan saying goodbye to the rest of the assembled company, a few more musical laughs drifting up the stairs behind him.

Chapter Text

Jules woke before his alarm, sunlight streaming between the slats of the wooden blinds which covered the windows in his bedroom. Laying in the comfortable bed, though not quite as comfortable as his bed at home—oh the hardships of life on the road—he stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling for a few moments, just relaxing. Enjoying the surprising lack of pressing concerns which usually filled his mind as soon as he was aware enough for them. Eventually he threw back the duvet and padded out of bed to perform his morning ablutions. Coming back into the bedroom, Jules crossed to the big double windows and opened the blinds, pale light spilling into every corner of the space. Looking out into the back yard, Jules was happy to see that the weather seemed pleasant. It was unlikely their trip to the loch would get rained out. He also spied Marcus, mowing the lawn below. Ugh, physical labour before 11 AM? Just shoot me.

When he went to pick out clothes, Jules grabbed the outfit he had worn for just a few hours the night before, then immediately set it down again, remembering that Aidan had seen him in it already. How gauche would that be? he thought.

Not wanting to give the impression of carelessness when his guide for the day arrived, he selected a different sweater; his favourite deep turquoise one, which really brought out the green of his eyes. After ensuring that his hair was perfectly coiffed, with no stray locks making a break for it, Jules nodded at the handsome figure staring back at him in the mirror of the ensuite bathroom and headed downstairs to see about breakfast.

The sound of a keyboard clattering greeted him when he reached the foyer. As expected, Alec was seated at the reception desk, attention focused on the screen in front of him. Jules was about to clear his throat when the silent man looked up, meeting his eyes from behind that ever-present sweep of dark bangs—his not-quite-one-eyed stare far more unnerving than the literally one-eyed stare of his much more personable partner. Before Jules could begin enquiring about anything, Alec pointed down the hallway and returned to whatever he was typing.

Hmph! What if I had wanted something other than a morning meal? Jules thought, still unimpressed by his second host.

Jules found his way to the breakfast room, which was empty. He probably could have followed his nose and not had to bother with the little creep behind the desk at all. Something wafting from the self-serve table smelled absolutely wonderful; warm and homey, though not quite familiar. The windows along one side of the room were letting in plenty of daylight. Combined with a few warm bulbs overhead, the dining area was bright and cozy. He grabbed a plate from the stack of clean ones and began to assess his choices. It was a good thing he hadn’t placed anything on the plate yet, though, because it nearly dropped to the ground when Jules was startled by an unexpected greeting.

“Good mornin’, Jules!” Marcus’ deep voice boomed out from behind him, “How did ye sleep?”

Turning to face the source of the noise, Jules tried not to look like he’d just about lost hold of his dish. “Good morning, Marcus. I slept well, thank you. I thought you were out back working?” The sharp, green scent of fresh-cut grass mingled with the aromas of the buffet now that the man had fully entered the room.

“Aye, that I was. But Alec messaged ta let me know ye were up and about. Seeing as it’s yer first mornin’ with us, I figured I’d come in and show ye how things are set up,” he began, pointing out the various stations as he talked, “Fer early risers, the cereal and porridge is always out. Milk’s in the little fridge there, along with whatever juices we’ve got, and some yoghurt. Fruit and toast live on that table, next ta the tea selection and kettle. By eight in the morning, I’ve usually got the hot dishes ready ta go. Today we’ve got fresh tattie scones, rashers, square sausage, and if ye feel like eggs, I can whip some up.”

Jules read the news on his phone once Marcus had returned to his work for the day, stuffing himself with a full Scottish breakfast as he pined a bit for the animated discussion of the office. How I agreed to go on vacation so soon after the start of the fiscal year, I will never understand. Ridiculous! Luckily, the potato scones were a delicious distraction. Certainly the best he’d ever tried, though nobody would ever convince him that they deserved to share the same name as a proper scone.

After he’d finished eating, Jules checked the time and went back up to his room to grab a light jacket, in case the Spring weather decided to be changeable. As he was unpacking a few more things, Jules heard the big wooden front door open and shut, followed by a friendly greeting spoken in a distinct Scottish brogue. Looking at the clock, it was ten past noon. Well, at least he has the decency to be punctual, thought Jules as he turned out the light and shut the door behind him, patting his pockets to make sure he had everything.

Descending the staircase again, Jules saw what was quickly becoming a familiar sight: red and black plaid, and a shock of pale blond hair. Beneath that tousled mop were bright blue eyes that looked up to meet his.

“Ah, fair good day, Jules! Ready tae see some o’ the glorious Scottish countryside?”

“Good afternoon. I suppose as long as I’m here, I may as well,” Jules answered, coolly. “Is… that a picnic basket?”

“Aye tha’. Ye wanted a picnic, and I figured ye’d no' brought one with ye all the way here,” he shrugged, the wicker basket lifting with his arms, which were covered by that handsome leather jacket again. 

“You have a picnic basket... What are you, even?” Jules asked, still in a state of disbelief over how much more of a caricature of idyllic country life this man could get. The shepherd actually let out a giggle at that. The whole interaction was so indecently adorable it made his breakfast sit funny in his stomach.

“Well, uh, technically I did borrow it frae my ma,” Aidan added.

And he’s a mummy’s boy. Lord help me, thought Jules.

“Well, seeing as we have the appropriate dinnerware, we just need food to go with,” Jules turned to the reception desk, where Alec apparently hadn’t moved a muscle apart from his fingers since before breakfast. His eyes were on the screen, but Jules could swear he’d felt someone’s gaze boring into him just moments before. There was no way the little weirdo hadn’t been following their conversation. “Excuse me! Where should I pick up the lunch order I placed yesterday night?”

The skinny man looked up at him from under that dark forelock, then got up from his chair without a word.

“Umm, were you going to answer my question?” Jules added, impatiently.

Alec merely looked at him again, with one eyebrow raised and a blank expression. He signaled with his hand in a gesture that Jules could only interpret as ‘wait here’, and turned to go down the stairs at the other side of the foyer, which led to the pub.

“Is he always that weird?” Jules asked Aidan when he assumed the shorter proprietor was out of earshot, having heard the door to the pub close.

“Alec? Ach, he’s just quiet—ye’ll get used tae it. He’s fair nice, though he can take a while tae warm up to ye.”

“Whatever,” Jules huffed. Luckily, Marcus chose that moment to come in through the back again, interrupting their quickly-getting-awkward conversation.

“Aidan! How are ye? I just finished with the lawn and figured I might still catch ye before ye run off with Jules.”

“Ah’m awright t’day, yerself?”

“Can’t complain. Weather’s nice fer this time o’ year. Ye’ll have a good afternoon at the loch!”

Alec came back up the stairs, carrying a big paper bag, which he deposited on the reception counter beside Jules before going to stand next to Marcus. The taller man swung one big arm over Alec’s shoulders and pulled him into his side.

“Thank you, Alec,” Jules said, acknowledging the speedy delivery. Alec nodded back at him, almost shyly, though that impression might have had more to do with how he was dwarfed by the much larger man beside him, around whose waist his arms now rested.

“Oh, Aidan, before ye go, would ye like ta take some of ma’s famous tattie scones for the road?” asked Marcus.

“Is tha’ the delicious smell wafting through? Dae ye e’en need tae ask, Marcus?”

“I figured that might be the case! Ye always did like ‘em.”

“And ye make ‘em just as well as her.”

“Ye flatterer! If ye don’t stop, ye’ll make me blush!”

“Aye, tha’d be a sight!”

After Marcus had returned with some scones wrapped up, Jules and Aidan said goodbye to the other men and headed out to the parking lot. They ended up taking Jules’ hire car with Aidan behind the wheel, seeing as he knew the route, loading the picnic basket and food into the back seat. The drive to the loch was uneventful; Jules spent it gazing out the window at the passing scenery, thankfully spared from trying to make small talk by the podcast he’d been listening to on the drive in, which resumed playing when Aidan turned the keys in the ignition.

Chapter Text

“Wait! Where are you going?” Jules asked, a little confused as they drove past the obvious turn-off for the ferry dock. “Wasn’t that our destination?”

“Oh, aye, later t’day. But we dinnae need tae hit the restaurants, and there’s anuther parking area just a wee bit further,” replied the Scot, “It’s much nicer fer a picnic and walk. Plus, ye’ll get tae see the river connecting Loch Katrine and Loch Achray. Oh! And we’ll be near the slopes o’ Ben Venue, the most central mountain in the Trossachs.”

“Fine. So long as we can make it back in time for the steamship tour. I booked the last one of the afternoon for us yesterday night.”

“Oh! Did ye? Then we’re set!” Aidan said, excitedly. “Though ye prolly didnae need booked ahead at this time o’ year. It's no' quite peak tourist season, yet.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Jules said, a little miffed at being questioned for planning ahead.

“Aye that! How much am I owing ye fer lunch and the boat?”

“Nothing, of course,” Jules replied, confused by the other man even asking, “You’ve taken the day off to play tour guide for me. It’s the least I can do, really.”

“If yer certain…” Aidan left the end of his sentence hanging like a question.

“Don’t even mention it,” said Jules, waving his hand at Aidan, worried he might try to insist. And how awkward would that be?

Luckily, they’d arrived and the discussion dropped.

“Welcome tae Loch Katrine!” Aidan exclaimed, gesturing at the dark, shining water using his outstretched arm when they passed through the stand of trees between the car park and the land surrounding the loch.

Well, I guess it is quite pretty, thought Jules as he took in the view. Aidan continued rattling off facts about the area as they walked leisurely toward the water, searching for a good spot to have lunch.

“As ye prolly read if ye were on the steamship website, the loch inspired Sir Walter Scott’s writing. Lady of the Lake is actually set at Katrine. He travelled the Trossachs a fair bit back in the day.”

“That’s why the steamer is named after him?”

“Aye, he put this part o’ the country on the map in some ways. Now it’s all national park land ‘round here.”

When they’d found an agreeable patch of flat, dry ground closer to the water’s edge, Aidan spread out the blanket he’d brought. Jules helped him unpack their lunch, and was pleased to discover a nice selection of charcuterie, cheeses, crusty bread, and a variety of fresh fruit and vegetables—pre-cut for ease of eating outdoors. There were even some empire biscuits and stem ginger biscuits, which looked home-baked, for a post-meal treat. Anna really is quite the chef, he thought, even happier with his choice of B&Bs.

As they ate, their conversation started out with light topics, thankfully less awkward now than the past few times they’d spoken. Jules chalked this up to not having stuck his foot in his mouth yet.

“Jules, tell me, whit d’ye dae fer work down in London?” asked Aidan.

“…how did you know I’m from London? I never told you that…” Jules asked suspiciously, “I knew it! You are a stalker!”

“Ha ha ha! O- oh, nae! Ye’ll need tae get used to how quick word travels ‘round here. Alec’s a right gossip, he is!” said Aidan, seemingly amused by Jules’ notion.

“Alec? The one who doesn’t talk?”

“Aye, that’d be him. He disnae say much but he types faster than anyone, and could hae been a spy or something, given how well he listens.”

Hmmph! Definitely not happy that he’s the one handling guest information, thought Jules. When he realized Aidan was still waiting on an answer, he sighed and gave in. “I work in investment banking, but I won’t bore you with the details,” he said, expecting that to be the end of questioning. Most people tuned out when they heard what he worked in. 

“Well, I cannae say Ah’m fair familiar with the industry, but dae ye work in a specific area o’ it?”

Jules was slightly taken aback by the shepherd’s curiosity, but happy to elaborate. “I’m in Mergers and Acquisitions. Advisory work, really. Currently I’m a junior risk analyst with my bank.”

“Oh, interestin’!” said Aidan.

Jules figured that really would be the end of it. Interesting is always code for ‘oh god, this is so boring, get me out of this conversation’. He was even more surprised, all things considered, when the Scot continued.

“Dae ye work directly with clients, or are ye more of a back-end, numbers bloke?”

“I handle individual client files for due diligence work, but not actual client-facing meetings or communications—yet. Maybe in another promotion or two,” he said,  “Ugh… though taking a vacation right now probably isn’t helping with that…”

“Well, um, it sounds like a busy job! Ye need tae take a break sometime!” Aidan said cheerfully.

“I guess… at least this is a nice spot for one,” Jules said, picking at the remaining fruit.

As the sun travelled across the sky overhead, its changing angle made the water sparkle beautifully. Jules sat quietly looking around at the various sights they could see from their picnic blanket. He jumped when a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder; Aidan had leaned over and was pointing at a tree not far off with his free arm.

“Look at tha’! A golden eagle! Ye dinnae often get the chance tae see one close up,” he whispered excitedly next to Jules. They sat still and watched as the bird took flight gracefully, soon soaring overhead and out of view.

Jules turned around and examined another pretty sight. With the Scot sitting so close now, the bright afternoon sun illuminated his face, letting Jules clearly see the constellation of pale—almost golden—freckles scattered across his nose and the tops of his cheeks. How did I not notice those earlier? he thought to himself, observing that the cute spots also trailed along the back of the man’s neck, beneath the collar of his jacket.

Aidan caught him looking, and smiled brightly. The wan spring sunlight paled in comparison.

It wasn’t long before the conversation veered to more interesting territory. Jules found himself curious to know about something he’d noticed on the drive earlier that day.

“Perhaps you can enlighten me on something I was wondering about earlier,” he started.

“Aye, Ah’ll certainly try. Put a question on me!”

“Why are there still so many ‘Yes’ signs from the independence referendum in people’s windows? That was years ago, now,” As they’d made their way through the countryside, a number of the farmhouses they’d passed had signs still prominently displayed—one was even a large billboard style, faded now but still standing at the side of a field by the road. “The entire bloody UK voted to leave the European Union since then!”

“Ach, tha’s still a divisive issue, now as much as e’er,” Aidan said, solemnly, “By and large, Scotland didnae vote fer Brexit, either. Lot’s o’ folk are fired up about independence again now, ‘cause o’ that.”

Jules hummed in thought, then asked: “What do you think about independence—if that isn’t too personal a question?”

Aidan frowned, “Um, well… in theory, independence is a great idea, and I think it can definitely work,” he paused, obviously thinking about his answer, “But at least fer the moment, based on what I ken, Scotland’s economy isnae strong enough. The UK all together is performing much better, and Scotland can benefit frae tha’ in a few ways.” He shrugged, but when Jules didn’t immediately respond, kept going with his train of thought, “Speaking frae a self-interest perspective, the hill farming sheep industry’s dependent on government subsidies. Ah’m sure an independent Scotland wouldnae throw agricultural workers under the bus—it’s no’ like Scottish politicians havenae thought about the challenges o’ becoming independent—but it’d prolly be quite a lot o’ upheaval and uncertainty fer farmers, at least fer a few years.”

Jules was rather impressed by the extensive answer. “Well, you certainly pay more attention to politics than I would’ve expected from a sheep farmer.”

Aidan laughed at that. “Aye, well, um, when it’s no’ lambing or shearing season, there can be a lot o’ downtime. Plenty o’ time tae read, ye ken?” he smiled. "And it's an interestin' idea. 

“So how did you actually vote back in 2014?”

“A gentleman disnae vote and tell,” said Aidan, giving Jules a wink that made his insides twist funny.

“Oh, come on, you can tell me! It’s not like I can really judge.”

“Aye, right.” Aidan rolled his eyes.

“I promise not to tell Alec if you voted ‘No’!” Jules heckled him. It didn’t take much to get the Scot to relent.

“Well, sometimes ye've got tae vote with yer heart, and sometimes ye've got tae vote with yer head…”

“Did you vote with your head, then?” asked Jules. He watched as Aidan shook the body part in question side to side, slowly.

“Umm, nae, I didnae… I guess Ah’ve always been too quick tae follow mah heart… E’en when I ken it’s no’ logical.”

“Oh my. Well, at least you’re aware of it. Better than most can say,” Jules shrugged, trying not to think about where he fell on that measure.

To avoid awkwardness in the silence, he began packing up the remainders of their picnic, putting things back into the basket. Aidan quickly moved to help him in the task, and between them they had it finished in a matter of moments. Sitting back on the blanket and wrapping his arms around his bent knees, Jules looked out at the loch.

“D’ye fancy gaeing fer a daunder ‘round the loch? We hae a bit o’ time ere the ferry, yeah?” Aidan had stood, and was looking at the sun in the sky.

Presumably judging the hour from it or some such outdoorsman-y nonsense, Jules thought.

“Sure. Warming up a bit sounds excellent right now. That wind is bloody cold!” he complained.

“Dae ye want mah jacket? I dinnae want ye tae catch a chill,” Aidan offered graciously.

“Hmph! Don’t be ridiculous. Then you’ll freeze, and that’s no good, either,” Jules sniffed, crossing his arms, as much to keep his hands warm as give the appearance of standing his ground.

“Aye, I suppose no’. It’s quite nippy t’day, tha’s fer sure,” replied the Scot, picking up the blanket and shaking it off once Jules had gotten to his feet. “Ye could wrap the blanket ‘round ye?”

“Absolutely not! Why would you even suggest that? What if someone saw me?” Jules shuddered at the thought.

Aidan shrugged and began to bring the corners of the blanket together. Once the detestable near-attempt at a fashion statement was folded over the basket, they returned to the car to ditch both, then walked back toward the water.

“Sooooo… I couldn’t help noticing that you’re wearing your kilt again,” said Jules as they wandered leisurely around the gentle bend of the loch’s perimeter, “Is that your day-to-day uniform, or are you actually just wearing it for the benefit of the tourist this time?”

“Ha ha! Oh, I just like wearing one,” Aidan replied, looking down at his tartan, “Have ye e’er tried one? They’re fair comfortable, and practical, too, fer walking. Nae chafing!”

“But having exposed legs can’t be very warm. Scotland isn’t exactly tropical,” said Jules, still skeptical, “I’m wearing trousers and I’m shivering a little!”

“Oh, ye’d be surprised at how warm the wool is—also breathable. And e’en a wee bit water repellent.” 

“It’s probably less practical on a windy day like today,” joked Jules, feeling the wind blow his hair around obnoxiously.

“Ach, tha’s still practical… if, umm… if yer looking tae impress someone,” Aidan joked, winking at Jules again but unable to do so with a straight face, letting out a shy giggle afterward. “Besides, a proper kilt is made frae heavier fabric than the cheap tourist ones. It disnae get blown up near so much as ye’d expect.”

“Well… I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it,” said Jules, flattered and a little embarrassed by the Scot’s joke. 

They continued walking, taking in the sight of the rippling surface of the loch, assorted waterfowl, and pretty wildflowers blooming here and there. Up ahead, the shoreline took a sharp turn in towards the main body of water; like a little peninsula that came forward to nearly meet a small island.

“Oh, do you think we can go all the way out there?” asked Jules, wondering what it would be like to almost be surrounded by the loch itself.

“Only one way tae find out!” Aidan replied, forging ahead and leaving Jules to pick his way carefully through the muddier ground.

Following behind the man, Jules was in the perfect spot to watch as a particularly strong gust of wind belied Aidan’s earlier statement regarding kilts and practicality in breezy weather. Positioned further back along the thin strip of land, Jules got quite a good show. A firm, shapely show at that.

Oh my. Colour me impressed, he thought, smirking.

Aidan turned to look back at Jules, trying to maintain his composure while getting the fabric of his kilt in place again. “O- oh! Uh, well… I didnae say tha’ ne’er happens… ye get used tae it,” his nonchalant answer somewhat spoiled by the furious blush accompanying it.

Indeed, I think I could get used to that, thought Jules, sidling up next to Aidan, whose progress had stalled as he held the kilt down to avoid a repeat performance while the wind continued to whistle around them.

“Well, I see you really are a true Scotsman,” he said in a low voice.

If possible, Aidan blushed more; the tips of his ears and even his neck going red. It made Jules wonder just how far down that blush went, and whether he would see any more of it if the wind cooperated again.

After some more idle wandering, spotting a red squirrel in a patch of forest, and taking a break for biscuits and tea to help warm Jules up, they headed back to the car and drove over to the visitor centre. There were a few other people around—obviously waiting for the next ferry trip—but it wasn’t nearly as bustling as Jules had worried. Aidan was probably right; booking ahead wouldn’t have been necessary, seeing as tourist season was only just starting up. They approached the admissions booth, and were greeted by a bored-looking young woman.

“Loch Katrine Cruises, how can I help ye?” she said, in a flat voice.

“I booked ahead for the next sailing—”

“ID please.”

Rude. Jules handed over his driver’s license and the girl fussed behind the window for a bit, eventually turning back to them. “Two tickets fer Mr. Waverley. Enjoy yer trip.”

Well that didn ’t sound very sincere.

As they walked down the covered pier towards the boat, Aidan spoke up. “Jules Waverley. A right posh name, tha’.”

Hearing the teasing note in the Scot’s voice this time, Jules responded in kind: “That’s Julian Charles Augustus Waverley, Esquire, to you, peasant.”

Aidan’s eyes boggled and he cracked up, practically doubling-over in laughter, making Jules smile. It took the man a few moments to recover. “Ah! Yer fair funny when ye want tae be, eh Jules? Got me roaring, ye did. Ha!”

“Well, I’m not just a pretty face, you know,” Jules replied saucily.

“Oh, Ah’m beginning tae ken tha’!”

They boarded the SS Sir Walter Scott, and Jules was quite impressed by how beautiful it was, considering its hundred-plus year lifespan working on the loch. It was a bright white boat with a cheery red and white fabric awning protecting the seats from rain—not that the day required it, considering the sun was still shining down on them. Aidan gestured for Jules to sit on the outer part of the bench, where he could have the best view of the scenery.

“I suppose I owe ye my middle name, now, huh?” Aidan said, picking up their conversation where it had left off.

“Hmm? Well, it couldn’t possibly top your last name, but you may as well tell me,” Jules replied.

“Aidan Tamhas MacSween, at yer service,” he attempted to bow with a flourish of his hand while seated, not quite succeeding in the confines of the boat seats.

“Thomas? Well, it’s a solid name.”

“Uh, it’s actually Tamhas, one o’ the Gaelic spellings. But yer right, the anglicised name would be Thomas.”

“Oh, sorry. Are Gaelic names very popular around here?” Jules asked, thinking back to Sachairi in the pub.

“Well, um, they’re a bit o’ a family tradition, frae me ma’s side,” Aidan elaborated, “Her an’ all her sisters hae Gaelic names; Siubhan, Aunt Muireall, Aunt Deirdre, and Aunt Caitriona.”

As the engine started up—almost silently, just the humming of it to be felt through the craft—they fell silent and listened to the tour guide, who began with an introduction to the ship and the loch.

“Still using its original triple expansion steam engines, the SS Sir Walter Scott is the only surviving screw propelled steamer in regular passenger service in Scotland, and has been sailing the bonnie waters of Loch Katrine since 1902. Today, the engine has been refitted to use biofuel boilers, making it more eco-friendly, which is an important consideration because the loch is the source of Glasgow’s municipal water supply. A feat of Victorian engineering, the water flows purely by gravity more than 30 miles into the city…”

As they sailed out into the middle of the water, Jules was captivated by the sight of the forested mountains surrounding them all over again. Between that and the much appreciated heat of Aidan’s body next to his, squished close on the old bench seats, it was hard to focus on the guide’s commentary. Jules managed to catch bits and pieces about the various isles, bens—which he learned meant mountains, filing that piece of information away for later—and villages they passed. However, he was glad of the break in the middle of the loch—allowing passengers to get up and explore the below-decks to see the engine, or walk to the bow of the ship where they could stand and have an unobstructed view of their passage. Most of the other tourists seemed content to return to their seats after a cursory glance, so him and Aidan were left by themselves at the front of the boat. Sadly, the wind had died down again, so the Scot’s kilt just flapped gently around his legs. What a pity, Jules couldn’t help thinking.

He also couldn’t help thinking about the ‘My Heart Will Go On’ scene from Titanic, being at the rail of a ship standing next to a handsome man. Sure, it was a lake, not an ocean, and they probably weren’t going to meet any icebergs or die in a horribly romantic way—or have any nude portraiture sessions, at least not with the other tourists aboard—but the temptation to throw his arms wide open to the breeze was real. Thankfully he had more sense than to ask Aidan to be the Jack to his Rose and reenact the scene, at least not on their first day out together.

Too soon, they had to return to their seats to listen to the second half of the tour, passing by an old school house on the North shore, and Queen Victoria’s royal cottage on the South. Arriving at the port of Stronachlachar, they disembarked for a quick walk around the charming hamlet before the return trip.

“It really is beautiful here,” remarked Jules, “I’m glad I left the decision up to you.”

Aidan smiled at him, then asked: “So, Jules, how come ye decided tae come here fer yer Scottish vacation? Most folk want tae see the Highlands proper—big tourist sights, ye ken?”

“Mostly I didn’t want to bother planning things ahead of time,” Jules replied, “I figured I’d decide on activities once I arrived, and could take things at a less intense pace than a planned tour.”

“An’ ye didnae want tae see the cities, like Edinburgh?”

“I’ve been to Edinburgh before, for the Fringe. And besides, the whole point of taking this trip was to relax and disconnect, so being in another big city seemed to defeat the purpose.”

“Aye tha’,” the Scot nodded, “But what brought the Trossachs tae yer attention? The Borders are just as relaxing, and closer as well.”

“Oh, I had a recommendation, actually,” said Jules, “One of my supervisors at work spent some time here, and said he loved it.”

“Ach, an adventurous type, is he?”

“No, actually… he spent some time convalescing around here after being quite sick. He had a relative to stay with, so I’m pretty sure he was out here for a few months…”

“O- oh! I dae hope he’s awright now,” said Aidan, sounding concerned.

“Hmm? Yes, Simon’s fine. Back to work full-time and everything,” Jules said, then paused before adding, “But when he heard I was looking for a real ‘escape’ of a vacation, he insisted that this was the place to visit. He recommended it highly for peace, quiet, and recovery.”

Aidan frowned, his pale brows drawing together, then asked almost tentatively, “But yer no’ sick, are ye?”

Jules gave a startled laugh, feeling awkward that he’d given that impression. “No! No, I’m fine. Just a bit burnt out, I guess. Hadn’t taken any time off in a while.”

“Aye, yer job sounds like a stressful one.”

“Pfft, no more so than any other competitive field, really…”

“Well, yer colleague was right, this is a good place tae relax, and fair bonnie tae boot! The Trossachs are like Scotland in miniature, ye ken? Mountains, forest, fields, lochs, all o’ it. Ye dinnae need tae go far fer anything ye might fancy daein’,” Aidan smiled at him warmly.

I can think of one thing I might fancy doing on this trip, Jules thought, smiling back. But he couldn’t let the opportunity for another joke pass. “And lucky me, I can do all of that while accompanied by sheep, right?”

Both of them cracked up at that.

Returning to the car after taking the steamer back across the loch, Jules was horrified by the sight of himself in the rear-view mirror. His carefully styled hair—normally smooth and straight, falling just so—had become a tangled mess thanks to the breezy weather. “Oh god! Why didn’t you tell me?” Jules snapped, fussing at his perfect center part, now barely recognizable. “Stupid wind!”

A little giggle escaped Aidan, and he put his hand over his mouth when Jules glared. How dare! This is a crisis and he’s laughing!

“Dinnae fash yersel’,” said Aidan, then pointed at his own head, “It happens. Look at mine!”

“Well, not all of us are born with attractively tousled locks that still manage to look decent after being blown about!” Jules huffed, though Aidan’s ensuing blush did help his annoyance fade. It really is too easy to get him to do that… Would it be terribly cruel of me to see how many ways I can manage it? Jules thought to himself.

“Uh, did ye want tae see one more thing afore heading back?” asked Aidan, “It’s quite close, just a wee bit south.”

“So long as it won’t involve too many people seeing me in this state,” Jules sniffed, fastening his seatbelt but continuing to run his fingers through the snags in his hair afterwards, “And no tourist-y photo ops. Even ignoring this disaster on my head, stilted posing in places that have been Instagrammed to death is not something I will be a part of.”

“Okay, no photies, I promise,” said Aidan as he pulled out onto the road again.

It wasn’t even a quarter of an hour later when Aidan pulled the car over, but Jules had long ago forgotten his hair and practically plastered his nose to the window, watching the breathtaking scenery go past as the road climbed higher and higher.

“This lookout spot has some o’ the finest views in all the region,” said the Scot as they got out.

Jules had to agree. With the sun just starting to get low in the sky, bathing everything in a warm glow, he was definitely happier to have come to Scotland now than he’d been just twenty four hours previous. He turned to look at the man standing beside him, whose loose curls were glowing a bright gold in the early evening light. “Thank you for coming with me today. This was the perfect way to spend my first day in Scotland.”

“Oh! Ah’m glad tae hear ye enjoyed yersel’,” Aidan said. Then, with a glint in his eye, added, “Makes up fer the inconvenience mah flock caused ye yesterday?”

“I suppose we can call it even,” Jules sighed dramatically, “…though, if you aren’t too busy tending them, perhaps you’d be willing to show me a few more of the sights while I’m here? I have it on good authority that there are more than just lochs up in this part of the country, and I’m completely open to suggestions for where to go next.”

Aidan’s face lit up as he replied, “Aye, plenty tae see! Um, Ah’d like that… Uh, well, would ye like tae see a castle, or some ruins?”

“Yes. I trust your judgment. Surprise me.”

“Okay! Umm, I cannae dae th’morra… but the followin’ day Ah’d be free.”

“It’s decided, then,” Jules said, turning to head back to the car. “Now, I’m absolutely starving.”

Aidan joined him at the vehicle. “Well, lucky fer ye, I happen tae ken a smashin’ restaurant on the way back.”

“Perfect.”

Chapter Text

When Jules awoke the following morning, the room was nowhere near as bright. After snoozing his alarm five times, he eventually dragged himself out of bed and opened the blinds. The weather was far less pleasant than the previous day; skies a gloomy grey, without even a hint of sun peeking through the cloud cover.

He spent his afternoon exploring the village by foot, stopping first for lunch at the chippy, which was as tasty as any other grease-soaked meal at similar establishments across the land. There really wasn’t a whole lot to see, he concluded. Farmers’ market, little café with completely unremarkable coffee, corner shop, a cute public square with benches and some flower beds where he read for a while until it started to rain. By the time he made it back to The Equinox, he was somewhat damper than he’d hoped to be, and went back to his room for a few hours.

Relaxing wasn’t really going as planned. He felt antsy doing nothing; a buzzing sensation under his skin, telling him he should be working on something, anything. Not being productive felt wrong. The distraction and activities of yesterday had been less stressful for him. His mind had been occupied enough to forget about work for the entire day, focused instead on conversation and the new sights around him. Especially the sight of a certain Scotsman.

Now he was sitting in the comfy chair in the corner of his room at the B&B, skimming through a few days of emails on his phone. Wishing he had his laptop so he could get a bit of work done. He’d purposely left it in his flat in London, knowing that if he took it with him he would spend his entire vacation on it, defeating the purpose of the entire endeavour.

Jules ate downstairs in the pub again that evening, Marcus peppering him with questions about how he enjoyed his trip to the loch yesterday. He answered positively, but noncommittally, a little bemused by the innkeeper’s apparent investment in how his trip was. Alec was there, too, listening silently as always. Apart from the intermittent tapping of his fingers on the screen of his phone; presumably texting or messaging with someone, probably Sachairi, Jules guessed. Marcus kept looping him into the conversation anyway, only to get a nod or shrug in response.

God, how do they manage to have a relationship like that? How does the silence not become completely oppressive… smothering, even? Jules couldn’t begin to wrap his mind around it. Not being able to hold an intelligent conversation was the kiss of death for a one-night stand, as far as he was concerned, let alone any kind of commitment. Is it really that unreasonable to want someone to contribute to a dialogue, even if they’re mostly just responding to my thrilling anecdotes and clever observations? It’s not that high a standard.

After a few drinks—seeing that it was getting late and nobody else seemed likely to walk through the door to provide a source of entertainment—Jules said good night to his hosts and went back upstairs. He tried reading again, but couldn’t focus on the words in front of his face, the story unable to hold his interest. Eventually he gave up, took a shower, and went to bed early.

Jules bounded out of bed the next morning with the first ring of his alarm, despite the lack of cheery sunlight for the second day in a row. He hummed to himself in the shower, then spent more time than was probably strictly necessary trying on different outfits. Eventually he settled on a denim button-down (So fittingly rustic!), deep grey granddad cardigan with a shawl collar, and a pair of perfectly-fitting khakis which had led to multiple compliments on his butt over the past year from a variety of admirers.

After wolfing down breakfast, he sat in the foyer on a small cushioned bench and tried reading his book. Once again, he found he couldn’t focus on it as well as he’d hoped, and the intermittent sensation of Alec’s gaze on him was both unnerving and distracting. Ugh, would it kill him to go five minutes without being a creep?

“Ah, mornin’, Jules!” boomed Marcus, coming in from whatever upkeep work he’d been doing.

“Good morning!” said Jules, watching Marcus’ brows rise at his friendly greeting, far more chipper than usual.

“Are ye waiting fer Aidan?” he asked, walking around the reception desk to plant a kiss in Alec’s hair. To Jules’ surprise, the shorter man actually smiled for once and leaned into the touch.

“I guess so, but we didn’t settle on a time... and I have no way to get in contact with him,” Jules huffed, feeling slightly silly waiting in the hallway like an excited puppy hoping its owner would return soon.

“Oh, I can text him for ye!” Marcus reached for his pocket, but the progress of his hand was arrested by Alec’s smaller one wrapping around his wrist.

Alec produced his own phone and tapped the screen a few times. Jules got up and looked over the desk, peering down like Marcus was. Presumably he was meant to be looking at the most recent messages, but the screen showed some sent last night near the top. Jules was a quick reader, and never had learned to bring his insatiable curiosity about other people under control when handed an opportunity like this on a silver platter. He scanned them all quickly, starting from the oldest one visible, the first part of which was cut off.

-don ’t even know if he’s interested in men!

            Yesterday 7:28 PM

                        ...

Yeah, yeah, Alec.

He might just be a flirty person! But when

my kilt blew up, I was absolute beetroot,

get me tae fuck!

                        XD

            Today 11:04 AM      

                        When are you coming to pick up your date?

                        He ’s looking antsy already.

            Today 11:31 AM

Oh! Didn ’t realise he’d be ready so early.

I ’m just finished here, going to leave now.

And you can ’t call him my date! I haven’t

even asked him out! *blush*

                        ...

Jules willed himself not to be embarrassed, and settled on being slightly miffed at Alec, instead. The earlier messages had been sent during the time he’d been down in the pub for dinner, sitting right next to the man! Anyway, without more context, he really shouldn’t assume anything about what those texts meant. Aidan hadn’t actually said he was planning to ask him out.

“Ah, he’ll be here any minute, then,” Marcus was  first to break the silence, rubbing at the back of his neck, obviously feeling a bit awkward.

“Oh, good,” said Jules, retrieving his book from the bench, “Thanks.”

Retreating upstairs in as slow and dignified a manner as he could, Jules dropped his book on the bed and immediately whipped out his own phone. He entered the number he’d seen at the top of Alec’s screen before he could forget. Just in case, he justified the action to himself, taking a minute to try and forget the rest of what he’d seen on the silent man’s mobile. After grabbing his jacket, Jules made his way down the stairs and waited on the bench again, feeling even sillier. Thankfully, both Alec and Marcus had disappeared.

It wasn’t long before Aidan arrived, and shocked Jules with his appearance. He had on that same leather jacket—currently open, exposing a plain black sweater beneath—but today he was wearing trousers with it. Denim ones, at that. The kilt was nowhere to be seen. However, around the Scot’s neck was wound a yellow and black striped scarf which probably would have made a nice, if loud, match for his tartan; picking up on the thinner yellow threads that ran through it, as Jules could picture in his mind’s eye.

“I like your scarf,” said Jules, attempting a sincere sartorial compliment for the first time in longer than he could remember, uncertain if he was still capable of expressing such a sentiment. 

“Oh, thank ye!”

“Why no kilt today?”

“Supposed tae be e’en windier t’day.”

“Ugh! That’s what I forgot to do! Figure out where in this godforsaken place I could find a shop with a decent selection of anti-wind hair products.” It was quite apparent from his smile that Aidan was holding in another laugh. Jules glared down the bridge of his nose at the shepherd. “You saw the travesty that was my hair after being at the loch all afternoon! I didn’t think to pack special styling products for such trying environmental conditions,” he whined.

“Ah’m more worried ‘bout ye catching a chill,” Aidan said.

“I wore warmer layers today,” replied Jules, gesturing down at the heavier sweater under his jacket.

“Still, after seeing ye chitterin’ away the other day, I figured tae bring ye this,” said the Scot, reaching into the interior pocket of his jacket and producing a small bundle. “Ah’d been practising mah double knitting, and finished it yesterday e’enin. Seemed a mighty coincidence.”

Jules looked down at what turned out to be folded fabric, now in his hands. It was squishy and woolly, but not scratchy, held together with green ribbon tied clumsily into a bow. Undoing it, he discovered that the bundle opened into a rich navy-coloured scarf with a Celtic-looking geometric design running the entire length of it, done in a contrasting silvery grey.

“You... knit this?”

“Aye. Mah whole family knits. Sorta comes wi’ the territory, raising sheep and all.”

Well this certainly isn’t granny’s tacky Christmas knitting, Jules thought, impressed by how thoroughly modern and attractive the accessory was, not to mention the workmanship. It wouldn’t look out of place tied jauntily around the neck of any young man walking down Regent Street. A rustic touch to accent the clean lines of a tailored suit or classic jacket.

“This is too kind a gift, I couldn’t possibly accept it,” said Jules, holding the unfurled scarf out to the other man, who used one outstretched palm to press it back into his hands.

“Nae worries, keep it! Ye’ll need it fer the blustery weather!”

A little taken aback by such a kind gesture, Jules just stared at the scarf for another moment before bringing his arms back towards his chest. As he turned the length of knitting over, he realized that the other side had the colours of the design inverted, with a navy design on a grey background. He actually made this… with his own two hands? Beyond ridiculous… it’s so beautiful.

“Um, thank you. That was very thoughtful of you,” he managed, doubling the scarf over and pulling the ends through itself to loop around his neck. The wool was still warm from where it had been nestled against the other man’s side within his jacket.

“Yer welcome,” said Aidan, beaming at him, “Are ye ready tae head out?”

As he followed Aidan to the parking lot, Jules decided that the lack of kilt was not actually a disappointment. Though Aidan's muscular legs were no longer on display, the worn denim did provide a very good view—wind or no wind—of his shapely posterior, hugging it nicely. Dragging his eyes back up as they reached the hire car, Jules realised he still had no idea what the plan for the afternoon was.

“So where are you taking me today?”

“Thought ye wanted tae be surprised,” replied Aidan, getting into the driver’s seat once the doors were unlocked.

Jules sat down and looked over across the centre console. “Well, you’re in charge. Just make sure we don’t turn onto any roads blocked by passing livestock.”

“Ah’ll stick tae the main routes, promise.”

When the motor turned on, the podcast from the other day started playing again—or rather, the next episode of it, which had begun on their drive home. Jules fiddled with the volume, lowering it, then scrolled through his music selection as Aidan pulled onto the road. Finding a favourite classical playlist and selecting it, he listened for a moment and nodded, satisfied with his choice of background music. This way they’d actually be able to converse on the drive, which Jules found himself looking forward to.

Chapter Text

“So, do I get a hint?”

“Whit fer dae ye want me tae gie ye a hint?”

“About where we’re going, duh.”

“Nae patience, eh? Aye, Ah’ll gie ye a hint. Ah’d suggested a castle or ruin, an’ ye didnae pick one, so we’re seeing both.”

“That’s not very helpful, you know,” Jules said in a flat voice, giving Aidan a bit of side eye. The Scot kept his gaze straight ahead on the road, so the effect was sadly lost on him.

“Just trying tae keep the element o’ surprise,” he responded with a smile.

Looking out the window, Jules watched the scenery pass by. One feature of the landscape he’d noticed before caught his eye again; the green-brown of the hills that were everywhere in this area were striped with irregular bands and clusters of some kind of bush or small tree. Even from afar, it was easy to tell that each one was covered in what must have been hundreds of little yellow flowers. They added some much needed colour to the otherwise fairly drab spring foliage. “What are the yellow bushes? Or whatever they are?”

Aidan snuck a brief look at the direction Jules was pointing. “Oh! Tha’d be gorse. Bonnie flowers, eh? Smell magic, too. Umm, a wee bit like… coconut? Careful round ‘em, though, they hae thorns all o’er.”

“Ugh! Is everything in Scotland secretly out to get me?”

Aidan giggled at that, instead of dignifying it with a proper response. Jules huffed, but couldn’t manage to keep up the act of being offended for long with infectious laughter coming from beside him, and had to fight back a smile. They drove a while longer, Jules watching the slopes rise and fall, the distribution of the gorse bushes seeming to undulate across the hilly landscape.

“They’re wha’ the village was named fer, ye ken?”

“What, really? Why? Shouldn’t it be named for sheep or something?” Jules briefly considered his point before continuing on, talking over the start of Aidan’s attempt to reply. “Oh, never mind, I suppose everything out here can’t be named for sheep or you’d run out of names pretty quickly.”

“Ha! Well, a lot o’ places use Scots or Gaelic words fer features o’ the surrounding area,” explained Aidan patiently, “Braebaud has two parts, both o’ Scots origin;  brae, meaning something like ‘slopes o’ a hill’, an’ baud, roughly translating tae ‘covered in gorse’, though it could also mean any kind o’ thicket. Prolly ‘cause the hills nearby are pure blanketed with ‘em. Yellow blooms nearly year round.” 

“Why the ‘East’, then?” asked Jules, always one to nitpick, “Is there a ‘West Braebaud’?”

“Ha ha! Oh, there isnae such a place,” said the Scot, laughing his musical laugh again and captivating Jules, “East just refers tae it being East o’ the closest hills, Ah’d suspect.”

“So where are we going?” Jules tried his luck once more.

“Gosh, yer incorrigible, aren’t ye?” Aidan smiled, returning his attention fully to the road. Jules sulked in his seat, arms crossed, listening to Aidan’s occasional humming along with the music coming over the car speakers.

Once they’d turned off the main motorway, the views from the passenger window became even more quaint. A short way down the road, Jules could see rusty-coloured lumps come into view. Whatever they were, they were alive; moving slowly next to a rickety-looking wooden fence running the length of someone’s property next to the road.

“Oh my god, what on earth are those things?!” Jules asked, hoping against hope that they weren’t a breed of monstrous giant sheep.

“Wha? The coos?”

“Those are cows?”

“Aye, Highlan’ coos. Great shaggy beasties!”

“Pull over! I want to see them!”

Aidan did as directed, pulling onto the dirt shoulder and putting on the flashers, though the puzzled look on his face said he wasn’t sure why. Jules bounded out of the car, walking quickly over to the fence and gawking at the creatures on the other side. A few of them had horns, and all of them had an excessive-seeming amount of… fur? Hair? What did cows have, anyway?

Scotland just breeds fluffy things, apparently, he thought to himself. Sheep, cows, shepherds…

“Would ye be caring tae enlighten me, Jules,” said Aidan as he came to stand beside him, “How ye like coos, but no’ sheep?”

“Have you even looked at them?” Jules huffed, “They’re so funny-looking! How can you not be entertained? Sheep are just horrors from a demon dimension, I’m fairly certain.”

Aidan shook his head from side to side, confusion warring with an amused smile on his face. “I cannae say I understand… yer still a mystery tae me.” The Scot leaned on the fence, making noises with his tongue, apparently in an attempt to coax the cows closer.

“How do they even see like that with hair over their faces?” Jules asked, watching a large cow wander over, vision surely obscured by the thick bunch of hair falling down in front of its eyes.

“How does Alec e’en see? They dae just fine,” joked Aidan with a mischievous look.

Jules burst out laughing at that; the mental image of tiny little Alec being like one of these hulking creatures was utterly absurd.

It wasn’t much further to their destination once Jules’ interest in the exotic cattle was satisfied. They’d been driving through what appeared to be the grounds of an estate and golf course; pockets of green manicured lawns separated by stands of trees and small buildings in places. The fact that the narrow roads were smoothly paved had not escaped Jules’ notice; the upkeep was strikingly different from the more rural farming side roads he’d accidentally explored. Turning onto a long, straight driveway of sorts, he spied what must be their destination.

The rows of trees on either side of them ended abruptly, and up ahead loomed a large structure. Weathered stonework and a tower missing half the shingles from its remaining turret peeked out from above a swath of thickly growing creepers. The building was set back behind a barrier of trees and dense shrubbery—all of it a bit wild and unkempt save the freshly mowed lawn that met the driveway, which forked to either side of the castle and continued.

“Welcome tae the ruins o’ Buchanan Castle,” said Aidan as he pulled the car right onto the grassy shoulder beside a line of trees, almost hidden out of view on the far side of the building. Opening the door and stepping out, he added, “Most folk visiting this region gae and see Stirling Castle, which is preserved much finer, but I was figuring we’d see one o’ the less well-known sights.”

“Fine by me,” said Jules, rounding the vehicle to stand beside the Scot, “Who needs to see a big tourist trap, anyway?”

“Well, it’s still a treat. Real quality, but ye might see it on yer way home, leaving a few hours ere ye’d normally need tae head out. After all, yer hire’s frae Stirling,” he said, pointing at the plates before starting across the road.

Jules looked up as they approached the massive stone building, admiring the craftsmanship which had gone into the place, evident even in ruin. Carved stone gables remained over empty window holes. Massive brick chimneys poked up from behind the cover of tree and crumbling outer wall. A second storey balcony overhanging an arched doorway was obscured by at least three types of vines. “Well, it’s a shame that the owners let such an impressive castle get swallowed up like this. They should have retained the services of more adept gardeners! Clearly the Buchanans are a careless lot.”

Aidan laughed, and Jules felt a rush of pleasure at his joke landing properly. He was often disappointed by the inability of other, less sophisticated people to grasp his particular sense of humour.

“Ach, watch what ye say ‘bout the Buchanans. That’d be Marcus’ clan yer slagging,” said Aidan, an edge of teasing to the warning tone he used, “’Sides, Buchanan Castle hasnae belonged tae ‘em since afore Queen Victoria took the throne. They didnae e’en build it!”

“Hmph. Then who are the architects of this proper mess?”

“Well, Clan Graham took o’er these lands long ago, and when the original Buchanan Auld House was burned down, haed this one designed tae replace it. What’s left o’ those ruins isnae far frae here—just foundations.”

“Wait, so it isn’t all that old, then?” asked Jules as he wandered around the front of the castle, towards the left-hand side, trying to look through the overgrowth, “It hasn’t been abandoned for hundreds of years?”

Aidan shook his head, blond locks of curling hair bouncing. “Nae, only since the 1950s, if ye can believe it.”

“What? Seriously?” Jules’ mouth hung open at this revelation. The building in front of them looked like it had practically returned to the earth, taken over and torn apart by what was nearly a forest growing over and around it.

“Aye, after the war it wisnae being used anymore, so the roof was torn off,” Aidan explained, “Same fer countless older estate houses an’ castles. All ‘cause o’ a legal loophole, saying tha’ with nae roof, buildings cannae be taxed. It’s fair tragic, losing historic places whit hae fallen intae such disrepair tha’ they cannae be saved an’ preserved, e’en by the National Trust.”

“Ridiculous! Someone should do something about that!” said Jules as he followed the path that Aidan was now picking through some of the underbrush, toward the side of the ruined building. The Scot held branches carefully out of the way, looking back to check on Jules behind him as they made their way deeper into the overgrown plant life. Well, isn’t he quite the gentleman, thought Jules as he skirted a mud puddle also helpfully pointed out by Aidan.

Jules looked over at the stone wall a few feet to the left of their path and noticed a square of bright white, slightly sun-faded and cracked. It was a hand-painted wooden sign with ivy encroaching around the corners, though not enough to obscure the message:

DANGER

KEEP CLEAR OF THIS BUILDING

“Ummm, not that I doubt your judgment, but is that something we should be concerned about?”

Aidan turned his head with a quizzical look, then directed his gaze to where Jules was pointing.

“Ach, nae! They’ve got tae warn ye—cover their arse ‘n all—but unless yer planning tae climb a crumbling part o’ the building, Ah’d nae be worrying,” he said calmly, continuing to walk further into the foliage, “Plenty o’ folk come tae see the ruins. They’re fair sturdy, still. Nae danger!” He turned back around again when Jules didn’t follow, doubling back to stand beside him. “Oh! Though if ye dinnae want tae go in, tha’s fine, too. Umm, dae ye want tae turn back, Jules? We can hae a daunder round the castle then, uh, see something else.”

“Hmph! Of course not!” replied Jules, throwing his head back to look imperiously down at the old sign before forging ahead, striding past Aidan. “We came to see some ruins, and we’re going to bloody well see them! Why would I want to turn back?”

Aidan caught up to him as they reached the arched doorway, the top of which had just been visible from the road. Jules felt a firm hand on his bicep as he made to step into the darkened interior of the building.

“Fer mah peace o’ mind, uh, watch where ye step and go slow, ‘kay? Just ‘cause the walls will nae threaten tae collapse around ye, disnae mean there are nae hazards, ye ken? Ye still could twist an ankle on rotting floorboards, potholes in the ground, or other junk lying about.”

“Ugh, I’ll be fine!” said Jules, shaking him off, but looking down at where he was going to step—what was left of the wooden floor was indeed uneven. The Scot’s concern was meant well, Jules knew, but it still rankled. I’m not a child who’s a penny short of a pound.

Despite the fact that the morning’s cloud cover had dissipated somewhat, it seemed almost dark upon entering the castle. The canopy of vines and tree branches was so thick overhead that the pale sunlight had difficulty making it through. Jules felt a chill run down his spine as the breeze whistled past, ruffling his hair and making his jacket cling to his shoulders. He drew his new scarf around his neck a bit tighter, glad for the warmth and comfort it provided.

Passing through one ruined hall—in which the wooden interior of the walls was falling away from the stone, and the plaster which once covered them had all but disintegrated save for a few patches near the corners—the structure suddenly opened up in front of them. They stepped into a beautiful courtyard with a few still-young trees growing in the centre of it, dappled sunlight filtering down through recently leafed out branches and casting abstract spots on the ground. Jules stopped to look up and all around at walls covered in ivy and bright green swaths of moss, eyes flitting down to find Aidan watching him when the other man spoke.

“Bonnie e’en still, aye?”

“Yeah, it really is,” Jules nodded, “Why did it end up being abandoned?”

“Well, far as I can mind, the castle was converted tae a hotel when the golf course opened,” Aidan explained as he led them through a narrow corridor into a large room, the upper floors and roof completely gone, leaving in effect another courtyard. The only indication that was not its original construction were the large metal support beams overhead, rusted through in places. “When the Second World War began, it got requisitioned fer army use.”

At the far end of the room, they entered a more enclosed space containing a stairwell. The stone stairs were remarkably well preserved, though the upper flight led nowhere with the floors above the ground gone. It was the ones to the basement which had apparently captured Aidan’s attention, interrupting his history lesson.

“You really want to go down into some dingy old basement in an abandoned building?” Jules sniffed, turning his nose up in distaste.

“How no’? Are ye nae in the mood fer a wee adventure?” Aidan’s face was full of enthusiasm, and Jules found it difficult to say no to such big blue eyes.

“I don’t see how falling down a flight of ancient stairs and getting trapped in a rotting basement constitutes adventure. But if you’re dead set on doing it, I should at least come along to hold the torch,” said Jules, taking out his phone and turning on the bright white light, illuminating whatever portion of the room it was aimed at. Descending to the subterranean level, Jules aimed the light so they could both watch their footing. He did almost slip off the crumbling edge of one step while admiring the posterior of the man descending ahead of him, relieved nobody else was around to see his inelegant recovery.

Jules was glad of the light when they reached the bottom of the stairs, with so little filtering down from above. Bricks and piles of dirt littered the ground as far as the eye could see, to the edges of their little perimeter of illumination. An eddying wind current followed them down the stairwell, making the hairs on the back of Jules’ neck stand on edge.

“Right, sae during the war, Buchanan Castle became a military hospital—” Aidan’s attempt to continue his train of thought was interrupted this time by a loud shriek, the torch light swiveling around wildly as Jules threw his hands in the air to shoo something away from the air surrounding his head.

“Urgh! Something brushed my ear!” he whined, “What if it was a bat? Disgusting! Nope, I’m done!”

“Jules,” said Aidan patiently, remaining calm even as Jules turned a glare on him, “It wisnae a bat. Prolly just a leaf blowing down frae above us.”

Infuriatingly enough, when Jules looked in the direction they’d come, a few dead leaves were floating down with the last of the breeze, settling at their feet.

“Fine! Maybe that was a leaf, but it doesn’t mean there aren’t bats down here!”

“I dinnae think any bats hae made their home here,” Aidan said, looking around at the ceiling and the floor, sniffing the air, “We’d smell ‘em in tha’ case.”

“Well, if I end up with a small flying mammal nesting in my hair, I know who to blame,” Jules said, walking a little closer to Aidan’s side as they began traversing the dark passageway. The arched brickwork ceiling and dank smell made Jules think of a dungeon; it just needed sconces of flame on the walls for the illusion to be complete. “You were saying something about the war?”

“Oh! Aye, the castle was being used as a hospital, treating wounded from the war,” said Aidan, getting back into his guide persona, “The most famous patient was Deputy Führer, Rudolf Hess. When he flew tae Scotland in an attempt tae negotiate peace behind Hitler’s back, he was injured, taken prisoner, an’ held here while he recovered.”

“Lovely. So glad I decided to follow you into the basement of an old military hospital, probably full of vengeful ghosts. Nazi ghosts, for that matter.”

“Ach! It’s no’ haunted!”

“Oh, and how do you know that?”

“Plenty o’ supposedly haunted castles in Scotland. This one ne’er gets e’en a mention. And it was used fer an army school after the war, ere being left tae rot.”

Jules made a disgruntled noise, and heard something in the silence that followed which certainly wasn’t an echo. He bit off his surprised scream this time, clutching at Aidan’s arm instead, tense as a high wire.

“What was that?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“What was wha’?” Aidan said back in his normal tone, looking around.

“Ugh, never mind,” Jules decided it wasn’t worth explaining the whistling noise he’d heard, not wanting to be laughed at. Besides, he felt much safer now that he was holding onto the Scot’s arm. It was a rather nice arm, too. I’m sure he won’t mind if I just stay latched on like this. Really, who would complain?

Up ahead a cone of anemic light shone down through some kind of opening in the top of the tunnel, illuminating a heaping pile of fallen leaves in the most unnerving way Jules could have imagined. He’d never seen dead foliage look so sinister before. Passing to one side of the decomposing mass of organic matter, another whistling noise assaulted his ears, louder than before. Jules managed to avoid an actual outcry this time, even when the leaves swishing around his ankles felt a little too much like mice running over his shoes. “God! Could this place get any creepier?”

“It’s just the wind,” said Aidan in a soothing voice, which sounded tinged with amusement to Jules’ ears.

He glared at the other man, whose round features were just visible in the low light. Jules only realised how much he was digging into Aidan’s arm when a warm, comforting hand came to rest on top of one of his. Bollocks, that’ll probably leave a bruise, he thought, forcing his hands to loosen their death grip.

“Sorry.”

“Nae worries,” replied Aidan, letting his own hand fall again after giving Jules’ a reassuring pat, “Though Ah’m glad I didnae take ye tae the Edinburgh Vaults!” They continued through the narrow corridors, coming across a blocked off section. The ceiling had collapsed in and a pile of dirt had accumulated around the bottom of a crumbling support pillar.

“I hope you know where the exit is. Because I didn’t think to bring any breadcrumbs to leave a trail behind us.”

“Ah’ve been paying attention, dinnae fash. ‘Sides, there should be anuther exit somewhere ahead.” When they finally reached another staircase that looked suitably stable, Jules was still hanging off Aidan’s arm. In the comparably rich light now reaching them, he could see a slight blush on the other man’s cheekbones. “Are ye still scared? It might, uh, be easier tae take the stairs single file,” Aidan suggested, not quite making eye contact before looking back up at the exit again.

Jules let go of his arm with a huff. “I wasn’t scared. I just figured it was better to stick together so we didn’t lose each other in the dark!” With that, he brushed past and began climbing the stairs, not bothering to check whether the shepherd was following him.

The ruins were large and sprawling, even with a number of the outermost walls knocked down practically to the foundations. Inside, the narrow hallways still managed to be almost claustrophobic. Especially when half-obstructed by trees growing in their path so they had to squeeze between the trunks and the high stone walls.

“Oh, this reminds me o’ something mah da told me about visiting Buchanan Castle with his mates back in the day. Said ye could still see rotting carpets running the length o’ these halls, an’ saplings growing straight up through ‘em,” Aidan said, pointing back along the corridor they’d just walked, “Ah’d wager the trees we see t’day are one and the same, e’en though the carpets’re gone. Nature works right fleet.”

Wandering through room after room in various states of decay, Jules couldn’t always tell those meant to be courtyards from those which were simply spaces fallen into such disrepair that they were completely open to the elements now, all traces of their interior construction gone.  In one such area, a pile of stones from the fallen walls had been stacked to form a sort of makeshift bench.

“Now seems as good a time as any for a break!” said Jules, dusting off one of the flatter sections of stone with a hand and carefully perching on it.

Aidan smiled and sat down beside him, taking off the rucksack which held their lunch, picked up at a cute little cafe on the drive there. The smell of fresh, green dampness pervading the castle grounds was a nice counterpoint to their pasties, which tasted warm and homey. When the history lesson from earlier didn’t continue, Jules took the opportunity to steer the conversation in a direction he’d been curious about. “You know, since I arrived, I’ve noticed that everyone seems awfully nosy. Last night in the pub I couldn’t even have a glass of wine without being interrogated!”

“Hah! What can I tell ye? ‘Round ‘ere it’s a small world. Folk’re always chuffed tae spy a new face and hae a bit o’ a blether with any visitors.”

“Hmph, back in London the level of cross-examination anyone visiting The Equinox receives would be considered awfully rude.”

“Ach, they dinnae mean anything by it,” said Aidan, shaking his head a little.

“Well in that case, surely you could provide me with a little bit of information about the tallest and smallest Scotland Yard detectives I’m staying with,” Jules said in his most innocent, yet compelling, voice.

“Who? Marcus and Alec?”

“Who else? What’s up with the pirate and the goth? I know you’ve got all the dirt on them, come onnnnn!”

Aidan frowned and fixed him with a baleful stare—surprising to see on the man’s normally pleasant, almost cherubic face. “Now listen here, Jules. Ye can make sheep fucker jokes ‘til the sun sets, and then some, but make one more crack about Marcus’ eye an we’ll hae trouble, ye ken?” The Scot’s tone brooked no argument. “Ah’m absolute dead serious. It wisnae more than a few years back he lost it, an’ farming accidents are nae laughing matter.” Feeling properly chastised, Jules shut his mouth after mumbling an apology. He stared down at the remainder of his lunch and the small flakes of pastry which, having fallen off, had taken up residence in the creases of his trousers. He brushed them off before they could leave grease spots.

“Heh, Alec does like wearing black an awful lot, though.”

Jules lifted his gaze again, and saw Aidan looking back at him with an open expression once more, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. Apparently Jules’ stupidity was forgiven already. His worry over how much he might have upset his companion was somewhat assuaged. “Please tell me I’m not going to be subject to horribly depressing music coming over the speakers.”

“Nae, him and Sachairi prefer stuff with rather more screamin’ in it than Marcus’d allow.”

“Well that’s a relief.” said Jules, “Really, though, if Alec’s such a gossip, I need to have some ammunition, too. Don’t you dare hold out on me, Aidan! Come on, tell me what he was like as a teenager or something. Any stories you’d care to recount?”

Amusement shone in Aidan’s eyes as he tried and failed to contain a smile at Jules’ insistence. “Ach, you’re, uh, out o’ luck there. Alec and Sachairi only moved tae East Braebaud after they’d finished school.”

“Ugh, well that’s no help at all,” sighed Jules, taking the break in conversation to finish his pasty, then getting up and brushing off his trousers again, front and back.

They wandered into another section of the castle, closer to one of the outer walls. Large window holes let the mid-afternoon sun shine through at an angle, casting shadows from the trees both inside and just on the other side of the stone barrier. The light had an almost green-gold quality to it from the fresh spring leaves surrounding them. The weather really was beginning to improve, even if the wind continued to howl at intervals.

“How did Marcus and Alec end up running a B&B, anyway? They’re pretty young to be innkeepers.”

“Oh! Well, it was owned an’ run by Marcus’ parents, and he helped out when we were younger. After his da died, his ma decided she’d haed enough, an’ it was time tae retire. She moved up tae Aberdeen, wanting to be close tae her daughters; Marcus’ eldest sister’d birthed a lad and a lassie by then. The younger was studying there, too.”

“So he inherited it?”

“Aye, he’d been figuring he might. Studied hospitality and small business ownership in uni, though he got tae use it sooner than e’en he expected.”

“And Alec?”

“Ah, well, Alec and Marcus haed been seeing each other fer a little o’er a year when the factory Alec an’ Sachairi worked at closed. Marcus was in the middle o’ doing some renos fer the B&B, only the pub open. Marcus was real sweet on Alec, and serious about wanting a future with ‘im—he was worrying Alec might move tae find more work,” Aidan explained as they continued walking, one hand trailing along the stone wall beside him. Brushing through ivy leaves, a trail of dirt fell away from his fingers, glinting in the rays of sunlight. “So, he proposed! Asked Alec if he wanted tae run the place together, seeing as it were going tae be a bigger job with his ma and sisters gone.”

Jules raised an eyebrow as he glanced sideways at the Scot. “That is quite possibly the gayest thing I’ve ever heard… and that’s saying something.”

It was the sound Aidan made tripping over his own feet—more than seeing the other man fall behind in his peripheral vision—which got Jules to turn around and slow his pace as he continued talking. “I mean, sure, I’ve dated a guy or two who dreamed of running a bed and breakfast one day, but none of them ever got down on one knee and asked me to open one with them,” he said as Aidan fell back into step beside him, “Besides, I usually insist that they get down on both knees at once; more stable like that.”

A tiny, strangled noise that sounded like a cross between choking and giggling was the only response Aidan gave, but the flush on his cheeks spoke volumes.

Hmmm, he would look good on his knees, Jules thought, aiming a sly grin at the tousle-haired shepherd as they passed into a narrow corridor again, walking practically shoulder-to-shoulder.

Aidan cleared his throat before speaking. “Uh, well, as I was saying, umm, the two of ‘em didnae waste time tying the knot. Marcus proposed in… March? The wedding set fer mid-summer.”

“Wow. That’s either true love, or a massive lapse in judgment,” said Jules, mind boggling at the thought, “I can’t even fathom getting married as young as they must have been, let alone so early in a relationship… this was a few years back?”

“Aye,” Aidan nodded, “But true love it was! Ah’ll no’ lie, it’s been amazing tae see. They’re stronger than e’er, year after year.” Jules really didn’t know what to say to that. Luckily Aidan continued his train of thought, practically getting misty-eyed as Jules watched him in the artificial dimness created by the walls high on either side of them. “They held the ceremony out back in the yard behind the pub. Tha’ was the first year Alec planted a garden, and e’erything was blooming. I was Marcus’ best man, and Sachairi did the same fer Alec. Small wedding, just family an’ close friends. The weather was gorgeous, e’en!” The Scot had a faraway look in his eyes as he spoke, “T’was the bonniest sight I e’er did see—I couldnae keep frae greetin’ through half o’ it.”

“Greeting?” Jules asked, unfamiliar with the turn of phrase.

“Ha, means I was crying like a wee bairn,” Aidan said with a little laugh, the melodious sound almost seeming to echo through the stone structure around them.

Why is that somehow not surprising? Jules thought, responding only with a small hum of confirmation.

They passed the rest of the afternoon speaking of lighter subjects, and Jules managed not to make another conversational faux pas. One misjudged joke was plenty for the day, as far as he was concerned. Having walked over to see what remained of the Auld House, they returned to the car. Instead of getting in, though, they milled about for a bit, clearly neither wanting the afternoon to end just yet. Eventually they ended up sitting along a stretch of stone fence looking down over the golf course, breeze whipping at the leaves overhead. Jules ran his hands through his hair in a vain attempt to combat the effects of the wind. “Ugh! I really cannot with these unceasing gales.”

“Dinnae e’en try fighting it; it’s a hopeless cause,” Aidan said. He gave Jules a small smile from behind his own pale locks, which were being blown around his face and into his eyes, making him squint.

“I give up!” huffed Jules, “I’ll just have to thoroughly brush it when I get back. Again. Would you mind terribly if I did that before we grab dinner? I mean, if you want to eat together after this?”

The Scot looked down at his boots guiltily, hunching his shoulders. “Ach, unfortunately Ah’ll no’ be able tae join ye fer dinner t’night. The lambs’ll need tending afore dark, and it’s Sachairi’s day off.”

“Ugh. Fine! Leave me to sit in awkward silence with Alec while Marcus practically pulls my fingernails out one by one trying to get every last detail of this afternoon out of me.” Jules sighed dramatically, already planning to sulk on the way back.

“Ah’m sorry… anuther night, though?” Aidan asked, hopefully. When Jules gave him a cool shrug, he made a different suggestion. “Oh! How ‘bout we gae hillwalking later in the week?”

“Hillwalking? Don’t you do that every day? Isn’t it basically your job? Why on earth would you want to do it for fun? You Scots are crazy.”

 Aidan barked out a laugh, high and cheery. “Aye, tha’ may be. Though we're fair consistent about it,” he said, one arm making a sweeping gesture to encompass the view in front of them, “Fer example, golf. Invented here, and a game designed tae take ye all day to play. Ideally, ye’d be haein’ a shot o’ whisky fer e’ery hole. Walking fer hours on end. It's the Scottish way!”

“Pfft. Well, I don’t know if a certain technological marvel known as a golf cart has made it up here to the rural backwaters, but it certainly cuts down on the amount of walking required to play 18 holes.”

“Oh! D’ye play golf, Jules?”

“I've been known to, on occasion.”

“Ah’m no’ particularly good at it, but we might play sometime!”

“Hmm, I didn’t think to bring my clubs or shoes,” said Jules, pondering the suggestion.

“There’re always equipment hires.”

“And use the same bent and dinged clubs as a few hundred—or worse yet, thousand—other people? Touch the same sweaty grips? I think not.” He was offended by the very idea. Besides, if he thinks I’m going to embarrass myself with street shoes throwing off my finely honed technique, he can think again.

“So, hillwalking it is, then?” Aidan leaned closer and raised his pale brows in an encouraging way.

Jules sighed, “I suppose it’ll have to be.”

“Good, ‘cause Ah’ve got just the route. Ye havenae seen Scotland ‘til ye’ve seen it on foot.”

Jules allowed a small smile to cross his lips, watching as a big, beaming one appeared on Aidan’s face in return. It was complemented by a slight respite from the wind; now just enough to flutter the Scot’s bangs on his forehead. A patch of insubstantial clouds blew across the sun’s path, and the varied light almost seemed to make his blue eyes glitter. “Thank you,” said Jules, before leaning in to place a quick, dry peck on Aidan’s cheek, “For taking me out again. I would never have thought to visit this castle on my own, and it was really something.”

It took half a moment for Aidan to respond. “...Oh! Uh, mah pleasure. Ah’m glad ye enjoyed it.”

When Aidan didn’t make a move to try anything further—just smiling bashfully and looking back out at the landscape—Jules hoisted himself off the stone ledge. “Well, I suppose we should head back now. I wouldn’t want to keep you from your sheep any longer.”

The ride back was quieter than the ride out had been. It was a bit unnerving. Jules stared out the window, wondering if he’d misread the Scot’s apparent attraction, mood threatening to sour. Though, sneaking glances at Aidan, the man seemed perfectly content; smiling and occasionally humming as he had been earlier in the day. Jules tried to convince himself that everything was fine, fiddling with the scarf around his neck, looking at the winding pattern knit with care into the garment. Surely that gift was proof enough of his interest? Or maybe just of the absurd levels of friendliness and kindness the shepherd seemed to positively radiate. It drove him half mad on the way back, wondering whether the kiss had been a bad idea. He certainly didn't seem nearly enthusiastic enough.

When they arrived at the pub, Aidan handed Jules the keys, their fingers brushing slightly.

“Um, Ah’ve been haein’ a think, and perhaps it’d be smart tae exchange mobile numbers? Uh, fer making plans?”

“Yes! Sure. Good thinking!” Jules replied, thrilled. 

The Scot patted at his pockets and fished out a slightly beat up, older device. At least it’s not a flip phone, thought Jules with relief, then rattled off his own number with practised ease. “Okay, just send me a text and we're set,” he added casually, after watching Aidan tap at the screen. Nobody even had to know he’d already sneakily obtained the other man’s number.

Jules whipped out his shiny, latest generation phone just in time to feel the buzz of a message coming in; notification popping up with a preview at the top of the screen.

Kilt Cutie: Hi, it ’s Aidan! This is my number so…

Jules quickly angled the device to hide the screen from Aidan’s line of sight, trying to make it look like he was just fighting glare from the sun overhead. I guess I’ll have to change the contact name… pity, he thought, opening the edit screen and deleting the original entry, typing in ‘Aidan’ as if he’d only just created a new contact. “Well, now that’s settled, I suppose I should bid you adieu, until the next time you come to whisk me off for a damp, windy adventure.”

“Ach, dinnae jinx it—ye’ve no’ seen properly damp Scottish Spring yet!”

“Let’s hope my luck holds, then, and we get more unseasonably sunny days.”

“Mah fingers’re crossed!”

“Have a good evening doing… whatever you’re doing with the lambs,” said Jules, then—seeing the look on Aidan’s face—he added, “I swear that wasn’t supposed to be a joke!”

“Heh, okay. You hae a good e’ening too, Jules.”

Aidan gave him another big smile that still somehow retained a shy quality to it. Even if Jules had thought it a good idea to try and follow up on his earlier advances, they were standing too far apart for it to be anything but awkward. So, he gave a little wave, his best seductive grin, and turned to enter the inn.

Chapter Text

The sound of rain pounding against the panes of his bedroom windows was the first thing to filter into Jules’ consciousness once his alarm woke him. It was loud and staccato, the kind of storm that wasn’t likely to let up any time soon. He cursed his luck as he pulled his phone into bed with him and sank deeper into the covers. After a positively dull, relaxing time with nothing to do in this middle-of-nowhere town yesterday, he’d been hoping Aidan would be available to go hillwalking sooner rather than later. A twinge of guilt for wanting Aidan to spend more time with him—when he clearly had work to do and a life outside of entertaining Jules’ whims while on his hols—was quickly shrugged off when he opened up his texts.

They’d been chatting sporadically since exchanging numbers, after their adventure in the ruins of Buchanan Castle. And that little peck on the cheek he’d given Aidan, since unacknowledged. He still wasn’t sure it had been the right move, despite how flirty the Scot had been with him at points—and those messages he’d seen on Alec’s phone, which he’d tried and failed to put out of his mind. Jules had been attempting not to seem like he was waiting by his phone, hanging on every word the other man sent. He thought he’d done quite well with it, yesterday; at one point he waited an entire two hours to respond to one of Aidan’s texts.

Practically an eternity considering where I am and how little there is to occupy me, he mused.

He re-read the sweet good night message from Aidan, sent less than 12 hours previous, before tapping out a new missive.

            Yesterday 11:21 PM

Well, it ’s past my bedtime. Talk to you in

the morning!

                        Night Aidan

G ’night, Jules. Sleep well :)

            Today 10:06 AM

                        So this would be “properly damp Scottish

                        Spring ”, yes?

Jules didn’t need to wait long for a response; his phone making a quiet ding before he’d even mustered the enthusiasm to sit up, let alone get out of bed. He picked it up again, remaining cocooned in the blankets while they messaged.

            Today 10:08 AM

O, aye! It ’s pouring out!

                        Let me guess, you ’ve already been in

                        the fields for hours.

How ’d you guess? ;)

In the barn, mostly, though. A bit wet

for anyone without a full wool coat!

                        So I take it hillwalking is off the table?

Unless you want to go swimming in

the muck … XD

                        I think not

Just taking the piss ;)

                        You know, it ’s kind of hard to tell with

                        you. For all I know mud wrestling with

                        the sheep is just a normal Thursday.

The prospect of another horridly boring day stretched out in front of Jules and he sighed into the pillow before finally getting up. He padded over to his en suite and turned up the knobs on the shower until the room filled with steam. He stepped under the spray, hoping the hot water would wash away the sour mood that the rain outside was already giving him. When he finally got out, resigned to his fate of spending the next twenty-four hours mostly alone inside, another message awaited him.

            Today 10:20 AM

Too bad, though. I was excited to

go out hillwalking with you :)

Jules felt a spike of warmth go through him, but it didn’t do much to help lighten his spirits. He typed out a response, pausing to wipe a few stray droplets of water that had fallen onto the screen from his hair.

            Today 10:34 AM

                        Same here, though I have no idea why.

                        Plodding over hillsides has never been

                        something I considered as a hobby.

Ha ha! Just wait and see. You might

even enjoy it :D

                        Tomorrow, then?

Maybe if the rain lets up. Worst case

we ’ve got weekend plans!

                        Ugh, fine. Stupid weather.

                        I ’ll talk to you later.

He toweled off his hair a second time before finding some clothes to throw on, not bothering to pay much attention to matching them.

What’s the point if I’m just hanging around the B&B all day, anyway? Nobody worth showing off for, he thought, Every bloke here is either married or trash.

He dried his hair carefully, combing it through until it fell perfectly straight and with just enough volume—he couldn’t bring himself to look a complete slob, even if there wasn’t anyone to impress around. Once he was satisfied he went downstairs for breakfast, lured by the scent of whatever delicious thing Marcus had whipped up that morning, which was still wafting through the air.

Full of home baked muffins and fruit salad, Jules sat on the back porch under the veranda reading, reasonably content for the moment. His third cup of strong tea rested on the low table beside him, steaming a misty trail up into the cool air. He wasn’t even reading, really. He’d picked up a book from the shelf in the breakfast room, unable to find himself interested in any of the hundreds of titles languishing on his e-reader. Sometimes it was easier just to grab an actual book from a considerably smaller selection. Plus, it made for a good excuse to snoop around and see what the bookshelf said about the proprietors, or perhaps their past guests.

It was chock full of dog-eared paperbacks, the cheap mass-market editions, spines wrinkled or broken long ago. A few copies of modern lit fic and the occasional classic were scattered among a large selection of sci-fi and fantasy novels. Many of them were in series, but in a few cases not every book in a series was there, and there were even one or two that had doubles from different printings, mismatched with their fellows.

Oh my… who would have thought those two were such nerds? Jules had thought, seeing the selection, then reconsidered his assumption, Well, Alec I can see—he looks like he lives on the internet, or in a basement somewhere—but Marcus seems like the kind of guy who’d rather hit the gym than the library… mmmm.

His opinions seemed to be backed up by the framed photographs which stood on top of the bookcase, with a few even shoved into the corners of the shelves themselves. Lots of pictures of the taller innkeeper outside, or doing reno work. He really was as handsome without the eyepatch as Jules had pictured. Conspicuously, there were no newer shots of him. Just depictions of a smiling, square face looking out from under the glass with a perfectly symmetrical deep brown gaze.

Far fewer photos featured tiny Alec, and the few that did mostly showed him half-hidden behind Marcus, or had been taken surreptitiously, in all likelihood. Alec behind the reception desk staring intently at the screen; Alec on a laptop in a room Jules didn’t recognize, which must have been the couple’s own suite; even one of the skinny man bent over a familiar sign, paintbrush in hand and clearly working on one of the trees beside the outline of cutoff letters spelling ‘THE EQ-’.

The largest of the frames contained a photo of the two men standing next to each other in kilts and black tailcoats with lovely silk bowties. Jules took a moment to admire the cut of the garments, which had been tailored nicely. He concluded that the picture must have been from their wedding, just as Aidan had mentioned. It was in the foyer of the building, though—not the garden—with the overhead chandelier fixture lit up, during an evening reception perhaps? It looked candid, too; neither of the men were quite facing the camera and appeared to have eyes only for each other. Marcus’ smile looked big enough to break his face. Alec’s expression was predictably less boisterous, an almost-smirk that seemed to be hiding a giggle beneath it.

Eventually Jules pulled himself away from the shelf, taking with him the sole celebrity autobiography it had contained. Luckily it was one he’d heard was worth reading just for the salacious details on co-stars and exes.

Now it sat open on his lap as he watched the rain fall, looking out at the garden. Surrounding the house were gorgeous spring flowers and plots of bare earth that appeared to have been prepared for planting vegetables or something later in the season. It must have been around two, maybe half-past, when soft footsteps on the deck behind him announced the arrival of someone else. Alec nodded a silent hello as he closed the door, then leaned against one of the wooden supports holding up the roof overhang above them.

“Hello Alec,” Jules said, still unsure of exactly how to interact with the painfully quiet man. At least he’d had the decency to stand with the side of his face not covered by a thick black fringe toward Jules. He could at least see the expressionless cast to the man’s fine-boned face, shadowed in the midday gloom.

No response, though, besides the barest incline of the shorter innkeeper’s head. They remained in silence until Jules couldn’t take it any longer.

“Did you really plant all of this?” he asked in an attempt to be friendly, gesturing out at the lush foliage of the garden.

Alec nodded again, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips with apparent satisfaction.

“It’s really quite lovely.”

“Thanks,” responded Alec, turning his head slightly and even smiling something approaching a real smile. 

Jules was nearly bowled over by the actual response, spoken so quietly it would have been lost to the noise of the rain if they weren’t quite so close together on the small porch. He only just managed to gather his wits and continue the conversation without giving off too much surprise.

“My mother loves gardens,” he started, searching for something else to say on the topic, “She’s not really one for putting her hands in the dirt, though.”

Alec just raised one dark, swooping eyebrow to that.

“She does love visiting the Botanics. And we even took a family trip to the Netherlands once, for the tulip festival,” he tried, hoping for another reaction to go on, and failing to get one.

Fine, we’ll just sit here and stare at the rain if he can’t even be bothered to even give a shrug or something, thought Jules petulantly. He picked up his teacup just to have something to do.

Before he could latch onto something else to have a one-sided conversation about Alec pulled out his phone, glanced at it, and put it back in his pocket again. He turned toward the door, but shot a questioning look over one shoulder.

“Playing board games. Ye comin’?”

Jules tried not to gape open-mouthed at what could actually pass for two full sentences coming from the small man, even if they were barely above a raspy whisper.

“Sure. Why not? I’m not exactly busy.”

They went down to the pub, where Marcus and Anna were sitting at one of the tables chatting and drinking pints, a few game boxes stacked on the next one over. What piqued Jules’ interest even more was the spread of delicious-looking plates of shareable foods which had been laid out on the bar.

“Fair good day, Jules!” Marcus’ friendly voice boomed out when he noticed the two men. “Glad ye decided ta join us!”

“I’d hardly call it a good day,” sniffed Jules, crossing his arms, “Have you looked outside recently? It’s as miserable as ever.”

“Aye, that it is. But I think we can manage some fun yet. Just waiting on Sachairi ta get back, then we can start. He only had a half-day o' work. Should be here any minute.”

“I really should have gone for a Continental vacation, instead,” Jules muttered, not quite done complaining.

“Help yersel’ tae any o’ the goodies there, Jules. Mysel’ made enough fer e’ery one,” Anna offered with a kind smile before launching into a rambling description of all the dishes, which Jules could barely follow with her thick Northern accent. He only knew it was Northern—from the islands to be more specific— thanks to Aidan’s help via another texting spree yesterday, while he’d eaten supper and puzzled over where the friendly chef and her far less friendly brother were from.

Luckily everything looked and smelled good, so he loaded up a plate before pulling out a chair beside her at the table. He got a beaming smile in return, Anna clearly pleased to have her hard work appreciated.

I ’m really going to have to hit the gym when I get back to London if we don’t get out hillwalking. I can’t remember the last time I ate this well. Probably back at home, when we still had the good chef in our employ…

Jules’ musing as he sampled the various delights on his plate was interrupted by the bell over the pub door. Sachairi stomped in, hair dripping and looking ready to pick a fight with anyone who was stupid enough to comment on his bedraggled appearance. Jules bit his tongue, but quickly forgot about whatever quip he’d been poised to make when a second figure came through the door behind the dark-haired man. That leather jacket and bright red kilt were a combination he’d know anywhere, now, surprised as he was to see them at the moment. And the wet dog trailing in behind them was a dead giveaway, if he’d needed it. Of course, a creamy blond head of messy hair was revealed as Aidan pulled a grey tracksuit hood back, ends standing up even more than usual from the static charge.

“Gosh it’s dreich out there! More than dreich. Pure dreekit. Ah’m near ringin’ just frae walking tae the door!”

“Aidan! I didn’t know ye were coming by! And bringing Tibby, too!” exclaimed Marcus happily, getting up from his chair and wandering over to pat ‘Tibby’. Getting slightly damp for his trouble, he laughed a booming laugh as the dog jumped up to lick at his face, bouncing excitedly and letting out short, happy barks.

“Well, Sachairi mentioned board games. How did ye expect me tae resist?” said Aidan as he removed his jacket and the tracksuit top beneath, hanging them on one of the coat hooks. “Anna, Alec, Jules, good to see ye! Awright?”

“O aye,” Anna answered first, and Alec just directed a smile in Aidan’s direction.

“Oh, you know,” Jules replied afterward, “Could go for some better weather, but I suppose a surprise visit is nice as well.”

Aidan grinned as he walked over to take the seat next to him, and Tiberius followed, jumping around Jules’ legs in an alarming fashion. “Tiberius, lie down!” The dog followed Aidan’s command, but looked like she was ready to cause mischief the second his back was turned.

As nice as his backside was, Jules was glad he stayed put for the moment. Besides, he was perfectly content to stare at his front side, too. He gazed at the tan and white gingham shirt Aidan wore—specifically at the space where the top two buttons were undone, exposing a nearly indecent expanse of the man’s collarbones. The warm tone of the shirt brought out the golden freckles scattered over pale flesh beneath. Yes, a very nice surprise indeed, Jules thought, suddenly hungry despite finishing off half his plate already. He could have kicked himself for not bothering to fuss more over his own dressing choices that morning.

When even the shepherd was upstaging him, that was a problem.

“Well Jules, we’ve got a proverb about just that up here,” said Marcus, “Today’s rain—”

“—is th’morra’s whisky!” Aidan finished his sentence with glee, “Speaking o’, I could gae fer a dram later. Now, though, Ah’m needing a cup o’ tea. Was pure Baltic earlier this mornin’!” 

“Kettle’s on in the kitchen,” Anna offered.

“Shove o’er, Aidan,” groused Sachairi as he pulled an extra chair over to the table, angling to sit between him and Alec. The plate he’d been filling clattered onto the table, threatening to spill its contents, as did the foaming pint glass he placed beside it. Aidan obliged, or was forced to oblige as his own chair got half-pushed, half-lifted closer to Jules.

Their legs connected from thigh to calf under the table, briefly sending sparks through him at the unexpected contact. The memory of a similar thrill on their ferry ride around the loch the first day they’d gone out together made Jules feel slightly warm. It was sadly short lived, as Aidan rose to slip out before Sachairi sat.

“Dae ye want a tea, too, Jules?”

“That would be brilliant,” Jules replied as he realised he’d left his previous cup sitting outside on the porch. He flinched as the dog bounded to her feet once again, bumping into him and one of the table legs on her way to follow Aidan to the kitchen.

“Tch! The Prince o’ London ‘ere stooping tae join us?” asked Sachairi.

Rude! Not even a hello!

“Alec invited me,” replied Jules, indignant, “Besides, it’s not like I’ve never played a board game. They do exist down in the city, you know.”

“Mysel’ didnae figure ye fer the type.”

“Whatever!”

“Sachairi, dinnae be workin’ on him!” Anna chastised her younger brother in a low voice, clucking her tongue.

“Fuck sake…” the brash young man said under his breath, rolling his eyes as he ignored Jules to focus instead on wolfing down his lunch.

Luckily Aidan returned to break the tension, setting a steaming mug of tea in front of Jules and hanging onto another. “Sorry! I, uhh, forgot tae ask how ye take it.”

“It’s fine! I’m sure it’s fine,” Jules waved off the apology. It looked to be the right colour, at any rate. He took a sip and smiled, despite the fact that there was no sugar in the tea. That and… it tasted slightly off, not the right character from the milk, maybe? But the bright smile he got in return from the Scot made him forget all about minor quibbles over the proper preparation of a cup of tea.

“Well, now that we’re all assembled, let’s figure out what ta play, shall we?” said Marcus.

“Settlers,” said Sachairi in a tone that brooked no argument. Alec pointed to him as if in agreement.

“Ah’m game if ye are, Anna.”

“Aye.”

“Have ye e’er played it, Jules?” asked Aidan, as Marcus set a big red and yellow box on the table and opened it up.

“No, I haven’t.”

“Nae danger!” said the Scot, “Ye’ll catch on quick, it’s easy tae learn.”

“I have seen it before, though.” Jules added, remembering the same colourful box sitting on the bookshelf in a grungy student flat only a few years ago. “My co-worker Ethan—he used to be a classmate at uni—was always inviting me to gaming club meetings. He’s definitely the type of nerd who’s into this stuff.” Realizing what he’d just said, he tried to backpedal a bit. “Pfft! Not that you have to be a nerd to enjoy games... or, uh, that there’s anything wrong with being one.”

Marcus saved him of dying from embarrassment right then and there. “Ha! Well, Aidan and I were definitely big nerds growing up. Not a whole lot ta do out in the country, so we spent too much time obsessing about games and sci-fi and whatnot.”

“Dinnae try and get us tae agree on which Trek series is best!” Aidan chimed in.

“Everyone knows it’s TNG, Aidan,” said Marcus matter-of-factly, “One day ye’ll admit it and we can stop having this pointless argument.” 

“Nae, Ah’m sorry Marcus, but ere ye recognise the superiority o’ DS9, we’ll ne’er agree,” Aidan fired back. “Dae ye see what Ah’m talking about?”

“Are you telling me that you’re a massive nerd and I didn’t even realise it?”

Aidan let out one of those cheery laughs of his. “Aye, ye’d no’ be wrong tae say tha.”

Of course he is. Because being a sheep farmer wasn’t ridiculous enough already. Jules sighed, but didn't say anything else as Alec snapped his fingers to shut them up. He pointed down at the table, where he and Anna had the game set up and ready to play. Then it was time for long-winded explanations of the rules, with various members of the group trying to talk over each other. Eventually they all agreed that it was easiest just to learn as they played.

Once the game had started in earnest and Jules had gotten familiar with how it worked, it actually surprised him how much he enjoyed the strategy of it. Reading the balance of a bartering economy was in his wheelhouse, and much less stressful than watching the real-world markets and worrying over how every little—or massive—political event would influence the nation’s financial sector. At one point he was even holding back laughter over Marcus and Sachairi bickering with each other about the relative value of wheat to ore in a trade that was obviously doomed from the start.

He took the opportunity to lean over and whisper in Aidan’s ear.

“Earlier I would have said Enterprise just to be a shit disturber, but it probably would have caused me physical pain. So I guess I’ll just have to side with you instead.”

The shepherd turned to him, eyes wide and sparkling. “Oh! Jules, does this mean yer secretly a wee bit nerdy?”

Watching all those reruns on TV with his older brother years ago had finally paid off, thank god. Jules merely shrugged, giving his best non-committal face.

“Dinnae worry, yer secret’s safe with me,” Aidan winked, making Jules’ stomach do a little flip.

Once Alec had beaten the rest of them by more than the required number of points to win, they began a second game. The conversation drifted between various topics: current events, the weather, music. It was comfortable, and Jules was at ease for once, not feeling interrogated. That is, until Anna decided to pose a question.

“So, Jules, whit fer did ye decide tae stay here, instead o’ anuther B&B ‘round these parts?”

Seriously? Don ’t they ever stop digging for gossip?

“Well, I did some research before travelling, naturally. The other options all seemed quite appalling, really. If they didn’t have overly quaint, tourist-trap names like ‘The Crannach Family Country Cottage’, they had shockingly bad reviews about cleanliness or basically being a church retreat. Or both,” he gave an affected shudder to underscore his point.

Marcus burst out laughing, and from beneath the next table over Tiberius barked as if chiming in. “Ha! Oh, that’s a belter! If ye’d been looking a few years earlier, it would have been one o’ those tacky-sounding tourist places, ye ken?” He threw one big arm around the shoulders of his husband. “It was Alec who came up with the current name when we began running the place together full-time.”

“Well thank goodness for that,” Jules sniffed, then hesitated a moment before adding, “I suppose it didn’t hurt that The Equinox had a functional website, either… and clearly displayed a rainbow flag on the ‘About’ page.” Across the table, Marcus choked on a sip of beer, and Sachairi snickered. Jules caught the pointed look exchanged between Marcus and Aidan as the innkeeper coughed into his hand. “After all, I figured if there was even the slightest chance of meeting a guy I’d want to take back to my room, I didn’t want to get judged by the proprietors.”

“Aye, well I don’t think ye have to worry about that here,” said Marcus with a smirk, recovered now, looking down at Alec after Aidan had attempted to ignore him, a faint blush creeping over the shepherd’s cheeks. Alec had his mouth hidden behind his hand, but he let out the quietest, breathiest giggle Jules had ever heard.

“I mean, unless I brought back a real chav. Then it would be more than fair to judge,” he allowed. “Whose turn is it?”

“Mysel’ thinking it’s Aidan next,” Anna suggested.

Aidan started, taking a minute to get his head back in the game, looking at the cards in his hand and frowning slightly. “None o’ ye better laugh, now... I hae sheep and need wood,” said Aidan, sending a glare around the table. Jules snorted inelegantly. Even Alec was smirking a little. “Aye, laugh it up.”

“How did ye manage ta end up with so many sheep, mate?” asked Marcus, amusement obvious in his voice. His accent seemed slightly more prominent after a couple of beers.

“Ach, can ne’er escape ‘em...” said Aidan, shaking his head. “Ah’m meant tae be farming sheep. It’s mah destiny.”

“Well, I’ve got plenty of wood for you. If you’d like to trade, that is.” Jules replied with a straight face, having recovered his composure. He looked Aidan directly in the eyes as he handed over a few cards, reveling in the blush spreading further across the other man’s face. Goodness, this is an extremely satisfying game to play, he thought.

He was even more satisfied when on his next turn, he realized victory was within his grasp.

“I’ll trade in one brick and one wood,” he said, putting the cards back in their respective stacks, “Which puts me ahead of Sachairi by one. I’ll take this, thank you!” He grabbed the ‘longest road’ card from the dark-haired man and got a scowl in return. “Aaaaaannnnnd, that should be enough for me to win!”

A quick tally of points confirmed it and Jules whooped with joy. Tiberius celebrated with him, letting out a little howl of approval and dancing around the table before she settled between Jules’ and Aidan’s chairs once again.

“Yeah, well yer da’ sells Avon!” Sachairi spat out as he shoved his chair away from the table. All the other Scots burst out laughing, and Jules was apparently alone in his confusion.

“No, Avon’s parent company isn’t among his firm’s clients, actually.”

Aidan paused in his fit of giggles long enough to say, “Dinnae ye worry, mate. It’s just an old Scottish joke.”

“Sachairi’s being a sore loser, as always,” added Anna.

“Aw, fuck off, Anna!” added the irritated man as he grabbed his jacket and started for the exit. “Mysel’ am done with this shite.”

The party watched as Sachairi pushed the front door open with one shoulder, his hands busy fiddling with a pack of smokes already.

“Well, tha’s mysel’ away,” Anna sighed, “The laddie’s no’ got a ride home otherwise. Won’t be making him walk in this dreekit mess, no’ tha’ he disnae deserve ta, the great cunt!”

“Take care, Anna,” said Marcus, suppressing a grin, “And haste ye back!”

“Nah, mysel’ be seeing ye th’morra. Any paying customers brave this weather tae come by, ring if yer needing help!”

When the siblings had left, the remaining men cleaned up the game and grabbed a round of drinks. “So, what shall we play next, lads?” Marcus asked, always the good host. “Do ye ken bridge, Jules?”

“Actually, I do. One of the few games my family ever bothered to play together on the rare occasion we were all home at the same time. Over the winter hols, usually.”

“Pure dead brilliant,” said Aidan, “Normally Ah’d pair with Anna, but with her gone, tha’ leaves you.”

“Wait, wouldn’t we want ta split up Alec and I?” interjected Marcus, “Else we’d have an unfair advantage.”

“O aye, yer talking sense.”

“Okay, then let’s the two o’ us play together, and Jules, yer with Alec.”

Oh, sure, give me the teammate who doesn’t talk, thought Jules, uncharitably.

“Now, we do have ta follow tradition here in the pub,” said Marcus, “And pick team names! The winning team gets immortalized on the chalkboard over there, at least until next time.”

He pointed to a dusty old beer-branded chalkboard hanging on the wall above an old sofa in the corner nook. It listed a few drink specials beneath a barely legible scrawl reading:

REIGNING CHAMPIONS

TEAM AWESOME (Anna & Aidan)

Seriously? What are we, in primary school? thought Jules before answering: “Alec can pick our name, I guess.”

The quiet man glanced over at Jules before nodding to Marcus.

“Ye’ve got home team advantage, then, Jules,” said Marcus as he got up to grab a pack of cards and refill his pint glass, “Yer a member o’ Team Equinox now!”

“What’re we gonnae be?” asked Aidan.

“Ye mean I can’t join Team Awesome?”

“Ach nae! Yer name dinnae e’en start with an ‘A’!”

“Ah, I get it, Aidan. Yer scared Anna’ll box yer ears!” teased the taller man as he made his way back, deftly avoiding the dog weaving around his legs as he went.

“Yer at it t’day, Marcus!” said Aidan with a laugh. “Just ‘cause Ah’m the only one with a sense o’ self preservation… we’re still needing a team name, ya twat.”

“Oi, down, Tibby!” said Marcus as he tried to take a seat again, the excitable sheepdog bumping against his legs as he did, “Ha ha! Incorrigible beastie… huh, how about Team Tiberius?”

“Well, ye did help pick her out. Ah’d say it’s a fair fine choice.”

“It’s decided then! Who wants ta deal first?”

Jules was impressed by how well it went. Marcus and Aidan were decent opponents, but the real standout was Alec. The way he bid communicated more than he probably ever would in words to Jules, and they racked up successful contracts and bonuses, easily winning the first game. Through the second there was more chatter, once they’d found their feet in the new partnerships and didn’t have to focus quite so hard.

“Ye know, there’s a cèilidh coming up this weekend in Callander,” said Marcus as he scrutinized his hand.

“Oh! Ah’d almost forgotten about it,” Aidan said, turning to look at Jules, “Ye e’er been tae one before?”

“I don’t even know what that means. How do you even spell that? This is one of those weird Gaelic words with too many vowels and strange combinations of consonants, isn’t it?”

The other men chuckled, and Aidan responded, “It’s a dance. There’ll be a live band, playing all manner o’ folk music an’ prolly some more modern songs, too.”

“It’s a riot,” added Marcus, “We should all go as a group again! If yer interested, that is, Jules. It’s a fantastic Scottish tradition, ye’ve gotta try going ta one at least once.”

“It’s loads more fun than gaein’ tae the disco,” said Aidan, “More friendly, with e’eryone dancing together and carryin’ on! The band is quality, too, if it’s the same as the last few times.” 

“How dressed up will everyone be? I didn’t exactly pack for many nightlife activities, coming out here.”

“Oh, ye’ll be just fine, given what ye’ve been wearing around already,” said Marcus, dismissing his concerns with a wave, “Decent shirt, dark trousers, and yer set. No need ta go digging out any three piece suits or anything. It’s a dance, not a board meeting.”

Jules picked up the deck for his turn as dealer, “Okay, why not. I’m sure it will be an entertaining experience, at the very least.”

“Ah! Good on ye, Jules! We’ll hae a blast!” said Aidan with a big smile as they continued to play.

Alec and him just barely managed to scrape ahead for the second game. Luckily Aidan and Marcus were much more gracious losers than Sachairi. Or perhaps just mellowed out from the beer and whisky that had been consumed over the course of the afternoon.

“Well, ye beat us fair and square! Why don’t ye go and update the board?” suggested Marcus, leaning back into his chair.

Jules looked for Alec, but the little sneak had already slipped off, leaving him to handle the post-game nonsense all alone. He strode over to the corner of the room and carefully stepped up onto the lumpy old sofa, the only way to reach the sign.

“Chalk’s on top o’ it!” Marcus called over.

Jules looked, and sure enough, there were a few sad, worn-down nubs of white chalk left sitting on the top edge of the board. He picked one up daintily, trying not to get his hands covered in the drying dust, and looked around for something to wipe the old words off.

“Here, Ah’ll help,” said Aidan, stepping up beside him. His weight shifted the cushion Jules was standing on so he had to focus to keep his balance. The Scot rubbed his palm back and forth over the dusty surface, erasing his own name. Jules handed him the chalk, happy to be rid of the duty. He watched as Aidan wrote in large, careful block lettering:

TEAM TIB-

“Aidan, ye cheat!” Marcus yelled from across the room, “Fix it or I’ll fix ye good!”

“Ha! Fine, fine! Dinnae fash yersel’!” said Aidan, laughing as he erased the team name once again and started in on the correct name, angling toward Jules and saying much more quietly, “Just fer ye, awright?”

Marcus looked like he was about to fire back with another jibe when a “Pssst!” sound came from the staircase up to the B&B portion of the building. His eyebrows rose and he wandered up the stairs, presumably to be dragged off by Alec, because he didn’t return. The just-audible click of the door closing behind him signaled that they’d been left alone in the pub.

When Aidan was finished he patted the board and wiped his chalky hands off on his kilt—the white dust practically disappearing into the thick woolen fabric—and gave Jules another one of those deadly winks. Jules pretended to assess the penmanship in order to collect his wits again.

REIGNING CHAMPIONS

TEAM EQUINOX (Alec & Jules)

“Well, I’m glad you put Alec’s name first,” he said, “Or I’d fear going to sleep again lest he murder me in it.”

Aidan rolled his eyes and shook his head, but he was smiling as he flopped down onto the sofa, sinking back into the cushions. Jules stepped down and took a seat next to him.

“E’en after being teammates with him ye still dinnae see how much o’ a softie he is?”

“I suppose he’s growing on me. He even spoke more than two sentences in our conversation earlier today. I feel like dragging them out of him was quite an accomplishment, on my part.”

Aidan laughed his melodic, warm laugh that Jules enjoyed so much. He decided to break into a new topic of conversation. “So, how different is running an actual sheep farm from the simplified version of it you displayed during the game earlier? I assume you don’t actually go to barter with lumberjacks for wood. Surely even here things are a bit more civilized.”

“Well, there’s a fair bit more waiting around fer the lambs tae grow, an’ their coats to fluff. A lot more working outdoors in all weather, too, bringing them frae pasture tae pasture o’er the season.”

“Sounds like an awful lot of work, to me,” said Jules, “I can see why you hire Sachairi at busy times.”

“Aye, he’s been a great help, though mah ma’s still plenty capable of pulling her weight. She’s been wrangling sheep since she was a wee lass, after all,” said Aidan, adding, “But it’s nice tae gie her a break, especially on days with bad weather. Makes her arthritis act up a bit. And mah aunts often come tae help out when shearing season begins. They’re all wizards with the wool.”

“Hmm, must be nice to have family happy to help out.”

“Aye, and they’re prone tae spoiling me. Can always count on Aunt Deirdre and Aunt Muireall tae bring o’er some sweeties and a good bottle or two fer after the work’s finished.”

“Do you mainly sell the wool? You’ll have to enlighten me, ignorant city-dweller that I am.”

“People think about sheep as turning a profit only in wool or meat, but the industry is actually more complex than ye’d expect,” said Aidan, clearly thrilled to have someone interested in hearing about his work, “Our major product, being a hill farming operation, is the lambs themselves. Sold tae other farms, actually, tae become part o’ their breeding stock of ewes. And the past few years, demand fer lambs hae been up a few percent.”

“Huh. Why don’t the other types of farms just breed all the lambs they need for themselves?”

“Well, genetic diversity, fer one thing…” Aidan continued describing the intricacies of the livestock agriculture market, and Jules couldn’t help but be caught up in it.

He had expected a short, simple answer. Something like: ‘Sheep equal wool. Wool equals money. Money equals good.’ Really, he should have known better by now—the shepherd was full of surprises. Aidan was sharp, and funny, too. He was also really cute when he got passionate about something. Jules liked how he started talking with his hands more, how his words ran together a little, and his whole face lit up with excitement. He was very expressive. Jules knew he should probably stop staring.

“Sorry, Ah’m prolly boring ye,” Aidan said ruefully, shyness taking over again as he wrung his hands together. “Yer on vacation, the last thing ye want tae hear about is the business side o’ farming.”

“No, no! I was actually quite interested,” said Jules, trying to put as much sincerity in his voice as he could, so he wouldn’t accidentally sound sarcastic. “I’m in finance, remember? It’s really fascinating to hear about the market forces as you see them from your industry.”

“Oh! Ummm, really?” asked Aidan, “We can always talk about something else.”

“Really,” Jules confirmed, then fumbled a bit in the ensuing awkward silence. “So, are you in charge of the whole operation, then? You must at least be doing the books, based on what you’ve been telling me.”

“Aye, fer a fair few years now. Always had a head fer numbers, more so than ma. Took o’er the finances officially when I turned legal age an’ could start filing the annual reports with the government.”

They’d been drifting closer to each other over the course of the conversation, and Jules decided to take a risk, reaching out one hand to rest it on the kilt-clad thigh closest to him, slightly scratchy wool under his fingers matching the tingling sensation of uncertainty in his gut. But the warmth radiating from the fabric steeled his resolve, so many possibilities laid out before him, waiting to be grasped. “Ooh, I do like a man with the ability to navigate the bureaucracy of national farming tax structures and subsidies,” he said, the words dripping with seductive undertones as he leaned in more, their faces getting close enough that he could feel the Scot’s breath as he huffed out a little laugh.

“Yer aff yer head,” said Aidan, closing the short distance between them, his lips practically brushing Jules’ with his next words, “I kind o’ like it, though.”

His breath smelled like good whisky and strong tea, and Jules was thirstier for him than either beverage. He tilted his head until their lips met, soft and warm. A gentle press before they parted briefly. Aidan turned to face him more, the flush high on his freckled cheeks looking particularly inviting. Sky blue eyes flickered up to meet his gaze, then down and closed as he brought their mouths together again. Jules felt a hand slip around his back—warm but tentative—just making him want to get even closer.

I hope he got all the chalk off of it, his brain helpfully interrupted, This may not be my nicest top, but it’s dark coloured! White streaks would stand out like nothing else!

He succeeded in pushing the stray thought out of his mind when he felt Aidan’s lips part, and took the opportunity to dart his tongue out, just barely licking inside the other man’s mouth. He could taste the bitter tannins from their tea, mellowed with time and the solvent qualities of ethanol in the whisky they’d had since. He wanted to chase down every note of the amber liquid left lingering in the corners of Aidan’s mouth, sighing into it as they continued to kiss, and bringing his other hand up to just barely tease at pale curls. 

But it was not to be; Jules’ poor luck coming through once again, announcing its intentions with the jingle of the bell over the pub door. The two men shot apart, practically at opposite ends of the old sofa as they watched a short, stout figure enter the room.

“Marcus! Anna! Hae ye got somethin’ on the stove fer Old Man Anderson? Ah’m chilled tae the bone, out in the dreich all day! Ach, hullo there lads! Awright?”

“We’re braw, Mr. Anderson. An’ you?” asked Aidan, polite even when obviously flustered.

“Keeping on, I s’pose,” mused the elderly man, either not noticing or not caring about the blush that had spread over most of Aidan’s face by that point, “Why’re ye no’ back on the farm, helping yer ma, Aidan?”

“Oh! Um, I guess it’s about time tae head back.” The younger Scot checked his phone. “Aye, she’s been sending messages,” he turned to Jules, “Ah’ll see ye th’morra, hopefully?”

“If we don’t get some sun by then, I will take it as a personal affront.”

“Heh, well, hopefully Scotland disnae mean tae offend!” said Aidan, giving a little wave before grabbing his jacket. “Come on, Tibby, time tae hit the road! Cheery-bye e’eryone! Hae a fair good e’en!”

Jules waved as he watched Aidan head to the door and heard Marcus stomp down the stairs just in time to say goodbye and welcome the lone patron of the pub in one breath. With one final shy smile to him, Aidan was off, Tiberius already barking at who knows what outside before the door could shut behind them. He slipped back up to his room, not really hungry for supper yet, and sat listening for the rain to end.

Chapter Text

Aidan showed up in his kilt again the next morning, though sadly in another one of his big frumpy sweaters. This one was at least a nice cream colour, so Jules could appreciate how nicely it matched his fluffy head of curls and played up the rosiness of his cheeks in the brisk breeze. The weather had cleared, and fluffy white clouds sailed across the sky in clusters. Jules had been very excited to see scattered sunlight playing over the hills when he woke. And he was even more excited now to see the Scot’s kilt fluttering slightly in the wind.

“Mornin’! Are ye ready tae see the beauty o’ Scotland by foot?” Aidan asked, much too chipper for the early hour.

Jules supposed he only had his own excitement to blame for their immediate start to the day. After all, he had texted asking how soon the other man could make it over to the B&B. Very quickly, was apparently the answer to that. He’d barely had time to finish breakfast before Aidan was dragging him out the front door.

“I figured ye might no’ hae packed the right shoes, so I brought ye a pair o’ boots,” said Aidan, holding up the footwear in question.

Wearing someone else’s boots? That have been on someone else’s smelly feet? Jules pushed down his initial disgusted reaction, trying not to make a face. I suppose it makes some amount of sense if we’re going to be out on potentially muddy paths…

“You know my foot size already? And I know I’ve asked this before, but you’re absolutely sure you aren’t stalking me?”

“Ah’d just figured it mightn’t be too much bigger than mah own, so I brought me da’s old pair. If they dinnae fit, Marcus might hae a spare set lying around.”

“Oh yes, because I’m likely to be able to fill the shoes of a half-giant,” Jules scoffed, “Do I look like I’ve got clown feet, to you?”

Aidan laughed, and Jules remembered why he was allowing himself to be dragged out into the wilderness. He may as well have been a rat following the melodic tune not of a pipe, but of the amused noises emanating from a bright-eyed, handsome shepherd. I wonder if he does play the bagpipes, though? It wouldn’t be out of character for him to be even more stereotypically Scottish.

Instead of asking stupid questions, Jules replaced the trainers he’d had on with the worn leather boots, and was surprised to find them a good fit once he’d added his insoles. With that sorted, they hopped into Aidan’s truck, at his insistence that it would be a better choice for where they were travelling that day.

“So where are you taking me?” Jules asked when he’d gotten bored of staring out the window at field after field of sheep.

“The Ochils. It’s a nice walk. A bit o’ woodland, a few wee streams, moorland, some nice hills. Nothing too strenuous, an’ the views o’ the area are right bonnie.”

“Not too many sheep, I hope.”

Aidan laughed, the sound louder in the confines of the cab. “It’s Scotland, there’re always gunnae be sheep.”

Jules gave an exaggerated pout and crossed his arms. “Well, so long as they aren’t in the road, I guess I’ll manage.” Aidan chuckled again and they sank into a comfortable silence, Jules resuming looking out the windows.

“Ughhhhhhhh, someone should fix those roads! My breakfast is only barely still in my stomach,” complained Jules as he got out of the truck, feeling queasy.

“Aye, the wee country roads are winding. Are ye gunnae be awright? Want tae rest fer a while?”

Jules sighed as if horribly put upon. “No, I’ll live. Where does the trail start?”

“Follow me,” said Aidan, striking off towards a break in the trees that edged the packed-dirt car park. “Ye can take the wheel on the way back, if ye like. Less likely tae make ye motion sick tha’ way.”

Jules followed a few paces behind him, avoiding the puddles remaining where the ground was rutted and willing his head to stop spinning. Aidan led the way up a picturesque trail through the small fragment of forest—up being the operative word. They were ascending constantly along a mild, but noticeable, grade. Jules could tell his legs were going to be sore tonight. And probably his ass, too, though perhaps not in the way he was hoping for.

The small trickle of water they’d been following through the trees grew wider, the ground on either side of it falling away as they climbed. There wasn’t really a sharp transition point, but suddenly Jules realised that they were walking beside a gorge more than a few feet deep, the water in it now looking like an actual stream, albeit a small one. As the trees began to thin, they approached a wooden bridge crossing the gorge, with a narrow, rickety-looking metal handrail that had rust at all its joints. “That doesn’t seem very safe,” Jules sniffed, turning his nose up at the poor excuse for a crossing.

“Wha? It’s fair safe, provided ye dinnae try anything stupid,” replied Aidan, winking at Jules before starting to cross without a care in the world, apparently.

“Hmph!”

Well, it didn’t collapse and send him falling to his death, thought Jules as he decided it was probably fine to use. He walked across it carefully nonetheless, holding the rail tight.

Continuing to trek upwards, the sparse tree cover ended completely and the small gorge became a valley. Looking across at the other side, Jules saw rolling hills; muddy green with patches of darker green bushes covered in yellow flowers, and contrasting white spots, which were moving. Jules shuddered at the sight of the sheep meandering over the far side of the valley, like a fluffy white pox upon the land. The path wound its way up, hugging the side of the steep hill on their side of the divide. The hill just kept getting steeper on Jules’ left, to the point where he actually stopped, worried that Aidan had led them astray. The trail wasn’t nearly so obvious any more, and they seemed to be simply edging along a precarious ledge in the soft earth.

“Are you quite certain you know where you’re going?” he asked, looking around sceptically. What was left of the ‘path’, if it could even be called that, had narrowed to barely a foot in width and was muddy with the previous day’s rain. Parts of it even had big chunks missing. One wrong step and a person could tumble down the hill into the valley which had opened up below. Jules looked down and wished he hadn’t.

When did we get this high?

“Aye, Ah’ve taken this route before. We’re nearly at the end o’ the path.”

“Tch! It’s just as well, it really doesn’t look like it’s going to hold out much longer!” said Jules, eyeing the ground with contempt. He watched as Aidan forged on ahead, trying to follow in his footsteps exactly, which was at least made easier by the mud holding their imprints. He watched as the shepherd gave a little jump over a section of the path that had succumbed to entropy and the endless drizzle waterlogging it, leaving a small but treacherous break. Jules stopped where he was, the divide separating them. “I’m not jumping,” he said, shaking his head fervently. “This is ridiculous. The path doesn’t even continue!” Looking up ahead, it just petered into mucky grass, merging into the hillside. Jules leaned into the slope to his left.

“Tha’s ‘cause this is where we get off the trail and ontae the hills!” said Aidan, sounding much too excited about striking off into unmarked wilderness, as far as Jules was concerned. “Here, take mah hand. I promise Ah’ll no’ let ye fall.”

Jules stared at the shepherd’s outstretched hand, pushed down his fears of dying stupidly on a Scottish hillside somewhere, and reached his own hand out to clasp it. He carefully stepped over the break in the path, making sure he had one foot planted firmly on the other side and wouldn’t slip before taking the weight off his other. No sooner than he’d gotten both feet safely to the far side did his fears come rushing back, as the war cry of his enemy rang out over the valley, coming from above.

B-aaaaaaaa!

Jules jumped a little at the sight of a large, fluffy, dead-eyed creature, perched on the edge of the hillside, practically on top of them. He also made a rather undignified noise, but hoped that present company would politely ignore it. Luckily Aidan still had his hand, or Jules might have slipped off the narrow, muddy ledge as he flailed; the solidly-built Scot counterbalanced for them both. “Ugh! What is it doing up there? Please tell me it’s not going to jump on top of us.”

Aidan was very clearly trying to hold back laughter as he replied, “Ach nae, she prolly just wants tae use the path, an’ we’re in the way.”

Jules made to glare at him, but it wouldn’t have done any good; Aidan was already using his free arm to wave at the nasty beast, making ‘shoo’-ing noises and not paying any attention to the man clutching his other hand in a death grip. The sheep bolted back a few metres at the sudden noise and motion, and Jules wondered why his not-technically-a-scream hadn’t been more effective.

“C’mon, almost there,” said Aidan, starting to walk again and pulling Jules along gently.

For his part, Jules loosened his grip so that he wouldn’t leave worse marks than he probably had already, but didn’t let go. They reached the end of the path and found themselves standing on much flatter, if slightly spongy-feeling ground. Turning to check on what the sheep was doing, Jules realized that a few more had appeared, including some babies. They were tramping over the steep, slippery ground as if it were a polished dance floor, not a care in the world. Unnatural monsters.

“See? Nothing tae worry o’er,” said Aidan. His cheeks seemed rosier than before, and Jules realized that their hands were still intertwined.

“My hero!” he said, emphatically, giving Aidan’s hand a squeeze before letting him have it back. The action had its intended effect, making Aidan’s face go almost as red as his kilt, the blush intensifying.

They continued over the hill, which was less steep once you were on top of it, and Jules could see more rolling, yellow-green hills stretching out before them. After they’d walked over a few more— going up and down again and again, crisscrossing the pastoral landscape—Jules had nearly lost track of which direction they’d come from. He whipped out his mobile to try and see where they were, but there was no signal. No reception, no data. He opened up the maps app, figuring GPS satellites would still work. Then realised his mistake—he hadn’t thought to download an area map for offline use. Having a GPS signal was pointless if it was just floating in a big, unmarked grey space when your phone couldn’t access the map itself. Ugh! Stupid useless technology, he thought in annoyance. “How on earth are we supposed to find our way around? No paths! No trail markers! Do you actually know where you’re going?” he complained,  jogging to catch up to the other man, who had continued walking a few paces while he’d looked at his phone. He hovered at Aidan’s side, agitated, “We’re going to get lost and die, aren’t we? Then the sheep are going to eat our corpses so our families won’t even have anything to bury!”

Aidan stifled a laugh and began to speak, “Dinnae fash yersel’! Sheep dinnae eat—” but before he could continue, Jules interjected.

“How do you know? Have you ever found a body on your farm?”

“Nae!”

“Well, how do you know the sheep haven’t been eating them?”

Aidan just stared at him for a moment, perplexed, then shook his head in exasperation. He stopped and took the rucksack off his back, opening it and rummaging for a moment. Pulling out a field notebook with waxed covers, and a small leather pouch, Aidan tried to convince Jules that they weren’t going to get lost. He opened the book and unfolded a map which was stapled in. It had notes written in pencil scrawled over it. “We’ll no’ get lost, ‘cause I ken this route well and hae a map, besides,” he then opened the pouch, and a compass slid out of it, “A compass an’ map are all ye need, though there’s also a GPS in the bag, just in case.”

“Fine, whatever! I’m convinced! You’re not going to leave me to die in the hills!” Jules started walking again, forging on ahead through the tangle of grass, already obscenely long for how early in the season it was. 

“Ummm, Jules? Uh… we’re supposed tae be heading this way,” Aidan called from behind him.

Head held even higher, Jules turned around and fell into step beside the Scot, daring him with his eyes to so much as giggle.

An hour or so and many identical looking slopes later, Jules was starting to get a bit winded. He questioned why he’d ever thought this was going to be a fun outing. “God, how do you do this all day long?” he whined, “It’s not like I’m not fit—I go to the gym at least three times a week! I can run on the treadmill for an hour no problem!”

“I dinnae doubt it,” Aidan replied, sneaking a glance over at Jules then averting his eyes again right after, sheepishly.

“Ugh, then why are all my muscles sore?”

“‘cause ye use different ones fer the flat ground o’ London.”

“Then you must have all kinds of muscles I’m unfamiliar with,” said Jules without missing a beat, a sly tone in his voice. The rosy flush on Aidan’s face from hiking in the cool air quickly deepened to an obvious blush.

“O- oh! Uh... I guess some o’ them get more work out on the hills, but... um, it’s no’ like ye dinnae have ‘em, too.”

Jules basked in the other man’s flustered state, briefly forgetting his sore and tired limbs.

Not long after, they came across the most significant stream he’d seen all day. It must have been 4 or 5 metres across, flowing lazily between the plateau of the hill they were on and a much bigger slope. Aidan led them alongside it for a short while, until they came to a place where the riverbed had lots of rocks in it, including some which stuck up above the water line.

“Do you actually expect us to cross that?” asked Jules, unimpressed with the idea of getting his feet wet.

“Aye, though perhaps I might hae thought tae bring walking sticks...” Aidan held his chin in his hand for a moment, brow furrowed, then began picking his way across, daintily stepping from rock to rock. He stopped about a metre and a half into the width of the stream and partially turned to look back at Jules, smiling as he extended a hand to help him cross.

“Pfft, I’m perfectly capable of crossing a little stream, you know,” Jules sniffed, still a little embarrassed by his hysterics on the narrow path over the valley earlier.

“Watch out, they’re fair slippy,” Aidan shrugged and turned around again, carefully choosing where he put his feet. Every few steps he turned his head back to check on his walking companion.

Jules started across, using a few of the rocks he’d seen Aidan step on. Halfway through, he was feeling pretty confident as he watched the Scot reach dry land on the other side. Next, he debated between the tiny, pointy, uneven rock he’d seen Aidan briefly plant his foot on, and a much flatter, wider rock. He went for the more stable-looking surface, but before he could fully transfer his weight, he realised that he’d made a huge mistake. This rock was much more slippery than the others. Jules could feel the sole of his boot scraping off a thick layer of algae as his weight got split and he lost his balance. He plopped unceremoniously into the stream, landing on his butt on the rocky bottom.

“Jules!” Aidan called out, worry in his tone.

“Noooooo!” Jules wailed, splashing his hands around in anger.

Luckily the water wasn’t very deep at this point in the stream, so he was only soaked up to his waist. He patted nervously at the breast pocket of his jacket. Finding his phone safe and dry was the only silver lining he could see, given the awfulness of the current situation. When he’d recovered from the initial shock of the freezing cold dunk he’d had, Jules began to stand up, slipping again before he could get his feet under him properly. Aidan had made his way quickly back over the rocks to the middle of the stream, and was making concerned noises as he reached out a hand again.

“Show off,” Jules said sourly, though he took the proffered hand to pull himself up. He briefly thought about pulling Aidan into the stream with him, but managed to silence the vindictive part of his brain which had come up with an idea that needlessly mean. “It’s fine, I’m soaked already, I’ll just walk through the stream,” he added when Aidan made to help him back up onto the rocks. Scrambling out on the other side, Jules did a more thorough inspection of himself while Aidan dug through the pack again.  Literally the only completely dry item he had on at this point was the scarf Aidan had given him the other day. He was so frustrated and uncomfortable that he felt like crying, but pride kept him from actually sitting down and sobbing. Looking over at Aidan, he saw the man had laid out some items on a dry patch of grass and was unrolling a traveler’s microfiber towel. “Well aren’t you just Mary fucking Poppins? What else have you got in your magic rucksack?”

Aidan looked over at him and held out the towel. “When ye spend enough years out on the hills, being prepared fer anythin’s second nature, e’en fer a short walk.”

“Short my arse,” said Jules under his breath, stripping off his jacket and shirt. He grabbed the towel from the other man and began drying off with jerky motions, goosebumps rising on his arms and chest as the breeze hit his exposed, damp skin.

“Ah’m sorry, Jules, we’re about halfway along the route,” said Aidan apologetically, eyes averted while Jules was partly naked. He handed over a small bundle of dry fabric. “Turning back wouldnae be any faster than keeping on, though we can cut the end short an’ take the closer exit point.”

Jules took the fabric from Aidan’s hands and discovered it was a long-sleeved shirt made from some kind of thin but insulating technical fabric. It hung off his frame once he’d pulled it over his head, slightly loose; obviously meant to fit his more sturdily-built walking companion. To keep the hem from getting soaked, he undid his waterlogged trousers and shucked them down his thighs. He realised partway through that he'd have to take off his boots to actually finish changing out of the soggy-stiff garments, and sighed heavily. Sitting down on a thankfully mud-free patch of yellow-y grass, he resigned himself to his fate of being in at least one kind of discomfort for the rest of the day. At the moment, it was the coarse vegetation poking his probably bruised ass through thin, wet trunks. He undid his laces and tugged the boots off, one of his insoles flying out as he did so. “Ugggghhhhh... Whyyyyyyyy?” Jules remembered that he’d only brought the one pair for day-to-day wear and they were now very wet.

Aidan retrieved the one that had decided to make a break for it, and brought it over along with a small black parcel. “Unfortunately, the only change o’ trousers Ah’ve got with are fer rain,” he said ruefully, still focusing his gaze off to the side.

Jules inspected the package; it was a small bag that, when turned inside out, became the lining of a pocket in a pair of packable, lightweight rain trousers.

Tear-away rain trousers. Jules shuddered, and not just from the chill of the air on his bare thighs. “I don’t think I’ve ever worn something so entirely... functional,” Jules managed to hold back the other words he was thinking: Hideous. Tacky. Awful. Ill-conceived. I could probably go on.

“Well, they’re no’ fer fashion, tha’s certain,” replied Aidan, who had now turned his back to give Jules some semblance of privacy, “But they’ll be a sight more comfy than wet, heavy trousers.”

There wasn’t another soul in sight. Not even sheep at this point in their walk, which Jules was more than glad of. Sitting on the ground, peeling off most his clothing was more vulnerable than he’d like to be around the nasty creatures. Once Jules was dressed again—adding a matching, packable raincoat to his ensemble— Aidan turned round and brought over an empty plastic bag for his wet things, tying it off and putting it in the pack.

“Ah’d offer ye dry socks, but they’d no’ be much use in wet boots,” he said apologetically.

“It’s fine,” Jules replied, jamming said boots back onto his feet with wet squelching noises. “Ugh. Really, I’ll be fine. Totally fine. Let’s just keep going.”

Aidan nodded, and led the way up the slope in front of them. Jules tried to focus on something other than how miserable he was, but between his soggy boots, sore bottom, aching leg muscles, and the cold wind that had picked up, it was exceeding difficult. The damn rain trousers didn’t help, either—the swishing noise made by the cheap nylon as he walked a constant reminder of his shame. “How do you make it look so effortless?” Jules asked in a nastier tone of voice than he’d meant to use, watching the Scot ascending ahead of him, “You’re sure-footed as... well, I was going to say a mountain goat, but I suppose a sheep is more apt.”

Aidan looked back and flashed Jules a smile, which helped his mood slightly. The man slowed down and fell into step beside him, matching his slower pace as he fought the squelching heaviness of his boots.

“Years o’ practice. It’s mah job, after all,” Aidan said, looking at Jules, “But honest, yer keeping up real well.”

“Pfft, yeah, sure.”

“Ah’d no’ lie tae ye. We’ve done about 3 miles o’ hilly terrain and a few hundred feet o’ elevation. It’s no’ a walk in the park.”

“Except it is. Literally. We are walking in a national park right now.”

Aidan laughed at that, the musical sound carrying on the wind and seeming to surround them. He gave Jules a gentle elbow to the side. They continued walking in companionable silence. Jules was thankful that Aidan hadn’t laughed at him, even a little, since his dunk in the river. His kindness made the whole thing slightly less awful.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” exclaimed Jules when he saw they were coming up on another little stream. It was smaller, sure, but would still require crossing over some slippery rocks. “Where on earth do these stupid things come from? They seem to appear and disappear between the hills!”

“Actually, fer the wee ones, especially, tha’s true. A lot o’ this land’s waterlogged. The rivulets and streams appear at watershed points, then they can disappear intae the groundwater again.”

“Ugh. Ridiculous landscape,” huffed Jules, “I guess I’ll just change back into my wet clothes!”

“Nae need fer tha. Here,” Aidan approached the stream and put one foot on the first rock, extending an arm out to Jules.

Seeing as going it alone hadn’t worked out well for him last time, Jules did take Aidan’s hand, slowly and carefully following in his footsteps. That warm, strong hand kept him upright even across one slightly wobbly rock, and they both made it to the other side safe and dry. Jules might have held onto Aidan’s hand a little longer than strictly necessary once back on solid—relatively speaking—ground. The earth beneath them was still spongy and springy, making Jules feel unsteady on his feet.

Past one particularly mucky stretch of flatter land between slopes, a very steep peak loomed in front of them.

“Tha’s the highest point ‘round here,” Aidan said, pointing at it. “After this, it’s mostly downhill, an’ maybe an hour, or a wee bit more, tae the truck, if we cut the route short.”

“Finally, some good news!” Jules joked, “Well, what are we waiting for?”

He only found himself slightly winded by the time they reached the top, upon which stood an old and weathered stone marker. The view was unobstructed for all 360 degrees; rolling hills, farmland, sleepy little towns, wooded areas, and much larger rivers all stretching out toward the horizon in every direction. And, of course, little white bits of fluff dotting the landscape, moving over the hills like some kind of plague symptom. The wind whipped around them and Jules shivered a little as the nylon caught it, making a racket again. He was glad of the scarf around his neck, though. As the only item of clothing he hadn’t managed to soak on his little dip in the frigid water, it was the warmest thing he had on, now.

“It’s a fair bonnie view, eh? Worth the effort?” Aidan asked, coming up beside Jules, a bright smile dimpling his cheeks.

“Well, I don’t know if I’d go that far,” said Jules in a haughty voice, but smiling back just a bit. It was pretty nice, he supposed, though it might be even nicer if the sun would return and make everything a little less dreary.

Aidan pointed out a few interesting sights, including a complex of nondescript buildings which apparently housed whisky as it aged. I could really go for some whisky right now, thought Jules as another shiver took him.

“Oh! Ye must be chilled tae the bone up here, Jules. Ah’m sorry! Here, just down the next slope there’s a sheltered area nestled in among the rocky hillside. We can hae a break and get ye warmed up a bit afore headin’ down again.”

Reaching the rocks, it was drier on this section of the hill. There were plenty of places to sit, with a bit more cover from the wind and a beautiful view. Why they hadn’t just come straight here—instead of tramping over mucky hills for hours and being harassed by sheep—Jules didn’t understand.  He took a seat on a large, flat-ish rock and stretched his aching legs out in front of him. Aidan took off his rucksack, setting it on the ground and joining Jules on the rock, leaving almost enough space for a third person between them.

Why is he so shy all of a sudden? Jules wondered. We finally kissed yesterday and now he’s acting more skittish than ever.

“Um… Ah’ve got an emergency blanket, if ye want?” the Scot said, looking up from his rummaging. Jules eyed the seemingly bottomless bag, and took a guess.

“One of those aluminium foil crinkly disasters?” he asked, raising one eyebrow in the most unimpressed way possible, “I’d rather freeze to death, thank you. I’m already a walking fashion crime.”

“Ah’d rather ye no’ freeze tae death,” Aidan said, frowning.

“Well, then you’d better act as a good shield from the wind,” Jules suggested, shuffling over to sit right up against the other man’s side.

“O- oh! Um, I mean… okay,” Aidan mumbled, cheeks going pink again. He resumed his search through the pack, retrieving a silver thermos flask and two granola bars, handing one to Jules.

“How are you putting off so much heat?” asked Jules in disbelief, leaning into Aidan a little more now that he was upright again, cold fingers fiddling with the wrapper on the snack.

“Uh… Ah’m wearing quite a warm sweater? Oh! Would ye like tae wear it? Ah’m sorry, should hae thought o’ tha’ before!”

“You’re entirely too chivalrous for your own good, you know?” Jules shook his head, “Then you’d freeze. I won’t allow it.”

Aidan opened the flask, avoiding eye contact, and nearly spilling its contents when his hands fumbled a little. He saved it, though—just a small slosh ending up in the dirt between his boots—and handed the metal vessel over to Jules, steam rising from the opening. “Tea?” he asked, tentatively meeting Jules’ gaze, their faces quite close, still blushing a little.

Jules took it, offering a flirtatious smile in return, which made Aidan look down at his boots again. Oh god, that’s so good, Jules thought, distracted for a moment by the hot beverage warming him up from the inside out. It could have been the most atrocious swill on the planet and he would have drunk it down greedily for how comforting it was. Once he’d had a moment to enjoy the fleeting sensation of warmth again, Jules resumed his plan of attack.

“Here, the wind is getting me from the other side now, it keeps changing direction. You’d better wrap your arms around me to block as much of it as possible if you don’t want me to freeze,” he said, matter-of-factly, nudging his shoulder under Aidan’s arm.

The Scot complied, albeit tentatively, arms coming around Jules’ body, gently pulling them closer together. Jules happily rested back against Aidan’s broad chest, enjoying the sensation of being wrapped up in a big fluffy sweater, even if it did make a horrible noise as the wool slid against the nylon of his raincoat.

Seriously? Why is he so nervous today? Jules wondered, the tension in Aidan’s body noticeable. He was practically a Casanova last night in the pub compared to this… Oh! Of course, he was at least two fingers of whisky in, then, duh! Jules sat soaking up the much-appreciated body heat while he pondered how best to get Aidan to relax. Maybe he’s got a hipflask of something we can add to the tea? Seems to have just about everything else on hand…

The sun even decided to come out for a bit, peeking between the scattering clouds and warming everything its rays touched. They sat like that for a bit, finishing their granola bars and passing the thermos flask of tea back and forth. Having actually managed to warm up again to a comfortable level, Jules pulled away from the embrace temporarily to take off the uncomfortable raincoat, which was beginning to make him sweat with its lack of breathability. “Ahhhh! That’s better,” he said, stashing it in the pack and stretching before leaning back into Aidan, who hesitated then put his arms around Jules again.

“Uh, this okay?”

“Mmmm, better than okay,” Jules replied, turning into him more and grabbing the container of tea, putting on the lid, and placing it in a small alcove next to them on the hillside. Hands now free, Jules snaked his arms around the Aidan’s body in return, pulling him even closer. Blue eyes met his, going slightly unfocused as Jules closed the remaining distance between their faces, lips brushing softly. A quiet—but still surprised—noise escaped Aidan’s throat as Jules kissed him properly, bringing one hand up to tangle in his messy hair. 

They kissed slowly, a gentle breeze flicking their pale locks around and into each other’s faces a little. Jules hummed happily and scooted into Aidan’s lap, arms draped over strong shoulders. As they made out, hands roaming over each other’s bodies, Jules began to feel even warmer. With Aidan placing gentle kisses along his jaw line, he decided the scarf was now both too hot and very much in the way. Jules undid it, dropping it into the pack. Aidan immediately resumed what he’d been doing, lips trailing down Jules’ long neck. Sighing with contentment, Jules brought his hands up under the hem of Aidan’s sweater, dragging them along the Scot’s solid sides and around the back of his shoulders. Aidan moaned into his neck at even that tame touch, and Jules wondered how much noise he would make with a little more encouragement. He could feel the other man getting aroused beneath him, stiffening cock unmistakable as it pushed up against the bottom of his thighs. His own was also beginning to perk up—clammy confines of hideous rain trousers and still-wet pants be damned.

“O- oh!” Aidan exclaimed as Jules wiggled in his lap a bit, hands gripping firmer at Jules’ waist as his hips twitched, rocking them both just a little. 

“Let’s get this off you, shall we?” Jules suggested, pulling up at the thick fabric of the shepherd’s sweater. Aidan lifted his arms to help, the woolly garment getting dropped on top of the pack haphazardly. Neither of them was apparently very concerned about whether a sleeve ended up dirty at the moment. With Aidan’s arms now bared up to the edge of t-shirt sleeves, Jules couldn’t resist running his hands over their warm musculature. Firm and strong, but still soft and so nice to touch, nothing stringy or overly bulging about them. He also noticed how trails of cute little golden freckles continued their way down the shepherd’s arms as well, interspersed between the blond hairs on his forearms.

Aidan began to show a little more initiative, shyness disappearing as they continued making out. He pulled Jules’ face down to meet his, hands stroking through his hair and cupping the back of his neck as they kissed, tongues teasing into each other’s mouths. Jules responded with some breathy moans that Aidan captured with his lips.

Meanwhile, Jules’ hands continued their exploration of the man’s torso, mapping the smooth expanses of functional muscle beneath a thin layer of padding—not showy like Claude’s gym-and-fad-diet regime sculpted form, but they felt good beneath his fingers. He also got a demonstration of their hidden strength as Aidan shifted him effortlessly to a different angle on his own lap, bringing their mouths together again as he ran one wide palm down Jules’ side and over his hip. Unfortunately, the nylon rain trousers made the least sexy crinkling noise possible.

Ugh, whyyyyyyy … what a boner killer!

Although Jules was very much enjoying the sensation of those strong fingers kneading along the outside of his thigh and around toward his ass, he simply had to rearrange them. Shifting off of Aidan’s lap, he kept them connected by their mouths for a moment, one hand threaded deep into pale curls. He let his fingers slip between the fluffy locks of hair, freeing them gently as he knelt in front of the other man, whose eyes were even wider than usual. The pupils were shockingly large considering the now-bright sun overhead, and the rings of bright blue around them almost glowed in his backlit face, hair a shining, irregular halo of pale gold.

Jules smiled his best coy smile before letting his gaze drop to Aidan’s lap, admiring the way his kilt was tented over his arousal. Letting his tongue flick out to swipe over his lower lip seductively, Jules placed one hand on the Scot’s knee for stability before running his other hand up a strong thigh, underneath the edge of the kilt. His fingers caressed over thick muscle dusted with a sparse covering of hair, feeling Aidan’s legs twitch a little further open as his hand continued its quest, reaching the point where thigh met hip.

My, kilts certainly are convenient for this, he thought, finding no underwear beneath the wool fabric, once again.

“Oh, Jules…” Aidan panted, mouth slightly open, staring down at him with desire scrawled all over his face.

“Mmm, yes?” Jules asked, slowly bringing his hand across to wrap around the base of the other man’s cock, giving it a firm squeeze as his other hand flipped up the front of the kilt so he could see what he was doing.

“Oh! Jules! Nnnnnhh!”

Smirking, Jules gave him a nice slow stroke, getting acquainted with his cock. Oh, I’d definitely like to get to know this better, he thought, mouth watering a little. He admired the sight in front of him as his hand moved up and down the girthy shaft. It jutted straight up from the man’s body with a thick, uniform width, tapering right near the tip. He was pretty average in terms of length, but Jules couldn’t wait to feel his lips stretch around it, his own cock giving a twitch at the thought.

“I think I could go for another taste of the ‘true Scottish experience’, if you know what I mean,” Jules teased, looking up at Aidan as he leaned over his lap, bringing his mouth down to where his hand was still wrapped around the man’s erection. That call-back to their first night in the pub got a breathless laugh from the man before he managed a response.

“O- oh, uhmm… okay,” said Aidan, conversational ability apparently having deserted his brain along with a not-insignificant amount of its blood supply. His hand came up to cover Jules’ still resting on his knee, squeezing it gently and caressing his wrist with blunt fingertips.

Jules kissed the head of his cock softly, and even that was enough to get a sharp inhalation in response. Plus a spasm of Aidan’s thighs as he fought not to buck upward. Mmmm, eager, thought Jules as he kissed his way down the man’s shaft, lapping his way upward again, followed by a stroke of his hand. He mouthed at Aidan’s foreskin, swirling it around the head of his cock before swiping his tongue in the opposite direction, getting it nice and wet.

“Ahh… unnnh…” was all Aidan managed, thighs spreading wider to give Jules more access. Taking advantage of the extra space to maneuver, he moved his left hand further up the man’s leg to brace over his hipbone, rubbing circles there.

Puffing a hot breath over hotter flesh, Jules wrapped his lips around the head of Aidan’s cock. He slowly brought his mouth down a little, then pulled up, and repeated the motion, travelling a little further each time until his lips met his stationary hand. He began to move them in tandem, swirling his tongue around the edge of the head each time he reached the top. Aidan was letting out soft moans, the hand no longer holding Jules’ fluttering around a little. He eventually let it rest gently on Jules’ head, fingers stroking through his hair.

“Haa… haa… ohhh, Jules, tha’ feels so good,” Aidan groaned, thighs trembling as Jules picked up the pace, bobbing his head with more intensity and hollowing his cheeks. He removed his hand to take a little more of Aidan’s length into his mouth, palming himself with his now free hand and softly moaning around the head of the cock in his mouth.

Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet, he thought, Just wait until we’re in an actual bed. In truth, the angle they were at wasn’t ideal; Jules couldn’t get Aidan quite as deep as he wanted to, and his knees were starting to complain from resting up against a rock on the hard, uneven ground. It didn’t matter, though, because it didn’t take long for Aidan’s hips to start twitching and his breathing to grow ragged.

“Nnnghhhh… Jules, Ah’m… Ah’m gonnae come…” managed the Scot, taking his hand out of Jules’ hair.

So polite! Not that he’d been applying anywhere near enough pressure to hold him in place, but Jules appreciated the gesture nonetheless. Keeping the same rhythm and pace, Jules felt Aidan’s cock pulse as it spilled hot into his mouth.

“Ahhhhhh! Nnnnhhh!” Aidan let out, rather louder than before, throwing his head back.

Jules stroked him through the orgasm before pulling his mouth off and spitting daintily onto some scrubby brush plants off to one side of their resting place. He took one hand off Aidan’s legs to fetch a water bottle from the rucksack, rinsing his mouth out a bit. He’d never been keen on the taste of come, and apparently even the fresh air and scenery didn’t change that. Pushing off the ground and sitting next to Aidan again, Jules’ knees thanked him.

Aidan looked at him, eyes still a little glazed over with lust, and he leaned in for a kiss as he clumsily flipped his kilt back into place. “Tha’ was amazin’,” he said, voice a little rough around the edges, “Perhaps I can return the favour?” He placed his hand at the top of Jules’ inner thigh and squeezed gently. Right next to it, Jules’ neglected erection jumped, straining at the still-damp fabric of his trunks under the rain trousers.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly let you—or anyone—go down on me in these absolute atrocities,” Jules replied, batting his hand away and gesturing at the trousers in one motion.

“Sae take ‘em off,” Aidan said, kissing along his jaw again, moving down his neck and letting big warm hands come to rest on Jules’ hips.

“And freeze to death? I don’t think so,” huffed Jules, finding it harder and harder to keep dissuading the other man, as turned on as he was. But the sun had disappeared behind the clouds again and the breeze was picking up.

Aidan’s mouth was still trailing lower, now teasing at Jules’ collar bones and around the neckline of his borrowed shirt. “I dinnae care. I swear it,” he said, making to kneel in turn. Jules arrested his motion by placing a hand on his chest.

“Of course you don’t mind, you just got some rather excellent head,” Jules replied haughtily, “It will be a while before your faculties return. I mind, and that’s the point.”

Aidan frowned a little, brow furrowed as he returned to his seated position. “Are ye sure I cannae do the same fer ye?” he asked, tentatively leaning in to kiss Jules again. When that was met with enthusiasm, he made another suggestion. “How ‘bout mah hand? Would ye prefer tha’?”

Jules’ hips bucked a little as he felt the warmth of Aidan’s hand move to cover his cock where it was very obviously still hard through the thin fabric of the trousers. “Unnh… but I’m all clammy still!” he whined, torn between his arousal and residual embarrassment. One was clearly winning out, though, as he continued to kiss Aidan, his hands running over that broad chest but not pushing him away.

“Told ye, I dinnae care,” Aidan whispered in his ear, warm breath making Jules shiver in the cool air. He pressed an open mouthed kiss to the point where Jules’ jaw and neck met, then sucked gently at his earlobe, which got a stifled moan in response.

“Ohhh, fine, you win,” Jules relented, his hands now pulling at the elastic waistband of his borrowed rain trousers, “Let me just get these out of the way.”

“Here, let me help ye,” said Aidan, undoing the snaps down the sides of the trouser legs. Then he scooped Jules up and deposited him on his lap, tugging his trunks down a little as he did so, freeing his aching cock.

“Ah!” Jules gasped, as much from surprise as from the sudden exposure, wind unpleasantly cool against his clammy skin. He clutched at Aidan’s shoulders, smashing their mouths together again.

As he deepened the kiss, tongue probing the inside of Jules’ mouth, Aidan’s palm found his cock again, getting another, more heated gasp as a reward. Curling his fingers around the shaft, he gave an experimental stroke, and Jules moaned against his mouth, puffs of breath mingling in the space between their lips.

As Aidan began to jerk him off, Jules found himself fascinated by the feeling of the calluses on the shepherd’s hands. The little harder spots at key points on fingers and where the underside of the man’s hand curled beneath his knuckles were a novelty. They weren’t rough—thankfully it seemed the invention of moisturizer had made it this far out of the urban centres—but were stimulating in a very exciting, different kind of way.  An unfamiliar sensation for someone used to the soft, manicured hands of other guys in finance and business. Sprawled wantonly in Aidan’s lap, Jules leaned into his chest, losing himself to the moment, turned on by doing this out in the open air, of all places. He probably wasn’t going to last very long, either, this time. Not with everything being so outside of his usual experience—like a dream of a different kind of life. Everything felt strange and wonderful.

“Mmhh… just a little more…” Jules mumbled against Aidan’s lips, bringing one of his own hands down to wrap around the other man’s, squeezing a little to ask for more pressure. “Ohhhhhh, yesssssssss! Just like… ah! That!” Apparently the Scot’s strength extended to his fingers, which were now gripped deliciously tight around Jules’ cock. He bucked his hips in counterpoint to Aidan’s strokes, feeling his foreskin get pulled almost all the way back over the head of his cock before being brought back up with the motion of the other man’s fingers. The little squeeze at the end of each stroke was driving him half mad in the best way. 

Jules panted against Aidan’s neck, placing messy kisses all along it as he shuddered, getting close. He could feel his balls tighten, and used one hand to tangle in the Scot’s tousled mane, bringing their mouths together once more, tongues sliding up against each other as he groaned his release. He felt the hot splatter of come on his exposed pelvis and lower abdomen, quickly cooling in the late-afternoon breeze.

“Hnnnn…” he managed, his quick tongue not quite back yet to make a quip.

Aidan held him in place with one arm while reaching down to fetch something from the pack with his other. He flourished a handkerchief and wiped at the small puddle threatening to roll off of Jules’ stomach. After he’d finished cleaning him up, Jules had recovered enough to tuck himself away and do up the abhorrent trousers once more.

“You really are straight out of Boys’ Brigade,” said Jules, staring pointedly at the soiled square of fabric Aidan was folding up to tuck away again, “Is there anything you aren’t prepared for?”

The shepherd smiled at him, almost shyly. “It pays tae be prepared when yer out in the hills regularly. So, dae ye want the shorter route back?”

Maybe it was just the post-orgasmic glow, but Jules felt in much better spirits, and answered accordingly. “No, let’s walk the rest of the route you planned. I’m sure it’s nicer—”

Baaaaaaaaaa!

Jules nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound, whipping around and almost tripping over his own feet. A large white sheep with a black face had snuck up behind them, and was only a few metres away, visible over another rocky outcropping.

“Ugh! Has that perverted creature been watching us the entire time? Disgusting.”

Aidan chuckled, the warm sound soothing to Jules’ frazzled nerves. “Nae. Look, o’er there,” he pointed back the way they’d come, where now a small group of sheep were wandering, “Must hae just showed up.”

“Well, then let’s go whichever route takes us away from them,” Jules huffed.

When they got back to the truck later—having avoided any further sheep- or stream-related incidents—Jules sat sideways on the passenger seat and hauled off his soaking wet boots. Aidan dug out a pair of warm, dry socks for him to wear on the ride back. Once he had them on, Aidan took his wet ones and added them to the plastic bag with his other things. Jules felt chagrined all over again, and looked off to the side, not wanting to make eye contact.

“Thanks for putting up with me today,” he said in a small voice that didn’t sound like him at all.

Aidan lifted a hand to gently trail fingers through Jules’ hair, cupping his cheek with one broad palm. “Nae worries. Ah’m sorry ye didnae have the best time...”

Jules couldn’t stand the sad look on Aidan’s face, so he grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Oh, it wasn’t all bad,” he added, getting another shy smile in return.

“Ye want tae drive on the way back?”

Jules shook his head, “No, I think what I would like most is to try and nap. I’m exhausted! How do you do this all day long?”

When they arrived back at The Equinox, Jules fixed Alec with a glare the moment he walked through the door, knowing just how bedraggled he must look. “I swear, if you decide to start talking now, there will be dire consequences.” He stomped up the stairs, Aidan following at his heels. The man gave an apologetic shrug to Alec as he passed, Jules noticed in the foyer mirror. Up in the room, Aidan got out his wet things and helped him hang them up to dry along the shower curtain rod. How is he so nice? It’s ridiculous.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to stay and shower?” Jules asked in his best seductive voice, beginning to strip down again.

Even after what they’d done earlier, Aidan blushed bright pink before managing: “O- oh! Well… wish I could. Uh, I really do! But it’s already, uh, rather later than Ah’d planned on bein’ back, an’ I have tae get a few things finished back on the farm.”

Jules pouted and began shimmying out of the hideous rain trousers.

“Um, oh! But, um, Ah’ll see ye th’morra before the cèilidh, okay?” Aidan said, eyes flitting around the room, apparently trying not to stare at Jules, who was now down to just his pants.

“Ugh, fine. Suit yourself. I suppose the sheep need you, too!” Jules huffed, a playful edge to his voice as he prowled right up to the other man. Draping his arms over broad shoulders, Jules pressed the line of his body right up against Aidan’s and placed one lingering kiss on his lips before whispering into his ear, “Have a good night, Aidan.” Drawing away again, Jules turned around and hooked his fingers into the band of his trunks, pushing them down and off. Winking over his shoulder, he sauntered into the ensuite and turned on the water.

He heard a deep breath being let out forcefully, “G’night, Jules. Sweet dreams,” and the sound of the door clicking shut. Disappointed, Jules got into the steamy shower and tried not to be too envious of the sheep who would be getting to see Aidan that evening instead of him. 

Chapter Text

When Jules woke with his alarm, it was to a rather stiff body. And not the fun kind, either. All the muscles of his legs and lower back were making their displeasure at the previous afternoon’s activities known. He let out a whiny noise and flopped back into the pillows.

Whyyyy body? So unfair! he thought as he made an heroic effort to reach out for his phone to check his messages. No new texts from Aidan. Siiiiiggggghhhh.

After checking some emails and deciding to ignore them—No, Tiffany I do not want to join you on the office social committee or organize the family fun day, I’d rather die thanks—he eventually worked up the motivation to get out of bed. Which was a mistake. Apparently stretching out his stiff muscles just made them more sore. And now his knees were complaining with every step he took on his way to the shower to hopefully help loosen up the aching parts of him.

No more blow jobs on the ground outside. Beds only from here on out. Or carpeted floors, at the very least.

Knowing he would have to be up for some dancing that evening, Jules spent the rest of the day lounging around The Equinox. He had plenty of time to finish the book he’d borrowed from the shelf in the breakfast room and to chat with Marcus as the man went about his daily to-do list, or Anna when he was down in the pub for meals. Alec continued to be of no use for conversation, in spite of Jules’ repeated attempts when the others looked too busy and he was truly bored enough to bother.

The work around the inn was apparently never-ending,  but Jules could appreciate a good work ethic and attention to upkeep. This really was the best choice I could have made for places to stay.

After dinner, he spent far too long debating what might be appropriate attire for their planned outing. What does one wear to a… oh, what did they call it… a kaylee? How on earth is that supposed to be spelled? Eventually he decided upon classic black slacks, a garnet-coloured shirt which set off his pale skin in lower light—which he expected to encounter in an evening dance setting, even if he was unfamiliar with the exact kind—and the one pair of decent leather shoes he’d brought with.

As he made his way down the stairs to the foyer, he could hear voices carrying from the open door to the pub. Sachairi and Aidan must have arrived while he was getting ready. Practically galloping down the second flight of stairs, Jules slowed to a calm and relaxed stride just as he reached the bottom. Looking towards the bar, he was greeted with the sight of not just one, but four colourful tartans on display. Along with ten very fine legs—though Anna’s didn’t really do much for him, in particular. He did have to admit she looked cute standing next to her brother in a swishy skirt made of the same fabric as his kilt; a black and white check with red stripes and thin lines of blue running through it.

Why on earth he would choose pale turquoise for the streaks in his hair, knowing full well he’d end up wearing something with that particular shade of blue, Jules thought, Ugh, it clashes just enough to be exceedingly bothersome.

“Evening everyone,” he said instead, watching as heads swiveled toward him, paying particular attention to the bright smile Aidan flashed, “Anna, you look absolutely stunning. Even I would be hard pressed to tell that until an hour ago you were up to your elbows in dishes.”

“Awww, ta!” she replied, a genuine smile on her face, “Says ye, Jules! Just get an eye o’ tha’ shirt—fair braw! Certain Mysel’d look near as good if Marcus were thinking tae phone the dishwasher repair…”

“Oh aye, hen,” responded the innkeeper, a penitent tone to his voice, “I told ye, he’s backed up right now. Early next week fer sure! ‘Til then Alec has offered ta take shifts doing the dishes.”

“An’ that’s why Alec’s mah favourite,” she said, throwing her arms around the smaller man in a dramatic hug. To Jules’ surprise, Alec didn’t look stricken, or even flinch. He actually almost smiled, the corner of his mouth ticking up as he stared pointedly at Marcus and patted Anna’s arm. 

“Nah, Mysel’ better be yer favourite,” Sachairi responded before Marcus could get a word out.

“Ach! Ye’d no’ be the favourite o’ a flea e’en if ye were some manky wee mutt!” Anna giggled and stuck her tongue out at her brother. 

“O sod off, ye howlin' bawkettle!”

Jules decided to ignore the little fight he had somehow managed to start between the siblings and stepped closer to Aidan, who was leaning up against the bar with Marcus, watching the proceedings. The look on his round, cheery face suggested that he was trying very hard not to laugh.

Probably a good call, thought Jules, I wouldn’t put it past those two uncouth lunatics to drag someone else into that… it could become a brawl at any moment.

Even though Jules had seen Aidan in a kilt numerous times now, it looked different, dressed up a little more proper. All the men looked dashing, really, with some more of the traditional accessories on. Jules didn’t even know the proper terms for any of it, but he couldn’t deny that a white shirt, black waistcoat, and black leather belt really upped the sexiness quotient as he scrutinised Aidan from head to toe. Even with the intriguing, embellished pouch hanging from it—A sporran? Is that what it’s called? I feel like I’ve heard that one before—drawing his eyes to exactly the wrong area. Or the right one, really, he thought, And oh my god, why are those cute little sock ribbon things so enticing?

“How’re yer legs feeling t’day, Jules?” asked the tousle-haired Scot, beaming.

“Dreadful, thanks.”

Marcus let out a laugh at that. Jules glared at the taller man, but couldn’t help letting it go as he caught Aidan’s apologetic look out the corner of his eye.

“Aye, well I guarantee they’ll be nae better after t’night,” said Marcus as he began walking around the other side of the bar and poking through the assembled bottles along the wall, “How about a shot or two ta loosen ye up before the cèilidh?”

“Shots aw ‘round, Marcus!” called Anna, apparently never one to be so distracted that she missed the important things.

“O’ course, hen,” replied the innkeeper as he crouched down slowly to reach shelves beneath the bar, rising just as carefully with both his hands full of shot glasses. He lined them up as the others gathered round, expertly filling each one with what Jules realized was Irish whiskey.

“Isn’t that practically a crime?” he asked, pointing at the green bottle.

“No’ if ye want tae get fair trollied. ‘Sides, Jameson was a Scot!” replied Aidan with a wink.

“Tae old man Jameson!” said Sachairi, grabbing one of the tiny glasses and holding it aloft, spirits obviously raised by the prospect of consuming spirits.

Jules took one of the remaining glasses and followed suit, downing it after the cheer of “Slàinte!” from the assembled party. He tried desperately not to cough as the liquor burned its way down his throat, feeling his chest suffuse with heat instantly, even if it was only in his imagination. Partly to distract himself, and partly because he’d just realised what was hanging around the edges of his perception like an itch in his brain, he asked: “Aren’t you two wearing the wrong tartans?” waving in the general direction of his hosts.

Marcus looked down at his and Alec’s kilts, while the shorter man just stared back at Jules with his visible eyebrow raised. Presumably the one behind the fringe of dark hair was joining its counterpart higher on his forehead than usual, as well.

“Nah, this’d be the Buchanan tartan I’m sporting,” said Marcus, sounding as confused as he looked, brow furrowed.

It’s a bit of an eyesore, isn’t it? Jules thought, looking over the almost rainbow-like fabric which wouldn’t have seemed out of place at a Pride parade with all those bright primary colours. For the second time that night, he managed to avoid voicing his critiques and continued with a more diplomatic question instead. “But what about that photo in the breakfast room?” Jules asked, thinking back to the largest framed picture on the bookshelf he’d perused the other day, of the two innkeepers in kilts and tailcoats. But wearing the opposite of the tartans they now donned. 

Marcus’ brow furrowed even more before smoothing with a spark of recognition in his eye, “Ah, is it one from our wedding?”

Alec pulled on his husband’s sleeve and nodded up at him in confirmation.

“Oh! No, we had kilts made fer each o’ us in each other’s tartans ta mark the occasion, ye ken?” he got a far-away look as he continued the story, “Not exactly traditional, but we figured we were breaking from tradition just a wee bit already… and it felt right.” An obvious sniffle came from Jules’ other side, where Aidan was sitting on one of the barstools. “Ye gonna manage ta keep the waterworks in check t’night, Aidan?” teased Marcus.

“O aye, laugh all ye want! Ah’m near tearing up just mindin’ how beautiful it all was.”

Marcus took pity on Aidan and went on with his recollections instead of continuing to badger his friend. “Originally we’d planned ta just switch our kilts, but it didn’t quite work out when we tested that idea… ha! Alec’s looked like a lassie’s uniform kilt all hiked up ta show off my legs, and mine practically hit the floor on him!”

Alec giggled a little; the high, breathy noise still surprising Jules even though it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it.

“But yes, right now we’re wearing our own tartans.”

“So which clan decided that was a good colour on anybody?” Jules had to ask—unable to contain himself any longer—pointing at the bright yet muddy, not-quite-mustard yellow which made up the background colour of the smaller man’s kilt. Aidan laughed from beside him.

Alec spoke, much to Jules’ continued surprise, not having heard an actual word from him since their little games day. “Same as yer sett colours, feckwit.” The statement was directed at Aidan, who only laughed more at that. The musical sound was fighting against Sachairi’s louder, harsher laugh, the cacophony echoing throughout the mostly empty pub. Though he didn’t speak often, the other innkeeper certainly got people’s attention when he did.

Well, not quite the same yellow, thought Jules, But even leaving that aside, Aidan’s is a much more pleasing arrangement of said colours.

“Ta answer yer question, Jules, Alec’s a MacLeod of Lewis,” said Marcus, amusement obvious in his voice, one big hand having come to rest at the back of Alec’s neck, as if for reassurance.

“Mysel’ happen tae think it suits him handsomely,” added Anna before returning to sipping the last of the pint of beer she’d been holding.

“Well, at least with such a pale complexion and dark hair, he manages to display it to its best advantage, I suppose…” Jules admitted, appraising the way the bright kilt was paired with a pitch black shirt which contrasted against Alec’s skin nicely, “And it’s a welcome change from the endless sea of black clothes. You’d almost think you two were running a funeral home and not a bed and breakfast, just looking at Alec’s daily uniform.”

That got a chuckle out of Marcus, at least, even if it did mean the shorter man was now staring daggers at him.

“Oi, anuther round o’ shots afore we’re leaving yeah?” Sachairi said in the lull of conversation.

Marcus obliged, filling the shot glasses in front of everyone again and raising the one in his own hand, “Slàinte mhath.”

This time Jules was even ready for the response, “Slàinte!” he said along with the rest before downing his second shot of the evening. It went slightly smoother than the first and he barely needed to turn his mouth into his hand to stifle a cough. With his head turned, however, he was in precisely the correct position to see that the glass Aidan set down on the bar was full of water, not whiskey. He didn’t even have a shot glass in front of him.

“Are you not drinking tonight?” asked Jules, a little confused.

“Nah, it’s mah turn tae DD,” said Aidan, as cheery as ever.

Jules looked back toward the whiskey, trying to remember if the Scot had taken part in the first toast of the evening. His memory came up blank. Seriously? I’ve only had two shots. Come on, brain, what is wrong with you!

Marcus looked over and Jules watched as a wash of realisation seemed to pass over the other man’s face. “Oh! I could DD this time, if ye like, Aidan. We can swap!” he blurted out.

“Ye’ve already started drinking, Marcus,” said Aidan, shaking his head, “And ‘sides, yer long past due fer a night where ye dinnae be needin’ tae DD. Ye’d best gie the MPV keys tae me. All o’ ye’ll no’ fit in mah truck.”

Marcus looked at Aidan ruefully as he tossed a vehicle fob over, before pouring another round of shots for everyone.

“Ye’er dae much dancin’, lad?” asked Anna, moving to stand closer to Jules at the bar.

“Well, of course my mother sent me for dance lessons as a young man. Waltz, fox trot, you know… the basics one should really know for the occasional social function,” he replied. Sachairi snorted into his nearly empty pint glass. Jules chose to take the high road and ignore the interruption. “I haven’t had much cause to practice them in recent years, though. Bankers so rarely have an orchestra at their conferences, you know. It’s quite tragic, really.”

“Ye dinnae say!” taunted Sachairi.

“Ah, it’s easy ta get rusty if ye don’t keep up the practice,” Marcus lamented with him, completely cutting off whatever else the nasty-tempered younger man might have had to contribute to the conversation.

“It’s so true!” agreed Jules, “But I have no idea what kind of dancing is supposed to be going on tonight…”

“Oh, ye’ll dae fine,” reassured Aidan, “Cèilidhs are just a wee bit o’ fun, an excuse fer right carry on an’ mayhem, once e’eryone’s the worse o’ drink.”

After some dallying as people fetched coats, they finally got out the door and began walking around the building to where a full length people-carrier was parked. With the others lagging behind, laughing and chatting, Jules took the opportunity to ask Aidan one other thing he’d been wondering. “So, lots of dancing tonight, then?”

“Aye tha’!”

“Hmmm, and are all of you wearing kilts… going regimental? Seems to me that an activity like dance would likely lead to a number of… incidents.”

Aidan blushed almost as red as his tartan, much to Jules’ gratification.

My my my, he's really too easy. Who needs whiskey, anyway? Jules, one; Jameson, zero!

Chapter Text

Jules felt tension begin to creep up his spine immediately upon entering the large hall. He could see a group of people milling about at the other end of it, clearly about to start some kind of demonstration or something. He tried to make a beeline for the bar in the corner—which Sachairi was already halfway to—but Aidan grabbed his hand.

“Ah! We’re just in time fer the bit o’ a lesson. Come on!” said Aidan, and Jules had no choice but to follow, led on by that warm, strong hand.

“But you don’t need any lessons. Shouldn’t you be over at the bar with the others?” Jules asked, longing to be there himself instead of joining the crowd of people standing and chatting near where the small band was just getting set up, certain he was about to look extremely foolish.

“Nah, it’s more fun tae try it with a, uh… friend…” he replied, not looking in Jules’ direction as he spoke, “I wisnae gonnae leave ye all alone.”

“Well, I suppose I appreciate that. Though it does mean you’ll probably have to deal with getting your toes stepped on.”

“Ah’m sure ye’ll catch on quick,” said Aidan with a smile that conveyed confidence Jules wished he could feel.

Confidence which was not forthcoming as he tried to emulate the natural, graceful way Aidan moved; the quick and effortless way he changed direction in a spin or the way his feet pointed just so. It was almost balletic, even against the decidedly less refined backdrop of accordion and fiddle. And his legs look amazing doing this, he thought, distracted from the instruction for a moment. It’s just not fair.

In comparison, Jules felt like he was flailing about. After a few songs of clumsily following the patterns announced by the caller, Jules felt quite ready for a break—and a drink. He used the start of another large group dance as an excuse to retreat. It was clearly a favourite, drawing in more of the experienced dancers who had arrived later. The room seemed substantially fuller than it had when they’d arrived. Groups of people were amassing at the edges of the room around little standing tables and up against the walls, chatting in small groups. “Let’s go back and find the others,” he suggested to Aidan, not even bothering to wait for a response before turning and striding towards the bar. He weaved in between happy-looking pairs of all ages who were flocking to the dance floor to join in, using Marcus’ easily-spotted head as a landmark through the now bustling hall.

“Have a good dance lesson, lads?” asked Marcus as they approached.

“Oh aye!” replied Aidan, cheery as ever.

“Sure, there’s nothing more fun than standing in a line in a village hall while someone barks a series of incomprehensible instructions at you,” Jules added, looking desperately towards the nearest dispenser of alcoholic beverages.

Marcus just smiled down at him. “Jules, meet Craig, a far better bartender than I. Craig, meet Jules, our guest fer the week,” he gestured between them as he made introductions.

“Hello,” said Jules, coolly polite. Does everyone know everyone else around here? Ugh, I miss London. Give me the anonymity of never having to actually know your bartender for the evening, please.

Craig just gave a nod, eyes darting back and forth between him and Aidan.

Perceptive bugger, thought Jules.

“Jules has been a real sport about letting Aidan take him out ta see some o’ the best sights ‘round here, so we figured ta drag him along t’night, too.”

“First time at a cèilidh?” asked the bartender, not looking particularly invested in receiving an answer.

“Someone give the man a prize, that was quite the guess,” said Jules, getting no real reaction beyond a half-hearted eyebrow raise. Well, good to know that bartenders are just as jaded all over the country as they are in London.

“Ye’d best get some booze in ye, then. What’ll it be?”

“Uhhh,” Jules stalled, looking over to the glass in Marcus’ hand, a pale beer, still about half full, “Give me a minute?”

Craig rolled his eyes the tiniest bit and muttered something unintelligible, turning to his next customer instead. “What’re ye drinking t’night, Aidan?”

“Ah’m the DD. Gie me the usual.”

The bartender shook his head apologetically, floppy brown hair following the movement. He pointed at Aidan in some kind of symbolic gesture of understanding before spinning to grab a glass and the soda dispenser, filling it with an unnaturally orange liquid. “That’s a bit shite, eh?” said Craig, leaning on the rail after collecting his tip.

“Aye, well it’s long past mah turn,” said Aidan, taking a sip from the glass.

“Marcus couldnae give ye one more drive?”

“He’d already started in on the whisky.”

“Fucks sake,” said Craig, giving Marcus an unimpressed stare. The larger man, who had turned at the mention of his name, just gave a little shrug—which still looked massive given the size of his shoulders—and took another sip of beer. He went back to staring in the same direction. Following his line of sight, Jules spied Alec and Anna taking part in the dance he’d just escaped from.

Getting a moment to stand back and watch the rest of the room, Jules had to admit he was impressed by how welcoming and inclusive it seemed. It wasn’t an LGBT-specific event, to his knowledge, but everyone was dancing together regardless of gender. It was such a friendly, jovial atmosphere with the cheery music and outgoing energy of the attendees. Likely alcohol-fueled, but infectious nonetheless. Jules just wished he felt more comfortable with the actual dancing component of the evening. He was being stupid, he knew. There were a large number of couples on the floor who had obviously never done it before, either—he was far from the only one in the room flailing about. Hell, in this particular dance there was partner switching among the small sets of pairs, so dancers of wildly different competencies were all dancing together.

It was nice; he could appreciate that, standing and watching. It would have been much nicer if he had any idea what he was supposed to be doing, and didn’t feel like an utter fool attempting to replicate the movements Aidan made as surely as he’d scrambled up steep hills yesterday. If my limbs weren’t still sore from it, even that would be a massive improvement, he thought. But nothing changed the fact that he hated not knowing what he was doing, especially when the people he’d come with were leaps and bounds better at it.

“What exactly are you drinking?” Jules asked, looking pointedly down at Aidan’s glass, trying to take his mind off his own incompetence.

“Whoe’er has the keys sticks tae Irn-Bru or ginger beer.”

“Irn-Bru?”

“Hae ye ne’er tasted Irn-Bru?” asked Aidan, incredulously, “Ach! It’s not like ye cannae get it in London.”

“Yes, well… fizzy drinks aren’t really something I tend to order,” sniffed Jules, “Unless we’re talking champagne.”

“Ha! Well, after whisky it might just be our national drink… Maybe e’en beats whisky!”

“What does it taste like?”

“Uhh… like Irn-Bru? I cannae think o’ a comparison,” Aidan paused, brow scrunched in thought, “Orange-y, but no’ really? Ha, maybe it’s just the colour tha’ tricks ye intae that… Um, maybe a wee spot o’ vanilla? A bit metallic, too, Ah’d say. But in a good way!”

“It sounds foul,” said Jules, but reached for the other man’s glass anyway. Aidan let him take it, their fingers brushing on the cold, condensation-covered surface. Jules raised it to his nose, smelling the not-particularly-informative scent of sugary carbonated drink. He took a sip. “It tastes foul,” he said, trying not to make too much of a face, “But strangely… I want more of it. What is this abomination?”

As he asked, Alec walked up, the dance having finished. Jules watched as the shorter man made deliberate eye contact with the bartender, and pointed at the glass in Jules’ hand, saying, “With vodka.”

“Comin’ right up.”

“See? Alec has the right idea!” said Aidan, smiling as he retrieved his glass from Jules. Their fingers brushed again, a little more deliberately this time. 

When the fresh drink was deposited on the top of the bar, Jules grabbed it and took a sip while Alec paid. He got a rather threatening glare over the rim of the glass.

Ugh, guess I can add ‘being murdered in my sleep’ back to the list of concerns I have about staying in rural Scotland, he thought, Still pales in comparison to ‘eaten by rabid sheep’, though.

“Hmmm, I suppose the vodka helps cut the taste somewhat. I’ll have one, too,” he placed his order with the bartender. He ignored the shorter man swiping the glass back from his hand in a much less friendly fashion than Aidan, retreating to Marcus’ side afterward.

Jules had barely managed to get one gulp of his newly-arrived drink down before Aidan’s hand was on his forearm, excitedly pulling him back towards the crowd.

“Oh! This is one o’ mah favourites, we’ve got  tae dance it! Nae partner switching, I promise—nice an’ simple.”

“Aidan, wait, I can’t do this!” Jules whined, looking back at the others for support. But Marcus and Alec were completely engrossed in each other already and didn’t look like they’d come up for air any time soon, even if they had heard his protestations.

“Yer fine, Jules! Just follow mah lead, and stop worrying so much.”

“But I don’t know the steps to this one!” he complained.

“Caller’s still announcing the steps fer now. Just gae with it!” said Aidan as they reached an empty spot on the floor, “There’s naebody judging, it’s no’ a competition!”

Jules felt utterly ridiculous as the music started, like he was screwing it up every time he moved his feet. He tried to focus on the press of Aidan’s strong hand against his, the crooks of their elbows joining for a spin. The broad smile beaming back at him without a single break throughout the song. It helped a little. Some additional booze would probably have helped more.

“How do you all manage to keep so many different dances in your heads?” he asked the assembled group once they’d made it safely back to the bar. He clutched his glass and tossed back another big swallow of his neon-coloured, fizzing vehicle for vodka.

“Hmm, Ah’d guess tha’ some o’ it is sense memory. Get used tae dancing certain patterns tae certain songs,” said Aidan, “And some is just daeing the same thing o’er and o’er. Cèilidh dances are mostly simple. Ye dae it once or twice, an’ yer set fer the rest o’ the song.”

“Right, fine. So then it’s just a matter of practicing to make it look good?”

“Exactly,” said Marcus, clapping him on the shoulder and nearly making him lose hold of his glass, “Trust, it took me a fair bit o’ careful study and repetition ta do it halfway decent. Was always a clumsy kid.”

“Especially after yer growth spurt, ye’d always misjudge how vigorous yer skipping was,” Aidan added with a bit of a giggle, “Then somehow end up on the other side o’ the room and spend a few minutes just spinning around, trying tae work out where the bloody hell yer partner was.”

“Aye, like ye’ve always been the most graceful bloke in the room!”

“Hah! Well, in comparison...”

“If I didn’t know better I’d say ye’d been inta the whisky, Aidan. Yer at it, t’night!”

The shorter man just giggled again, linking arms with Marcus and spinning him around. The innkeeper barely kept his pint from splashing, setting it on the bar as soon as they’d turned back to their original positions.

“Oh my, are you two going to give me a demonstration?” asked Jules, putting on a flirty tone, “Lucky me.”

“Oh! Uh, if ye like, I suppose,” said Aidan, glancing up at Marcus, “Which part?”

“Hmmm, that bit in the middle, perhaps. You know, with all the in and out and kicking or whatever was going on?”

Jules watched as the two Scotsmen showed him how it was done. Both slowly, with commentary on what they were doing, and then at speed, moving to the music. He had to admit that Marcus did make it look pretty graceful, which was even more impressive considering his massive form.

“Well, well, well, look at Mr. McPraxis makes perfect over here!” he said, with exaggerated clapping, “Marcus, I wouldn’t have guessed you could move like that.”

“Umm, thank ye?” replied the taller man, scratching the back of his neck and seeming a little surprised by the compliment.

“You two should go dance the next one and show me how it’s done,” Jules suggested, hearing the song end and watching how the crowd of dancers milled about, switching partners, coming and going from different parts of the room.

Aidan cocked his head in apparent curiosity, but smiled back at him before turning to his friend. “Marcus, may I hae this dance?”

The innkeeper seemed to be listening to the caller, who was announcing the next song. Evidently he approved. “Certainly,” he said, and flashed a smile, too.

Jules leaned back against the bar, watching their kilts swish behind them. He noticed they kept to the edge of the floor where it was less crowded. Huh, interesting… he couldn’t help wondering whether it was an intentional choice. With Marcus positioned to the outside, his hulking build nearly blocked Jules’ view of Aidan, save for a few flashes of milky blond curls. Or the flip of red and black pleats when the shorter man’s momentum changed direction with the step pattern. As nice as Marcus was to look at, it was a diverting tease for only so long. After a while, he scanned the room for any other sights of interest. Spying Alec and Anna dancing again deeper in the fray, he watched for a bit. They were really quite good, as well—or at least, looked better than anyone dancing near them.

Eyes growing restless again, Jules continued to observe the room and sip the bright orange, vodka-laced concoction in his glass. Gaze roving, he spotted Sachairi’s messy black hair and painfully bright highlights along one wall. The man appeared to be chatting up a pretty ginger girl with her rust-red hair in two thick braids. From a distance, it was difficult to tell whether he was having any success, but she didn’t seem overjoyed—that much was certain. Jules followed her stare, which was directed away from Sachairi and toward… Alec and Anna, who were just finishing up the dance. Ha! Well if she’s into Alec she’s going to be pretty devastated in about ten seconds, thought Jules with a streak of schadenfreude, watching Marcus weave through the crowd toward the pair, clearly intent on having the next dance with his husband. But Jules didn’t get a chance to watch for any fallout, interrupted by a cheery greeting.

“Miss me?” asked a voice from beside him, nearly causing him to jump. Aidan had snuck up on him, smiling around the straw in his own glass of Irn-Bru.

“Please,” said Jules, trying not to roll his eyes, “I know I might seem incapable of keeping myself entertained, but really, I can manage it for the duration of a song or two.”

“Oh? An’ how’s tha’?”

“Well, apart from watching the lovely display you and Marcus put on,” Jules began, watching as Aidan’s eyes turned downward and a shy smile crossed his face, “Just doing a little bit of people watching…”

“Alec’s no’ the only gossip ‘round here, eh?”

“Heh,” said Craig, leaning on the bar from the other side, “Yer also one tae bump yer gums, Aidan. Dinnae deny it.”

“Well, in th’ interest o’ accuracy, Alec’s more one tae finger smash than tae bump gums.”

“I dinnae ken,” the bartender held up his hands in mock surrender, but his eyes gleamed with victory as he added, “Tha’s more yer area o’ expertise!”

Aidan blushed and looked down at his drink as Craig wandered off to serve another customer, laughing.

“Alec does seem to have some unexpected talents, though,” said Jules, back to watching the two innkeepers as they began a dance together. The glint of something metallic below the hem of the man’s kilt caught his eye. The black hilt of some kind of blade, ornamented with silver decoration, poked out from above where the little sock ribbons flapped as Alec danced. “Is that a knife in his sock? Why is there a knife in his sock?!”

“Oh! He’s got his sgian dubh with ‘im,” said Aidan, sounding far too calm in Jules’s opinion, considering his friend had worn a weapon to the dance, “Tha’d be a traditional part of Highland dress, though most folk can only be bothered with ‘em fer formal occasions. I didnae see any o’ the rest wearing them t’night. Mine is sitting in a drawer at home.”

Jules now regretted his earlier comments to Alec, and drink stealing, too. Oh god, he actually could stab me in my sleep.

“Is it really a good idea to just have a blade down your sock when you’re dancing?” he asked, to get his mind away from that particularly unpleasant thought, “I can imagine so many ways this could go horribly wrong.”

“It’s sheathed, o’ course,” Aidan said between laughs, “Though accidents can happen frae time tae time. Once when I was dancing at a wedding as a young lad, Ah’d no’ tightened mah garter proper, and the sgian dubh did fly out during a fair energetic number. Tore mah dance partner’s stocking!”

“Remind me never to go dancing with you in a more formal setting.”

“Ach, she wisnae harmed, Jules. Barely e’en a scratch. Modern ones are usually fer dress more than function, sae they’re not real sharp,” replied Aidan, “Though she was furious, an’ refused tae dance with me again fer o’er a year after tha’!”

“Pffft, I’m surprised she danced with you again at all!”

“Well, I dinnae like tae brag, but Ah’m fair sure she had a crush on me.”

“Ha! Poor girl. Probably for the best you accidentally attacked her,” said Jules. His gaze had been drawn back to where Sachairi was now dancing with the fiery-haired woman. I would have assumed he’d be into something else, Jules thought. Fake tans and fake tits. A suitably trashy match. But the man had what might be the first genuine smile on his face that Jules had ever witnessed. He attempted to get back to the much more important topic at hand—juicy, juicy gossip. “Speaking of girls, she’s certainly more voluptuous than I would have expected for him.”  

“Aye. He does like his lassies buxom,” agreed Aidan, “But Sachairi’ll chase any bonnie thing in a kilt, nae matter what’s under it.”

“Wait, what? He likes men, too?”

“Aye, he does,” replied Aidan, quickly taking a gulp of his drink and coughing a bit after swallowing too fast.

“How is it that I managed to stumble into the single gayest enclave of rural Scotland by sheer chance?” 

A knowing chuckle came from behind the bar, where Craig was shaking his head and muttering as he stacked glasses.

“Ye almost sound disappointed,” said Aidan in a goading tone. 

“No, of course not!” said Jules, looking over at him, “Quite the contrary. I really didn’t expect to be having so much… fun… on this trip.”

Jules polished his drink off and was debating ordering another just to have something to do with himself when the song ended. After a bit of patter and some scattered applause, the band announced their next song and Aidan grabbed his arm again, dragging him back out to the dance floor.

“C’mon, this one’s perfect fer ye!”

“In the sense that it has no recognisable step pattern?”

Aidan laughed before replying, “Nae! It’s a waltz number. Didnae ye say ye’d taken some dance classes afore? Surely ye ken a basic waltz?”

“I mean, yes, I suppose,” said Jules, listening to the beginning notes and trying to make out the structure of the tune; it was difficult with the unfamiliar selection of instruments. And the fact that he was slightly distracted by Aidan’s hand taking his, one solid arm circling his back, “But I’ve never followed one.”

“Oh! Well, Ah’ll follow if ye’d prefer tae lead,” Aidan said, letting go of him—to Jules’ momentary disappointment—then switching which hands they held.

Jules let his right arm slide around Aidan’s waist, enjoying the feel of broad, smooth back muscles, until his hand was planted just off from the mid-point between the other man’s shoulder blades. He took a deep breath and tried to remember his instructor’s dictums regarding proper technique; rolling his shoulders back and trying to release the nervous tension in his arms. Luckily the warm, hazy sensation of alcohol flowing through his veins assisted with that bit. He listened for the final beats of the measure, and began to move them for the first beat of the new chord.

Down, up up, down, up up …

They travelled into formation with the rest of the dancing couples, all moving slowly around the floor. Once he’d relaxed and felt like he was actually managing to be semi-competent, Jules even began to enjoy himself. Well, this isn’t half bad, he thought, Less chance of getting body-slammed, or kicked, or a shoulder dislocated from overly enthusiastic spinning. Thank goodness for a civilized dance! Finally able to focus on something other than his feet and the music, Jules looked at his dance partner properly for the first time since they’d gotten on the floor. Aidan was looking up at him, smiling. Not a big, amused smile, or a simple friendly one. This smile was small, but it radiated in every feature of the Scot’s face, warm and open. Jules could feel the corners of his own lips turning upwards in response. It felt intimate, being so close in a room full of people. He was relying on his peripheral vision to avoid bumping into any of the other couples on the dance floor, but didn’t want to look away just yet.

Aidan was the first to break eye contact, casting his gaze down, pale eyelashes glinting in the lowered lighting. A faint blush spread over his cheekbones, lending a pinkish cast to his smattering of golden freckles. Almost as quickly as he’d looked down, though, he looked back up at Jules, smile getting a little wider.

Jules felt the overwhelming urge to kiss him, but managed to refrain from acting on the impulse. The crowd seemed decent enough, and it probably would have been fine, but he wasn’t the one who had to stay in this community after tonight. He didn’t want to accidentally make things difficult for Aidan if he’d read the room wrong. So instead, he pulled the other man ever so slightly closer—not enough to verge on inappropriate or make continuing to dance difficult, but enough to hear a little noise of surprise and see his blush deepen a shade. They finished the dance, and Jules spent the remainder of the time thinking of how very glad he was that he’d come along that night.

He held on a little too long after the last notes died, while everyone else around them clapped for the band. When he finally let Aidan free, he remained standing close anyway, even if they were no longer touching.

“That was an absolute smashin’ dance, Jules,” said Aidan, “Thank ye fer agreeing tae join me.”

“My pleasure,” Jules replied, his arm still feeling warm where he’d had it wrapped around the other man.

As they returned to the bar, a commotion drew their attention. Sachairi and his voluptuous dance partner from earlier appeared to be having a bit of a row.

“Pish off, Sachairi. Told ye once before and I’ll no’ be repeating myself,” the woman was saying in a raised voice, audible over the crowd, “Dance is o’er, so get tae fuck!” 

“Up yers, ye coo!” he fired back, making a lewd gesture before turning tail and striding away.

Oh myyyyy, thought Jules. He was rather unsurprised at the turn of events, but amused by them nonetheless.

“What’d ye say tae get tha’ kind o’ rise outta her?” asked Aidan as the other man arrived at the bar.

“Fuck! Mysel’ dinnae ken whit fer she was sae offended,” replied Sachairi, “Just asked ‘D’ye want tae hae a go lass?’ and she near exploded on me!”

“Pfft, I wonder why…” scoffed Jules, unable to help himself.

“Fucking cunt…Dinnae need tha’ anyway,” continued the messy-haired man, undeterred from his ranting, “Plenty o’ better girls out t’night, Mysel’ can hae mah pick o’ ‘em!”

“Aw shut up ya fuckin’ fud walloper ye,” came the voice of the bartender from behind them, “You’ve nae chance o gettin’ a bird like tha’.”

“Fuck you, too, ye prick!”

“Nae thanks, mate,” replied Craig, “I’d rather gae off an’ boil mah heid.”

Anna stormed up to the bar, looking absolutely terrifying—a harpy or valkyrie straight out of mythology with her long black locks and flowing skirt. Jules would not have wanted to be on the receiving end of that glare, but Sachairi appeared completely unaffected, standing there sullenly sipping his pint.

“Dae ye always be needing tae act like a complete arse tae mah friends?”

“Aw fuck off, Anna.”

Having been too distracted by the drama, Jules had nearly forgotten his intention to order another drink. He used the opportunity to do so, getting to ignore the fighting siblings as a bonus.

Why am I craving more of this horrid concoction? He picked up a freshly poured glass of bright, bubbling Bru infused with liquid courage and went back to staring out at the rest of the hall after paying the bartender, downing a good portion of it in one go. The band had called an end to their impressively long first set, and recorded music had begun streaming from the hall’s sound system. Nothing like what the band had been playing, to Jules’ surprise; it was chart-topping modern hits, instead.

And awful dance remixes, at that, he thought with distaste. It was a jarring contrast in his view, though the dance floor remained surprisingly busy. Apparently many of the attendees didn’t care what they were dancing to so long as the music kept playing and the drinks kept coming. Fair enough, I suppose.

“Ye’d best leave off it, Sachairi,” came a deep, booming voice, catching Jules’ attention again. “I don’t want ye upsetting my best employee, thanks.”

Marcus had rejoined them, though Alec was nowhere to be seen for the moment.

“She was mah sister first, ye great dafty,” came the reply from the already ornery man, “Get tae fuck or ye’ll get smacked good lookin’!”

“Are ye threatenin’ me?” asked Marcus, voice even more stony.

“Marcus, Mysel’ dinnae need defending,” Anna said, stepping between the men, “And Sachairi, ye’re gonnae quit yer haverin’ right this minute!” Her intervention almost looked like it was going to work, until Marcus—much to Jules’ surprise—muttered under his breath.

“Teuchtar…”

Sachairi exploded with a fury Jules couldn’t comprehend without more context, not having understood the insult. Quite the loaded term, apparently!

“Oi! Why dinnae ye wait fer yer beloved fuckin’ husband ta come back tae slag tha’ shite around?” growled Sachairi, jabbing his finger into the taller man’s chest.

“This has nothin’ ta do with him!”

“Ugh! Both o’ ye are right morons!” said Anna, sounding exasperated, “Come on, Aidan, yer the only sensible one ‘ere. Let’s gae an’ dance.” Aidan allowed himself to be led away, flashing Jules an apologetic look over Anna’s head. Jules wiggled his fingers in a little wave, quite content to stay, sip his drink, and see if the other men would come to blows or not.

“See you? See mah fist?” said Sachairi, pointing at Marcus again and curling his fingers in, undeterred by his sister’s departure from the conversation.

“That’ll do,” said Marcus, “I see something I’d much rather spend time with.” He turned and strode away from the bar, towards Alec, who Jules now spotted returning from the direction of the loo.

“O aye, ye fucking wank stain!” Sachairi called after him, “Hope he gies ye a Glasgow kiss!” He downed the last of his pint and slammed it back on the bar—not using enough force to break it, but startling Jules nonetheless. The bartender was quick to grab it and deposit a fresh one by the sulking man, who threw some crumpled notes down before picking it up and draining the first quarter or so of the glass. Only then did Sachairi give any indication that he even realised Jules was there, giving him a flat look followed by a small “Tch!” before leaning back against the bar beside him. “So, you and Aidan, eh?” he asked, jutting his chin sharply in the direction of the dance floor. The man in question had his hands joined with Anna’s, and she was smiling once again.

The cognitive dissonance Jules felt from watching their perfectly tame dancing set to a thumping remix of a song he was almost certain he’d last heard in his favourite London club—while getting down and dirty with a rather gorgeous hunk whose name he couldn’t recall for the life of him—made for a bit of confusion. He also forgot he was supposed to respond to the man beside him, and what the question was in the first place. “Sorry, what?”

“Hae ye pumped him yet?” asked Sachairi in a blunt tone.

“Pumped?” the confusion continued as Jules asked, “What on earth are you even saying?” 

“Hae ye fucked him ‘til he screams?” replied Sachairi with a frustrated huff.

Well, well, well, look who just became a much more interesting conversation partner!

“Wait, is Aidan a bottom?” asked Jules, intrigued. Maybe that’s part of this weird, hesitant thing he’s doing.

“Pfft, he’s fuckin’ desperate enough tae take whate’er anycunt’d gie him,” said Sachairi with a shrug. He took a sip of his beer and Jules could practically see the moment where the next thought hit him. “Wait, are ye a bloody bottom? Are ye takin’ me on?”

Jules just shrugged noncommittally in response.

“Thought with how fucking demanding ye are ye’d be some bossy twat who thinks himself a mighty top, yer royal highness,” the man teased, “Really didnae ken what Aidan saw in ye, unless he was intae gettin’ bossed ‘round by some whiny English cunt.”

“Rude!”

“Yer bonnie enough, s’pose,” said Sachairi, completely unperturbed by Jules’ offended exclamation, “So, ye want tae dance?”

There was a predatory gleam to his eye, which Jules couldn’t help but take as a challenge. “Oh fine, one dance.”

Out on the floor to the beat of another song that would have been right at home in the playlists of the gay bars he frequented back home, it was clear that Sachairi intended to prove Aidan’s statement from earlier about being interested in any pretty young thing regardless of what was between their legs. They’d only just wandered into the mass of bodies on the dance floor and were already in closer proximity than he and Aidan had been all night. Jules had to admit the man could move, though. It didn’t quite make up for his abrasive personality, but with his mouth shut for the moment it was rather intoxicating.

Sachairi smoothed one hand down his own chest to rest beside his big silver-tone belt buckle, fingers splaying below it, drawing Jules’ eye to his gyrating hips. “Like what ye see, London?” he asked in a low voice, beer-laced breath whooshing hot over Jules’ forehead.

Is he serious right now? thought Jules, deciding this was one of the worst pick up attempts he’d ever had the misfortune to experience. “Ugh! Even if I weren’t interested in your boss, I wouldn’t be caught dead going home with the likes of you!”

“Heh... ye keep on telling yersel’ tha’, London…”

Another song had started up partway through their dance, but Sachairi didn’t seem ready to stop yet, advancing on Jules and keeping him from leaving with a strategically placed hand along his back. Not that he had any intention to walk away from this dare just yet, their eyes locked in challenge. If he thinks he can beat me at this game, he ’s got a lot to learn.

Jules turned around, slow and languid, letting his hips swing with the beat, and backed even closer to the messy-haired man, leaving barely an inch or so of space between them, clothes occasionally rustling as they caught each other in movement. He closed his eyes and felt the song buzz in his head alongside the buzz of vodka, caffeine, and sugar.

“Oi! Nae ye dinnae!” Jules had only just registered the voice when he felt Sachairi’s hand disconnect from his hip.

“Aw, yer nae fun, Anna,” came the response from his erstwhile dance partner, who was now being dragged away by his older sister. Jules didn’t catch her next words, if any, startled by the sudden appearance of a much more desirable partner in front of him.

“May I cut in?” asked Aidan, cheeks flushed and blue eyes glimmering with amusement.

“Oh, please do. He was getting rather tiresome, anyway.” Sadly, the song that followed was not a sexy, grinding-worthy one as Jules had hoped. The tone was closer to the traditional dance songs the band had been playing, albeit with an electronically-mixed edge. “This DJ should have been cut off a while ago,” he complained, “They’ve clearly had way too much whisky if they think that transition was anything but whiplash-inducing.” He saw Aidan giggle a little, but it was almost lost to the background noise, Jules’ ears unable to catch what they wanted to hear.

“Ah’m thinkin’ they’re trying tae bring the mood back fer the band’s next set.”

“Well if they hadn’t switched to playing artless remixes of chart toppers in the first place, they wouldn’t have that issue,” said Jules dismissively.

Their dance was perfectly fine, but Jules felt antsy and unsatisfied when the DJed music cut out so the band could come back on stage. He’d gotten more riled up by his dance with Sachairi than he’d expected, and wanted nothing more than to take out all that pent up energy on the sweet shepherd next to him. Instead, he got to stand and try not to fidget while the band announced a special song for the top of their set list. Murmurs went around the room, drowning out whatever else the bandleader said. Jules had no idea what the significance of the song name was, but he watched as the floor cleared and just a few women gathered on it. Anna was there, and the redhead that Sachairi had been bugging earlier. As the music began he forgot his impatience, watching the impressive display of athleticism. The women moved almost as if choreographed; splitting apart to dance facing each other in two alternating groups, then merging again. Performing much more complicated patterns of moves than anything he’d seen thus far that evening.

“Anna’s a phenomenal step dancer, huh?” Aidan said quietly from beside him.

“Well I’m certainly impressed.”

After the song ended, Anna came back towards the bar, progress slow as people complimented her along the way. She was flushed a pretty shade of pink and looked triumphant as she ordered a glass of water. The bartender delivered it with a flourish as she thanked him.

“That was an absolutely lovely performance, Anna,” began Jules.

“Aww, yer sweet tae say, Jules,” she responded with a smile, “Wasn’t really a performance, though. Just a bit o’ a fun song fer those in attendance who ken the dance normally done tae it. This band’ll usually gie us step dancers a treat at least once in the e’ening.”

“Wait, are you telling me you didn’t all get together and practice that first?”

She laughed her great, loud laugh, “Ach nae!”

“But… how? How much do you dance?”

“Ah, Mysel’ used tae dance fair frequently back when we still lived up in the Hebrides,” she said, a touch of something that sounded almost sad in her voice, “But tha’ was many years ago... It’s still fun tae have a go now and again, though!”

“Well ye were pure dead brilliant t’night,” said Aidan, holding up his half-full glass in a little toast. She clinked her water glass against it with a smile.

Her, Marcus, and Aidan were lost to discussion of various shared memories from previous cèilidhs. Jules’ attention wandered as he sipped his drink, and tried to listen in on what Alec and Sachairi were discussing over on his other side, round the corner of the bar. Having realised that Alec was actually speaking what sounded like full sentences in his small, raspy voice, Jules was curious to hear more. Yet, no matter how he leaned closer, or tried to focus on their conversation to the exclusion of the others around him, he remained completely baffled listening to them. He couldn’t seem to make out any words properly. Giving up, he turned back to Aidan and laid a hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

“I mean, I knew you Scots were supposed to become difficult to understand when you drink, but those two are just ridiculous!” he said, interrupting the conversation the other three were having to share his observation, “Whatever they’re saying is completely incomprehensible. It sounds like another bloody language.”

Marcus let out bellowing laughs, joined and complemented by Aidan’s musical giggles. Anna—who had been talking when Jules broke in—looked to her brother and back to Jules, some kind of understanding dawning as she joined the men in peals of laughter. None of which clarified things. Marcus was literally wiping a tear from his eye and breathing like he was still laughing, even though no sound was coming out of his mouth any more. Anna was still laughing, but had stepped over to lean on her brother’s shoulder, attempting to explain but unable to get more than a word or two out before laughing again.

Jules was starting to get extremely uncomfortable, annoyed at not being in on the joke. He was about to turn up his nose at the lot of them and go find some better conversation when Aidan finally managed to speak.

“Oh! Jules, sorry we’re howlin’, but that’s ‘cause it is a different language,” he said, in between recovering breaths, “They were speaking Gaelic.”

Jules could feel his cheeks heat in embarrassment at having made such a stupid comment, but Aidan was smiling at him, kind and open as ever. It almost felt like he was laughing with him, not at him. Not quite… but already being a bit drunk himself, he figured he could let it slide. Especially seeing as Aidan followed that up with asking him to dance again.

An offer he now gladly accepted, if only to escape.

By that point, he’d lost track of how many Irn-Bru and vodkas he’d had in addition to the shots from back at the pub. Everything was starting to blur nicely around the edges, and he’d lost most of his inhibitions about getting back to the dance floor. Luckily it seemed most of the other attendees were approaching a similar state, the formations getting sloppier and more than one person having fallen over at the end of a spin.

After one dance, and then a few more, they found themselves alone at the bar and Jules remembered what he’d wanted to ask Aidan earlier.

Well, apart from all the other things I’d like to ask him. But those might be better saved for a more private location. Wouldn’t want to traumatize him. He’s so cute and shy and… damn, looking so good tonight.

It was a struggle, but Jules pulled his attention back to speaking instead of just staring at Aidan. “Can you explain something to me?” he asked, “What does ‘teuchtar’ mean? And why did it make everyone freak out earlier?”

Aidan looked around them and leaned closer to whisper in Jules’ ear. Which Jules was quite content to let him do; warm, sugary-sweet breath filling the air between them as he spoke, making Jules want to kiss him again. “It’s a Lowland Scots insult, I guess tha’s the best way tae explain it. A fair offensive term fer Highlanders frae the far North or West o’ the country, usually the isles,” he paused a moment before adding, “Especially the ones who speak Gaelic. Calling ‘em rural and unsophisticated, or something like tha’.”

Jules turned the explanation over in his brain, trying to connect the dots and failing, alcohol making his head fuzzy. “But what does that have to do with Alec?”

“Mind back in The Equinox when Marcus mentioned Alec is a MacLeod o’ Lewis? Tha’d be the Isle o’ Lewis, in the Hebrides. Him and Sachairi grew up together, since they were wee bairns. They hae the same roots,” said Aidan, as the significance dawned on Jules, “Tha’ insult could just hae easily been directed at Alec. Prolly has been, by others, if I were tae guess.”

“Ooooohhhh! Draaamaaaaa!” was Jules’ immediate response. Wow, is Marcus a bit of an idiot or what? I can’t believe he thought hurling an insult like that at his husband’s friend was a good plan.

“Dinnae ye mention anythin’, Jules. Awright?”

“Ugh, you’re so boring… Fine, I won’t stir matrimonial discontent among my hosts!” He rolled his eyes, or at least he was pretty sure he’d succeeded in doing so as he polished off the last of his drink, hoping to lighten the mood again. He looked out over the sweaty mass of dancing bodies. “Where is the happy couple, anyway? I haven’t seen them anywhere the past few songs.”

Aidan blushed a little and rubbed at the back of his neck before responding, “Knowing how horny a drunk Alec is, prolly off fer a quickie somewhere…”

“You know,” Jules began, leaning into the other man’s shoulder, “I wouldn’t have any objections if you wanted to drag me off for—”

“One more reel afore th’ end o’ the night?” interrupted Aidan, “I thought ye’d ne’er ask!”

“No no no! I most definitely have some objections to that!” Jules complained while being led back to the dance floor.

After the cèilidh, Aidan managed to herd them all out to the vehicle—a considerably more challenging task than it really should have been, with Sachairi needing to stop for one last smoke, and Marcus and Alec running off to make out around the corner of the building while he did. It was a quiet ride, with most of the assembled company dozing on the way back or at least trying to appear to be dozing, so as to ignore Marcus and Alec getting handsy while giggling like a pair of schoolgirls. Yet their diligent designated driver finally got them back to the B&B, dropping Sachairi and Anna off at their place on the way.

As soon as they pulled up at The Equinox, the innkeepers were out of the vehicle like a shot, thanking Aidan for the drive and practically racing over to the staircase. Marcus snatched Alec up on the way and tossed him over his shoulder, causing the smaller man to let out a cavalcade of low, husky, breathless giggles as his husband climbed the steps to the front door for the both of them.

“Ohhhhhh myyyyyyy. Let the booty plundering begin,” Jules slurred slightly, watching the antics of the couple as he began to fiddle with the buckle of his seatbelt. 

Aidan let out a scandalised gasp. “Jules, I warned ye ‘bout that already!”

“I know, I knowwww. I’m sssorry… This might come as a shock, but I am a… a little drunk right nnnnow.”

“I ken tha’,” said Aidan, an indulgent smile replacing the stern set of his brow from moments earlier, “It’s the only reason Ah’m letting ye aff the hook. Next time ye’ll be chancin’ fer me tae box yer ears, though.”

“Ooh, sounds naughty,” said Jules, gratified by the faint blush he could see creeping across Aidan’s face in the light coming from the porch, the lights inside the people-carrier having gone out in the time he’d spent struggling to undo his seatbelt. Having successfully won the fight with the blasted buckle, Jules got out of the vehicle, swaying a bit. Aidan met his staggering form to provide a steady arm, which Jules appreciated immensely.

“Ah’ll walk ye tae the door,” he said, letting Jules fall into him for support as they went up the front stairs.

Mmmm, so strong.

Reaching the door, Jules closed what little distance was left between them before Aidan could open it. The first kiss landed awkwardly at the corner of Aidan’s mouth. He quickly fixed his alignment, kissing messy and hot. Aidan kissed back, too shy and gentle, but Jules figured he could work with it. He slid his hands up and down the shepherd’s broad back. Ooh, I can’t wait to get all this off him, Jules thought, drunk brain rattling off all kinds of lusty nonsense, I’m gonna take those cute little sock ribbons off with my teeth. 

But Aidan pulled away, turning his head to avoid Jules’ attempt to continue in his conquest of the man’s mouth.

“Mmmmm, Aidannnn,” Jules purred in as seductive a voice as he could manage, “Why don’t you come up to mmmy room?”

“Ah, Jules… I should prolly be getting back home,” said Aidan, looking down at the wood of the porch, “It’s fair late.”

“You know, there are even more sssteps for me to climb inssside…” Jules added craftily, leaning on the other man’s arm again.

“Well, I cannae say yer wrong…Ah’ll escort ye up tae the door o’ yer room, but nae further, awright?”

“Tch! A true escort would go further,” he complained, then giggled to himself, unable to maintain a serious air. Once they’d managed the large flight of creaky wooden steps, Jules was all over Aidan again; kissing his temple, mouthing along the shell of his ear and down the tendon on the side of his neck. Much to his disappointment, the other man pulled away again. “Are you sssure you don’t want to come in?” Jules asked, proud of himself for managing to form a coherent sentence when he was so terribly distracted by the way Aidan's blond curls caught the light from the foyer chandelier.

“Best no’ t’night. Yer guttered.”

“Damn right my mmmmind’s in the gutter… come oooooonnnn!” Jules whined, “Besides, I’m nnnot that drunk.” 

“I did just need tae help ye up the stairs,” Aidan countered.

“How do you know that wwwasn’t just my clever plan to put my… my aaaarms around you?” said Jules, leaning into him again. Aidan laughed, the sound quiet but just as musical as ever.

I’d rather like to dance to that sound.   

“I dinnae want tae take advantage o’ ye, Jules,” said the Scot, more seriously.

“What if I want you to?” Jules whispered in his ear, then kissed his neck as he plastered himself against his front, getting a sharp intake of breath in response. Aidan gently disentangled himself, holding Jules at arms length but breathing a little quicker than before.

“If ye still want tae after getting past the hangover, then Ah’m at yer service.”

Jules sulked for a moment, pouting, but snapped out of it just as quickly. “I’ll remember that.”

“I hope so,” said Aidan, before kissing him chastely on the cheek and slipping out of reach when Jules tried to go in for more. “Sleep well, Jules.”

He watched as the shepherd descended the staircase once more, kilt flipping out a little with each step. Such a tease! So unfair!

Aidan turned when he reached the front door again, giving a small wave and a smile before slipping out into the night.

Jules finally entered his room, kicking off his shoes without a care for how the soft leather came to rest on the floor. He stripped off his shirt and flopped down on the bed, letting a hand smooth down his stomach, palming at the tent in the front of his dark trousers. He unzipped the fly and got a hand around himself, thinking of pale blond curls, pink cheeks dusted with golden freckles, and sky blue eyes. He let his hand work up and down, thinking about what it would feel like if it were broader, calloused. Connected instead to a sturdy wrist, a softly muscled bicep, a solidly-built torso, and a sweetly-smiling face.

Wishing afterwards that he was there to wrap Jules up in his strong, warm arms. That he wasn’t alone. After a few moments, he pawed around the side table for the box of tissues to avoid feeling too sorry for himself. He wiped himself off, then wriggled out of his trousers and pants the rest of the way, dropping them on the floor with everything else.

The potent combination of Irish whiskey and vodka was merciful, letting him fall asleep before he could get weepy.

Chapter Text

Shakespeare was full of shit, Jules’ first thought the next morning swirled nonsensically the same way his whole head felt like it was being pulled along an eddying current. The light through yonder window definitely does not break softly. More like as hard as a rock. He knew he was mangling the Bard’s meaning, but couldn’t be bothered with accuracy while hungover. Garbled thoughts and spurious comparisons were all he could muster. He hadn’t even opened his eyes, but could feel the offensive glare of sunshine streaming through the wooden blinds and falling on his face. He didn’t plan to open his eyes yet, either.

Feeling around blindly, he found the other pillow and plunked it down over his face, wishing he could shut out his consciousness the same way he could the light of day.

He must have dozed off again for a while, because upon removing the pillow, the sun had moved. Its dagger-like rays no longer hit at an angle which sent them directly across his face. Cracking one eye open, he looked out at the world. Or at least the comfy, bedroom-shaped part of it he currently occupied. Evidence of last night’s activities were dotted across the room, clothing tossed haphazardly on the floor.

Jules pouted at the fact that they were only his clothes. Ugh, why’d I have to go for someone so responsible? No fun.

With the sharp pounding in his head slightly receded, he risked propping himself more upright. His stomach roiled a little, but didn’t threaten to immediately cause him grief. He took a chance and slowly sat up. The room seemed a little wobbly but with his feet on the floor, getting up seemed possible if he was careful. He managed to stumble his way over to the bathroom and fill a glass with water, sipping at it until the fuzzy feeling in his mouth was less intensely disgusting.

There was a travel-sized container of painkillers sitting on the back corner of the counter by his toiletries bag. Jules thanked his past self for having the foresight to leave such an essential item somewhere he would be able to find it without having to root around in his luggage. Once he’d swallowed two with another glug of water, he filled the glass again and returned to bed.

Miraculously, his mobile still had some battery left when he fished it out of his trouser pocket on the floor. Plugging it in beside him, he noticed the message notification on the lock screen. One text message.

Jules read it. Sighed in pain. Read it again. Put his phone down on the nightstand. Stared at the ceiling, and then after a few minutes picked it back up again. Sipping at his water, he typed out a reply with one hand.

            Today 10:05 AM

I hope you aren ’t feeling too awful this morning :)

            Today 10:42 AM

                        don’t give me that smikly face

                        i think you know exactly how i feel

Aye, that bad, huh? :(

                        howeerv did you guess?

                        pretty sure my heads trying to turnm itself inside out

What you need ’s a can of Irn-Bru! Want me to

message Alec to bring one up to you?

                        yugh, NO are you trying to make me puke?

No, of course not! D:

Irn-Bru is the ultimate hangover cure! Trust me!

                        i ’ll sticjk to water, thx

It ’ll get you back in order, especially with the right

breakfast. Ask Marcus to make you a square

sausage and pop it in a roll with a wee bit of brown

sauce.

Jules could barely finish reading the message. Even the thought of food made his stomach turn. He dropped the phone and closed his eyes, waiting for the nausea to subside.

When he woke up again, it was with far less of a headache. The pain had diminished enough for him to think a bit more clearly… and to notice an entirely different kind of ache. One that was unabashedly trying to displace the sheet that was only partly covering his naked body in the first place. Memories of the previous night began surfacing.

Oh godddd why am I such a messy drunk? Soooo embarrassing, he lamented to himself, flipping over and burying his face in the pillow. The sensation of his cock trapped against the mattress brought back another pertinent fact from the depths of his brain. Making good on his drunken word, he successfully recalled a certain offer that Aidan had made before leaving. I must not have been that embarrassing, then. Or he’s just desperate, like Sachairi said. Well, whatever! Either way it’s a win for me.

Putting his still somewhat hungover body to the test, he sat up quickly. Not much dizziness, and his stomach appeared to have calmed down, too. Getting up, he refilled his water glass and surveyed the state of his room. Clicking his tongue at his own carelessness, Jules bent to pick up his poor abused shoes, one of which was fully upside down, smushing the soft leather. He puttered around in the nude for a few minutes, tossing dirty clothes into the bottom of the wardrobe where he was letting them collect. Satisfied that the room was a little more presentable, he sauntered back to the bathroom and set about his morning ablutions a little more systematically than before.

Feeling much more himself after a shower and with freshly brushed teeth, Jules tossed himself back into the bed. He was much happier to lounge about now that his head wasn’t pounding and his stomach wasn’t threatening to revolt. Picking up his phone again, he read the messages that had presumably arrived while he was dozing some more.

            Today 11:17 AM

Jules? Still there? You alright?

            Today 11:39 AM

You asleep? I hope you weren ’t actually sick.

            Today 11:46 AM

Sorry about the messages. No more hangover

cure suggestions, I promise.

Normally he would have rolled his eyes at so many texts in a row, but somehow the genuine concern in Aidan’s words overruled the desire to mock. Jules could practically see the consternation upon the other man’s face, imagining him frowning down at the screen. Better put him out of his misery. Clearly I’m being incredibly selfless right now, and definitely not just horny, he thought as he swiped up the keyboard to reply.

            Today 12:21 PM

                        Don ’t be sorry. I should be sorry for falling asleep

                        on you like that.

                        I even failed to make a joke about you suggesting

                        that Marcus give me his square sausage

Ah! Sleeping beauty wakes again, and before

it got too late in the afternoon, even!

                        I don ’t think “beauty” really captures how I woke up.

                        My hair was definitely more hag-worthy with all the

                        tangles in it. But I ’ve managed to make myself

                        somewhat more presentable now.

Why don ’t I believe that ;)

                        Rude!

The hag bit, not the presentable bit!! Oops D:

                        Well if you want to check for yourself, you could

                        always come over … I seem to recall you promising

                        a post-hangover visit …

The next reply wasn’t quite so instantaneous. The screen even turned itself off while Jules anxiously waited to see what the shepherd would say to his invitation. It was enough to temper his renewed arousal at the thoughts he’d been entertaining. Luckily only another minute or so passed before the tell-tale vibration startled him.

            Today 12:33 PM

So you do remember last night, then?

                        At least all the important bits

                        Like when you mentioned that you were “at my

                        service ”. You’re entirely too gallant for your own

                        good, you know?

Ha, guilty as charged, I suppose.

                        So … can I still cash that cheque?

Uhh, if you ’re feeling up for it? I wouldn’t want

to be a bother if you ’re still resting!    

                        Oh, I am definitely *up* for it …

                        And the only kind of bother you ’d be is hot and

                        bothered

Oh! Ha ha ha, alright then. When would you

like me to come by?

                        How soon can you get here?

It could even be later on in the evening.

Oh, uh, I could come round the back of one?

                        I ’d rather you come round the back of me

You ’re pure mental, you know that?

Not that that ’s a bad thing.

                        When you get here, just pretend you ’ve come to

                        tend to poor hungover me and head straight up     

Right. I ’ll see you soon, then :)

                        I ’ll be waiting

It was difficult to resist the temptation to jerk off, but knowing Aidan would be coming by in less than half an hour gave Jules the strength to ignore his growing need a while longer. He distracted himself by looking through his clothing, trying to find the perfect outfit. Cozy, but not shapeless. And easy to take off again. He considered just remaining as he was, but decided that it might be in his best interest not to give Aidan a spontaneous aneurysm.

He’s so shy, it’s almost a pity, Jules thought while rummaging through his pants. Ugh, I wore my favourite pair last night and he didn’t even get to see them! Oh well, this pair is pretty nice, too. Can’t go wrong with deep red and silky smooth.

He eventually settled on more than just undergarments, and while pacing the room in anticipation, discovered a packet of saltines on the small table closer to the window. He’d brought them up with a bowl of soup the other day for lunch and forgotten about them. While he still wasn’t particularly interested in food, it seemed like a good idea to fortify himself for what would hopefully be an… invigorating afternoon. He got them down without issue, having another glass of water. And one more preemptive painkiller to deter his headache from making a vengeful return at an inopportune moment. Brushing his teeth again and using some mouthwash, too, he stalked back into the bedroom, getting antsy. He decided to crack the wooden blinds a bit to let in more sunlight and took a seat, flipping open his book but not really reading it. His mind raced.

It wasn’t long before he heard that familiar, cheery voice in the foyer below and footsteps on the stairs. He knew exactly when the knock would happen.

“Come in!” he spoke over the soft rap on his door. It swung open to reveal windblown hair and a bashful smile.

“Uhh, hi there!”

“Well hello,” Jules purred, watching the other man seem to deliberate over whether he should close the door behind him or not. It didn’t take him long to make the correct choice, the latch clicking shut. He was already blushing faintly; an enticing smear of pink over his cheekbones and just touching the tips of his ears where they poked out between tousled locks. It’s ridiculous how debauched he can look before we’ve even managed to get up to any debauchery, Jules thought, vowing to himself to earn that embarrassed flush, and then some.

“Ah’m glad tae see yer feeling better now,” said Aidan, standing a bit awkwardly in the center of the room.

“Oh, much better,” Jules replied, standing up and sauntering over to him. “Especially now that you’re here.”

“Chuffed tae be. Ah’ll admit I didnae want ta say ‘tha’s me away’ last night.” 

“Well then, where were we?” Jules let one hand drape over a strong shoulder and tilted his head down ever so slightly, bringing their lips within millimetres of each other.

A thrill ran through him when, with little hesitation, Aidan moved to meet him. Although the kiss started out soft and chaste like the one they’d parted with less than twelve hours previously, it didn’t take long for it to grow more heated. He felt the other man surge up to counter the press of his lips with more force. Solid arms wrapped around his waist and guided him closer.

Jules didn’t know what happened, or how it happened so fast. One moment he was standing on his own two feet, arms wrapped around Aidan’s neck, kissing him deeply. The next, he’d been swept off them—quite literally—and Aidan was carrying him to the bed, bridal-style. He may have let out a less-than-dignified noise at some point in the proceedings but was too turned on to care, the blood rushing to his loins faster than it could be redirected to his face. As soon as the Scot deposited him on the mattress, Jules pulled him onto it as well. They began to make out with all the fervor he’d been looking for the previous night; bodies rolling over each other, hands wandering up and down, lips and tongues exploring as thoroughly as possible. All of it so much easier and more comfortable now that they were on a cushy, horizontal surface.

So much better than a rocky hillside, he thought, Warmer and drier, too. The soft, well-worn jeans he’d donned were silent as Aidan’s hands slid over his thighs; infinitely better than the nasty rain trousers he’d been stuck wearing when they’d last had a chance to get this close. He found himself only a little disappointed by the fact that the other man wasn’t wearing his kilt today, quickly consoled by the fact that the denim he had also opted for hugged that round bottom beautifully. A fact which Jules was careful to confirm not just with his eyes but with his hands as well, giving an experimental squeeze.

“O- oh, Jules…”

“Hmmm, the real thing is so much better than just lying here by myself, imagining.”

“Ha! Uh, is tha’ how ye spent last night?” A tinge of embarrassment was obvious in Aidan’s voice as he asked, ducking to kiss along Jules’ collar bones, which were prominently displayed by the low v-neck he wore.

“Mmm, of course. If you weren’t going to do something about the state you’d left me in, I had to take matters into my own… hand,” he whispered in response, right up against the other man’s ear, feeling him tense to stifle a shiver. “Don’t tell me you weren’t also thinking about me. I might just have to be offended.”

“Well, dinnae fash, I couldnae get you oot mah head,” said Aidan, before dipping said head into the crook of Jules’ neck and mumbling, “Uh, I may hae stopped fer a wank afore drivin’ back.”

Jules could feel the heat of the other man’s blush against his skin, burning bright. “Oh myyyy! Aidan, you didn’t tell me you’ve got a bit of a naughty streak,” he teased.

“Ach, yer just so distracting…”

“Is that so? Well, I hope I can live up to all that imagined distraction,” said Jules, rolling his hips up against the other man and recapturing his mouth before he could respond. They eagerly resumed making out, and it wasn’t long before hands began seeking more skin. Jules tried to encourage Aidan to remove his t-shirt for him, giving his hand a push upward where it was gripped in the material and sighing happily into a kiss. The other man seemed to falter, though. He was all pale freckles and soft strength, nervous giggles and tentative touches now that clothes were going to be coming off. A thought struck Jules—one that he didn’t relish—and made him pause. “Wait, wait,” he said, hoping against hope that his sudden leap of logic wasn’t correct.

Aidan’s hands snapped back—away from where they’d been running up and down Jules’ body—and the look on his face was full of concern and worry, as if he’d done something wrong. Jules sighed and grabbed the other man’s hands, placing them back around himself. “No, no, I didn’t mean like that—”

“We can stop if ye want—”

“Aidan! I don’t want to stop,” he said, beginning to get exasperated, “Just... please tell me you’ve done this before. You’re not a virgin, right? Oh godddd, that time out hillwalking… that wasn’t your first time, was it?”

Understanding dawned on the shepherd’s round face, though a thread of confusion was woven in with it. “O- oh! Nae! This isnae mah first time... it’s, ummm, it’s just been a wee while is all.”

“Well thank fucking god for that,” Jules let out a relieved breath, “I didn’t want to be the utter tit who stole your innocence without realizing.”

Aidan let out another, less nervous laugh. “Ach nae, tha’s long gone.”

“Brilliant,” said Jules, drawing out the word a little as he leaned back in to pick up where they’d left off.

Calloused hands made quick work of his t-shirt and started to undo his zip, kisses trailing over every newly exposed expanse of skin. Once he’d gotten Jules almost entirely undressed, Aidan was reverent, staring down at his body like it was the most incredible sight he’d ever seen. “Gosh, yer… beautiful.”

“Well thank you! Aren’t you just the flatterer,” said Jules, pleased by the impact he seemed to be having. An impact he could feel the evidence of where it was pressed up against his hip, hard and wanting. Who wouldn’t be flattered by such awe and wonder? he thought to himself. But he was less pleased by the fact that, when he made to undress Aidan in turn, he seemed a little reticent. The man shied away from his touch, his earlier enthusiasm dampened.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and immediately heard how sharp and accusatory the question sounded. Saw how Aidan cast his eyes down and looked off to the side. Ugh, I really could have phrased that better.

“I- it’s nothin’… just… well, Ah’m no’ a vision like ye are,” he mumbled.

Reaching out, Jules used one hand to tilt Aidan’s chin up again and leaned in to kiss him. Apologizing with his lips for the harsh question, and with the way he pulled the other man closer for whoever in the past had made him think he was anything less than delightful. “I’ll be the judge of that!” he said into the space between their mouths once they were both panting again. He continued pulling Aidan’s top off, running his fingers up and down broad planes of warm skin before pushing him over to lie on his back. He kissed all the way down his chest and stomach, working his way to the zip on the other man’s jeans. “Mmmm, I’m going to have to disagree with you,” he murmured, mouthing around Aidan’s waistband while his fingers fiddled with the metal tab. “From where I’m sitting, you’re looking pretty bloody gorgeous.”

The Scot’s cheeks took on a deeper shade of pink again, but he was also fighting a grin and seemed reassured for the moment. He didn’t fuss anymore, allowing Jules to pull his trousers off, then hauled Jules up against himself again once they were both down to just their pants.

Oh fuck yes.

The feeling of their bodies being able to touch along their entire lengths, skin to skin, was electrifying. Legs intertwining, arms wrapped around each other, connected from chest to pelvis. And oh, was that ever a good connection. Their hips rocking together, erections pressed side by side and rubbing against each other. Jules was being driven half-mad with the intensity of the want inside him. “Nnnn, Aidan,” he gasped out between deep, overwhelming kisses, “Touch me… please…”

“O- oh! O’ course.”

Aidan didn’t waste any time in following his request, hands pushing down the elastic waistband of Jules’ pants and freeing his cock. He used one hand to begin stroking it, and tried to use the other to push his own underwear out of the way but it was trapped awkwardly with the position they were in, both lying on their sides. Despite the near short-circuit in his brain when Aidan’s fingers wrapped around his length and began to move, Jules noticed him struggling and assisted with the effort. The shepherd’s thick cock bobbed between them and Jules could feel his mouth water at the sight.

Mmmmm, I could just devour him whole, he thought, wanting to repeat what he’d done on the windy hillside, but without his knees complaining about the hard ground and with a better angle. And without any foul, fluffy beasts to interrupt us.

While he was distracted, however, Aidan enacted his own plan—bringing their cocks together and wrapping his big, calloused hand around them both.

“Ahhhh!” Jules’ previous notions evaporated as the new sensation overwhelmed him. Also a good plan. Maybe even a better plan.

“Hnnnh, Jules… ye… nnnh…” Aidan moaned into his mouth, but didn’t finish whatever his thought had been.

Glad I’m not the only one brain-dead thanks to this. After only a few minutes Jules could already feel himself approaching the point of no return. Ughhhh, too soon! No, nope, can’t come this fast. Not this time.

“Unnhh, that’s… that’s too good, Aidan,” he said, using one hand to stay the other man’s motions before shifting out of his grip and onto all fours above him. “Give me, mmmh, a minute. There’s something else I want to do.”

He looked down at the pale form lying supine on his bed, eagerness and nerves both in that open, willing expression. Aidan was sturdily built, the span of his pale chest and shoulders broad for his height. Compact muscle led down to the softer curve of a hip as he stroked his hands down the man’s sides. The filled out lines of him a contrast with the jut of Jules’ own sharp hip bones sticking out from his slim frame. They had fit so nicely lying together on the bed, but now he had other positions in mind.

Jules traced up and down his form with soft kisses—working his way closer to his ultimate goal, slow and steady. When he finally placed his lips on the shaft of Aidan’s cock, the other man shuddered in anticipation. Jules hummed along his length, letting his tongue flick out to drag up and down it. He began to swallow it down inch by slow inch, pushing a little lower with each bob of his head. Aidan wasn’t quite as vocal as the first time they’d done this. Perhaps too aware of the fact that he was technically in the house of two of his friends. Pity, thought Jules, He was so encouraging with all those cries of pleasure on the hillside. And while technically quieter this time, he was still letting out all manner of noises, so Jules couldn’t be too disappointed.

He set about dragging as many stifled sounds out of the Scot as he could. He used the more comfortable angles he could achieve in a real bed to show off  his—rather fantastic, in his opinion—technique. Feeling Aidan’s thickness slide down his throat was intoxicating. He wanted to touch himself but still hadn’t quite calmed down from when they’d been front to front earlier. He hummed the frustration of wanting everything all at once against the throbbing flesh in his mouth.

“Ahhnn, Jules, A- Ah’m about tae come. Ah’m… nnnh, so close.”

This time Jules took the warning and switched to using just his hand, pumping hard and fast as he shifted up the bed to capture Aidan’s strangled groan with his lips. “Mmmm, that was hot,” he said, pressed along the other man’s side. He couldn’t help pressing into those shapely, well-muscled thighs a little, his own neglected erection dripping precome from the tip. He was so hard it almost hurt.

“Aye, Ah’ll say,” exhaled Aidan with a small, shivery aftershock. After another moment, he shifted to look for something to clean himself up with. Jules passed him some tissues which were put to good use. “Awright, it’s mah turn now. Ye havenae been giein’ me a chance tae reciprocate yet!”

“Ohhh, well if you insist! I suppose that sounds nice,” Jules said, moving to lie on his back, propped up by the pillows. He was nearly wiggling with needy excitement as he watched the other man lean over him. First came a kiss which was tempting to continue, but he let their faces part as Aidan moved to place his lips elsewhere. He took an even more leisurely tour of Jules’ body, kissing and lapping along whatever caught his fancy on the way down.

Jules was about ready to scream by the time Aidan reached his hips. He almost wanted to cry when he realized that the teasing touches were continuing down his leg, then back up again and down the other. “Goddddd, Aidannnn! Please just— nnngh!” Jules’ plea was interrupted by a warm, wet mouth suddenly closing over the head of his cock. “Haaa… haaa… finally!”

With suction delivered to tread the line between ecstasy and torment, Aidan bobbed his head once more and pulled off, causing Jules to emit an unchecked whine.

“Sae impatient!” chastised the Scot before he returned to sucking what was left of Jules’ brain out through his dick.

“Ughhhhnnnn! You would be, ahh, too in, mmmhh my place.”

The only response he got to that was a deep hum between the sliding of wet lips over him. No teasing now; if anything, the other man was setting a punishing pace.

All that waiting to calm down and Jules was already back where he’d started, riding up to that peak of pleasure far too quickly for his liking. His head threatened to split in two not from the earlier headache, but from the intensity of stimulation. His knuckles were white from clutching the sheets. “Fuuuucckkk… ohhh my goddddd. Nnnnhh, where did you learn to give head like… ahhhn! Like this?”

Jules could feel the muffled giggle around his cock and squirmed beneath the strong hands lying over his hips. Feels less musical than it sounds. Too ticklish!

“It’s testament tae how wild ye drive me, more than anythin’,” Aidan half-slurred as he dragged his tongue over Jules before sinking down again and bobbing a few times to reestablish a rhythm.

When he hollowed his cheeks, Jules threw his head back into the pillow. His eyes felt ready to roll even further back, right towards the back of his skull. Whyyyyy was I stupid enough to decline this last time? he thought, annoyed with his past self’s poor decisions, Ooohhh, this is ridiculously good. Blasted river and rain trousers, depriving me of this before. Even thoughts of that horrible, windy, chilly hillside covered in disgusting sheep weren’t enough to stave off the inevitable, though. Jules patted at the mop of pale hair down between his legs with fluttering hands.

“Aidan, I’m… oh godddd… I’m about to—” It was too late, his climax was already overtaking him, spilling out and stealing away all rational thought with it. He just barely registered the way Aidan was moaning around him as he swallowed hungrily.

“Ye taste so good.”

The other man continued to pepper Jules’ hips with kisses after he’d finished and could only lie there, overwhelmed and twitching through the fallout of an orgasm that had no right to be so intense. Once he’d recovered enough to form words again, Jules looked down into Aidan’s smiling face. “Liar! Come tastes awful. Doesn’t matter if you're a prince or a farmhand.”

“It’s an acquired taste, I suppose,” Aidan shrugged and moved up the bed as he replied, then tried to kiss him.

Jules turns his head away and pushed ineffectually at the shepherd’s arms and chest. “Nooooooo!”

Aidan laughed; not just a muffled giggle this time. “Ye want me tae go an’ wash mah mouth out?”

Jules nodded enthusiastically, watching as Aidan slipped out of bed and padded over to the bathroom, chuckling. He could hear the tap run and relaxed into the sheets beneath him again, a faint sweat cooling on his skin as his breathing slowed.

He slid in under Aidan’s arm when the other man joined him back in the bed; head resting on his chest and curled around his solid warmth. It was so relaxing, listening to the sound of his slowly beating heart, not having a care in the world. All the stress Jules was used to carrying seemed to have washed away, and he couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else in that moment. Maybe I just won’t go back to London. That sounds like a completely logical and reasonable decision, he thought, Surely nobody would fault me for it.

“Fer some reason I didnae think ye’d be the cuddly sort,” said Aidan, interrupting his state of peaceful bliss.

Jules lifted his head at an awkward angle to raise an eyebrow in disbelief. “Pfft, wherever did you get that idea? You’ll be lucky if you get enough air.”

“Heh, well, Ah’m a bit o’ a cuddler myself.”

“Ah, okay. So we’re never getting up again, then, are we?”

“Suits me just fine.”

The conversation lulled into comfortable silence again, and Jules sank back into that perfect, lazy state of afterglow. Stroking up and down Aidan’s side, he let his fingers idly explore the planes of the other man’s body,  tracing the rise of muscles and the soft valleys between them. After a moment, he could feel calloused fingers trace down his spine in turn, and then—

“AH HA haha ha, noooo! Stop it!” he screeched as the touch along the back of his ribs became unbearable. “Ha! Aidan, staaaahhhp!” In a futile effort, he tried to push out from under the arm wrapped around him, not even paying attention to what was happening anymore. But Aidan had stopped, and was looking at him with wide eyes. Understanding dawned in them.

“Ohhh, are ye ticklish?” he asked, mischief in his tone.

“Pfft, how could you tell?”

“Apart frae the way yer jumpin’ around pure howlin’?” 

“Wow, must you?” he spat out, heart still racing. The smile Aidan wore did funny things to Jules’ insides, though whether it was the warmth of it or the threat of more tickling was impossible to untangle. “Do that again and I swear I’ll make you regret it!”

“Aye, is tha’ right?”

“Ugh!”

“Ah’m just mucking about, c’mere,” said Aidan, holding his arms open, wide and inviting. “I’m no’ gonnae torment ye.”

Jules narrowed his eyes at the other man but saw no trace of guile in his expression. Slowly, with suspicion, he returned to the position they’d been in earlier. True to his word, Aidan’s hand stayed cradled around his shoulder. It didn’t even twitch with a pretense of moving down to more sensitive spots.

“Better?”

“Hmph! It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Well tha’ willnae do! Ah’d been hoping ye’d be more than just fine after tha’. Ah’ll be needing tae find a way tae make it up to ye.”

“Hmmmm, well, you can start by going back to where we left off before your fingers decided to go diving for treasure in the crevices of my chest cavity.”

Jules could both hear and feel Aidan’s low, lazy chuckle. The other man nosed into his hair and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. It was almost ticklish, but not quite. Jules began to relax again, resuming his slow, exploratory ventures over Aidan’s body. He let his hand wander lower, playing along the curves of hip and ass, being rewarded with a happy noise that rumbled beneath his ear. He reached as far as he could, fingers ruffling through soft hair along the firm lines of Aidan’s thighs. Those delectable thighs; strong and thickly muscled from years spent trekking up and down the hills, with a layer of cushion making them soft and warm and utterly touchable.

Stroking back up along them, it became obvious that it wasn’t just Aidan’s thighs that were nice and firm. In this, as in any other task, Jules took it upon himself to be thorough and to stroke every part he could reach.

“Insatiable, aren’t ye?” Aidan said, his breath warm in Jules’ hair and voice full of amusement. A soft moan escaped him and he wrapped his arm tighter around Jules.

“Oh, I suspect I could be satiated, but you’ll have to put in some more effort to find out,” Jules teased in turn, tipping his head up to ensnare Aidan’s lips. They kissed slow and deep again. He matched the motions of his hand to the pace, feeling the shepherd continue to respond to his touch. He couldn’t really tell how much time had passed while lost to sensation and growing hard against Aidan’s hip, grinding into it. It could have been minutes or hours, and he would have been perfectly content to continue like that a while longer; his initial, desperate lust having been eased already.

But the Scot apparently was not; rolling over him with sudden speed and intent, pinning him to the bed with more urgency. Their erections were pressed side by side again, trapped between them in the most enticing way. It made Jules roll his hips, getting a groan from above him.

As their kisses intensified, the way their bodies moved against each other again felt good just like before but as his arousal grew, Jules couldn’t help wanting more. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quite sure how to make things progress. For all his decisive action in rolling onto Jules and initiating even more touch, Aidan seemed to have stalled. He wasn’t making another move, wasn’t pushing further even though Jules thought he was being pretty obviously receptive to more.

Another memory surfaced from the previous night, jarring in how suddenly it appeared. “Umm… mmm, Aidan?” he started, tilting his face to free his lips for speaking. “I was wondering if what Sachairi said was true… are you a bottom?”

 Aidan scowled. The way his brows scrunched together was adorable. It made Jules want to kiss the spot where his forehead creased.

“Did he really say tha’?”

“Welllll… more like intoned it, but…”

“Ye shouldnae ever take anything Sachairi says half serious,” said the Scot, shaking his head with a rueful smile. “Uh, well, A- Ah’m no’ picky, if tha’s what ye were wondering about. Ah’d be fair thrilled tae do things however ye’d like. Uh, if tha’s something ye want tae, uh…”

“Okay,” Jules said, picking up where Aidan had let his sentence drop. The man was still mostly on top of him, propped up with his forearms on the mattress, so he figured it was time to make his intentions clear. He spread his legs wide and directed a smirk up at the face surrounded by a halo of tousled hair above him. “Well, would you like to?”

He could practically see the gears turning in Aidan’s head before it clicked. “Oh. Oh! Umm, yes, Ah’d like tha’,” he answered, but didn’t make any move to initiate things. “Uhh, I didnae mind tae bring… D’ye hae a condom?”

“Tsk tsk, so unprepared! Was I not clear enough about what I wanted you to come over for?”

Aidan blushed furiously. “I didnae think we’d… uh… get so far.”

“Oh ye of little faith!” scolded Jules as he reached back to open the drawer of the bedside table, fetching a condom and a small squeeze bottle of lube and tossing them down on the sheets. “Well, well, well, lucky for you I was not going to come to the backwaters of rural Scotland without some decent supplies!”

“O aye, an’ a good thing ye did. It’d be absolute tragic if ye had tae walk endless miles o’er tae the nearest chemist only tae find the standard selection,” Aidan retorted with a wink as he grabbed the little bottle and shifted down the bed some.

Jules bit his tongue as much because of the way Aidan was looking at him—sultry but unable to hide his sheer excitement—as how the man might stop looking at him that way if he continued to disparage the quaint hamlet of a town he’d found himself in. Probably best not to insult someone who is about to be poking around one’s most sensitive areas…

Aidan took his time, seeming to study Jules’ reactions as he teased gently around his hole for a while, never quite sinking inside him. Jules was simultaneously ecstatic that they were finally getting down to it and horribly impatient. Soft, coy touches walked the border between thrilling and almost-but-not-quite ticklish. But he just chewed on his lip and watched; Aidan traced his free hand over thighs and hips, scarcely grazing Jules’ brazen erection, which lay against his stomach, twitching. He seemed almost awestruck, drinking him up with his eyes. Jules knew he looked good like this—lying stretched out on the bed, one arm behind his head. He pointed his toes slightly, tensing his calve muscles and letting out a soft noise of pleasure as another barely there caress stroked along his length. After finally dipping a fingertip inside and making Jules whine for more, Aidan slid up beside him. He let his slick palm caress Jules’ cock with more pressure on the way. Jules gasped and bucked up into the touch. Then they were kissing again and he almost forgot what he’d wanted, so distracted by the feeling of plush lips up against his own. At least until he heard the click of the lube cap again.

“Pleaaase,” he moaned into Aidan’s mouth. The charge between their bodies as the other man stretched an arm down between his legs again was like static electricity, jumping and snapping. Jules expected more gentle teasing, but was pleasantly surprised by the renewed purpose in Aidan’s actions. Sparks of pleasure overwhelmed the slight discomfort of fingers questing in, spreading him open, making him want even more. “Oh, please- mmmm… I want you in me now!” he said, desperate for more, deeper.

Aidan got the condom on and slicked himself up quickly, climbing between Jules’ legs again. He leaned over him, breath hot in his ear as Jules felt the pressure against his entrance. “I couldnae deny anythin’ tae one as bonnie as ye,” he said, starting to push in slowly.

Jules whimpered in pleasure. But the motion paused before the first thrust in was even complete.

“Is tha’ okay? Ah’m no’ hurting ye?” asked Aidan. His worried eyes caught Jules’ as he opened them again in impatience, wanting to know what the hold up was.

“No, no! That was a good noise! Keep going!”

“Aye.” Relief clear on his features, Aidan resumed pressing into Jules, his own eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he rocked his hips gently to sink further inside. He opened them again and closed the small distance remaining between their faces as their bodies met, as close as they could get. Placing a soft kiss on Jules’ parted lips, he brought a hand up to stroke through platinum blond locks.

Jules sucked Aidan’s lower lip between his own even as he tipped his head sideways into the touch. He wrapped his arms around the Scot’s shoulders, trying to pull him even closer. It almost felt like Aidan was going to pull away for a split second afterward, but he was just pulling out a little. He thrust back in, slow and controlled, letting Jules hold him close as he repeated the motion. “Nnnnhh, yessss,” moaned Jules, mouthing along the side of the other man’s neck and bringing his legs up to wrap around his hips as they continued to rock. The new angle was even more intense despite the pace remaining slow and gentle. “Ohhh fuuuck yessss!”

“Ahhh, Jules, ye feel… incredible,” huffed Aidan between thrusts which sank deep and thudded against Jules’ ass.

Any sassy answer Jules might have thought of was driven from his head by the overpowering sensation of Aidan moving inside him. All he could do was gasp and clutch at the other man’s back as he began to drive into him faster, rhythm faultless. After a while he slowed again and shifted to part their chests, which peeled apart with the slight stickiness of shared sweat. Jules looked up at his flushed cheeks and the rings of blue around dark pupils, eyes full of desire. It was quite a sight, and he hummed with pleasure as the other man shifted back to more of a kneeling position. Aidan started to move again, hands holding Jules’ hips. Once he’d found his rhythm, he lifted one hand and wrapped it around Jules’ cock, stroking in time with the motion of his body.

“Unh! Unnnnn… mmmm… Aidan, don’t, ah! Don’t stop!”

“I, haa… I wouldnae, mmh, dream o’ it.”

They stayed in that position for a few minutes, the pleasure running over every nerve in Jules’ body growing ever stronger as the sure motions of Aidan’s wrist and hips, his firm grip and solid thickness drove him closer and closer to completion.

“Ohhh! Pleaaasseee, just a little… nnnnnnhhhh… harder!”

Aidan obliged; grasp getting marginally tighter, hips slamming home with each thrust. Jules’ mind went blank as his jaw dropped open, coming wordlessly followed by a sated groan. He could feel Aidan’s hand stroke him through it, lifting away before it became too much. Looking up, he could see the other man breathing heavily with exertion that had returned to its previous fast but gentler level. He wasn’t quite there yet, but Jules could tell he’d soon be too sensitive for much more.

Ughhhh, whyyy, I just want to feel him when he comes. Is that so much to ask?

Aidan leaned over him, forearms held steady on either side of his shoulders. He scattered kisses along Jules’ neck, jaw, and temples with each inward motion. “Is… nnnh… dae ye want, ahh, me tae… stop?”

“Mmm, I want you to come in me,” Jules drawled, using one of his floppy, boneless arms to grasp Aidan’s wrist—the one connected to a hand covered with the results of his own orgasm—and guide it to the man’s mouth. He stared up into big, blue eyes that swam with lust and watched as the man's tongue flicked out to clean the mess he’d made.

His clever plan worked a charm; he felt Aidan’s hips begin to stutter, breaking the rhythm of his thrusts as the man let out an extended half-yell, half-groan. After a few more erratic thrusts he collapsed over top of Jules, thoughtfully continuing to brace part of his weight as he sort of kissed him—more lips brushing each other between panting breaths than proper kisses. Which Jules was perfectly fine with, considering what he’d just put in his mouth for the second time that day.

“Well, well, if Alec’s at the desk, there’s no way he didn’t hear that.”

Aidan tensed, looking aghast before burying his face into Jules’ shoulder. “Dinnae say tha’!” he complained, but he couldn’t possibly be very serious, as a string of giggles followed. Jules gasped as their still-connected bodies shook. “Ach, sorry,” said Aidan, obviously recovering some of his senses and slowly pulling out—both of them gasping at that—before flopping onto the mattress beside him. He carefully pulled the spent condom off, tying it and wrapping it up in a tissue.

Their gazes met and remained locked while they calmed, breathing slowing. As they lay in silent contentment in bed together again, Jules began to feel a little melancholy. He rolled his neck to stare at the ceiling and let out a sigh without thinking. He knew he’d done something stupid the second it ended. He could feel Aidan shift beside him.

“Everything awright?”

“It’s just… I’m leaving for London again the day after tomorrow,” he answered glumly after a moment. He risked a glance at the other man. Aidan’s face had gone a little tight around the eyes, the soft laziness in his expression vanishing as Jules watched. He tried to salvage the mood. “I don’t suppose you’re free again tomorrow?”

It was Aidan’s turn to sigh as he shook his head, confirming Jules’ pessimistic expectation. “There’s a lot tae be done on the farm, what with getting the lambs ready fer anuther vet visit. They’ll be heading out tae hill pasture, ere long,” he answered in explanation. “Ah’ll need tae be there all day ‘cause Sachairi’s gaeing fer a few job interviews. Seasonal service positions with nearby tourist attractions, ye ken?”

“So inconsiderate! He couldn’t have waited until I was gone?” The other man laughed at that, and Jules wanted so very badly to hear that sound some more before returning home. An idea struck him. “Well, perhaps I could come and see what you get up to during a typical day on the farm?”

Aidan looked at him with disbelief, blinking his eyes rapidly in confusion. “Ye’d really want tae visit a sheep farm? I thought ye didnae want tae encounter any more sheep fer the rest o’ yer trip?”

“Well I wouldn’t just wander onto any old farm for the fun of it,” Jules scoffed, “It would be more like an… educational visit. To get a better understanding of you…r profession…” The smile Aidan gave him sent chills down his spine in both good and bad ways with equal measure. What am I doing? Jules wondered to himself. I must be completely mad. This is a terrible idea.

“Aye, I think we can arrange a visit fer ye. How ‘bout the afternoon?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” he answered, leaning in to plant a kiss on the man’s smiling lips and drape himself over his side. He left some space between them, still a little warm from their earlier activities, just letting his leg nestle in between two strong thighs, his head resting slightly apart on the pillows. “You can show me the ins and outs of sheep farming.”

Aidan shot him a flat look. “Was that anuther sheep fuckin’ joke? I thought ye’d run out.”

“You know, it wasn’t supposed to be,” he said, pondering his accidental choice of words, “But I suppose I’m just that clever.”

“Aye tha’” Aidan murmured as he shifted closer to kiss a line along Jules’ neck. His hands stroked along Jules’ body reclining against him. “Speaking o’ professions, Ah’d hae guessed ye dae underwear modelling, no’ banking, just frae looking at ye.”

That made Jules absolutely chortle. It took him a few moments to catch his breath again before he could reply. “Ha, I’m too scrawny for that! My ex was the one with the underwear-modeling physique, and I do not envy the amount of time he had to spend in the gym for it.”

“Yer ex, huh?” Aidan gave him a funny, twisty smile.

Realizing what an ass he’d made of himself, Jules clapped one hand over his mouth before apologizing. “Oh my godddddd, what is wrong with me? Ugh, talking about my ex in bed with another man. I’m the worst. SO inappropriate,” he said before pulling one of the spare pillows over his face and hoping to disappear under it. “You should probably just leave me here to die of shame, now.”

But he didn’t feel the bed move.

“Jules.”

Slowly, he peeked out from under the pillow to see Aidan smiling down at him, amused. The other man just squeezed his shoulder with a smirk.

“Nae worries, Ah’m no’ a wilting flower.”

Jules hesitated for only a second before rolling back on top of him, running his hands over the shepherd’s strong arms. “No, you most certainly are not,” he said, voice low and sultry, before losing himself to soft lips and sweet giggles once more.

Chapter Text

Jules watched the only employee he’d been able to find in the local chemist disappear down one of the narrow aisles in the dimly lit shop. While waiting for her to come back, he took out his mobile and re-read the messages he’d exchanged with Aidan earlier that morning—not for the first time.

          Today 9:03 AM

                     Are we still on for later today?

          Today 9:17 AM

You ’re up bright and early! And yes, be sure to

wear something you can be put to work in ;)

                     Please, don ’t patronize me.

                     You were probably up with the sun. Ugh.

                     You ’re kidding me, right? What use do you think I’d

                     possibly be around the farm?

Hah! I bet you ’re tougher than you look ;)

Besides, I should have most of the dirtiest work out

of the way by this afternoon.

                     Oh good … I suppose it’s only fair that I trade a bit of

                     labour for your above-and-beyond services as a tour

                     guide. Five stars. Do you have a Yelp page?

Ha ha ha! Stop, or you ’ll have me howlin’ like a

madman out here alone with the sheep.

Yelp page … you’re at it, you are!

                     “Excellent knowledge of the local area, including off

                     the beaten path sights. He hits all the right spots. Also

                     a good shag. ”

Says you! I ’m lucky you’re not here to see me right

now. Pure beetroot out here.

                     Aww, come on, that ’s not fair! Save some of that

                     blushing for later!

          Today 9:36 AM

Lucky you, it ’s a renewable resource. Scotland’s

known for them, you ken?

Wind power … the pure radiating energy of my

embarrassment … 

                     Is that where East Braebaud gets its electric, then?

                     I ’m just doing my part to make sure the lights stay on

Aye, right. Will you be ready by half past noon? I ’ll

come and pick you up so you don ’t get lost on the

backroads again.

                     Hey! I ’m sure I could manage. But fine, if you insist…

                    12:30 is fine. See you then!

Wouldn ’t want a repeat of our first meeting. The

plan for today ’s to get you *not* to hate the sheep :D

                     Ha! Good luck with that

I look forward to the challenge :)

Til later!

He found himself having to consciously hold back a smile while he read; the corners of his mouth tilting upwards of their own volition as he scrolled though the column of recent messages. Ugh, I’m disgustingly smitten. What is it about this shepherd? Before he could uncover this fundamental mystery of the universe, however, the chemist or shop assistant or whatever she was had returned.

“Now this might dae ye. It’s a favourite o’ many customers,” she said, handing a tub of hair product to Jules for him to inspect. There was no recognizable brand name on it and the packaging felt cheap. He twisted open the cap to look inside, and there was no safety seal. Eww! Is this the sample container? Someone could just stick their fingers right in it!

“Hmmm, will it stand up to the gale force winds in the hills around here?” was what he said in place of his first thought.

“Well, noooo… It’s no’ gonnae work miracles.”

“And you don’t carry anything like this,” he asked, showing her an image he had searched of one of his favourites which he had neglected to pack.

“Nooooo.”

She sounds like she’d fit right in with those highland cattle from the other day. Mooooo! Jules couldn’t help thinking to himself. “Hmph. And you don’t have any mousse with an extra strong hold formulation?”

“Ahh, noooooo…”

Ugh. Country savages. Aidan may have joked yesterday, but honestly, how does anyone manage out here like this?

Having escaped from his fruitless time at the pharmacy, Jules returned to The Equinox where he made do with the products he had packed in the first place, adding a little extra and hoping it wasn’t as blustery in the afternoon. Then he had to handle the trying ordeal of an early lunch down in the pub, where Marcus made small talk with him while obviously wanting to say something else. He never worked up to it, though. Honestly, what a prude, thought Jules. If he wants to call me out on disturbing the peace around here he should just do it. Whatever!

Following the awkward lunch, he retreated to his room to wait. It wasn’t long before Aidan texted to let him know he’d arrived and was coming to meet him. Jules practically bounded down the stairs when he heard the front door to the bed and breakfast swing open.

“Whit like, Alec?” asked the man standing in the doorway. Jules could see an almost threatening glint in his eye as the two stared at each other a moment, not saying anything while he descended, before Aidan turned to beam up at him, adding, “And how’s yerself t’day, Jules?”

“Oh, you know, dreading having to trek out to a muddy farm and spend the day surrounded by what is obviously the most evil species of livestock,” he responded, flippant. 

“Are ye, aye? I can tell frae the way ye nearly tripped down the stairs in excitement.”

“Pfft! I was hoping I might fall and have the excuse of an injury to get out of what was clearly a mistake to have agreed to in the first place.”

“Oh, is tha’ it?” Aidan asked, tone still playful but a flicker of doubt crossing his face, “I could hae sworn it was yer idea tae visit.”

Damnit, I’m being an arse already, Jules checked himself, but not before spitting one last retort. “Tch! That doesn’t sound like me… but fine! When do we leave?”

“Soon as ye’ve put on some footwear a wee bit more suited tae where we’re heading,” said Aidan, holding out the familiar pair of his father’s old boots which he’d loaned Jules to go on that fateful hillwalking excursion earlier in the week. “Yer trainers’d be sae mocket afore e’en reaching the lambs, they’d be unsalvageable.”

“I thought you promised that the dirty work would be finished by the time I arrived,” sniffed Jules as he put on the boots. He thankfully noted they were once again dry, unlike when he last pulled them off his unhappy, clammy feet.

“The fields are awful clarty after the rain this mornin’,” said Aidan, fighting a giggle, “Besides, it’s still farming. It’s all dirty work. I promised ye the worst o’ it’d be out of the way.”

“Oh, wonderful…”

“Final chance tae back out,” Aidan winked at him.

“Nuh uh. Nope. I might as well see it all while I’m here! It’s back to civilization again tomorrow afternoon. I’m sure I can survive one more harrowing encounter with nasty ungulates so long as you’re there to protect me,” he responded, clutching at the other man’s bicep playfully. He could see Alec roll his eyes, or at least the visible one, but the silent proprietor of the B&B gave them both a knowing look as they left.

“And Alec, that’ll dae,” said Aidan as he turned to close the door behind them.

Oooh, drama! I wonder what that was all about? Jules thought as they descended the steps and walked over to the car park where their chariot—the old truck which had seen better days—awaited them. A gust of wind blew the thoughts right out of his head and his hair into his eyes. “Ughhhh! Whyyyy?”

“I hope yer prepared fer a day full o’ tha’.” said Aidan. “It’s been nippy all mornin’ with a breeze tae match.”

Jules ran his fingers through his hair to try and push it back into place as he responded. “I’d be more prepared if the local chemist had carried anything remotely useful, but apparently ‘extra strong hold’ is still an unheard of concept out here.”

“Hah! Maybe ye would’ve asked Sachairi what he uses, if ye’d thought o’ it.”

Jules opened his mouth to object based on his immediate revulsion at the idea of asking Sachairi for advice on literally anything, but paused as he remembered the other man’s hair. Styled to within an inch of its life, he realized. “Hmph! The one time he could have been useful and he has the audacity to be off on job interviews. Rude!” Aidan held open the passenger side door for him when they reached the vehicle. As he climbed onto the old-fashioned bench seat, Jules noticed that the back was loaded up with crates of swede. He puzzled over the sheer quantity of the root vegetables for a second before returning to the topic of his rant. “Really, though, what does anyone do about their hair here?”

“Let it blow in the wind… like hair?” replied Aidan, a little distracted as he turned the key in the ignition and pulled onto the road.

“The worst! No, scratch that, the woman helping me was the worst. Ugh! She tried to pawn some horrid ‘natural’ pomade off on me,” complained Jules, “It smelled worse than a sheep that’s been out in the rain, and the consistency was simply dreadful.”

Aidan kept his eyes on the road but he laughed. The sound bouncing around the cabin of the old truck made a cheery counternote to the grumbling of the engine as they drove.

“I’m sorry but I want my product as full of volumizers, and shine enhancers, and whatever other chemical magic they can whip up as possible. This all-natural crap just will not cut it. Unlike some people in this truck, not all of us can make the gorgeously-windswept look work,” he added, looking to the side to gauge whether his compliment had had the intended effect. True to form, the shepherd’s already-rosy cheeks turned a few shades pinker. Jules couldn’t see below the neckline of the other man’s frumpy sweater—which had made a reappearance underneath a weather-resistant jacket, much to Jules’ disappointment, which was only partly tempered by the reappearance of his kilt—but he would be willing to bet that the blush travelled all the way down his neck to his chest.

Such thoughts—and occasional buzzing vibrations of incoming messages from Aidan’s mobile where it sat in a shallow depression in the dash, face down and untouched—kept Jules distracted for most of the short ride, at least until they left the route he knew and turned onto the winding back roads. He supposed he couldn’t hold too much of a grudge against the loanings, which all had quaint names that sounded like those of families who must have had land along them, or were perhaps based on natural features nearby. After all, they were the cause of his fortuitous first meeting with the Scot.

And they had some very entertaining sights along them. “Ha ha ha ha ha! Oh my goddddd, was that sign for real?” he asked, pointing wildly out the window as they passed what looked like a hand-painted wooden placard that had been nailed to a post by the side of the road:

CAUTION

THICK LAMBS ON ROAD

“Aye, ye ken better than most, Ah’d think,” said Aidan, having barely turned his head to look. He likely didn’t need to, knowing these routes like the back of his hand. “The lambs dae block the roads often enough, being herded frae one field tae anuther.”

“Oh yes, I do recall just how badly they hold up traffic,” Jules replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. Though really, they should also be warning about the Thicc Shepherds On Road. Much more distracting for drivers, surely.

Down one of the smaller dirt roads which broke off from a tiny loaning Jules was certain he’d driven along while lost on his way to East Braebaud the previous week, they finally arrived at their destination. He knew it was the right place before Aidan had even stopped the truck and hopped out, leaving it idling. It was the sight of a black and white blur hurtling across the muddy fields, just greening, which tipped him off. Well, that and the faint barking which grew louder as it approached. Jules also hopped out, though he remained close to the vehicle in case he needed to make a tactical retreat from the energetic dog which was now jumping all over Aidan.

Tiberius did run up to him as well, but thankfully wasn’t quite as enthusiastic and quickly returned to her owner, trying to lick his face again. Jules tried not to be jealous of the dog, because that did seem like an awfully tempting activity for the afternoon.

“Yer an absolute terror, Tibby!” he laughed out loud, the sound carrying clearly over the open space surrounding them. Then, with a whistle and signal, he sent her bolting away in another direction.

“Where’s she off to?”

“Same place we’re gaein’, hop back in!”

Jules did as told. “As nice as she is, I’m glad Tibby isn’t riding in the truck with us,” he said, holding back a shudder at the thought of muddy paws over everything, himself included.

“O aye! Tha’d no’ be helpful, and we’d hae been spending half the afternoon trying tae get her in, anyway,” replied Aidan as he shifted into gear again.

“Really? She seems awfully well trained, even if she is a bit… excitable.”

“Ach, but border collies are clever as anythin’ and love tae play games. Try getting one intae a vehicle an’ they’ll avoid it and yerself fer ages, making ye chase them around. Afore ye can e’en get ‘round the thing after ‘em, they’re up in one o’ the seats. And then out yer door on the other side ere ye can get in yerself.”

“Hah! I guess I can see her doing something like that, yes.”

“Oh, mah old dog Leagsaidh loved tha’ game. E’en old an’ grey, she’d always gie us the runaround.” A faint smile lingered on Aidan’s lips after he spoke.

They drove a short distance down a well-worn path through the fields, coming to a halt in front of a metal gate where Tiberius was waiting with barely contained excitement. Aidan got out to open it and the dog rushed in, nearly banging against the metal bars. They drove through and stopped again, presumably to close the gate. Jules looked out over the field ahead where clusters of sheep were milling about, some already being herded vaguely in one direction by Tiberius

“Awright, now tae put ye to work!” said Aidan, cheerily, gesturing for Jules to exit the truck while he wandered around the back of it.

“Oh the horror!”

“Dinnae fash, ye’ll be daein’ an easy job.” Aidan wasn’t looking at Jules while he spoke. He had let the tailgate down and climbed into the truck bed, where he was now shifting crates around.

Jules stared at his bare calves and the backs of his knees, pretty much at eye level. He wasn’t quite high enough to give Jules an up-kilt view, though. Where is that damn wind when it would actually be welcome?

“Um, not to ask a stupid question, but what exactly are we doing with eighteen Tesco’s-worth of swede?” The line got a chuckle out of the other man and Jules felt rather pleased with himself. I can even make complete ignorance charming, if I want to. 

“We’re feedin’ them tae the ewes,” answered Aidan, “Neeps are just the right sort o’ extra nutrition they need while nursing the lambs. We supplement their diets ere the best forage grows in, later in the season.”

“So, we just… take a handful? Toss them to the sheep?”

“Nae, tha’d take all day, and I was hoping tae show ye a wee bit more o’ things around the farm.”

I would not argue with seeing more of things. Especially if they aren’t sheep. Extra especially if they involve secluded places to see more of him. He counts as part of the farm, right?

Aidan continued speaking while Jules struggled to pay attention. “Ye’ll be here in the back o’ the truck, shaking the neeps out o’ the crates as we gae ‘round the field. We want tae spread them out, let the sheep come across ‘em as they graze.”

“You seriously want me to sit… or stand, or something… in the back of a moving vehicle? Without falling over? And ensure the even distribution of food for the sheep?”

“Would ye rather drive?”

“No,” Jules said, unequivocal about it, “Standard? Absolutely not. I have no plans to stall your truck in the middle of a muddy field, thank you very much. I’m from London, remember? I barely drive at all. Who needs to when you’ve got the Tube?”

“Then in the bed ye get,” said Aidan with a smile, “Shake tha’ crate!”

Jules almost got excited at the mention of a bed, then realised that the other man meant the truck bed. No fair! He shouldn’t tease me like that.

“You know it’s awfully crass to tell someone to shake their crate,” he said with a sniff. “Besides, this ‘bed’ does not seem nearly comfortable enough to fuck in, even if it were empty.” Aidan spluttered a bit, no coherent response forthcoming. Jules rescued him from the spot he’d put him on. “Really, though, I’m going to be sitting here? With no seat belt?”

“Hah, dae ye see one? We won’t e’en be gaein’ ten miles an hour, Jules. Ye’ll be fine, I promise. Ah’ll warn ye if we’re gonnae hit a bump,” said the shepherd with a wink.

“Tch! That’s not as reassuring as you think it is,” responded Jules. “Though the fact that you think I’d be strong enough to manhandle these crates of root vegetables is flattering, if a bit optimistic.”

Aidan frowned slightly at that. “Oh! Uh, well, try it right now? Best make sure afore we get started.”

Surprising even himself, Jules successfully tilted one of the crates at an angle suitable for letting the produce topple out. A few of the hard, swollen roots fell onto the tailgate and rolled off onto the sparse grass by the other man’s feet. Whether I can do it while the truck is moving, though, we shall see. The smile Aidan aimed up at him provided enough of a false sense of security that he was willing to give it a go. What’s the worst that can happen? I break an arm thanks to the monstrous load of swedes in this truck and fall into a pile of sheep droppings? Ughhh, why did I have to think about that?

“Fine. Sure. Let’s do it,” he said, instead of giving voice to any of his probably—hopefully—unfounded concerns.

“Aye, let's!”

Well, off to a promising start, Jules thought after remaining upright when Aidan got the truck moving again. He tried to replicate the angle he’d been holding the crate at and managed that, too. They slowly made their way across the field, did a wide turn, and went back in the direction they’d come from, swedes bouncing out the back at a steady enough pace to spread them across the still-greening grass. Much to Jules’ relief, the sheep did not scent root vegetables like sharks to blood and swarm the truck. Clusters of them would go over to investigate the roughly-treated offerings, and others would trail behind them until one of the not-quite-round tubers caught their fancy, dropping away one by one.

The lambs didn’t seem overly interested in what was happening, continuing to frolic in various groups across the pasture. It was surprisingly… relaxing. Jules could hear Aidan humming something to himself over the steady putt-putt of the truck’s engine, and the sound of contented baa-ing both near and further off.  Along with some obviously less contented baa-ing when Tiberius would run off to round up a few sheep back into their clusters. She would leave them soon enough to chase after the truck again, weaving back and forth behind it then running alongside it, then switching to the other side. Letting out the occasional happy bark as she did so. When she would get close to the back of the vehicle in order to cross sides, it did slightly terrify him, though. He would haul back on the crate to prevent the escape of any bowling ball-like projectiles each time.

“Shoo! Shoo, you dumb dog! Ughhh! If you get hit by one of these, that could be the end of your herding career!”

“Hah! She’ll be just fine, Jules, dinnae fash,” called Aidan out the open window.

“Well excuse me for not wanting to accidentally maim your beloved dog!”

“She’s a working dog, she ken wha’ she’s daein’.”

“Fine! But if she gets conked on the head by a massive swede, I’m not taking the blame!”

Aidan laughed in response, even more musical-sounding than his humming had been. “Ye should see when she tries tae herd the lawnmower! A few neeps are nothin’ tae her.”

Remarkably, they made it through the first field without incident—either on Jules or Tiberius’ end. When Aidan stopped at the gate on the far side, Jules even jumped down from the bed of the truck to open it. “Could you be any more overbearing?” he asked Tiberius as she jumped all around him, muddy paws getting dangerously close to his jacket. To add to his misery, the metal bars of the gate were entirely coated in a layer of weathered rust. He gingerly took hold of one of the smoother spots and pushed it open wide as he walked out. “Oh my god, if I get tetanus from this I’m blaming you.”

“Ye havenae had yer vaccine fer it?” asked Aidan through the truck window, forearm resting on the door.

“What? No. I don’t know!” said Jules, exasperated. “Why would I have had a tetanus shot? Who encounters excessive amounts of rusty metal as a daily hazard?”

“Heh, plenty o’ folk. Maybe no’ sae many in London…”

“Definitely not in investment banking.” 

Aidan just chuckled some more at that, driving past him, then calling back, “Dae ye want me tae shut it again?”

“Pffft! Of course not. I can do it!”

“Awright… an’ then ye can open the next one!”

Having latched the first gate firmly in place again, Jules turned to look at where Aidan’s arm was pointing to out the window. A short distance away was a similar entrance to another one of the large pastures. He jogged to catch up to the truck, which was almost there already, even ambling along at its slow pace with Tiberius running back and forth beside it. As he came around the side of the old vehicle where it waited, he noticed that Aidan’s head was tilted downward; staring at his mobile screen with a blush spreading over his cheeks again.

Hmmph, Jules couldn’t help his immediate reaction, but schooled his face into a more flirty expression before speaking. “Oooh, goodness me! Who could you possibly be texting that is making you blush like a schoolgirl?” He watched with satisfaction as the other man nearly dropped the phone he’d been in the middle of tapping at to text someone. “If he’s cute, you should invite him over to join us.”

The faint pink immediately deepened to an all-consuming red as Aidan began trying to stammer out a response. “Nae! I- it’s naebody! Ah’m no’ texting a crush or a- anythin’! ‘Sides, tha’d be awful forward…”

Jules gasped in feigned offense, enjoying every second of his teasing as he added: “Aidan! I never would have thought you to be one to suggest such a thing! I simply meant we could use some more muscle; you may have plenty, but I’m barely pulling my weight here. Surely living around here—” he gestured at the rolling hills surrounding them, “You must know plenty of other hardy types. If they also like to don a kilt, all the better!”

“I- It’s just Alec!”

“Oh, well never mind then. He’s even stringier-looking than I am,” Jules said with a shrug, wandering away from the truck towards the next gate. Before lifting the latch he surveilled the field for a moment, determined to size up his enemies before facing them. Sheep dotted the space in pairs or small groups, with the smaller lambs gamboling around their mothers when they weren’t trying to nurse. Even to his woefully—or rather, thankfully—untrained eyes, Jules could tell that this group of sheep must be a different type from those in the previous field. He could see more variation in the colours of their wool, rather than a mostly unbroken sea of off-white harbouring the occasional inky black variant. Here there were tawny ones, and taupe browns intermixed with a closer to equal split of black or greyish sheep and creamier ones. Regardless, none of them seemed to have shown more than a momentary interest in them as they approached the gate, so he felt safe opening it for Aidan to drive through. Closing the gate and hopping back into the relative safety of the truck bed, Jules prepared to repeat his vegetable delivery efforts.

After completing a third enclosed pasture, all of the crates were finally empty. Aidan turned off the truck and began rummaging in the back of the cab while Jules carefully got down from his perch, feeling a little wobbly-limbed after the exertions he was not in any way used to. “No wonder you have such nice shoulders,” he said, rubbing at one of his own as he watched the other man’s tense with surprise at the compliment. “Mine are already sore and I haven’t been working all morning, too!”

“Well, now tha’s done, all the hard work is finished fer the day! Ye did a smashin’ job with the neeps. Good on ye! Now ta introduce ye tae the flock.”

The dread which Jules had managed to ignore thus far made a reappearance, creeping up his spine. “Oh, I see. We sate them with their favourite snack beforehand so as not to become targets ourselves.” Aidan giggled, but somehow it wasn’t the balm Jules expected.

“C’mon! I promise ye’ll no’ be getting attacked by anythin’.”

“You’ll protect me, won’t you?”

“Aye.” The other man couldn’t contain the amused smile which spread across his face, rounding his cheeks even more and scrunching up the corners of his eyes a bit. He clearly wanted to say more, but held off.

“Well, fine then. I suppose I could be convinced to put myself in grave danger so long as you’re using your sheep-whisperer powers to keep the fearsome beasts at bay.” He took the excuse to walk closer and link arms with Aidan, as much for the enjoyment of doing so as the sense of safety it provided. Which he greatly appreciated once they started actually drawing near the clusters of sheep in the field. Leaning into the Scot’s side, he could also feel the buzz of another text coming in from where his mobile had been stashed in his jacket pocket.

“Are you going to check that?”

“Nah, Alec can wait.”

“What if it isn’t him? What if it’s something important?” asked Jules. All he got in response was a shrug. A not even remotely concerned shrug. “You know, you really are strange. Beyond the whole raising sheep for a living thing, even. I don’t understand you at all.”

“Whit, eh? Just ‘cause Ah’m no’ glued tae the screen?”

“Yes! God, it gives me anxiety just thinking about it. Knowing you have a notification but not what about or who from? The worst.”

“Heh, well, Ah guess we’re just different tha’ way. Ah’m figurin’ it’s better no’ tae be obsessively checking it all the time.”

“Completely alien. It’s like you’re a different species.”

“Ah’ve better things tae watch,” said Aidan, waving a hand vaguely out at his herd.

“Sigh… and here I thought I was pretty good looking,” said Jules, holding his free hand up to his forehead in imitation of a stereotypical distressed damsel. He continued in spite of the way the other man’s eyes rolled upwards as he shook his head. “But I guess I just can’t compete with other white-haired creatures when they get that kind of natural volume. Woe is me!”

Tiberius was still rounding up lambs and herding small groups of sheep together, which was what Jules decided to focus on. It was easier to smile at the dog’s complete and utter joy than the nasty ungulates they’d begun to walk amongst.

“Ach! Tibby, stop terrorizing the poor things!” Aidan’s statement was followed up by a whistle and a command. The sheep dog left off what she was doing and returned to sit in front of the shepherd. Another command and she began following their relaxed meandering, still panting. Her head continued moving from side to side, taking in the movements of the other animals.

Unfortunately that left Jules with nothing else to look at without risking a crick in his neck. His hand had been forced. Time to stop being such a wuss and look the enemy straight in the eyes. The unnatural, rectangular, crime-against-all-that-is-good-and-decent eyes. “Why are sheep eyes so creepy?”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb! You know exactly what I’m talking about,” said Jules, exasperated already. “Their sideways pupils. Like little black monoliths, turned on their sides. Horrifying. Just horrifying.”

“Oh! Well tha’s fair interesting, actually. Sheep are prey animals, ye ken? They evolved pupils like tha’ because it helps ‘em spot predators. Something ‘bout the way it increases field o’ vision along a horizontal surface.”

“Huh. I guess that is kind of interesting. Fine! You win! They’re not completely irredeemable.”

Aidan beamed at him. “But tha’s no’ all! Their pupils rotate as they tilt their heads, tae keep ‘em parallel tae the ground. Take a swatch o’ Higgins o’er there,” he said, excited and pointing towards a sleek-looking ewe not far from them who had happened upon one of the swedes they’d distributed earlier. “Maintaining optimal sight o’ potential predators at all times.”

“Oh god, why did you point that out?” asked Jules, watching the sheep tilt her head to the side to gnaw on the large root vegetable from a different angle. Her pupils maintained their orientation relative to the ground, appearing to spin in her head. “It’s like those paintings whose eyes look like they’re always following you around the room or something. Extra creepy! Euuughhh!”

“Hah! I hadnae e’er thought o’ it tha’ way ere now.”

Baaaaaaaaaa!

Jules nearly jumped out of his borrowed boots at the interjection by a different sheep who had approached them from the side. She apparently wanted to add her opinion on the matter. Not that anyone asked for it, he thought, giving the sheep his bravest side eye.

“Ah, g’day tae ye as well, Orlova!” Aidan leaned over to pat the large sheep with both hands. The animal didn’t stand for it long, and with a final soulless stare at them, she ambled over to try and steal a few bites of the swede that the ewe he’d referred to as Higgins was still working on.

“Do you name all of them?” asked Jules, genuinely curious.

“Nae, too many tae name ‘em all. Mostly use tag numbers fer identification, especially fer records and vet appointments,” said Aidan as they wandered a little further, passing some more sheep. “But a fair few get names o’er the years they’re with us. Ones with a bit o’ personality, or ones tha’ end up getting intae trouble.” Jules couldn’t help but enjoy watching the other man interacting with his flock. The amount of care he had for them was obvious in his gentleness and the affectionate manner with which he patted them or responded to their bleating. He just looked so happy and at home on the farm.

A question wormed its way into Jules’ mind and before he could stop himself he was asking it. “Does naming them make it harder to, you know, send them to slaughter or whatever?”

After a short pause for thought, the shepherd responded. “Well, fer a start, most o’ our flock dinnae get sent tae slaughter; hill farming operations tend tae make much o’ their profit frae selling stock tae other sheep farmers. Quality tup lambs are always in demand.”

“Tup lambs?”

“Oh, right! Sorry. Males fer breedin’.”

“You were right, this is a very educational experience. I’m learning all sorts of new things.” Jules didn’t say the last bit of what he was thinking, That will never have any relevance to my life back in London.

“An’ then we also sell the fleeces. Wool production’s anuther big part o’ the revenue fer the year.”

“Now you’re speaking my language!”

Aidan laughed before slipping back into a more serious, matter of fact tone. “O’ course, some wethers and older ewes no longer able tae lamb dae get eaten. It’s part o’ the agricultural life. Ye raise yer livestock, work with the land, and take some portion tae feed yerself and yer family. Humans hae been farming sheep on the hills like this fer centuries. Or millenia, if ye look across the globe, I suppose.”

“Do you ever feel like keeping some of them like pets?”

“O aye! Some o’ the beasties ye end up attached tae, an’ they dae become like family pets. See old Ludmila there? In the shade by tha’ tree?” He pointed as he spoke, and Jules saw a scraggly old ewe who looked like she’d had half the wool on her head clipped. “Her ma died giein’ birth tae her back when I was still a teenager, but old enough tae be taking on an equal share o’ the lambing work. She was born in the middle o’ the night, during mah shift. Ah’d been pure terrified, I didnae kent what tae do with her. Woke mah da, an’ he took wee Ludmila intae the house with us. Put her in the oven, o’ all places! If ye keep the door open an’ set it tae warmin’ ye can pretty much incubate a newborn lamb.” He shook his head as he finished reliving the memory. They’d reached the tree where the sheep in question stood and the Scot knelt down to put his arms around the old but sturdy-looking animal. She nuzzled against his shoulder and licked at the side of his face, nipping at the curls around his ears.

“So you kept her?”

“Aye, I couldnae bear tae let her be sold. She was the first lamb Ah’d raised an’ bottle-fed all by myself. The old girl’s gonnae live out her life here on the farm.”

“That’s… actually quite sweet.” Jules felt the sentiment of what he was saying, without even a hint of contrariness or sarcasm.

“Well, she’s a sweet sheep, and gave us many a good lamb in her prime. She does pick favourites, though,” he added, a smile cracking across his face. “She fell in love with Sachairi when he started daein’ work on the farm fer us. She’ll follow him ‘round the fields an’ chase the others away sometimes, if she thinks they’re getting too close tae her boy.”

“Ha! Ah ha ha! Seriously?”

“Cross mah heart. It’s quite the sight.”

“Did she mistake his hairdo for the unkempt fluff of a new lamb?” The joke got another laugh out of Aidan but he did not confirm or deny anything. “Now I almost wish he was here, just so I could witness this,” Jules said before laughing some more at the image of the surly, dark-haired man being followed through the pasture by an old crone of a sheep as if she were an overprotective puppy dog. “Ludmila, though… that’s an interesting choice of name. Where did it come from?”

“Oh! Ah’d been reading a lot o’ Russian novels at the time.”

“Ah, going through your sophisticated emo phase, were you?”

“Hah! What can I say? Downtime can be plentiful during parts o’ lambing season. When they aren’t popping out left, right, and centre, it’s a fair bit o’ waiting in the barn with all the mums tae be. So Ludmila it was,” answered Aidan, smiling at the memory. But after a moment he seemed distracted. “Uh, Jules…”

“Hmm? What is it?”

“I dinnae want tae alarm ye, but... there’s a sheep behind ye.”

Jules couldn’t remember the last time he’d moved so fast. His strange hop-step-and-turn motion was quick enough to make his head spin. Ugh, Madame Brodeur would be so disappointed by that complete lack of spotting. Maybe I should go back to ballet one of these days. My pirouette form has probably deteriorated even more than my spotting alone, judging from how dizzy I am already, he thought, but set aside old hobbies to focus on present indignation. “God! Blasted sheep! They’re unnaturally stealthy. It’s disturbing, really,” he said. “No animal that large and clumsy-looking should be capable of sneaking up on innocent, unsuspecting people. It’s awfully dubious.”

“If ye were used tae being hunted, would ye be making a constant racket?”

“But they’re not being hunted! What is out here to chase them, other than Tibby? It’s completely unreasonable, is what it is.” That got a laugh from Aidan, and Jules calmed a little more as his desire to preen under the other man’s attention took over. “Really, though, why do they only baa when they’re in the perfect position to give you a heart attack? Would it kill them to give a bit of warning?” He finished with a disgruntled noise, but his admittedly overblown complaints found no sympathy with the shepherd, who continued to giggle. “Tch! Big help you were! I though you were supposed to be protecting me.”

“Ah, ha… Jules, Ah’m sorry, but Braxi there is just daein’ the same fer Ludmila.”

“Protecting her? From what? From me?” he could hear the disbelief in his own voice as he asked, and could feel it stretch his brow up towards his hairline.

“Aye, well yer new tae him. An’ a wee bit… excitable…”

“Pfft! I never!”

“Dinnae take it tae heart, Braxi’s like this with e’eryone. Always making certain the others are daein’ awright,” said Aidan as he patted the sheep on the head and made presumably comforting noises to it. “Ma says he’s just got too much protective instinct in ‘im, acting like a tough ram e’en as a wether. I think he’s more like a nurse or caregiver, personally. Ah’m always able tae tell which sheep aren’t faring so well, ‘cause he’ll be spending all his time with them.”

“Huh. Well that’s useful at the very least. Still unsettling, though!”

“See, now he ken we aren’t gonnae be any harm to old Ludmila, he’s back tae his current charge,” replied the Scot, pointing to the sheep’s destination as it trotted away from them.

Do sheep trot? Or is that just horses? wondered Jules as he watched the sheep approach an ewe who had a small lamb sticking close to her legs. When Aidan started to move towards the group, Jules followed him only a moment of hesitation later. Who’s following someone around like a puppy dog now? Ugh, I’m an embarrassment sometimes.

“Ah’ve been keeping one eye on this lamb since Braxi started spending most of his time with it, or at least watching over it frae where’er he is in the field,” Aidan said, kneeling by the small, fluffy creature in question. “Cannae be sure there’s anythin’ the matter, but the vet’s due fer anuther visit soon tae gie all the lambs their shots ere the flocks get turned out intae the hills fer the season. Ah’ll ask them tae take a close look at things, maybe run a few tests.” Jules watched him stroke the lamb, who butted its head into his hand repeatedly. It almost reminded him of a cat. 

“This is so disgustingly adorable I might puke.”

“Well, we cannae hae tha’, now can we? How about ye focus on something else. Want tae try petting him?”

“Hmm, I don’t know about that.”

“It’ll be just fine, Jules. Ah’ll keep hold o’ him. He’s fair gentle; he’ll no’ charge ye or anything.”

He watched the lamb warily for a moment before responding, “Ughhhh, fine! I’ll pet the stupid sheep.” It seemed docile enough in Aidan’s arms, at any rate. Crouching in front of the other man, Jules almost got distracted with thoughts of kissing him instead. At least until he noticed the lamb’s mother staring directly at him with murder in her eyes. He snatched his extended hand back before he could make contact. “Are you absolutely certain she’s not going to go berserk on me?”

Aidan’s head swiveled to follow Jules’ gaze, meeting the dead-eyed, oblong one of the ewe. “Nah, she’s just watching o’er her bairn. Nothing tae be worried about.”

Keeping one eye on the lamb’s mother, Jules reached out to pet the lamb again, this time allowing his fingers to make contact with soft fleece. The little thing opened its mouth and let out the tiniest little bleat he’d heard yet from any of the sheep. He snatched his hand back and directed his full attention back to its mother.

“That means he liked ye petting him,” said Aidan in an encouraging voice. “It’s fine, ye can dae it again.”

Reaching out again almost immediately, Jules surprised himself with how much he wanted to. It is very soft. Almost like a nice sweater. Or a nice scarf, he thought, feeling the blue and grey one wrapped around his neck more acutely. The lamb’s mother continued to stare at him from a few feet away as she chewed mouthfuls of early spring grass, mouth moving side to side so he could see the greenish, pulverized mass between her many—too many—horrifying, grinding teeth. Rude. Didn’t her mother teach her to chew with her mouth shut? She’s setting a terrible example for her son. Really, what did I expect from country savages, though… especially ovine savages. A little further off, the sheep Aidan had called Braxi was also standing guard, watching him without even the decency to pretend to be grazing.

“Does he have a name?”

“Haven’t come up with one fitting fer him yet,” replied Aidan, letting go of the lamb’s sides. It went running back to its mother, then up to Jules again, then back to its mother, then back to them.

“It doesn’t look sick. You sure Braxi isn’t just randomly overprotective? Maybe he has a complex.”

“Ha! Well, we’ll see how things gae fer the lamb,” said Aidan, adding after a beat: “Dae ye want the honour o’ giein’ him a name?”

“You aren’t afraid I’m going to want to call him ‘Antichrist’? Or ‘Hellspawn’? Or ‘Woolly Terror’?”

“After he let ye gie him pats? He was bein’ so well behaved!”

“Clearly just trying to lull me into a false sense of security. Waiting for me to let my guard down so his mother can strike.” While Aidan laughed, Jules watched the little lamb cavort around them. Disgustingly enthusiastic, really. No sense of shame whatsoever. Kind of reminds me of… oh, that would be too perfect! The thought that had struck him wouldn’t let go. The longer he looked at the ridiculous creature the more he decided it couldn’t be named anything else. With that overly-friendly attempt to suck up to everyone it met. The random obsessive behaviour from older men. And rather more of a fluffy mess of wool on the top of its head than most of the others he’d seen, completely unstyled and poofing out funny. “Fiiiiinnnne. So long as you’re restricting my creativity, I suppose ‘Ethan’ will have to do.”

“Well tha’s a cute name fer a wee tup!” said Aidan with a smile, clearly relieved that he wouldn’t have to tell his mum that one of the lambs now had some horrible name. “Why Ethan? Just like the sound ‘o it?”

Now it was Jules’ turn to laugh. “Ha! No, definitely not that. His hair just reminds me of someone I know from work.”

“Oh aye! I mind ye talking about him tha’ day we were playing board games.”

“Right, yes. Huh, I forgot I mentioned him,” said Jules, feeling uncertain for a moment now that he realized he’d given the game away. But all it took was one look down at the sweet, stupid little lamb for him to double down on his decision. “It’s just that he’s a dead ringer for Ethan back during our uni days. Or would be if you gave him some tacky, hi-liter yellow-green streaks in the front. Thankfully after graduating he realized he needed to lose the bad dye job and look a bit closer to professional.” Jules appraised the lamb a moment longer before adding, “Not that he’s quite managed that feat yet. He really needs to see a better hair stylist and get a respectable cut, first.”

“Well, Ah’m sure anyone’d be chuffed tae find they’d haed a lamb named after ‘em,” Aidan said, nodding as he held his hands out to the very same creature and urged it to come closer again. “Awright, time fer a photie!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

“Wha? Surely ye want one fer yer Instagram. Ye cannae visit a sheep farm in Scotland and no’ hae a photie with a lamb! A wee adorable lamb? Tha’ll be certain tae bring in the hits e’en better than the scenery!”

“Damn you for knowing exactly what to say to convince me to commit this foolhardy act,” complained Jules as the other man got him to kneel down and put his arms around sheep-Ethan. Sheepthan! Hah!

“Perfect. Dinnae move a muscle!” said Aidan, stepping back and getting out his mobile.

“This is so much more hashtag authentic than some selfie in front of a loch or a castle or something like every other Londoner who takes the train up for a bank holiday weekend.”

“Jules, ye could at least try tae look like yer enjoying yerself,” chided Aidan as he lined up the shot.

Attempting to follow instructions, Jules smiled a practiced smile with his head tilted at just the right angle to make the most of his sharp features and minimize his forehead. He could feel the tension in his body, though, even if his face didn’t betray it. The way Aidan had positioned him put his back to Sheepthan’s mother. That’s it, this is when I’ll finally be attacked. Unable to see my assailant, unable to defend myself. Maybe charged from both sides if Sheepthan turns on me. What if he was just acting as bait the entire time? Oh god, where is Braxi? I lost track of him.

“Aww, this is a belting photie, Jules! Let me just send it tae ye.”

“Is it over?” he asked, letting go of the lamb who gamboled back to its mother as he stood up. Huh, how did that all go so smoothly? he wondered, but didn’t ask. “Let me see it!” he said instead, making a beeline for the shepherd in what was certainly a much more graceful motion than the baby sheep had managed. Looking over Aidan’s shoulder at the screen, he saw a rather well-framed shot of himself and Sheepthan, with other cotton balls of concentrated evil dotting the landscape behind them.

And a notification popping up at the top of the screen, obstructing part of the image.

Message - Today 2:44 PM

Alec: R u scaring the sheep yet?

Another buzz before the picture finished uploading so Aidan could send it to him. Jules saw the start of a string of emojis before the Scot could turn the screen off. A sheep, a puff of air… the rest was a blur of purple, orange, and blue as the other man whipped the device around.

“Awww, no fair!” whined Jules, even as he felt the buzz of the incoming photo message on his own mobile. “Should I be jealous that you’re constantly texting your best friend’s husband while we’re hanging out?”

”Ah’m no’ texting him, he’s texting me!” Aidan started trying to explain—blush back in full force—when yet another tell-tale vibration came from his jacket pocket. And another.

“Ohhhh myyyy… have you two been flirting like this all day?” Jules could barely contain his laughter as he listened to Aidan swear up and down that he hadn’t.

“Alec’s just bein’ a wee cunt!”

“Oooh, this sounds juicy! Come on, you can show me!”

Aidan sighed before saying, “Well, it isnae like ye aren’t partly at fault fer the ribbing Ah’m getting.” Once he had fished out his mobile again and actually tapped the latest notification, Jules got to see the rest of the emojis, which were pretty much what he’d expected. One bulbous purple vegetable next to a plump peach and a spray of water droplets. Following that were two more texts.

          Today 2:49 PM

Better keep quieter than yesterday

Or your ma will hear from across the farm

But the thing that drew Jules’ eye was the single message near the top of the screen that had been sent earlier by Aidan. It was in uncharacteristic all-caps which simply read:

          Today 1:26 PM

                     FUCK OFF

“Woooowwww, I never would have figured you for such a drama queen, Aidan!” he said, watching the other man literally facepalm as he shoved his mobile back in the pocket of his jacket.

“Ach, how about ye try petting mama, now. She’s jealous o’ all the attention her lamb’s been getting!” responded the shepherd, obviously trying to steer the conversation back to where it had been before Alec had derailed their quality time with the sheep.

“She doesn’t look jealous. She looks pissed.” Jules watched the ewe, who remained where she’d been the entire time, still chewing and staring him down.

“Nah, Ah’d be able tae tell if she were pissed,” said Aidan, sounding a bit confused but still entertained. “She’s braw right now. Picture o’ contentment.”

“Fine, but if I lose a hand, I’m blaming you and your apparent blindness to the emotional state of your animals,” retorted Jules, reaching out slow and steady to pat the ewe’s side, far enough back that it might be out of biting range. “Ewwww, that is way less soft than her lamb! Gross. Does she not bathe or something?”

Aidan laughed his musical laugh again, high and bright in the open air. “Tha’d be the lanolin build up in the wool. Keeps her fleece waterproof fer all tha’ dreary weather out on the hills.”

“Eughhh, it’s much less pleasant to touch than it looks.”

“O aye, plenty o’ folk are shocked tae find tha’ a sheep isnae quite so soft and cloud-like as they expect ‘em tae be.” The shepherd gave the ewe a firm pat on the shoulder as he continued. “The lambs are softer ‘cause they havenae had a chance tae build up tha’ protective conditioning yet. They need more shelter frae the elements fer the first little while. It’s why we keep ‘em close tae home an’ the barns. Otherwise ye’d be haein’ tae put ‘em all in wee raincoats, and tha’s just a lot o’ work.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Little raincoats for lambs? Who comes up with this stuff?” Jules asked as they began wandering aimlessly again.

“Someone with more time than sense, Ah’d say.”

“On that we can agree. Ugh, it sounds almost as bad as those people who walk their dogs around the park in a pram.”

“Dae ye actually see tha’ down in London?” asked Aidan, incredulous.

“Ha! Oh, that and worse. You think I’m bad? You should see some of the people who live in my mum and dad’s neighbourhood,” said Jules, a sarcastic bite to his words. His joke didn’t get the response he expected; the other man’s expression softened and the corners of his mouth twitched like they weren’t certain of what expression to make.

“I dinnae think yer bad at all.”

“Hmmph, you’re just saying that because you want to get in my pants again,” Jules said, giving a pout he knew was appealing, “Admit it, you think I’m a snobbish, insufferable city lad! It’s completely true, after all.”

“Well, no’ tha’ bad!” replied Aidan with a smile so teasing that Jules just wanted to kiss it off his face. So he did. And then kissed him again for good measure. He was tempted to go in for a third, but Aidan spoke instead.

“Just look ‘round the fields. Ye did tha’, Jules, spreading all them neeps. Tha’s a good fair amount o’ work, tha’ is. Gaun yersel’!”

He gave a sniff in response. “Well you better not be getting any more ideas about putting me to work. I’m quite finished with physical labour for the day, thank you,” he said, leaning into his next step so his shoulder bumped one of the much broader ones beside him. “Unless it’s work we can do with fewer clothes on. Preferably horizontally. Maybe involving rolling around in the hay? That’s a thing you do on farms, right?”

“O- oh! Uhhh… yes, I s’pose it might well be…”

“Aidan, don’t tell me you’ve never had a roll in the literal hay!” Jules affected his shock as much as possible. “You’re shattering all my sexy farmhand fantasies right now!”

“Um, well… truthfully I cannae say tha’ it, uh, havenae happened afore…” said Aidan, a little cagey and not meeting his eyes.

“Ah ha! I knew it!”

“I- in the straw, though! No’ the hay!” the bewildered Scot attempted to correct him. “Hay’s fer feeding the sheep, straw’s fer bedding!”

“Pfft, whatever! Dried grass is dried grass.” A look of consternation passed over the shepherd’s face at Jules’ assertion, but he seemed to let it go. It was replaced by a red flush at his follow-up statement, though. “But you could always try and teach me the difference in a hands-on lesson. Up close and personal with it. So I can really feel it on my skin.”

“Ah… uh, we might, but, ummmm… maybe a wee bit later?”

“Ugh, fine! I guess I’ll just have to content myself with enjoying this brilliant view and a snog for now,” said Jules before planting another kiss right on his mouth, capturing a surprised gasp from the other man’s parted lips. Pulling back after a moment of savouring what he could, Jules made good on his word and admired the view right in front of him. Freckles like tarnished gold and hair shining in the mid-afternoon light, eyes reflecting the sky above and looking even more vibrantly blue for it. And the scenery isn’t bad, either.

Aidan swallowed audibly but soon got them back on track, turning to continue walking while casting shy glances over at Jules. Ughhhh how is he so cute? It’s not fair; nobody should be this adorable. Jules took the opportunity to grab the Scot’s hand, getting an extra lingering glance for his trouble. Their arms swayed in tandem as they traversed more of the muddy ground. He had to grant that it was a much better way to spend his final full day in the countryside than he’d expected. Decent weather—apart from the blasted wind, which had barely let up—and rolling hills coming alive with the signs of spring finally making its way north. Sheep grazing at an almost-comfortable distance away from them in this part of the pasture, their babies leaping and chasing each other about.

“Are the lambs always so energetic? They seem very jumpy.”

“Aye, they dae be looking pure adorable pronkin’ all o’er the garden, dinnae they? Bonnie wee things at this age.”

“Did you seriously just use the same word to describe those little monsters as you used to describe me yesterday?” asked Jules, aghast. “Tch, I’ve never been compared to livestock before. That’s a new one.”

Aidan looked taken aback for a moment. “Whit, eh? Bonnie? Tha’… tha’s completely different.”

“You know, you’re really not helping your case for convincing me you aren’t a sheepfucker,” Jules said, deadpan, raising his eyebrows and giving Aidan the most devastating judgmental look he could muster. All he got in response was flustered spluttering and attempts to figure out how to rebut the charge. “Whatever! What did you call what they’re doing? ‘Pronking’? Even I’ll admit that’s pretty cute sounding.”

“Cute, eh?” Aidan’s tone had gone back to playful, which was concerning to Jules. “See? We’ll hae ye sheep fuckin’ in nae time!”

“AIDAN!”

An absolute chortle drowned out his complaint, and Jules couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed for much longer than the laughter lasted. The Scot had got him fair and square there; he was too quick-witted for his own good. Not that I’ve ever been turned off by a competent adversary in the art of verbal sparring. Before Jules could continue down that line of thought, he became aware of a strange sensation along the back of his trouser leg. A sensation like a little mouth trying to nip at the material.

“Ach! Jules, what are ye screaming bloody murder fer?” asked Aidan, hands held up to his ears and a pained expression on his face.

Jules realized he had jumped a few feet away, whirling around to face the unseen threat. Which turned out to be none other than the lamb he’d held earlier. Standing there looking at them with its tongue stuck out. A number of the other sheep in the field were dashing away from them, but this one silly lamb was just planted on the spot. “Sheepthan! Ugh, I knew it! You were just putting on an act. Biding your time. Waiting until my back was turned so you could try and devour me!”

“Ha ha ha… gosh! Jules… ah ha ha ha! Sheepthan?” Aidan’s expression had gone from pained to laughing-so-hard-it-was-causing-pain. “Ah’m howlin’ o’er here. He’s— ha ha ha ha, he’s no’ gonnae eat ye! He’s just, ha! Just following us ‘round the field!”

Jules could feel embarrassment bubble up inside himself, his own cheeks burning for once. Maybe I did overreact slightly, but who could blame me?

“Well excuuuuse me! You aren’t the one who was just attacked by a vicious wild animal.”

Aidan just laughed harder, nearly doubling over in mirth.

“Look! His tongue is still out! He was clearly trying to taste my young, tender flesh!”

“Hah, ha ha… young an’ tender as it may be, tha’s no’ what he’s daein’. Ha! It’s just like a cat or something. He’s… ach, how dae they put it on the internet… he’s got a blep? He’s making a blep?”

Jules looked from the little sheep to the shepherd and back to the sheep, tongue still lolling a little ways out of its mouth. Now that he had calmed down somewhat, it did look more ridiculous than threatening.  “You’re sure that isn’t some kind of weird, reverse-psychology threat display or something?” More laughter followed, and almost made Jules want to join in. Almost.

“Nae, I promise, he’s just as safe as he was earlier when ye were petting him!”

Jules decided to take the shepherd at his word, and stepped closer again, watching for any sudden movements on the lamb’s part. Sheepthan just bounced in place a little, still watching the two men in front of him. Tongue still out and looking more hilarious by the minute. Jules couldn’t resist crouching down, ready to bolt at any second if needed, but mobile out and camera trained on the small creature. He snapped a few pictures. Oh, I cannot wait to show Ethan his little namesake. The resemblance is too striking! he thought. “Okay, you’ve had enough fun for one day. Shoo! Shoo!” he waved his hands in the direction of the lamb, but his efforts to send it off back to its mother were fruitless. It let out a little maaaaaa and managed to get its tongue back in the right place and look slightly more dignified. As much as was possible with that stupid hair, anyway. “Ugh, fine! Have it your way. Follow us to the gate for all I care. But no more biting!”

Sheepthan did end up following them most of the way to the end of the enclosed pasture. Until Tiberius realized they were heading for the exit and bounded over to join them, quickly getting distracted by the playful little lamb and making a game of herding it off again. Jules watched them, and wasn’t quite certain if it was really the dog herding the lamb or vice versa. Once they’d closed the gate behind them again, an errant bit of fluff some ways off from the entrance to the next field caught Jules’ eye. On the wrong side of the low stone wall that divided the pastures.

“Uhhh, Aidan, is that one of your sheep? Off in the bushes?” It wasn’t white and fluffy; more of a rich chocolate brown that resembled a shag carpet, and if it hadn’t been moving he might not have seen it at all.

“Aw, fuck sake! Yeah, she is,” responded Aidan, already walking towards the escaped animal. “Must hae made a break fer it after hearing yer screechin’!”

“Rude!”

Jules’ offense fell on deaf ears, though, as he watched the other man complete his transformation to professional shepherd again, whistling and giving a command to Tiberius, who ran wide around the ewe. She tossed her tawny head and began to run away from the dog—and straight towards Aidan—until she realized her mistake. Veering away from them both, the sheep let out a distressed bleating noise and had to turn again to avoid Tiberius, who was moving with single-minded purpose. Jules found it strange but compelling to see the silly, energetic dog so serious. All the intensity in her channeled into one task instead of flung out into the world at random. It wasn’t long before man and dog, working in tandem, had cornered the wayward ewe, who did not appear to be in any mood to comply. One more rush and a nip at its heels from Tiberius was all it took to drive the escape artist into Aidan’s waiting arms. He wrapped them firmly around the woolly beast and immediately switched modes, stroking the sheep and talking softly to it. Then, to Jules’ great surprise, kneeling down and hoisting the animal over both shoulders, trapping its feet against his chest as he stood. Ooh! Even more compelling!

“Hush now, s’all gaeing ta be fine,” Aidan continued talking to the baa-ing creature on his shoulder as he carried it back towards the fenced-in area of pasture. “Would ye get the gate, Jules?”

Roused from his shameless ogling at the impressive feat of strength and animal handling, Jules dashed over to make himself at least somewhat useful. Once all of them were in the field—Tiberius included, following her master closely but no longer barking—he swung it shut and latched it again. If only me from a week ago could see this. Willingly trapping myself with dozens of the monsters. Ugh, what is wrong with me? Is getting laid really worth this kind of risk?

“Thank ye fer the assistance,” said Aidan as he crouched to deposit his burden, who quickly ran off to rejoin the nearest group of other sheep. He paused to survey the perimeter of the field, “Ah ha! Tha’d be the issue.” Jules looked to where he was pointing and saw a section of the stone wall which stretched this portion of the pasture in desperate need of repair; many of its component pieces dislodged and scattered around the ground nearby. “Curse Sachairi fer no’ finishing the job, an’ curse me double fer no’ checking it,” muttered the Scot as he trudged over and began to stack the rough stone bricks up in the hole. “Ah’d told him this was needin’ done afore we moved the flock. He must hae been awful preoccupied with interview preparation.”

Or drinking. Or flirting with everything that moves. Or fighting with Marcus, thought Jules uncharitably, but instead said: “Lucky only the one had figured it out yet, then.”

“Aye, well tha’ one’s a particular trouble-maker. So much so tha’ now Ah’m wishing Ah’d named her after Sachairi,” said Aidan with a chuckle as he finished stacking the stones. “No’ her first attempt tae break out.”

“What is she called?”

“Muireall—”

“Ha!”

“—after mah Auntie.”

Well shit. Now I ’ve really stepped in it.

“Oh? Really? How interesting. Why did you name her after your Aunt?”

Aidan looked almost a bit embarrassed when he responded, “’Cause she dae look an awful lot like her.” Jules managed to stifle his giggles into an almost acceptable noise of acknowledgment, which Aidan seemed to accept. “Though, all in all, it’s no’ a terrible name fer her. She’s just as headstrong, at any rate.”

“Uh, not to derail this fascinating conversation, but are those going to be good enough to prevent her from trying to get out again?” asked Jules, pointing at the section of stone wall, haphazardly put back together to create a barrier again.

“Oh aye, Ah’ll come back tae fix it properly later, but fer now this will maybe deter any more escape att—”

It was the buzz of the Aidan’s mobile receiving a message which interrupted him this time, and Jules was glad to not be the only bad-mannered participant in the conversation. As he pulled it out of his pocket, Jules leaned a little closer to peek at the screen. Which stayed on the lock screen while Aidan stared at him, a little awkward.

“Yes, I know, I’m the worst about this. You’ll just have to get used to it!” Another buzz and the screen lit up anew. Aidan sighed and unlocked it, tapping on the notification.

          Today 3:32 PM

Given old Missus Anderson a heart attack yet?

If none of ur neighbours r whinging in the pub later

it ’ll be disappointing.

As Aidan frowned and began typing out a reply, another emoji string popped up below the previous two messages. It was a Saltire followed by an ear of corn, a Union Jack, an explosion, and a popcorn tub. Getting awfully surreal at this point, Alec, thought Jules. He wasn’t quite sure what the co-proprietor of The Equinox meant by the corn-splosion but was certain it was intended to be filthy, to match the tone of the messages he’d apparently been sending Aidan since they’d left the B&B earlier. Or maybe all morning, given the tension between the two men when Aidan had come to pick him up.

          Today 3:34 PM

                     Oh get tae fuck, Alec.

“To the point. I like it,” Jules approved of the choice of response. Aidan merely shook his head, pale curls dancing around his brow, then blown back in his face by a sudden, strong gust of wind. A shiver ran up Jules’ spine.

“Ah’m needing a cup o’ tea,” said Aidan. “How dae tha’ sound tae ye?”

“Mmmm, that sounds perfect right about now.”

“Smashin’!” exclaimed the Scot, walking at a faster clip than their earlier ambling now that they had a destination.

Jules matched his sure-footed stride over the muddy fields and back to the path they’d driven along. Heading back towards the farmhouse, he had more time to take in the scenery than before. A large garden patch, freshly tilled with some seedlings already sprouting, stood near a barn. It was presided over by a very strange guardian, indeed. Not the scarecrow Jules might have expected, but a pink lawn flamingo, colour somewhat faded from what must have been many years at its post. “Not often you see a flamingo in Scotland,” he said, wandering over to examine the bizarre sight more closely. A small ‘Mr. Flamingo’ logo was molded into the plastic by the base of the neck. He found the sight appropriately kitschy-quaint and simultaneously jarring. It was a bit out of place in a muddy field near the start of the Highlands.

“Oh, tha’? Tha’d be Dougall the Second. I was a wee bit obsessed with flamingos for a few years when I was just a wean. Saw them on the telly and was instantly taken with ‘em. So different frae the wildlife around ‘ere.”

“Dare I ask what happened to Dougall the First?”

“Ah. Well… uh, he met his end in a tragic accident,” replied Aidan, running a hand through his hair.

“Did one of the sheep mistake him for prey?”

“N- nah. Ah’m tae blame fer the grisly fate which befell him.”

“Oh? Do go on!”

“Umm, when Ah’d first been learning tae drive the quad… I didnae quite grasp reversing. It’s a wonder naebody else was hurt. Well, apart frae a few o’ the bean plants.”

Jules laughed as he began to walk again, the chill from the brisk wind setting in more motivating than standing around to have this conversation by the replacement flamingo. “Well, everyone has to have a bad early driving experience, right? I smashed my brother Benedict’s Mercedes into a post while trying to parallel park, once. Hadn’t quite developed muscle memory for the location of the brake pedal yet.”

“Ach, a Mercedes?! Jules, yer giein’ me secondhand anxiety just thinking about it.”

“Oh please, it’s not like Benny had bought it new or anything. It was a hand-me-down from father when he upgraded.”

“A hand-me-down Mercedes…”

The shepherd’s eyes boggled at the concept, and Jules considered the beat-up old truck Aidan had been driving. “Yeah, well the insufferable git drives a Rolls-Royce now. Not that he even has any reason to drive; his posh flat is so close to his office,” he continued, undeterred. Any chance to complain about his older brother was a good one, as far as he was concerned. “I don’t see why he even bothered, the Tube is so much more convenient. You wouldn’t catch me driving in London. It’s a nightmare!”

“Aye, I can only imagine.”

“Oh, have you never been?”

“Nae, Ah’ve visited afore. School trip. Lots o’ nice museums!”

“Ugh, organized vacations. And you weren’t even of drinking age yet? You really need to see it again, preferably with a local to show you all the best spots.”

“Is tha’ an invitation?” asked Aidan, his gaze flicking to Jules and away a few times, suddenly seeming shy. Or more shy than usual, anyway.

“Well, considering I forced you to drag me around half of the Trossachs, if you ever came south it’d be the least I could do to return the favour. And I wouldn’t even make you climb any mountains or dunk you in the Thames!”

Aidan laughed again. “Fer starters, ye’ve no’ seen e’en close tae half o’ the wonders tha’ the Trossachs are filled with. An’ second, ye’d better watch what yer offering, ‘cause Ah’ll maybe take ye up on tha’.”

“Well, good!” said Jules, sounding quite self-satisfied. As they approached the door of the cosy-looking farmhouse, he added, almost as an afterthought: “On one condition: you wear your kilt there.”

Chapter Text

Transfixed by the playful smile Aidan shot back at him as he opened the door, Jules’ reverie was rudely shattered by an unfamiliar voice from inside.

“Aidan! Is tha’ you, love? Did yer friend come with?”

Too late, Jules realised that going to visit Aidan’s farm meant more than just meeting sheep. It meant meeting his family, too. Somehow this was even more terrifying than cloven-hoofed devil ungulates. He tried to ignore the gravity of that revelation as he saw the short, stocky woman to whom the voice belonged. She bustled into the entryway and made a beeline for them. Jules tried his best not to look terrified. Her hair was mostly grey; a poofy, curly mass quite resembling a member of her flock, minus the streaks of pale red still running through it in places. He could see where Aidan got his tousled mop from. Tiberius shot past to greet her first with a happy bark, jumping up against her legs, tail wagging. She patted the dog, talking to her without being slowed much in her approach.

“Tibby, ye wild beastie! Who’s mah good girl? Good dug! There’s scran in the kitchen, in ye gae. Now, c’mere and gie yer ma a hug,” she said, capturing her son in solid arms and pulling him down as she did, being a good half-foot shorter.

Aidan hugged her back, though he put up a show of complaining, rubbing the back of his neck once he was free again.“Ach, Ma! It’s like ye didnae see me earlier this mornin’.”

His mother ignored this as she turned to Jules, arms outstretched. “An’ this must be yer new friend! Welcome tae the MacSween farm, dearie. D’ya gie fer hugs or are ye too posh fer tha’?” Without waiting for an answer she stepped closer and Jules found himself wrapped up in a brief but warm embrace. “Jules, was it? Nice tae meet ye, laddie.”

“A pleasure to meet you, as well, Mrs. MacSween.”

“Oh, none o’ tha’, now! It’s Siubhan. Come in, come in!” She gestured for them to go through the doorway on the right as she continued through one on the other end of the foyer. “I was just brewin’ a cuppa. Yous are gonnae be wanting some, Ah’m sure. Warm ye up efter bein’ out wi’ the sheep.”

“We could gae fer some tea an’ scran. Thanks, Ma,” answered Aidan as he finished undoing his boot laces and placing them on the mat by the door. Jules was following suit, struggling a little with the eyelets of the borrowed footwear.

“Are those yer da’s old boots, Aidan?” Siubhan asked as she disappeared beyond the doorway.

“Aye.”

“Looks like they fit Jules proper!” she called from what Jules assumed was the kitchen beyond, given the sounds of cupboards being opened and shut, dishware being taken down and clinking on the counter tops. “Nice tae see them getting a wee bit o’ use still.”

Setting the boots in question next to the ones Aidan had doffed, Jules found his jacket taken from him almost before he could remove it himself and hung over a nearby peg on the wall. Aidan pulled off his thick, knitted sweater and Jules tried not to stare too much at the other man’s strong shoulders moving beneath the thinner t-shirt revealed below as he followed him into a homey sitting room off the entryway. Various lamps gave off a warm glow, adding to the light coming through the large window that looked out over the front garden and pathway to the house. After tossing his sweater over a chair in the corner, Aidan plopped down on an old, soft-looking sofa; its deep brown fabric was worn in places, and embroidered covers hung over the armrests. He patted the cushion next to him, looking at Jules with a smile that had a touch of shyness to it again.

“It’s so nice and warm in here.” Jules said the most appreciative thing he could as he sat down, sinking into the old springs of the sofa as he took in the sheer volume of country chintz, and the clutter of a busy home that took up residence in every corner and on every surface of the room. Framed cross-stitch pieces, mismatched shades of wood and fabric furniture, once-colourful coasters that had faded from decades of use, knitting projects overflowing from baskets alongside hanks of yarn, and books stacked in piles on and off the old, sagging shelf in the corner. Every aspect of the room looked lived in; it had a certain type of cozy charm to it, he supposed.

“Did ye catch a chill?” As he asked, Aidan put an arm around Jules’ shoulders and pulled him even closer than the sofa had already, both of them sinking towards the centre of it.

Jules glanced sidelong at him, up through his eyelashes. “If I say yes, will you stay like this?”

“Yer incorrigible,” Aidan scoffed, but didn’t move until they heard a loud clatter from the direction Siubhan had gone. “Are ye needin’ some help there, Ma?” he asked, shifting towards the open doorway. Through it came Tiberius rather than his mother. She seemed calmer as she trotted over, circling once, twice, and flopping on the ground by their feet. “Good girl.” He patted her without even looking down, like it was second nature.

“Dinnae fash, Aidan! Ah’ve just knocked a cutting board o’er getting the serving tray, tha’s all.” Bustling noises continued from the kitchen, accompanied by cheerful humming and soon, the boiling of water and the start of a whistle. A melody followed as Siubhan’s footsteps crossed the room. “Spout, handle, lid of metal, what’s inside the singing kettle?”

“Yer in fer a treat t’day,” said Aidan, leaning back in towards Jules.

You’re a treat any day, thought Jules, Even if I have to face those nasty, woolly beasts to get it. “Oh, and what’s that?” he asked aloud, the only trace of his suggestive thoughts communicated in the way he looked Aidan up and down as he spoke.

“No’ like tha’!” Aidan said in a hushed whisper, cheeks taking on a pink hue. “Ma made tablet earlier.”

“Oh, like that stuff in the packet on my pillow at the inn?”

“Soooo much better than tha’! Until ye’ve tried it fresh and homemade, ye havenae experienced tablet.”

As if on cue, Siubhan bustled into the room carrying a tray filled with cups, saucers, spoons, milk pitchers, and a bowl of sugar. Crammed in the middle was a plate piled with little beige-brown squares—or rectangles, rather—which were rougher cut than the perfectly formed, pre-packaged one Jules had initially mistaken for a bar of soap. They were thick and dense, a little darker in the middle, and had crumbly bits hanging off their edges.

“Wow, those do look good!”

Siubhan beamed at him as she set the tray on the table in front of the sofa. “Please, help yersel’! The tablet set just in time. Ah’d been worrying it wouldnae be ready.” She passed him a plate and took one herself, waiting until he’d selected one of the sweets before snatching one up herself. “Aidan, be a dear an’ get the teapot.”

Jules nibbled at the edge of the tablet and felt it softly crumble, melting as soon as it hit the inside of his mouth with a burst of creamy sweetness. “Wow, that’s so much better than the one from the package,” he exclaimed after swallowing and immediately taking a larger bite. It had a moister, richer texture that was still a little grainy but not in a hard, pronounced way, and tasted more of fresh milk.

“I would hope sae! Ye dinnae stand o’er a boiling pot tae make somethin’ worse than Mrs. Tilly’s—no’ tha’ anything’s wrong with Mrs. Tilly’s—or somethin’ frae the sweets aisle at Tesco!” With a shake of her fluffy head of hair, Siubhan tasted her own piece. “O aye, this batch turned out fair braw.”

“Well Mrs. Tilly or whoever owns her brand name now would be put to shame if there were a competition, because you’d win hands down. This is delicious,” said Jules before taking another bite. “I bet it goes great with that tea,” he added as Aidan returned, carrying a pot with a quilted cover into the room and setting it next to the other tea paraphernalia.

“Aww, ta! Ah’m glad yer enjoying it, then. Be back in a tic, Ah’ll hae a more proper spread fer tea ready soon.”

“Ye sure I cannae help, Ma?”

“Nae! Absolutely no’! Spend time wi’ yer guest,” she scolded, pushing past her son to go back to the kitchen where the sounds of food preparation started up again.

Shaking his head, Aidan perched on the edge of the sofa and smiled at Jules. “What’d I tell ye?”

Jules made a show of closing his eyes and falling back into the cushions, which nearly swallowed him up. “Sorry, I’ll answer as soon as I stop having a religious experience and a sugar high all at once.”

Aidan giggled and reached for one of the cups from the tray. “Tea might help with tha’. Ye ne’er did tell me, how d’ye take yers?”  

“A little milk and sugar.” Jules watched as Aidan put sugar in one cup before pouring milk in the other two and tried to keep from making any noise. He’d suddenly had a revelation about why his tea had tasted a little off the day they’d played board games at The Equinox.

“Wha?”

“No, it’s nothing.” Jules took another bite of tablet to give his mouth something less suspect to do, but Aidan pinned him with a stare nonetheless.

One corner of his lips curved up, amusement written on his face. “If it’s nothing, how come ye look about tae burst?”

“I was just appreciating the fact that you put the sugar in my cup first, is all,” he huffed.

Aidan’s smirk grew and he threw a knowing glance back at Jules while pouring the tea. “As opposed tae the milk?”

Jules sighed dramatically. “Yes! Yes, okay. You’re a little milk in first, it’s fine.” He squirmed in his seat. “Really. Lots of people drink their tea like that, I’m sure.”

“It makes more sense tae put the milk in first, ye ken? So’s no’ tae scald it. It’s just simple physics; principles of thermodynamics, applied tae dairy products.”

Jules rolled his eyes. “It’s just not the way one drinks tea,” he said as he crossed his arms and looked at the ceiling. He couldn’t make eye contact anymore. Aidan was surely judging him for his snobbery. He heard a chuckle and the sound of the pot being put down with a gentle clack.

“Aye, well Ah’m no’ drinking frae a china service, either.”

“It’s just as well,” Jules said, stealing a glance at the other man as he stirred the milk into his cup following the tea. “Clinking the spoon like that would be utterly unacceptable, you heathen.”

Aidan laughed even harder as he picked up the solid, practical porcelain drinking vessel with what was no doubt a dishwasher-safe floral design scrolled around the edge. “Here ye are, yer majesty!” He gave the best attempt at a flourishing bow that he could while seated, presenting the cup to Jules.

“Well I can’t fault your service. Thank you.” He took a sip of the strong, astringent drink and settled further back into the cushions.

“The pleasure’s all mine.” With a wink Aidan picked up one of the other two cups and disappeared into the kitchen to deliver it to his mum, before being loudly shooed out again to rejoin Jules. “The rest o’ tea will be anuther few minutes, if ye’d like tae freshen up.”

“Oh, wonderful idea. I’m sure my hair’s an utter disaster after being out in the field all afternoon.”

“The WC’s up the stairs, second door to yer left once ye round the banister,” said Aidan with a smile before tousling Jules’ hair more.

“Ugh, who’s incorrigible now?” Jules left with his nose in the air, shooting an over-exaggerated annoyed glance back at the other man.

After making use of the facilities and smoothing his hair back into something resembling its normal style as much as possible, Jules loitered in the hallway. Once he’d determined that the bedroom doors were all closed and he wasn’t going to be able to steal a glance at what Aidan’s was like, he took the consolation prize of looking closer at the many photographs he’d first caught sight of as he’d ascended the old wooden stairs. They hung in mismatched frames of all shapes, sizes, and materials along the wall between the loo and what he assumed were bedroom and linen closet doors.

The photos featured Aidan at various ages doing all manner of outdoorsy, farm boy things, some of which Jules recognized—driving a tractor, shearing a sheep, painting a barn—and some of which he could only guess at, the context unfamiliar. There were also typical kid things that most people took photos of: a posed picture where Aidan’s arms were around a dog that looked similar to Tibby but had a slightly different colour pattern with brown in addition to the black, one standing with a football under his boot wearing a jersey, and one where he held a trophy at a competition of some kind. Given the livestock in the background, Jules assumed it was sheep-related rather than the more typical organized sports trophies the boys he’d grown up with tended to have in their bedrooms. In each of the photos where he was looking at the camera, Aidan smiled back with that big, bright, unmistakable grin under a halo of messy blond waves which varied in length from shorter curls to below his chin.

“Oh wow.” Jules whispered, stifling a laugh as he looked at what was clearly a teenage version of the shepherd. It was the most gangly version of him on display, too skinny for his frame after a growth spurt, even if he wasn’t built in a way that loaned itself to a truly lanky appearance. But the most striking thing was the mop of hair that had been grown out past the shoulders, tumbling in a tangled mess. This younger Aidan stood next to someone it took a moment to recognize, but Jules gawked just as hard once he had. It was Marcus from the inn, with both eyes intact and a similarly unkempt appearance with his hair grown out long and shaggy. The young version of him made Aidan look positively muscled and not at all awkwardly proportioned in comparison; Marcus looked to be about ninety percent skinny limbs and overly prominent Adam’s apple.

Gazing at the other photos, Jules caught sight of Marcus in two more, but spent a little more time looking at what he assumed were family photos. Aidan sitting on the same brown sofa downstairs, though a little less worn-looking, squished between four women with a family resemblance. One he recognized as Siubhan, those streaks of light red in her gray having been most of the hair on her head back when the photo was taken. It looked even more vibrant in the photo, a sheen of gold to it that made it more fiery and brought out the freckles on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. It suits her, Jules thought, appreciating the chance to see exactly where Aidan’s colouring had come from. There were also a number of photos of her, Aidan, and a man he could only assume to be Aidan’s father. Pale hair as well, and blue eyes to match Aidan’s, dressed in workwear or the ubiquitous giant wool sweaters that seemed to be on half the people in the photos. Jules wondered about his absence; whether he was out on the hills with another flock of sheep or why he hadn’t seen him. Aidan had only really mentioned his mum in conversation. Maybe they got divorced?

Footsteps on the stairs behind him interrupted his snooping as he turned to see the subject of so many of the photos ascending.

“Was wondering if ye’d gone an’ fallen in!”

“No, I was simply sidetracked by these delightful photos.”

“Did ye spy the best one, yet?” Aidan asked as he joined Jules in the hall. “Really shows off mah good side.”

An excited spark ran up Jules’ spine at the thought that there was a photo which properly captured the majesty that was the shepherd’s posterior. “No, I must have missed it. Show me!” Aidan pointed to the other side of the door, further down the hall. Jules wandered over with anticipation, but didn’t find what he was looking for at a glance.

“Tha’ one.”

Looking in the direction he was pointing, Jules saw a photo of a very young Aidan. A chubby-cheeked little boy sitting in the dirt, holding his hands out towards a lamb that was bouncing away into the background. His big blue eyes were overflowing with tears and his mouth was open in a wail long lost to time, showing off teeth that hadn’t all come in yet, gaps making the wide pit of disappointment almost funny. Jules snickered. “The fact that you think this is your best side concerns me.”

“Ach, c’mon! I was fuckin’ adorable as a wean.”

“I never said you weren’t,” Jules huffed. “Why were you crying? Did the awful, mean little lamb hurt you?”

“Hah! Nae, tha’ was apparently mah favourite one. We were inseparable. No’ tha’ I remember it, being so young. Story is, we were posing fer a photie, me hugging the lamb ere it went and bounded off. Bowled me o’er and I was greetin’ like there was nae tomorrow. Lost track of it in the sea o’ sheep. Pure inconsolable.”

“How you continued to love them so much after a betrayal like that, I cannot understand. Foul creatures.”

“I didnae take ye fer the lifelong grudge-holding type.” Aidan winked at him and Jules wanted to kiss his stupid adorable face. “Remind me no’ tae get on yer bad side.”

“AIDAN! JULES! TEA’S READY.” Siubhan’s loud call up the stairs short-circuited Jules’ instinct to grab her son and snog him silly.

“COMING MA!” Aidan called back down, surprisingly loud himself. “I guess we’d better head down ere she comes looking.”

“C’mon an’ gie us a hand, lads!” They followed the sound to the kitchen door, where they could see a profusion of food set out on platters amongst the general clutter of a well-used centre of the home. Meats and cheeses, delicious-looking bread, crudites, and scones and fruit had all been prepared. “Apologies fer the state o’ the kitchen,” said Aidan’s mum as she bustled around, grabbing plates out of overstuffed cabinets. “Whit a shambles!”

Jules looked around as she fussed; every surface was cluttered and the dish rack was stacked high, but the old wooden cabinets and window framed with faded gingham curtains were charming. Less charming was the the old lino floor, a hideous brown and beige with glitter inclusions, peeling at the corners. Is that meant to be faux stone? he wondered to himself. Who ever decided that glitter belonged in lino? This isn’t mid-century modern, or even disco chic, it’s a nightmare.

The distaste he felt over the flooring choices of generations past couldn’t deter his stomach rumbling at the sight of the food Siubhan loaded his arms with. “Everything looks delicious,” he remarked as him and Aidan were shooed out, carrying a platter each. They had to go back for a second trip as she followed with dishware and serving utensils.

Settling in around the low table again, Jules sipped at his tea which wasn’t totally cold yet. Then he followed Aidan’s lead and began loading up a plate of his own with solid, hearty fare.

“Good tae see ye eating somethin’, Jules,” said Siubhan. “Here, hae more tablet if ye like. I made plenty o’ it, with two young lads needing tae be fed efter working wi’ the flock.”

“I will definitely have another piece once I’ve eaten something less likely to give me a sugar crash.”

“Ah’m chuffed ye like it. Lad like you could prolly eat the whole plate an’ no’ gain a stone,” she conjectured while picking through the platters of food herself. “Ye’ve no’ got enough room in ye fer a rheumatic pain!”

Aidan must have caught the confusion on his face, because he leaned in next to Jules on the sofa and said under his breath. “She’s saying yer too skinny, so she’s gonnae feed ye.” Jules rolled his eyes.

“How come it’s always the bonnie wee lads fer ye, mah dearest son?”

Jules could barely contain his laughter watching Aidan’s face turn about five different shades of red as he opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and still failed to reply before his mother continued.

“Whit’s wrong with a strapping young man like Marcus, eh? Lad like tha’ would be fair handy ‘round the farm.”

“Ma! Dinnae insult mah guest right tae his face! Fuck sake!”

“Would you rather she insult me after I leave, instead?” Jules asked, putting on an offended tone he hadn’t decided if he actually felt. He was so entertained it seemed beside the point to be outraged. Aidan made a drawn out sound of displeasure, face in his hands.

“Ach, dinnae listen tae one whit o’ what Ah’m saying, Jules. Ah’m just prattling ahn.”

“Aye tha’!” Aidan’s distraught exclamation muffled.

“Mah e’er tolerant an’ wonderful son here tells me yer fair educated, Jules,” said Siubhan, clearly trying to placate him. “Ah’m sure ye dae well fer yerself back in London. Whit dae ye work in?”

“Investment banking. I work for one of the newer firms, relatively speaking, called Sleipnir Investments.”

“Oh, that sounds fair impressive. An’ whit did ye study in uni tae land a job like tha’?”

“Finance, naturally. London School of Economics.” Jules’ hope that name dropping his alma mater would impress Aidan’s mother was dashed against the implacable rock of her face, showing zero recognition.

It’s only the premier university to study that in, but sure, what does a sheep farmer care? His thoughts may have been uncharitable, but he remained pleasant nonetheless. “It runs in the family, too. Bit of a shared profession.”

“Just like hill farming, then!”

Jules nearly choked on the sip of tea he’d just taken, but managed to clear his throat before agreeing: “Of course. Just like that, really.” He stole a glance at Aidan, whose face had emerged from its finger-barred cell of shame. The other man looked abashed, still, but the shadow of a smile played along his lips.

“Speaking o’ sheep, did ye enjoy yerself oot in the fields wi’ the flock, Jules? Make any friends o’ the lovely woolly lassies?”

“Closer to friends than anticipated, I suppose,” he answered diplomatically. Aidan snorted.

“Well tha’s smashin’! An’ apart frae the sheep, whit hae ye been enjoying most on yer trip?”

Jules assumed that his immediate thought—Your tolerant and wonderful son, actually—might be a tad awkward, so he went with a different activity, which had conveniently still involved a lot of the younger shepherd. “I think it has to be the cèilidh. I’d never been to something like that before.”

“Aye! It’s lucky ye were visiting at the right time fer one. Brilliant cuttin’ about at one!”

“It wis a good night,” Aidan agreed, rejoining the conversation and smiling at Jules.

“And so many handsome men in kilts,” Jules said, staring right back at him. The colour which had finally receded from the other man’s cheeks came back with new ferocity.

“Too true, tha’. Back in the day, when me an mah sisters were young lassies yet, tha’s where I met Aidan’s da. Hadnae e’er seen a man cut such a fine figure ahn the dance floor.” Siubhan’s gaze seemed far away, lost in an old memory.

“Is that where Aidan gets his talent for it from?”

“Ha! Some, maybe. He didnae get it frae me, tha’s fer certain. I can keep up, but Ah’m nae graceful dancer. His aunts Deirdre and Muireall, though, they can cut about wi’ the best. Or could, anyway, afore their knees got bad,” her and Aidan both laughed at this, and Jules got the distinct sense that he was missing a family in-joke. “Ach, when we went tae town, though... we were a singin’ an’ haein’ a carry on! It wis all good fun.”

“You have two sisters, then?” asked Jules. He was mentally trying to piece together the family photos he’d seen earlier.

“Nah, three o’ them.”

“Oh, right, I think Aidan mentioned that,” said Jules, thinking back to the conversation they’d had the day at Loch Katrine. “Any brothers?”

“Nae, an’ tha’s prolly what did mah own ma in. Raising four teenage girls, hell-raisers all. Ah’m sure she ne’er quite recovered frae the strain.” Siubhan laughed aloud, and Jules could hear the similarity between her expression of mirth and one he’d become very familiar with in recent days. “Especially Caitriona, she was a spitfire ere she settled down. One time at a cèilidh she nearly got thrown oot.”

“What did she do?” Jules was suddenly very invested in this woman he’d only just heard about. If Sachairi managed not to get thrown out, she must have been an absolute nightmare.

“Ach, she drank nearly e’ery lad there under the bar efter one insulted her, an’ she chibbed him o’er his heid wi’ the empty bottle.” Jules gawked, and Siubhan added, defensively, “The laddie kent fine well whit was gaeing tae happen! She was ne’er a push-o’er.”

“God, I wish someone would’ve drank my brother under the bar like that. He could use the humility.”

She laughed, then asked: “Just the one sibling fer ye, then?”

“Unfortunately, yes. And he’s more than enough. I don’t know how you and your three sisters all lived to adulthood without murdering each other.”

“Ach, we’ve been thick as thieves since we were only weans. Yer ne’er lonely in a family like tha’.”

While Jules pondered this utterly foreign concept, Aidan asked: “Does yer brother hae as many names as ye?”

“More, actually. It starts with ‘Benedict’ and just gets worse from there.”

That launched into another round of questioning from Siubhan as they finished the veritable feast. By the time Aidan started helping his mother clear the table, Jules felt vaguely ill from too much sugar. He’d been powerless to resist the siren song of homemade tablet.

“Ach, get oot!” scolded Siubhan as she shoved her son back through the doorway into the kitchen. “Ah’ll handle the dishes, ye gae an’ be a good host!”

“Are ye sure? It’s nae bother.”

“Aidan Tamhas MacSween, if ye don’t leave the kitchen this instant, ye’ll regret it! Oot!”

“Right, tha’s me away, then!” he conceded, hands in the air as he walked back into the sitting room, smiling and shaking his head. “Are ye wanting anuther cup o’ tea, Jules?”

They passed some more time sipping tea and chatting about little of consequence.The angle of the light changed, draping the sitting room in amber warmth as the early evening came on. The sound of contented humming floated in through the doorway to the kitchen with those of running water and washing up. Enveloped by warmth between Aidan’s arm around his shoulders and having sunk deeper into the ancient sofa, Jules felt a little sleepy.

“Can I tempt ye tae join me fer anuther walk? Ye’ve no’ seen the whole farm yet.” 

Jules sighed and wiggled closer into Aidan’s side. “Do we have to? It’s so nice in here. I could almost take a nap, I’m so comfortable.”

Aidan’s reply tickled, whispered in his ear. “Aye, but we cannae make out with Ma liable to come intae the room at any moment.”

“Pfft, we could if you weren’t a coward.”

“Well, if ye still want tae snog me after Ah’ve revealed mah true, cowardly nature, then ye can follow me out.” As the kitchen tap ran again, he brushed his lips by the corner of Jules’ mouth. Before Jules could move to capture them, Aidan had shifted away with a final squeeze to his shoulders and stood, stretching.

“Ugh, so unfair. I thought we were done with sheep for the day.”

“Ha! Ye came tae visit a sheep farm, Jules. There’s ne’er any being done wi’ them,” Aidan cut off the next protest he was about to raise with a much more agreeable sentence. “But ere th’morra Ah’m done work, so we can gae fer a daunder ‘round some o’ the spots the flock isnae stationed right now.”

“Excellent idea, then,” agreed Jules as he, too, stood and crossed the floor towards the door.

“An’ look, e’en Tibby’s all tuckered out.” Aidan pointed to the sheepdog who was still flopped on the rug near the sofa, breathing slow and eyes closed. He whispered again. “It’ll just be the two o’ us.”

Jules didn’t need to be told thrice; he was already pulling on his borrowed boots and lacing them up.

“Jules, hae ye got a jumper? Ye’ll catch yer death dressed like tha’!”

He looked up to see Siubhan poking her head out the doorway that led into the kitchen from the hall. “Oh, don’t worry Mrs. MacSween, I’ll be quite comfortable.”

“How many times dae I need tae tell ye, none o’ tha’ missus nonsense. AIDAN! Fetch Jules one o’ yer jumpers if yer gaein’ oot walking. The lad’ll freeze!”

“Really, that’s quite unnecessary, though thank you. I brought a jacket and it was fine earlier.”

Siubhan shook her head. “No’ wi’ the sun gaein’ doon. Ye’ll be chilled tae the bone soon enough.” As she spoke, she turned to Aidan. “Rrrright, you! Get a move on! Scoot, scoot! Get yer friend a jumper so’s he disnae get back tae London with a heid cold!”

“Ah’m gaein’, Ah’m gaein’!” Aidan said as he disappeared up the stairs.

Shortly afterward, he tossed another large, woolly sweater down to Jules, who caught it against his better judgment. He held it at arm’s length, trying not to show his distaste for the pale brown, cabled garment. It was the colour of tea with too much milk in.

This is going to clash terribly with my complexion, he thought, horrified by the idea of actually having to wear such a huge, hideous sweater. He watched as Aidan donned his own again and held back a sigh as he followed suit. Nobody needs to see. Well, apart from Aidan, but he clearly won’t be bothered. With his broader frame, the shepherd filled them out properly, at the very least. On Jules it just looked woefully oversized, and not even in a fashionable way; the wool too thick and sturdy to drape. It just kept its shape around him, like somewhat scratchy packing material wrapped around too small a parcel. He frowned a little and turned away from the hall mirror so he didn’t have to look at himself. Like death warmed over in this colour, I swear. Did he purposefully choose the worst possible shade for me?

“Aye, ye’ll be absolutely fine now, love! A peedie grain too large fer ye, but tha’ll keep ye toasty warm.” Apparently satisfied, Siubhan made her way back into the kitchen, calling out one last time, “Hae fun, lads!”

“Thank you for the tea, Siubhan. Have a good evening if I don’t see you again before heading out.”

“Aww, ta! Hae a good e’en, Jules,” she said, poking her head through the doorway again. “It wis nice tae meet ye, as well. Safe travels back tae England!”

“Night, Ma!”

As they stepped outside, the wind tossed Jules’ hair about once again. “Hmph! This weather is just the worst.”

“An’ here I thought it was a fair braw day,” Aidan replied, nudging him with an elbow and trotting ahead. “Tha’ sunset’s gonnae be bonnie ere long. C’mon, let’s away!”

As they walked away from the farmhouse, finally alone, Jules was doubly disappointed that the borrowed sweater was very clean. It didn’t even have a lingering scent of the shepherd on it. Well, I suppose that was at least conscientious of him, he thought, And it’s easily remedied, if that conversation inside was anything to go on.

The wind picked up as they walked towards the little side road and Jules discovered that the giant, frumpy sweaters did indeed serve a purpose. The one he had on was quite comfy, if you ignored the minor scratchiness of the wool. More importantly, it was nice and warm. It blocked the wind surprisingly well; better than any of the thinner knits Jules had, folded neatly in his chest of drawers back home.

Not that I’d ever admit the superiority of such an affront to good taste in any respect, he thought as he jogged to catch up with the garment’s owner. 

Chapter Text

“C’mon, we’re gonnae go stravaigin.”

“What?” asked Jules as he fell into step next to Aidan, curiosity piqued. “ Is that an esoteric Scottish sex position?”

“Ha ha, naw!”

“Then please tell me it isn’t some sheep-related pagan ritual or something. Or a sheep-related esoteric sex position.”

“Aw fuck nae.”

“Oh good. I never had much of an interest in the Kama Sheeptra, anyway.”

“Me neither,” Aidan replied, not missing a beat. “Made gaein’ through puberty awful awkward in rural Scotland.”

They looked at each other and stifled giggles. Jules attempted to be serious again, saying: “Enlighten me, then, would you? What exactly is ‘stravaigin’?”

“I just meant we’re takin’ a wee stroll afore the sun sets. It’s the golden hour, innit? Beautiful time tae see the braes ‘round ‘ere. Light’s pure magic.” And it was, really, just like he said. The evening sun looked warmer, and was casting beams over his face through the breaks in the trees as they began along the loaning proper. It highlighted his blond waves with more intense, yellow-orange tones that set off his blue eyes.  

“So, no more sheep, right?” Jules asked, still sceptical that his torture was at an end for the day. “This isn’t some trick to get me out riding one over the hills or something?”

A laugh escaped the shepherd’s mouth. “Naw! Besides, ye cannae ride them! Ye’d break their poor backs, e’en if ye are slender enough tha’ a rheumatic pain couldnae find space tae fill.”

“Pffth, please. Your mum is quite funny, I’ll give her that. I’m not sure exactly what I expected from the woman who raised you, but what I just experienced makes a certain amount of sense.”

“Ah’m choosing tae take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” Jules nodded. “Her wit’s sharp. I can see where you get your gift of repartee from.”

“Aw, ta!” Aidan smiled back at him as they walked along the small dirt road. He kicked a stray stone with his boot. “Yer no’ half bad with it, yerself.”

“Well if I couldn’t keep up with a shepherd, I’d be extremely concerned.”

“Would ye, aye?”

That teasing tone was back in Aidan’s voice, a glint in his eye, and Jules felt like a fisherman who’d just hooked a prize catch. “Though really, I’m lucky you’re not as ruthless as your mum. She doesn’t pull her punches.” He began reeling in slow, leading the conversation in such a way as to let the other man think he had the upper hand. “You’re too kind.”

“Or maybe Ah’ve just got too much of a filter.”

“Hmm, mayyyyybe,” Jules dragged the word out as he followed Aidan down a connecting road—little more than a wide dirt path—to their right. “I am morbidly curious what you’re hiding behind it, if that’s the case. After all, she made an excellent point: what’s wrong with a strapping young man like Marcus, indeed?”

Aidan went red all over again. “I cannae believe she put tha’ question on me with ye sitting right there! I was pure spluttering!”

“Well, well… that’s not exactly an answer, is it?”

With an indignant look and a false start, Aidan said, “There’s nuttin’ wrong with Marcus, o’ course. He’s friendly. Good with all sorts of odd jobs—”

“And handsome, depending on your penchant for eyepatches.”

“Handsome regardless o’ how ye feel about eyepatches,” said Aidan. Jules made a noncommittal noise and shrugged. “An’ married.”

“Whatever! The point stands. I know that I’m irresistible, but why hadn’t you already shacked up with someone more like Marcus? Someone with literally any amount of ability to perform manual labour, wrangle sheep, whatever else you do on a farm.”

“There’re no’ so many choices out here, ye ken?”Aidan frowned at the ground and kicked another stone a few steps later. “Limited dating pool.”

“Really? I would’ve guessed that there were nearly as many gays as sheep in East Braebaud. At least in the town centre.”

“Aye, ye would be under tha’ impression, haein’ met all of ‘em in one trip.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Aidan gave him a flat look as he stepped off the loaning and back onto a walking path between fields. “We stick together, y’know? Well, apart frae one who moved tae Edinburgh. It’s surprising more o’ us havnae left.”  

“Huh.” Jules pondered this as he followed, the soft earth of the trail beneath his boots. “Wait, you’re not taking me through another sheep field, are you?”

“Nae more sheep fields, I promised ye! Umm, or at least not occupied ones,” Aidan admitted. “They’re a wee bit tricky tae avoid entirely, out ‘ere.”

As they wound their way through the blessedly vacant fields, Jules tried and failed to contain a question that had been nagging him for a few days. “Really, though, with a brain like yours why aren’t you in something like—”

“Finance?”

“Yes! I mean, not to sound condescending, but you’re not exactly using your full potential out here.”

Aidan shrugged. “No’ e’eryone with an aptitude fer somethin’ has tae work in it.”

“But didn’t you ever want to do something with a lasting impact?”

“Like investment banking?” The shepherd’s wry tone hadn’t gone anywhere. “Dinnae ye e’er think tae study science or engineerin’, Jules? Far as I ken, tha’d be more lasting an impact.”

Jules realised how ridiculous he had sounded and shut his mouth in a tight line. He hadn’t meant to insult Aidan, but his words had probably been taken as such.

“Ah’m proud tae continue the family business, an’ sheep farmin’ suits mah temperament,” Aidan continued, “I dinnae think Ah’d dae as well in a stressful city job. ‘Sides, ye’ve got tae play the cards yer dealt.”

“But did you actually have an interest in sheep farming, or did you just go into it because it’s the family business?”

“Ha, well I dae enjoy it. Satisfying work, ye get tae be outdoors, an’ the lambs are cute wee things. So, it’s no’ just the family business part. But farm kids are born intae jobs; ye start learning frae a young age.”

“Oh,” Jules said, processing that response. “I just figured you’re smart and you seem interested in a lot of different things, like politics and literature...”

“Did ye get intae finance because ye were interested, or because it was the family business, so tae speak?”

Jules was taken aback and had to think a moment before answering. He followed Aidan up a steeper incline and had to huff out his answer between breaths. “Both, I guess. I like the challenge of it, and the data side of things. But having a foot in the door probably helped make my decision, too.”

“We’re no’ so different, then.” A warm smile broke over Aidan’s face as he waited for Jules to catch up, and Jules smiled back.

“No, I guess not.”

Reaching a plateau at the top of the hill, there was a solitary old bench next to a tree. As Aidan moved to sit and Jules followed, he noticed that it looked handmade—rustic but sturdy. Jules ran a hand over seat slats worn smooth through what must have been years of use, maybe decades. It seemed well-maintained, with even staining. He looked up and was awed by the view; rolling hills surrounding them with fields neatly demarcated throughout by stone walls and fences of varying materials. Everything seemed to glow in the evening light, which shone from an angle across the hills. Not right in their eyes to blind them, but from that spot it was easy to watch the sun as it sank lower in the sky, bringing deeper oranges, pinks, and reds to the view.

“Wow.”

“Bonnie, innit?”  

Jules looked over at the man sitting beside him, with his gentle smile, round button nose, and bright eyes. “It really is.” He leaned in and Aidan met him halfway, lips soft and willing. But as much as Jules wanted to kiss him, he couldn’t keep himself from asking more questions. “Did you ever think about trying something else, though? Even going to uni for something you were interested in?”

Aidan looked away over the hills. “O’ course… I was planning tae study languages, with a specialisation in Gaelic. Ah’d hae liked bein’ able tae study more, but it wisnae mah luck.”

Jules felt uncertain whether to push at the topic, having seemingly stumbled onto something fraught for the other man, but couldn’t help his burning curiosity. “Why not?”

Aidan sighed, still not looking back at Jules. He seemed like he was debating something internally. “Well, I got accepted tae Aberdeen. They have a great department fer languages. But in Fifth Year mah da got real sick. I deferred admission an’ stayed home for Sixth Year, figuring I may as well take some Advanced Highers. He was gone afore I graduated, though,” Aidan shrugged. “So, I had tae decline an’ start working full-time on the farm with Ma.”

The shock of the revelation overrode Jules’ good sense. “Oh my god, I’ve been wearing a dead man’s boots?” He blurted out the question without thinking, then clapped a hand over his mouth. Ughhhh, that was unbelievably insensitive! What is wrong with me?

After looking confused for a moment, Aidan laughed—a bit strained, but it broke the tension.

Still radiating embarrassment, Jules tried again. “Sorry. That was absolutely horrid of me. I’m such a tit.”

“’s awright, it’s been a fair few years since then. If ye’d been saying that soon after, I might hae decked ye, but Ah’ve haed time to come tae terms with it.”

“Maybe it’s a failure of my imagination, but I can’t imagine you decking anyone.”

“Well, ye grow up gay outside o’ the city... ye learn how right quick, or yer the one getting decked. An’ Scotland’s no’ anywhere near the worst fer tha’.”

“I can’t say the notion is entirely unfamiliar. Boarding schools aren’t much better in some ways.”

Aidan hummed in assent, but didn’t say anything more. In the pause, Jules mentally put some pieces together; not seeing the man he’d assumed was Aidan’s dad in the more recent photos on the wall of the house, the fact that Aidan had only ever mentioned helping his mum out, the man’s absence from tea or anywhere else on the farm. Well that solves that mystery—not a divorce, he thought, trying to figure out what he say to Aidan after he’d just made such a faux pas. “Still, I can’t even imagine how difficult that must have been.”

“It wisnae fun, tha’s fer certain.”

Jules watched Aidan’s hands, clenched at the edge of the bench. He wanted to reach out and lay his own hand over the nearest one, but held back. “Of course. Especially when a bunch of your friends must have been off at their first year of uni, or second by that point, I suppose.”

“Aye, it was tough watching Marcus head aff tae enjoy uni after Fifth Year... we always did e’erything together since we were wee lads, him being ages with me. Inseparable, practically. We were supposed tae do uni together, too. Planned tae be roommates in the dorms,” Aidan sighed, but Jules kept quiet until he continued. “Seeing him haeing the time o’ his life, busy as a bee, making new friends... an’ me stuck here on the farm. Ah’m just glad he didnae forget about East Braebaud.”

“You managed to stay close, then?”

“O aye, Marcus kept visiting on hols, an’ we were always chatting online. He ne’er stopped bein’ there fer me, e’en if he wisnae here the whole time.”

“That’s pretty wonderful.”

Finally Aidan looked back at him, a small smile breaking onto his face once more. “Tha’s Marcus fer ye.”

“Seriously, though. I can’t think of a single friendship I’ve had that’s lasted that long.”

“Ah’d imagine it’s more common out here. Small towns, ye ken? Only so many folk tae be friends with; once ye’ve made them, ye hang ontae them.”

“I suppose so,” Jule agreed. “It probably helps that he moved back, though.”

“Oh prolly,” Aidan shrugged. “But Ah’m positive we’d still be friends e’en if he’d gone elsewhere.”

Jules could feel the horrible tension that had been hanging over the conversation start dissipating, and relaxed as well. “If I can ask, why did you want to study Gaelic?” he turned towards the other man and leaned into the back of the bench, resting one arm on top of it. The borrowed jumper itched where it rubbed his wrist.

“Why wouldnae ye want tae study it? It’s interesting. It’s beautiful.”

“But it’s practically a dead language, isn’t it? Why bother learning something so useless?”

A hint of annoyance showed on Aidan’s face, but he replied in an even tone: “Is fheàrr Gàidhlig bhriste na Gàidhlig sa chiste.”

“Nope, you’ve lost me. What does that mean?”

“It is better to have broken Gaelic than dead Gaelic.”

“Pfft, I don’t know about that. My broken French seemed to annoy more people when I visited Paris than if I’d just spoken English to them to begin with,” Jules said, with exaggerated flippantness.

“Ha! No’ quite what I was trying tae get at, but e’en so, it’s not useless tae converse with folk like Alec, or Anna and Sachairi.” Aidan continued, passion evident in his voice. “It may no’ be as commonly spoken anymore, but that disnae mean it should be forgotten. Ye could make the same argument fer almost any language, really. When English is treated as the default, often as no’. Why learn tha’ French ye learned?”

“Because it’s the language of love,” Jules replied, fixing the Scot with a smoldering stare. Sadly it didn’t seem to have the intended effect; the other man broke into a grin like he’d just scored a point.

“Exactly! E’ery language has something tae bring with it. Losing a language is like losing a unique view o’ the world. And tha’s tragic.”

“Ugh, how can I argue an appeal to emotion like that?”

“Ye cannae,” said Aidan, still grinning. “But if yer still wanting a practical reason, were ye paying attention tae how many place names derive frae Gaelic? Or were ye too distracted by the coos tae look at the signs when we were driving to an’ fro?”

I was distracted by something, that’s for sure, thought Jules, drinking in the shepherd’s adorable smile and his playful energy that had come back with the change in conversation. “What can I say? You were such a good tour guide I never even had to worry about the signs.”

“Flattery isnae gaeing to win ye this debate, Jules.”

“It still could do. Besides, who said I was aiming to win? I’m merely along for the ride. Where did you learn the Gaelic that you already know, anyway?”

“An’ now yer changing the subject! Are ye a sore loser, Jules?”

“How dare! I express an interest in hearing more about your love of language and you attack me for it like this? Rude.” Jules couldn’t help smiling as Aidan let out a giggle. “Fine. Really, though. Where’d you learn? Did one of your parents speak it?”

“Naw, neither o’ mah parents. Haed a wonderful Gaelic teacher growing up. Older man nearby, who shared his great love o’ language with any who’d listen. Tutored a few o’ us after school.”

“Marcus, too?”

“Nah, Marcus was usually busy helping ‘round the inn; was doing tha’ since he was knee high. He didnae learn much o’ it ere he started seein’ Alec.”

“Huh.”

“Ah’ve plenty o’ memories of afternoons sitting on his porch, working through Gaelic exercises. An’ the best part was listening tae his stories; he travelled up tae the Hebrides a lot in his younger years.” Aidan pointed across the fields. “Ye cannae quite get a swatch o’ his old house frae here, but it’s just down the road a wee bit.”

“Sounds like he made quite the impression on you.”

“Aye tha’. Wish I could hae kept on wi’ the Gaelic in uni, but Alec, Anna, and Sachairi moving tae town was the next best thing,” his smile changed as he spoke, quirking into a wry expression. “Maybe e’en better, in some ways. I dinnae think Ah’d hae learned some more practical elements o’ the language in school.”

“I take it Sachairi’s speech is as colourful in his native tongue as it is in what passes for English coming out of his mouth?”

Aidan laughed aloud at that. “Aye, exactly. And Alec can be absolutely filthy.”

“Oh my…” Jules could just make out the blush hitting Aidan’s cheeks in the waning light as the other man cleared his throat.

“Uhh, well, it’s starting tae get late,” Aidan said, standing up and brushing off the seat of his kilt. “Want tae start heading back?”

Jules was reluctant to go as he looked up at Aidan’s windblown hair in tangled disarray. Individual strands separated from their wavy locks, curling in different directions and catching the fading sun all over, forming a diffuse halo of light. He wanted to dig his fingers into it and drag the Scot back down to the bench, but it felt like a distance had worked its way between them over the course of the evening. Pushing down a looming sense of disappointment, he stood as well.

They made their way down the hills again in relative silence, picking their steps more carefully as the twilight grew darker. Aidan mostly spoke when pointing out uneven ground so Jules wouldn’t roll an ankle. Once they’d reached the flatter trails again and could walk side by side more easily, Jules found the courage to reach out and take Aidan’s hand. The shepherd squeezed his back; grip warm, calluses still new and exciting against Jules’ skin.

A small, dark shape moved across the path ahead and Jules squeezed Aidan’s hand tight as he suppressed a shriek. “Oh my god, was that a little demon lamb? Its eyes glowed in the dusk light!”

“Nae danger, Jules,” said Aidan with a smile before he started making a psst psst psst noise. “Did ye lose tha’ mouse, boy?”

Jules relaxed when he saw the creature emerge from the adjacent field and wander over. It was just a cat; a friendly one, given the way it came over immediately for pets, rubbing against Aidan’s hand as he bent over to stroke its dark fur. “Who’s this, then?” Jules asked as the cat came over to rub against his legs before heading back over to the Scot.

“This is Innes! He’s a local feature. He’s got a home but he disnae always stay there; more o’ a roaming moggie,” Aidan replied as he stroked the cat’s back and scritched its ears. “E’eryone ‘round ‘ere loves him an’ he goes where he pleases.”

Jules watched with a smile as Innes began to butt his head up against Aidan’s hands, a low purr revving up. It seemed the shepherd had space in his heart for all the creatures in the area, not just dogs or sheep. He was gentle, radiating warmth as he continued to lavish the cat with affectionate pats. Jules tried not to be jealous of a cat, of all things.

He didn’t have to try for long, as Innes turned to pad back over to him. Jules crouched and noticed that the cat looked older than he’d initially thought, with white hairs mixed into his faded black fur, and a little rough around the edges of his ears, which were soft under his fingers.

“Watch out! Once ye start petting him, ye’ll find it hard tae stop,” Aidan warned. “He’s a big suck. Just loves attention!”

This was quickly proven true as Innes went back and forth between them for a time as the evening grew darker. After a time, the cat must have heard the rustling of another rodent in the grass, because his raggedy ears perked up and he was off into the fields again.

“Hmmph, not even a proper goodbye?”

Aidan let out an amused huff. “Dinnae always get one o’ those, do ye?”

“Still, rude,” Jules complained as they turned to go, soon nearing the loaning.

Meandering along the dirt and gravel road once more, their pace seemed to slow. Avoiding the inevitable end not just to the day—which had been surprisingly enjoyable despite being stuck on a farm doing physical labour—but to a trip which felt like a weird and wonderful dream. One that Jules didn’t want to wake up from. “I can’t believe this is my final proper day of vacation and it’s almost over,” he lamented.

“An’ here I was thinking ye’d be pure gagging ta escape the infernal countryside, and its roving bands of feral sheep!” Aidan countered, bumping against his shoulder in a playful fashion.

“Yes, well, of course I am. Civilization will feel even nicer following an entire afternoon full of the horrid beasts. Doesn’t mean I want to go back to work, though.”

“I thought ye liked yer work?”

Jules gaped, mind blank for a moment. “Of course I do,” he blustered, staring down the loaning into the dusk. “It’s just… I feel like I was finally beginning to relax. And now it’s over before I could really appreciate it.”

“Funny how tha’ happens. Hols are ne’er long enough tae relax proper, are they?”

“Mhmm.”

Silence fell between them again as the farmhouse came into view round the bend. The air of uncertainty was a looming, unwanted presence. So much hanging there unsaid. Godddddd this is awkward, Jules thought. He found himself feeling relieved when they reached the door so he could return the borrowed jumper and boots. Doubly so that Siubhan didn’t make a reappearance to exchange further goodbyes; the faint sounds of a telly drifted down from an upstairs bedroom. 

If the walk had been tinged with melancholy, the drive back was totally morose. As they pulled into the little dirt car park across from The Equinox, Jules could feel his chest clench with anxiety.

“G’night Jules,” Aidan said, his hands down from the wheel and resting in his lap, the truck still running. He looked over at him from beneath pale eyelashes, seeming shy again.

Jules didn’t bother with words. Undoing his seatbelt, he leaned over to kiss Aidan right on the mouth, long and lingering, pushing into his space thanks to the old-style bench seat and throwing his arms around the Scot’s neck. Aidan’s hands came up to rest along the outsides of his arms, but travelled no further. “Stay with me tonight?” He asked, finally backing off enough to see the other man’s face again. He didn’t like the fact that Aidan’s brow was creased with thought, the obvious answer not immediately forthcoming. “Please?”

“Ah’d like tae,Jules, truly. But Ah’ll prolly be aff again ere ye wake th’morra. Still lots tae do wi’ the lambs.”

“Fine, fine. I suppose it’s a better compromise than you heading off right now.”

The quiet following keys turning in the ignition to kill the engine was all the confirmation he needed.

Jules led Aidan up to his room once more, heart heavy with the fact that it would be the last time. At least for now. He shut the door behind them and clicked the latch into place, hoping he could make the shroud of unspoken thoughts lift as they fell into bed together.

Chapter Text

Jules rolled over to see the sheets rumpled but nobody in bed next to him. With a sigh he slammed his hand down on the alarm clock that was still rudely alerting him to the arrival of his final morning in Scotland. Staring at the red numerals, he scowled—not that it had any effect on the clock. He rolled back over and pulled the duvet up over his head, which didn’t help his attempts to not be upset; moping under the covers alone never did. A twinge of hurt still wormed its way under his ribs. Aidan had said he’d be leaving early and Jules had known this would be a possibility, though he had hoped he’d wake up when the other man left. But nope, the Scot had stolen away into the early morning light, apparently without disturbing him.

Unforgivable, really, he thought. I even set the alarm early today! Who gets up at 8 when they’re on hols? How much earlier do the lambs even wake up? He should train them to follow a more reasonable schedule. Truly the most uncivilized creatures.

After a few minutes of internally grumbling at awful ungulates, the alarm he’d put on snooze rang out again. He silenced it, and this time picked up his mobile to have a look. One new text from Aidan:

               Today 5:11 am

I’m off. Have a good morning packing,

sleepyhead.

He typed out one reply, deleted it, tried again. Hummed over it for a moment before hitting send.

               Today 8:07 am

                              No goodbye? Unbelievable.

                              I’m hurt, I tell you!

The ding of a reply came before he could even muster the energy to do more than sit up, so he nestled back into the pillow against the headboard.

I tried, I promise! You were dead to

the world.

                              Clearly you didn’t try hard enough. I’m

                              not *that* heavy a sleeper.

Those snores could’ve fooled me ;)

                              Excuse me?! I do NOT snore. You must

                              be mistaken.

Heh, just little cute ones.

                              Pfft. I’m not going to sit around and be

                              insulted.

                              It’s time for breakfast—I can smell it from

                              up here.

Jules put down his phone and padded over to the ensuite to start his day. As he was washing his face, he heard a text notification ding again and returned to the bed with facecloth in hand, drying the last drips which had trailed down his neck.

               Today 8:15 am

What time are you heading out?

                              Just after lunch, I guess?

                              Have to be back at the station for 3, but

                              still need to return the hire car.

Okay. I’ll try and get to The Equinox

before then.

To say goodbye :)

                              Better late than never, I suppose…

In the breakfast room, Jules was enjoying a still-warm scone slathered in butter and topped with a divine quince jam when a deep voice startled him mid-bite.

“Oh, fair good mornin’ Jules. I was hoping I’d catch ye awake before— Jules, are ye alright?” Marcus came through the doorway, looking apologetic and rubbing the back of his neck with one hand as he approached. “Sorry, didn’t mean ta surprise ye, there. Alright if I join ye fer a moment? I wanted ta talk to ye about Aidan.” Without waiting for an answer, he pulled out the chair across from Jules and folded his tall frame down to perch on it.

Eyes still watering a little, Jules had another sip of tea to clear his throat and gave a delicate cough into his hand. Whilst thinking some less than kind thoughts about the more vocal of the B&B’s proprietors, he still managed to reply in a civil tone. “Good morning to you, as well. What’s this about Aidan, now?

A look of nervousness crossed the other man’s face, then he steeled himself and spoke. “Jules, ye’ve been a great guest and we appreciate yer business, but… cutting to the chase…  Aidan’s been jerked around by plenty o’ boys just looking fer a highland fling, as it were, fer their summer hols.” Jules opened his mouth to object, but Marcus held up a hand to silence him and continued. “I’m not saying yer the type ta do that sort o’ thing, but please… don’t get his hopes up if that’s all this was to ye.”

“Yes, well, for starters, it’s not even summer yet. If the weather were this horrid during July I’d ask how you manage to stay in business,” Jules said, gesturing out the window at the overcast sky. “And secondly, not all the English are complete bastards, you know?”

“I didn’t mean ta imply anything,” Marcus said, seeming flustered. “O’ course not. Like I said, ye’ve been an excellent guest the whole time, and we’d be happy ta have ye again.”

“Tch.”

“It’s just… long distance is hard. And he’s been burned before. So if yer not into it 100%, let him down easy, would ye?”

“I’m offended that you think I’d do anything else, if that were the case,” Jules sniffed, turning his nose up even as the utter sincerity in the other man’s voice seemed to stick in his own throat, worse than the phantom crumbs of scone which he still felt there.

“It’s not you, really. It’s just hard ta watch the same thing happen again and again.” Marcus ran a hand through his dark hair. It fell back into place perfectly around his temples as he turned to look Jules straight in the face with that uncomfortable one-eyed stare of his. “Which is why I wanted ta make it perfectly clear.”

Jules scoffed at this unwarranted attack on his character.

“Are we clear? Because I can explain again in simpler terms, if needed.”

“If I mess with Aidan you’ll come south, hunt me down, and castrate me like whatever the opposite of a tup lamb is.”

“Well, perhaps something a wee bit less violent, but ye’ve got the idea. I’m glad we understand each other,” said Marcus as he rose from the table with an awfully genuine smile for having just threatened the person he was speaking to. “And it sounds like ye learned something on the farm yesterday! That’s great. Enjoy yer last morning in East Braebaud, Jules, and if I don’t see ye before yer off, it was nice ta meet ye!”

“Okay, then. You too, I guess.”

Marcus gave a last friendly wave, and Jules watched as his broad shoulders disappeared down the hall. Finding his appetite gone he pushed away the remainder of his scone, lost in thought.

“...”

Although the other innkeeper didn’t say anything when Jules passed the front desk, he could practically hear the unspoken accusation in the silence. 

“Yes, yes, I get it! Tall, dark, and looming already gave me the shovel talk,” he said, exasperated. “So you can save your five full sentences a day or whatever for something other than lecturing me, because he’s a lot bigger and scarier.” This was a blatant lie, of course. While Marcus was taller and broader by far, Alec was the one that Jules would nominate for ‘Scot I would least like to encounter in a dark alley’.

He’d probably stab me to death with a rusty knife then kiss his husband goodnight, get himself all tucked up, and have no issues sleeping a full eight hours. He shuddered at the thought as he headed upstairs to pack, steps thudding perhaps harder than they needed to.

By the time Jules dragged his suitcase back down—only just zipped shut and straining at the front flap for how much his clothes had apparently expanded since he’d arrived—sunshine was pouring through the windows into the entryway and the front desk was once again abandoned.

Some service, he thought to himself. They know I’m checking out today, and yet there’s nobody to be found? Ugh. They’re really pushing their luck on a five-star review, here, and from a top ranking Local Guide in Maps, too.

Heading out to the car park across from the B&B, it was starting to turn into a beautiful day. Warmer than plenty of his trip had been, with a gentle breeze that didn’t threaten to mess up his carefully coiffed hair too badly. He smiled, as he’d spent more time than necessary on it given the chance Aidan would make it back for a proper goodbye. Had to go out on a high note, after all. He couldn’t let the shepherd’s last impression of him be whatever horrid state he’d been in while unconscious at five in the morning.

Approaching his hired car, Jules slowed in confusion. Aidan’s truck was parked across from it, empty.

Where in the ever-loving fuck is everyone? Quickly stashing his suitcase and satchel bag in the boot and passenger side seat, respectively, Jules went to investigate.

There was still nobody in the reception area once he’d opened the heavy wooden door, but he heard hushed voices from the direction of the pub. Taking the half flight of steps down more quietly than earlier, he overheard part of a conversation.

“—bother trekking up here again?”

“Whit’s fer ye’ll no’ gae past ye, pet. Trust Mysel’ on tha’.”

“But Anna, ye say that e’ery— oh! Jules!” Aidan’s head swiveled to face him, blushing as he stammered out a greeting. “Fair good mornin’ tae ye!”

“Mornin’ Jules!” Anna added with a cheerful wave.

“Morning Aidan. Anna.” He nodded at each of them. “Were you avoiding me on purpose, or do we just have terrible timing?”

“Well mysel’ dinnae ken what ye’ve been up tae, Jules, but it’s only just the start o’ pre-lunch shift now,” answered Anna, giving the much more flustered Aidan time to formulate a response. “Anything ye’ll be wanting afore ye hit the road? Can Mysel’ pack ye a piece?”

“Sure, sure,” replied Jules, too distracted to inquire what exactly a ‘piece’ was. “Whatever the special is for today. I trust you have something delicious planned.”

“Aye, yer right! Gonnae start on it, then. You lads hae a good mornin’!” Sounding pleased, she waved again and headed toward the kitchen door, leaving just the two of them.

“So, were you going to answer my question?”

“O aye, I wisnae avoiding ye, Jules,” replied Aidan, breaking eye contact for a moment before smiling at him. “If I were, how come I rushed o’er as fast as I could? Tibby’s no’ had a proper mornin’ run yet or anything. Had tae bring her with me and leave her in the garden with Marcus tae enjoy a good wee roll about while he’s tending the planting beds. We must’ve passed like ships in the night, me on mah way tae the yard, an’ you out the front door.”

As the nervous tangent was going on, Jules took the opportunity to drink in the sight of the shepherd. Aidan’s hair was a creamy golden pale, like freshly whipped butter. He definitely looks good enough to eat, Jules thought. Or maybe I shouldn’t have left the last few bites of scone on my plate at breakfast. Ignoring his stomach, he returned to appreciating the simple, nicely fitted t-shirt under a familiar leather jacket. While there was disappointingly no kilt to be seen today, Jules couldn’t complain too much about the worn denim that hugged muscular thighs in its place.

He tried to burn that sexy image into his head before he wouldn’t get to see it every other day or so.

“I s’pose that’s ye away?”

“Sorry, what?” Jules asked, focusing on the conversation again.

“I was askin’ if ye’d be leaving right now.”

“Well, not right this instant…”

Aidan smiled, “Would ye like to gae on a wee walk through the village, then?”

“I could do,” replied Jules, already turning towards the door. Aidan stepped over quickly and held it for him. “Why thank you. Needlessly gallant, really. Not that I’m complaining.”

“Naw, yer no’ the type tae complain about anything, are ye?”

Jules narrowed his eyes at the shepherd, as much a warning as it was a response to stepping into the near-noon sunlight streaming down outside. “Of course not. I’m the picture of contentment.”

“Aye tha’,” said Aidan as he fell into step beside Jules. “Unless there’re sheep about?”

“Exactly. But I doubt we’ll run into any on what passes for a high street around here,” he gestured out at the near-empty town centre. A lone elderly couple was walking some distance off, carrying a bag of their shopping. Other than the pensioners and one shopkeep sweeping their steps, Jules and Aidan were the only ones out and about despite the improved weather. 

“Prolly not.”

“Hmph. You don’t sound nearly as certain as I’d hope,” said Jules as they walked further from The Equinox. Aidan shrugged, which only furthered the sense of dread that was creeping in at the edges of his consciousness.

“Ah’m guessing yer excited tae be headin’ home, then?” His teasing tone had an uncertain edge to it.

“I don’t know about excited,” replied Jules. “Like I said yesterday, it’s back to the grind come tomorrow. I wish I could stay a little longer, honestly.”

“Aye but Ah’m sure ye’ll be chuffed tae be back to London, in general.”

“Well, it will be nice to not have to worry about being accosted by sheep at every turn, that’s true. Though I admit,” Jules paused to take in his surroundings; sunny hills dotted with yellow-flowered bushes made a lovely backdrop and quiet, quaint village streets wound around them, parting in places to reveal more rolling fields not far off. “I did end up enjoying it here more than expected.” He looked over at Aidan, who had a small, thoughtful smile on his face.

“Ah’m glad ye had a braw time. Here’s hoping work disnae crush ye when ye return.”

“Wow, must you?” Jules said in an over-exaggerated huff, which got them both laughing even if it felt strained. “If it does, at least I know where to go for my next bit of time off. I’ll have to come back for another visit soon; I’ve a lot of vacation days racked up.”

“O aye, lots tae see in Scotland. An’ tourist season's only just starting.”

“I guess so, but I was thinking more about things I’d like to see again,” he added, emphatic. 

Aidan flushed faintly but didn’t look back at him. As they walked along the outskirts of East Braebaud, the shepherd seemed to be wrestling with something. “The Trossachs dae look different an’ bonnie all through the seasons,” he finally said, nodding out across the fields as they stepped onto a low stone bridge which crossed a small stream dividing the town from some of the surrounding farmlands. “Well worth driving intae again. Maybe takin’ a tour?”

“Hmm, perhaps, but I was thinking primarily of one thing I’d like to see again,” said Jules, stepping directly into Aidan’s path so he had to stop in his tracks. The other man’s gaze flicked up to him then away again. “And I can’t imagine a better tour guide, anyway.”

“Jules, I... Ye need nae tell me pretty things like tha’.” Aidan’s gaze stayed on his feet as he spoke. “If ye dinnae mean them, that is.”

“And if I do?” Jules asked. “I was thinking of tacking an extra day onto the bank holiday weekend, end of next month. I won’t be able to take another big stretch off right away, but I could manage a long weekend.” Aidan let out a quiet sigh but Jules continued. “I think I’d like to come back later in the summer, too.”

“Really, Jules, Ah’ll live. Nae harm, nae foul. If yer no’ coming back, it’s awright.”

“Aidan, shut up for a minute, would you?” Jules huffed in frustration. He was close to throwing the other man over the bridge and into the shallow water below. “Just listen to me. We can keep in touch in the meanwhile—you’ve already got my mobile number. I don’t know if you use any apps besides sheep breeder’s almanac or whatever, but I’m easy to find on all the major ones.” Aidan finally looked up at him, biting his lower lip. It was incredibly distracting; Jules nearly lost his train of thought with the sudden urge to ravish the shepherd right there on the bridge, probably in view of half the village. Some faint recollection of a discussion they’d had yesterday held him back, though.

“Aye then, what’s yer handle?”

“Handle? Pfft, you sound like some of my ancient colleagues right now,” scoffed Jules. “But it’s @lecityprince. You’ll probably recognize some of the most recent photos I’ve posted.”

“Le City Prince?”

“Yes. Terribly clever, isn’t it?”

“A reference tae the book? Le Petit Prince?” asked Aidan, and when Jules nodded he brightened further. “Oh, I love tha’ one.”

“I always did, too.” Jules smiled back at him, unable to resist explaining the second layer of cleverness. “And of course, I had to add the bit of wordplay about working in the City. How could I not, really?”

“Aye, o’ course,” Aidan giggled. “Are ye fair certain Sachairi’s no’ been stalking ye online? Prince o’ London?”

“Huh,” Jules took a moment to process that. “I’m in a good enough mood that I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume it’s a coincidence and he isn’t one of my die-hard fans on Instagram.”

“Prolly fer the best,” said Aidan. “But, umm, it’s also about time we turn ‘round, if ye still want tae grab food ere ye head off.”

“I suppose so,” said Jule, but didn’t make to move yet. Looking at Aidan—tousled hair rustling in the light breeze—he tried  to freeze the scene in his mind. The bubbling brook under the bridge, the distant sound of some farm machinery, the sun warming his shoulders. “Thanks for making this trip far better than I expected.” Another blush crossed the Scot’s freckled cheeks, completing the perfect snapshot.

“Oh! Umm, yer fair welcome,” mumbled Aidan. “Really, though, it was mah pleasure.”

Jules reached out to grasp his hand with a quick squeeze. Satisfied, he turned and began to walk back the way they’d come. Any adventures on the other side of that bridge would have to wait for next time. Before he could get three steps, a strong set of arms pulled him back and into an embrace.

“Ah’m nae fer forgetting ye, Jules,” said Aidan, almost breathless.

“I know,” said Jules. “I’m pretty unforgettable.”

“Yer aff yer head, tha’s fer sure,” laughed Aidan as he released him and they finally left the bridge behind. 

The silence as they wound their way through the village again was far less oppressive than it had been during their walk the previous night. Jules still felt the need to broach it, though. “You know, I was a bit surprised that you didn’t turn up today just to tell me a sheep joke for the road.”

“Oh, well since yer asking real nice...”

“No, no, that wasn’t an invitation!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” said Aidan playfully. “Ye’ve a head fer numbers, Jules, how ‘bout this one—”

“Can we not?”

“A sheepdog goes intae a field with 37 sheep. She comes back with 40. How’d she get the extra sheep?”

“Some kind of demonic summoning ritual, probably,” Jules replied. “I don’t know. How?”

“She rounded them up!”

Jules gave Aidan the most withering glare he could. It was difficult to maintain while staring at his mirth-filled face, eyes sparkling and cheeks even rounder than usual with held-back laughter. Against his will, Jules felt the corners of his lips fighting to curl into a matching smile. He tossed his head and gave an overdramatic huff, instead. “Awful. Has anyone ever told you you’re the worst? Sheep jokes. Ugh.”

Aidan started to giggle. “Well, I figured it was funny.”

“How this hasn’t already dissuaded me from returning before I even plan the trip, I don’t know.”

“I thought ye were making peace with sheep?”

“Absolutely not. Whatever gave you that impression? If I come back it will be despite the sheep,” Jules said, looking over at the shepherd and quirking an eyebrow up. “Which, really, you should take as a compliment. There are very few men I’ve met who are charming enough to outweigh something as horrid as sheep.”

Aidan blushed furiously, but kept trying. “No’ even the lambs? No’ fer wee Sheepthan?”

“I have to go back and deal with my own Ethan, now. That’s more than enough, I don’t need a little woolly terror on top of it. No matter how supposedly adorable he is,” he said as they hit the main road. “Two overly-perky tossers with stupid hair might just drive me mad for good!”

Aidan gasped in mock offense, but couldn’t keep up the ruse as a smile broke onto his face. He bumped a shoulder against Jules’ arm as they walked, and Jules felt something in his chest seem to swell and clench at the same time.

Awkwardness threatened to descend again once they’d arrived back in front of The Equinox. Why are goodbyes so weird and terrible? thought Jules, wondering if he was already regretting the decision to keep in touch with Aidan.

“So, uh, I guess this is goodbye fer now?” asked the shepherd in a pointless way—they both knew the answer. It was just something to say. Something to fill the silence. Something to try and mark a transition; an ending to the status quo of the past week and a half.

“I guess so. But I’ll see you online?”

“Aye, ye will. Ah’m lookin’ forward tae it.”

“Me too.”

The not-overly-sappy goodbye was quickly ruined by Aidan taking Jules’ hands in his, saying “Haste ye back,” before kissing him tenderly. Jules couldn’t find it in himself to complain, though, lips chasing Aidan’s as their mouths parted.

“Ugh, tha’ gies mysel’ the boke,” came a disgusted voice from up the road, where Sachairi was walking towards the pub door. He made a gagging noise.

“Get tae...” said Aidan, leaving the end of the thought off as he gave Sachairi a baleful look before pulling Jules in for another, longer kiss. Jules happily reciprocated, relishing the feel of Aidan’s strong, warm arms holding him close. He barely heard whatever the other Scot mumbled as he passed them, too engrossed in the feel of Aidan’s breath mingling with his between kisses and the tickle of curls brushing against his cheeks.

The sudden ruckus from behind the pub door as Sachairi opened it, however, was enough to pull them out of the series of kisses. A cacophany of bleating, some vehement swearing, and animated barking floated out into the street.

“Aw, fucking hell!” cried Sachairi as a rogue sheep tried to run past him out into the street. He expertly wrangled it and forced it back inside. “Nae ye don’t, ye big fluffy cunt!” The door slammed shut behind him.

 “Uh oh! I, uh… think I might be needing tae deal with tha’ situation,” said Aidan as he dropped his arms from around Jules’ waist.

“Oh my god! I can’t believe this,” moaned Jules. “Do the sheep never quit? Could they not have waited until after I had left? How dare!”

“I dinnae think it was the sheep’s idea,” Aidan replied, already at the door. Following behind, Jules stared in horror at the commotion in the pub. A dozen or so sheep were shuffling around the inside of the pub, chairs knocked to the side and one table down, too. Tiberius was jumping around, excitedly wagging her tail and barking as she chased the sheep between the many obstacles in the dining establishment. One of the sheep had even gotten onto a padded bench in one of the booths and was bleating loudly over the din. Alec and Sachairi were attempting to get the animals outside again via the kitchen, but it didn’t appear to be going well.

“Ah, Aidan, yer just in time!” Marcus yelled over the chaos, blocking the way behind the bar where all the expensive bottles resided. “I may have headed back in and forgotten Tibby in the garden earlier.”

“Oh shit!” exclaimed Aidan, trying and failing to hold back laughter before he jumped in to handle the situation.

“Aye, I’m a daft bastard,” agreed the innkeeper. “She must’ve got out the garden and inta the surrounding fields.”

“Dinnae blame yersel’ too much, Marcus,” called Anna from where she was holding the door to the kitchen. “Mysel’ left the back door open ‘cause it was pure roasting in there.”

“An’ walked off like a right fanny,” her brother chimed in from where he was waving the sheep toward her.

“Oh fuck off, Sachairi!”

“As much as I would love to stay and wrangle sheep with you mad lot, I’d better get on, in case there’s any traffic,” Jules interrupted. “I need time to return the hire car before my train leaves.”

“Ah, Jules! Mysel’ didnae ken how long ye’d be out, so yer lunch is packed tae go!” Anna practically had to yell over the din in the pub. She picked up a cutting board and jammed it under the door, then swam through the unhappy herd of sheep with a takeaway container held high enough that none of the beasts could reach it. “Something a wee bit nicer than a ham piece; Mysel’ managed tae turn the lunch special intae a wrap fer ye.”

Jules took it from her outstretched arms. “Thank you, Anna, but I need to check out, still.”

Anna nodded before wading back into the fray, calling out: “Alec! Alec, yer needed at the desk!”

As the smaller innkeeper pushed his way over through the sheep, Jules watched Aidan for a final moment. The shepherd was smiling wide as he whistled to his dog and pincered the last stragglers between them, sending the blasted creatures towards the kitchen and back outside. Bringing up the rear, he looked back and locked eyes with Jules, smile softening from one of entertainment to something quieter. With a fond look, he waved before giving another command to Tiberius and disappearing through the doorway after the little herd. 

As Jules pulled out onto the main road he could still see Aidan and Sachairi running around, shooing the last irritated sheep out from the garden and trying to get them walking back towards wherever they’d come from. Tibby careened across the field, zig-zagging as she rounded up any of the ewes which strayed too far from the group. Anna closed the gate behind them and whooped a fist in the air as Marcus and Alec emerged from the pub to catch a last look at their unexpected and very rude guests.

Foot on the gas, Jules shook his head as he lost sight of the scene in his rear-view mirror. He wondered what on earth had come over him. What could possibly compel him to want to return to this madness at some point? He must have contracted some kind of ungulate-based toxoplasmosis from all his exposure to the sheep. It was the only explanation for why he was contemplating something mental like coming back here. Surely no man was worth dealing with this nonsense, no matter how good he looked in a kilt.

He passed the village sign on the way and read the other side of it properly for the first time: ‘Farewell frae East Braebaud’. Aidan’s words echoed in his mind, completing the sentiment. Haste ye back.

With the ghost of a kiss on his lips, Jules drove towards the train station from which he’d depart once again for London. A mysterious ache began to settle in his chest as he stared out at the rolling hills, wide fields, and even the little white flecks moving across them in the distance. He wondered what they’d look like in a month or so, and whether it would feel as difficult to leave a second time.

END