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He was not tackling how nice it was to be called a good boy. He’d think about that when he had no choice, just before he fell asleep and into another nightmare. He heard the phrase all the time. Now was no different.
Scotland snorted. “Polite?” He stabbed a piece of pepper, holding it out for Clint. It didn’t have a single speck of ash on it but was charred a bit from however Scotland had cooked it, the caramelized sugars sweet and aromatic.
Clint sent him a glare, even as he grasped the pepper between his lips. Two can play at this game. He was going to have Scotland so wrapped up in himself that he forgot Clint even existed. “Thank you, Sir. Dinner is delicious. I can clean up when you’re done.”
Scotland’s grin was so pure that it made something in his chest pang.
“You’re going to be too busy to clean up. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”
Idiot.
Clint reached for another piece with his fork, blinking as Scotland suddenly yanked his plate away. “Hey—”
Scotland tilted the plate, scraping the rest of Clint’s food next to his own. Tucking the now-empty saucer under his full one, he stabbed another pepper with his fork, holding it out for Clint.
He should have just turned his face away or his nose up, but his stomach gave another grumble, reminding him that he was far from full. And the peppers were the best he’d had in a long time. He opened his mouth, reaching for the piece and gently grasping it.
“Thank you, Sir.” He blinked, trying to shake off the fog that was nipping at the corners of his thoughts. It was just food. Sure, he was being somewhat hand-fed, but that was no excuse to let himself slip.
“You’re welcome, love.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat, dreading and yearning for the next bite. Hopefully, the term was a slip of the tongue.
* * * *
He wasn’t sure where the plates had gone, but it didn’t matter when he was perfectly full, his belly warm and stretched with how sated he was. The blanket had fallen from around his shoulders, leaving his arms exposed to the dark breeze and the occasional bug that didn’t get drawn straight to the light.
It didn’t feel quite so cold anymore, even though the leaves were rustling more now than they had all night. His skin was cool to the touch when he ran his fingertips over his arm, but the chill didn’t sink any farther.
What time is it?
“You still with me?” asked Scotland as he returned. He touched the edge of the blanket, tugging it higher on Clint’s arms until a warmth soaked into him that he hadn’t been aware he was missing. “Are you warm enough, love?”
He nodded, words drifting away as he half-closed his eyes. Scotland hadn’t stopped calling him that since he’d agreed, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be upset about it.
I’m here. He shouldn’t have eaten so much—or maybe it was because he hadn’t slept well in so long. That was the reason he was half asleep and not the sweet hand-feeding and touches that had devolved into a kiss that had made his lips ache.
He was sure they were bruised, just like the spot on his back that had hit the ground and not the thistle. A few of the small spines were still tucked into his skin, stinging every time he moved. He leaned into them, imagining them pressing deeper.
“Good.” Scotland leaned in, dragging his lips against Clint’s in a chaste kiss. His eyes were bright in the flashlight—blue and endless. “I’m going to take your hands. You don’t have to move at all. Keep your eyes open, though.”
Clint let out a slow breath as Scotland reached under his protective blanket one hand at a time, grasping Clint’s hands before kissing each wrist. Gently, he set them on top of the blanket, leaving them to rest in Clint’s lap.
“I’m going to tie your hands now, love. You’ll be nice and safe. No need to move at all. I’ll do everything for you.”
Clint hummed in acknowledgment. He wasn’t going anywhere, and he was more than happy to let Scotland tie him up. Shibari was the best, even if his hands were a bit chilly now that they were out of the blanket. “Green.”
Scotland must’ve grabbed the rope when he’d gone back to the house for a few minutes, because it wasn’t something rough and prickly that could be found outside. It was smooth, but not slippery, and slightly cool as it was wrapped around one wrist, then the next. Scotland tightened it, making a simple slip knot that could be released with one tug of his hand or Clint’s teeth.
Are we going to discuss limits? He wasn’t sure if they were really doing this or if he’d fallen into a fucked-up fantasy. That would have been strange. He’d never dreamed about Scotland like that. The closest he’d come was reliving the memories of when he’d kicked Scotland out of the club that night and the way Scotland’s expression had fallen in a way that managed to haunt him.
A click had his attention snapping to full alertness. The sound was something he’d recognize anywhere, imprinted on every synapse of his brain. Ross had smoked when they’d first met until Clint had finally managed to convince him to quit after years of putting up with the stale smell.
That click was ingrained in his memory just like the scars on his skin.
A single flame touched the air, hovering above the lighter in Scotland’s hand so close that the bright light almost hurt his eyes. His heart pounded, sweat slicking his skin as he stared at it.
There was kindling next to the fire and a few shabby pieces of newspaper that would burst into flames at the first opportunity. It would only take a touch of the breeze for the dry fall grass to catch and spread.
