Date: Sat, 22 Jan 2000 19:17:57 PST
From:  <jamiescott18@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Laird's Son - Part Six

Author's Note: This is part six of a love story between two teenage
Scottish boys. This story is my first attempt at erotic fiction and I can
only hope that you enjoy it. I apologise that it has taken me so long to
get back to the story and thank you for your patience.

Thank you to everyone who has mailed me with encouragement and a very
special thanks to "Joe Camp" for his time, his expertise, and his
friendship. Without him, this story would not have gone beyond part three.

Warning; this story contains scenes of graphic homosexual sex.

The Laird's Son
     "Jamie, no!" Michael screamed at him. But Jamie ignored him and yanked
MacGregor's head back by the hair.
     "A little sensitive are we," Jamie asked him. "I'd be fucking
sensitive. My father fucks your wife within a week of meeting her and now
I'm fucking your precious son. You should think yourself lucky that you
have a son at all. You're a fucking joke, do you know that?" Jamie shook
him. "Do you? Screwing all those poor bitches to prove you were a
man. Everybody knows that you're not a man. Do you think they don't know?
You couldn't keep your wife out of another man's bed. And you can't even
father children without the aid of a fucking test tube. Do you think they
don't know that? The whole of Strath laughs at you."
     Michael pulled Jamie off and grabbed his father as he
crumpled. "Jamie!  Enough! For God's sake, Enough!"
     Jamie looked at him with utter contempt. "Get him out of my house!"

     Michael drove. He shouldn't have but his father wasn't capable of it.
Jamie had known exactly which buttons to hit and he had hit them with a
sledgehammer.  By the time they turned into the castle's long driveway, his
father was weeping.  And Michael stopped the car, unwilling to let anyone
see him in such a state.
     "You. You weren't a t-test tube. You were our miracle, our fresh
start.  Oh God, Michael! I couldn't forgive her. I hurt her. I meant to
hurt her. I am so sorry..."

End of Part Five

THE LAIRD'S SON Part Six
     Michael didn't know how he felt about anything. He was being bombarded
by so much emotion that everything seemed surreal. He watched Dixon, his
father's personal manservant, guide his father from the room and found it
almost impossible to recognise that the devastated creature was his cold,
undemonstrative father.
     Michael had never been close to Dixon, but he trusted his
devotion. And it was to him that he had turned for help, phoning him from
the mobile and telling him the truth, while his father had sat in the car
and continued to weep. The rest of the household had been told that the
family was in mourning, and as far as Michael was concerned, Dixon had got
that absolutely right.
    Michael looked at his mother's pale, worried face and painfully erect
posture, and felt a flash of intense anger. "He didn't need to do this!"
     "Your father has caused a lot of misery in Jamie's life, Michael.
He..."
     "But you didn't!" He cut in. "I didn't! I loved him! And now I'm
fucking your precious son!" he shouted. "That's what he said! I meant
nothing to him!"
     "Hush," she said and hugged him to her. "This won't help anything."
     He took a breath and closed his eyes. What he really wanted to do was
cry, to be held and cherished while he rid himself of the appalling grief
he felt. It wasn't his mother he wanted to hold him, though - he wanted
Jamie, and that made it almost unbearable. A sudden thought made him pull
out of her embrace and look at her. "My father... He is my father?" He
watched his words hit her like a blow, and regretted them immediately. "I'm
sorry. I'm..."
     She shook her head. "No, you shouldn't be sorry. And yes, Duncan
MacGregor is your father. Jamie's father was long gone by the time that you
were conceived. You were our fresh start," she said sadly, echoing his
father's words. "But I had hurt him too deeply." She sat down on a chair
and looked at her hands. "Jamie's father was your father's closest friend."
     "No," he said immediately, and shook his head to back it up. "Jamie's
father was a gypsy. He was..." He stopped and swallowed. He could feel the
salt sting of tears in his eyes, but he didn't really know why it should be
happening now. He wanted to move and comfort her, to tell her that it was
fine, that it made no difference to him, but he was rooted to the spot.  He
swallowed again. "He was a gypsy," he said finally, and wondered why he'd
said it.
     "Michael, sit down."
     He shook his head. "No. No, that's fine." He nodded, and cleared his
throat. "He wasn't a gypsy?"
     "It was a nickname. Everyone called him "Gypsy" or "The Gypsy" in
those days. It wasn't just because of his looks; it was because he could
never stay in one place for any length of time. He was always
travelling. It's why I hadn't met him before your father and I were
married. His real name's Hugh MacDonald. Michael, please sit down."
    "No, that's all right." He sniffed and rubbed his nose. "The Earl of
Trask? That Hugh MacDonald?"
     "Yes." She stood up and tried to hold him, but he backed away and she
left him alone.  "I'm sorry," she said. "This was too much. I should have
known that it would be too much."
     "No. It's okay. It's fine. It doesn't matter. I... It's not this. I
just need to be on my own." He raked his hair back with his fingers. "Don't
cry," he said. "It's not your fault."

     Michael found things much easier to deal with once he had been on his
own for a while. He stripped off his clothes and was reminded sharply of
making love with Jamie.  He looked at his naked body in the full-length
bedroom mirror and saw himself on Jamie's bed, Jamie smiling at him and
lowering his head to take his cock in his mouth.  Michael closed his eyes
but the vision continued and he felt his cock stir.
     "Oh, Jamie," he whispered, and turned away.
     He lay in the bath and tried to think things over. His mother had had
a brief affair with Hugh MacDonald, but Jamie was living proof of the fact
that she wasn't the only one who had been persuaded into his bed. He
wondered about a man who could seduce his best friend's young wife. He
found less to ponder concerning his own father's behaviour, but it didn't
make him feel any better about it.
     The biggest shock was that Jamie was an earl's son. An earl's bastard,
he corrected himself - there was a huge difference. But not in his father's
eyes, he realised suddenly.  He had often wondered why his father had
always hated Jamie so much, but now he understood; Jamie was his
arch-enemy's son.
     And now it's the Montague's and the Capulet's all over again, he
thought. Romeo and Juliet falling in love with each other despite their
father's feud, or in this case Romeo and Romeo, which made it a thousand
times worse. He remembered the contempt in Jamie's eyes and clenched his
fists against the pain. Jamie wasn't in love with him and never would be.
His actions had made that abundantly clear.

     Unable to escape his thoughts, and torturing himself again and again
with Jamie's words, Michael slipped out of bed and pulled on an old pair of
jeans. It was a hot night and he didn't bother to dress farther. Even in
the almost total darkness of the stairwell, he knew every step of the
winding staircase to the battlements.
     He stood alone, looking out, and tried not to remember that he'd spent
the previous night with Jamie.
     "Are you all right, Michael?"
     He started violently and swung round. "Dixon! Shit, you startled me."
     "I heard your bedroom door open and thought you might be coming up
here. I was concerned," he said, and put the storm lantern he'd used to
negotiate the stairs down on the flagstones.
     He had been part of the household since before Michael was born, and
Michael realised that he had never really looked at him. But seeing him out
of context, he was looking at him now. He was a bear of a man, tall,
thickset and heavily muscled. There was no fat on his broad muscular frame,
and his white shirt stretched tightly across his chest as he flexed his
powerful shoulders and then leaned back against the wall. Early fifties,
Michael guessed, but although there was a liberal sprinkling of grey in his
thick brown hair, his strong masculine face showed few signs of
age. Michael glanced involuntarily at his crotch, and dropped his head in
embarrassment.
     "It isn't good to spend too much time alone," Dixon said softly.
     "I'll go back down in a minute," Michael mumbled. "I just wanted to
get some air."  He looked up and Dixon smiled at him and shifted position
to open his legs a little more.  "Haven't you been to bed?" Michael
asked. He was flustered at the signals Dixon was giving out, and even more
flustered that his body was responding.
     "I gave your father something to make him sleep, but I was sitting up
with him any way. He'll be fine," he added. "Once he thinks about it, he'll
realise that he over-reacted. MacDonald's bastard might bite, but he never
barks."
     "I don't understand."
     "He doesn't publicise what he knows," Dixon explained, and ran his
gaze over Michael's naked torso and then looked quite openly at the bulge
in his jeans. "What he said about the villagers laughing at your father was
a load of shite. And I'll speak to your father about your 'involvement',"
he added. "So don't be worrying about that. You're not the first to have
had the breeches off that one, and you won't be the last."
     Michael hugged himself and turned back to look over the battlements.
Dixon crossed the space between them and Michael felt his breath on his
bare shoulder and shivered.
     "It's no a wee laddie you need, Michael," he breathed. "It's a man."
He put his strong, muscular arm around Michael's waist and drew him against
him. "A man with a big, hard cock."
     Michael tensed away from him, but he pulled him back more firmly and
held him there until Michael began to relax against him.
     "That's better," he said, and rubbed Michael's growing prick through
his jeans with the palm of his other hand. "That's much better."
     "No," Michael told him, but he was lying. He wanted to give in to
this, to stop thinking about anything and let it happen. He knew that there
was no love involved, but he didn't want love; he wanted to forget.
     Dixon didn't bother to reply, and continued to rub Michael's hard-on
while he pressed his own erection against Michael's taut, young
buttocks. Michael squirmed against him and Dixon laughed softly and let him
go.
     "Away into the guardroom and light some candles," he told him. "I'll
make sure the door's locked."
     Michael did what he was told and felt very young. With Jamie, he felt
like an adult, but Dixon made him feel like a child. He looked round when
Dixon came in, and Dixon closed the guardroom door and smiled.
     "I don't even know your first name," Michael told him, ashamed that he
couldn't remember it.
     "Now, what would you be needing to know that for?" he asked. He tugged
his shirt free of his trousers and began to unbutton it, and then pulled it
off and threw it on to a chair. "Come here."
     Michael paused for a moment, taking in his broad, muscular chest with
its heavy growth of hair and the dark buttons of his nipples. He ran his
eyes downwards over the hard, defined muscles of his belly, following the
rivulet of grey and brown hair from his navel until it disappeared into the
waistband of his well-filled trousers.
     "Now!" Dixon commanded sharply.
     Michael went to him and stood in front of him, head lowered and prick
throbbing, an erring pupil brought before the headmaster and waiting to be
disciplined.
     Dixon reached for the button on Michael's waistband without any
preliminaries and then opened his fly and pulled his jeans to his
knees. Michael gasped as one massive hand closed around his jutting young
cock and the other cupped his sensitive balls.
     "You've been asking for this for a long time," Dixon told him. He spat
on his thumb and circled it over Michael's swollen cockhead and under the
rim, paying particular attention to the sensitive area where his foreskin
was joined to his cock.  His long, thick fingers moved around his shaft and
began to wank him a light, easy rhythm, while his other hand continued to
fondle his balls.
     Michael groaned and bowed his head against his chest, feeling the
warm, soft hair against his cheek and smelling the rank musk of his
underarms. He moistened his lips and began to lick around Dixon's left
nipple, feeling the hair become slick against his tongue, and then his
mouth parted eagerly and he began to suck, his hips beginning to thrust his
excited prick into Dixon's hand.
     Dixon pushed him away and Michael looked up at him, momentarily
bewildered.
     "Bend over the table."
     Michael hesitated, but his eyes were drawn to the erection that was
tenting Dixon's trousers and he was too turned on to disobey. He kicked off
his jeans and moved to lie over the oak table, his balls tingling. Dixon
followed close behind him and moved him into the position he wanted. A
single hard slap on his buttocks made Michael yelp and Dixon chuckled.
     Dixon spread the cheeks of his tight, young arse, and Michael felt the
air against his puckered hole and shuddered. He heard the squelch of K-Y
jelly and felt his balls tighten and spasms of electric pleasure shoot up
his engorged prick. Dixon slicked his crack and drove a strong unhesitating
finger deep into his arsehole. Michael gasped and then moaned as Dixon
found his prostate gland and began to rub his finger firmly against it.
Michael was sweating now and his rigid cock was dripping precum as Dixon
pressed his finger harder against his swollen gland. Michael whimpered, and
strained to open himself more, lost to the intensity of the stimulation and
feeling his balls begin to draw up inside his body.
     Dixon withdrew his finger and Michael groaned.
    He heard the rasp of a zip and the graphic rustle as Dixon let his
trousers drop to his ankles. He heard the squelch of K-Y jelly again and
shifted position slightly to accommodate him. Dixon slid his thick cock up
and down Michael's slippery crack, and Michael pushed back to try to impale
himself on it.
     Dixon nudged the mushroom head of his big prick against Michael's
tight sphincter and held him down so that he couldn't push back. "Do you
want it, Michael?  Do you want a man's cock inside your arse?"
     "Yes," Michael panted.
     "Tell me what you want, shout it."
     "Fuck me!"
     Michael gasped in pain as the big head of Dixon's cock relentlessly
pushed its way past the ring of muscle and began to fill his arse. Dixon
bottomed out and withdrew again, fucking him with long hard strokes, his
big hands spreading Michael's young cheeks wide, his fingers digging
fiercely into the smooth flesh. Michael moaned freely, his dripping cock
was chafing beneath him against the edge of the wooden table but he could
no longer distinguish between pleasure and pain.
     Dixon thrust deeply and grunted as he delivered his first load.
     "Fuckkkkkkkkkkkkk!!!!!!" Michael screamed out, and bucked furiously
against Dixon's plunging cock.
    Dixon rammed him hard and he screamed out again, and shuddered and
jerked as his young prick throbbed and splattered him with spurt after
spurt of hot boy spunk.

     There was no tenderness.
     Dixon withdrew quickly and pulled up his trousers enough to allow him
to move. "Is there water up here? It doesn't matter," he said, and wiped
himself off with a towel. "I'll shower downstairs."
     Michael stood up slowly and winced.
     Dixon glanced at him. "Okay?"
     Michael nodded. He was thinking about Jamie, about how soft Jamie had
been with him after they made love. The emptiness he felt seemed much worse
than the pain he had experienced earlier.
     Dixon reached for his shirt and within a few moments he was fully
dressed. "This was between us," he told Michael.
     Michael looked at him blankly.
     "Michael. It's between us," Dixon repeated. There was anxiety in his
voice, and Michael realised that he would be sacked without question if it
were to become known.
     "It's between us," Michael agreed. "Dixon. It won't happen again,
okay?"
     Dixon looked at him and Michael saw compassion in his eyes for the
first time.  "Forget him, Michael," he said quietly. "It could never have
worked."
     "You love my father, don't you?" Michael asked. He wondered at the
kind of love that was strong enough to last when it could never be
admitted, never returned.
     "Life's a bitch." His shrug was as flippant as his words, but the
expression in his eyes told a different story.
     "I'm sorry."
     "Don't be. It was my choice."
     Michael didn't pursue it. He pulled on the towelling robe that was
lying on the bed, and went out on to the battlements with him.
     "Thank you," Dixon told him, and clasped Michael's shoulder briefly as
Michael let him out. "Don't stay up here too long."
     "I won't," Michael promised. The heavy wooden door had only to be shut
to lock, and he pushed it to and closed his eyes as laid his forehead
against it.

     Within a week, Jamie had rid himself of the horses and taken himself
to Edinburgh for the rest of the holidays - and to Rob MacLean. Of that,
Michael had no doubts.
     Dixon was right, things did settle quickly. Michael's father said
little, and when his mother told him the story of her affair with Hugh
MacDonald, Michael listened but questioned nothing. He had already realised
for himself that sex could be many things and that all too often love
played no part in it at all.
     Michael saw his parents become closer, and was genuinely glad, but he
found it difficult to think too deeply about anything. The feeling of
emptiness that had first started after he had had sex with Dixon had become
constant, and all he could do was hide it.
     His mother and Kathy MacLaren remained friends and by the time he
returned to boarding school at the end of the summer, he already knew that
Jamie wasn't coming back to Strath.
     "He's going to study at night school," his mother told him, but
couldn't meet his eyes.  "He still wants to go to university, so don't
concern yourself about that."  It was the first time she had mentioned
Jamie to him since he had gone away.
     Michael looked at her swollen belly, and tried to think about what his
little brothers were going to look like. "Did you know that Dixon was in
love with Father?"  he asked lightly, and turned away as the pain of her
news hit him.
     "Yes," she said quietly. "So does your father. They discussed it a
long time ago, Michael, and I think they would both be very unhappy if they
lost each other's friendship. John Dixon isn't just an employee, however he
might appear in public."
     "I didn't mean to say that," he said, turning back. "I don't know
where it came from."
     She looked at him assessingly for a moment. "Michael... John followed
you up to the battlements..." She paused. "Did anything happen between you?
I wouldn't ask, but something has just occurred to me. I know that sex
often develops when someone needs to be comforted, none better. I'm not
about to judge either of you. John cares about you."
     "No." He shook his head. "Nothing happened. How can someone keep
loving someone when they know it's never going to be returned?" he
asked. "Why does that happen?"
     "Oh, my baby." She took a step towards him but he shook his head.
     "No, I'm not talking about me," he lied. "I was just wondering about
Dixon. I couldn't live like that. Thanks for telling me about Jamie," he
said, and was amazed that he could say it so easily. "I'm glad that he's
still going to take the exams."

     Michael found life less difficult when he was back at school. At
school he could lose himself in studying and in sports and, if he didn't
think about it, he could still believe that Jamie was in Strath. He could
even fantasise about him when he masturbated.  The other boys didn't
interest him, but he knew that was more about involvement than attraction.
He couldn't deal with the thought of allowing anyone close.
     His baby brothers were born safely and watching his parents with them,
he saw that there was little to fear about their future. But he didn't feel
as if he was part of it, or of anything.
     It seemed as if the world had moved on and that somehow he had been
left behind.

End of Part Six - to be continued.

Thank you for reading.