(MONARCH of the GLEN)
Kilter
Archie stood at the end of the dock, facing towards the lochan.
As a child, when he was sent away to boarding school, he dreamed of this place. After Jamie died, all he wanted to do was get away. Eventually he did; he'd made a life for himself away from Glenbogle. He swore he'd only come back on the sparest of occasions. Now... he was the laird. It was a position that was never supposed to be his, but after unfortunate circumstance it was.
The wind gathered up loose leaves in a whirl and they danced around his stockings. Dressed in formal, he always found it both liberating and confining. But now here he was, at his wits end once more—and not wanting to be anywhere else beside.
A strong gust came off the lochan as heavy footsteps clomped across the dock behind him. Archie turned and in an aggressive move, the wind briefly picked up his kilt from around his thighs and flashed poor Duncan.
Duncan stumbled to a halt, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed. He stuttered, "What—? You—!"
Archie furrowed interested brow. "I... what?"
"You- You're naked down there!" Duncan pointed. "I saw everything!"
Archie chuckled in amusement at the man's response, not feeling an inch embarrassed himself. "It's tradition, Dunc." He paused as he looked at his head ranger. "And you?"
"Wh- of course!" Duncan exclaimed, looking away. "I am!"
"Duncan," Archie cautioned him. "Lying to your laird?"
Duncan hunched inward at the accusation. "'M not."
Archie stepped forward and Duncan swallowed nervously, skittering back a little at the closure. "Mm-hmm." Archie halted the man as he took a elaborite button on the lapel of his waistcoat and polished it casually with his thumb.
Duncan was sweating, frozen and Archie reached down, his palm going up and under his kilt. A surprised groan left the nervous Scot. His laird made a sound of disapproval as he encountered the material of his boxers.
"Duncan," he disapproved. He grabbed a fistful of the material and suddenly yanked down.
Duncan yipped, jolting. "What are y-!" his boxers did a halting pool around his stockings.
"It's tradition." Archie said. He put his hand on the man's chest. He could feel his friend's heart hammering frantically through his chest. He forced the man a single step back, out of his boxers. Archie picked them up and put them in his own pouch on his kilt instead giving them to their owner. "I'll just hold onto these, shall I?"
"But- but-" Duncan stammered, glancing down at the pouch before swallowing as he met Archie's doe brown eyes. "Yes, m'lord."
"Alright, then." He gave a smile. "It's that time, huh?"
"Y-yeah." He gave a jolty nod. "Molly sent me. Sent me."
"Shall we?" Archie murmured. He brushed passed his head ranger, giving his man's cock an appreciative squeeze through his kilt.
"Ah." Duncan chocked on a grunt. "Oh." He licked his lips, standing a little dazed.
"Duncan!" Archie shouted.
"Coming!" Duncan scrambled after his laird, stumbling over his feet in his uncoordinated rush.
Archie smirked to himself. "Soon enough you will, old boy. Soon enough."
It wasn't the crumbling, ramshackle, rambling estate of Glenbogle that he stuck around for—but the people.
F