Scottish Highlands

Scottish Highlands

While travelling through the Scottish Highlands in early spring, as a part of their little vacation, a sudden, violent blizzard forces François and Connor to seek refuge in an abandoned, centuries-old stone bothy. The bothy has a single room with a crumbling fireplace, a dirt floor, and a few damp, mouldy blankets. There is no wood for a fire, so they huddle together in their winter gear, shivering uncontrollably. Connor, already miserable, grows desperately in need of a toilet, his small sensitive bladder cramping urgently, but the bothy has none, and the storm is too fierce to go outside. He crosses his legs, squirming on the floor under the blanket, hugging himself, pressing a hand to his lower belly, biting his pump lips, whining quietly. François notices his distress and childish squirming and gently asks whether Connor needs to go. Connor blushes and sheepishly looks up from his long lashes, quietly admitting his need. François, resourceful, finds a deep, narrow crevice in the stone wall at the back of the bothy, a natural crack that leads down into the earth. He gently encourages Connor to use it, standing guard, his back turned to give privacy. Connor, humiliated and shaking from cold and shame, manages to squat awkwardly over the crack and leaks pee into his underwear before he even manages to fully put it down. He lets go immediately, his stream echoing strangely in the dark hole. He pees for a very long time, the sound mingling with the howling wind, and when he finishes, he trembles, tears of humiliation and relief freezing on his cheeks. François turns, pulls him into a tight embrace, kisses his cold lips, and whispers, 'Mon brave, tu as fait ce qu'il fallait. Je suis si fier de toi.' They spend the night pressed together on the floor, one blanket underneath them, another on top of them, sharing body heat, François spooning Connor, rubbing his arms and legs to keep his blood flowing, murmuring reassurances in French. Connor is still very cold and uncomfortable, and the sounds outside are very scary, terrying him. When he finally manages to fall asleep, he has a nightmare. He tosses and turns in François' arms, whining in his sleep, calling for François quietly. François wakes up to the sound and carefully wakes Connor up, gently kissing his wet cheeks, his nose, his chin, his lips, reassuring him that it was just a bad dream, they're together here, inside, safe, nothing is gonna happen to Connor, the blizzard will be over by morning, and they will leave this place. Connor lets himself be held and cherished, curling up under François' chin, feeling his warm chest against his face. He whispers words of gratitude and apologies for waking François up and falls asleep again. In the morning, the storm breaks, revealing a stunning white landscape. They drive out, exhausted but alive, and at the nearest village, François rents a tiny room at an inn, builds a roaring fire, and slowly, reverently, undresses Connor, warming him with his own body. He prepares Connor with lube (he had a travel sized bottle in his backpack) and makes love to him with a desperate, tender urgency, entering him from behind, Connor's cold-flushed skin slowly heating under François' hands. Connor whimpers and moans loudly, and François has to cover his mouth with his palm to not attract the elderly inn receptionist' attention. Each deep thrust pushes directly onto Connor's prostate and stimulates the nerve endings of his walls, making Connor leak so much pre-cum on the sheets that he creates a small puddle of it under his hips. The bed creaks, the slick sound of their bodies moving together is obscene in the quiet room. Very soon (embarrassingly soon, if Connor wasn't so exhausted and blissed out, he would feel embarrassed) Connor comes with a shaking cry, his release thin and watery, spurting long jets onto the sheets below him, adding to the mess, his whole body arching into François' chest. François follows, groaning into Connor's neck, coming deep inside, holding him through the aftershocks. Afterwards, he bathes Connor in a small tin tub with water heated on the fire, washing away the dirt and shame with gentle hands, kissing each newly warm part of his body. He also washes Connors' briefs and hangs them to dry near the fire. They decide to stay in the inn for some time to rest and warm up. They put on fresh clothes from their bags they had in the rented car and carefully gather the ruined sheets to put them in the laundry basket outside the guest rooms. On their way to the inn's small café François politely asks the receptionist for extra sheets, and the old lady slightly chuckles, not commenting anything but obviously understanding what they did to ruin the sheets so quickly. She just promises to leave the sheets on their bed soon. At the café, they order herbal tea with local berries and local Scottish pastry, and eat in the comfortable warm armchairs, watching local TV and talking about the blizzard and their next location. Then they go back to their room. The weather seems much better, so François suggests they go out and explore the village and several villages nearby, and then come back to the inn for the night before heading out to a more distant place by car. Before going on this small adventure across villages, he gently reminds Connor to use the bathroom. Connor is a bit ashamed of the reminder, feeling like a naughty child, but he knows François is right, his small bladder definitely won't hold all this tea for long. He finds the inn's bathroom and pees, relaxing his muscles, still feeling pain after holding his pee for a long time yesterday, grateful for its modest comfort compared to the crack in the earth earlier. François quickly uses the bathroom after Connor too, and they go exploring the villages, marvelling at their ancient beauty, their peculiar architecture, the authentic atmosphere.