Unforgettable

Ian Kerr dreams of the blue-eyed gaze that met his in a
strange, still moment on the field of battle. Brodick MacFarland, young and
inexperienced, yet old enough to fight for his clansmen, saves a wounded man
left for dead by his kin. Now, five years later, Brodick is a trained physician
and an adult who knows his own mind. Fortunately for Ian, the clash between the
clans still rages on, leaving Brodick fair game. Will Brodick come with Ian of
his own accord or will this educated warrior continue to evade capture?

Pulp Friction Presents

A Sweet Exchange Erotic Short

Unforgettable

By

Lee Brazil

This
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations and incidents are products
of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. As such, any resemblance
to any persons, living or deceased, businesses, events, or locales is
coincidental.

Cover
Art photo by © © Tomas Sereda - Fotolia.com

Editing
by Jae Ashley

Copyright April.
2013 © Lee Brazil

Acknowledgement

All
rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may
not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without
the express written permission of the publisher

except
for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Unforgettable

Thunder awoke Ian Kerr from a
restless sleep haunted by troubled blue eyes. He wanted to reach out to the
owner of those eyes, tell the man that it would be all right. "All
right," he mumbled, forcing heavy lids up. His head felt thick and his
vision blurred.

Lying still, he forced himself to
assimilate his surroundings as his head and vision slowly cleared. The floor
beneath him was earth, the wall he lay against as well. A fire crackled nearby,
providing warmth and a dim flickering light. His belly rumbled loudly, echoing
the thunder.

Last he'd known, his brother Andrew,
and Agnes MacFarland had left him to cover their retreat. How had he come to
lie in an abandoned shepherd's bothy? Still, it was out of the storm that raged
outside, and for that he was grateful. A savory scent lingered in the air, and
Ian shifted upright to find the source of that enticing odor.

"Ahh
…
" Agony seared his chest, and he clutched at it,
marveling as his fingers found a neat row of stitches. The pain jolted his
muddled brain and memories fought slowly to the surface. "The battle…"
The damned MacFarlands had left him to die on the roadside when one of their
untrained whelps landed a lucky blow with sword he'd been scarce able to lift.

"Aye, easy there." The
soft burr drew his gaze to a thin man in a MacFarland tartan kneeling near the
small fire. The youth filled a bowl with pottage and crossed the small space
between them. The voice was familiar, the figure strange.

"Where am I?"

"Boden's old place. I
couldna get ye any further from the road. Wasna safe to take ye to the
farm." When the youth knelt and offered him the bowl, Ian was struck by
deep blue eyes, the steely blue of the sky before sunset, set in a fine boned
face, beardless, thin, fragile nearly, and very familiar.

"Ye're a MacFarland."
He reached automatically for his blade, though the stripling was hardly
threatening in his appearance. Memories stirred of the recently fought battle. Those
were the eyes from his dream… "I remember ye from the fight. Ye were in
Andrew's bride's guard."

Laughter lurked in the blue eyes
before the youth ducked his head. "I'm Brodick MacFarland. Agnes is my
sister." His cheeks flushed slightly, though it could have been a trick of
the flickering fire.

Brodick returned to the fire and
filled another bowl of pottage for himself. Ian surveyed him cautiously. His
instinct said the other man was no threat…but their families were at war.
"Ye fetched the doctor for me?" Silently, he ate a few bites of
pottage, studying the slim figure, the thin chest and wiry arms. This was no
warrior, though he could plainly see the man wasn't as young as he'd first
thought.

Brodick met his gaze again.
"I sewed ye up meself. I'm a student at Aberdeen. I'm sorry if 'tis no'
perfectly done. But I didna dare let anyone know you lived."

Ian nodded. "Why?" This
youth hadn't participated in the mild battle; Ian's injury had been caused by a
startled looking stripling who'd vomited into the heather and thistle at the
roadside immediately afterward. Ian's clansmen had left him, their need to
escort Andrew's bride to safety most urgent. He caught a sidelong glance from
Brodick, and something in the darkening gaze sent a flicker of heat to his
groin. Clan MacFarland was known for beauty in a land where brawn was prized, Ian
wouldn’t have been so smitten with the sainted Agnes, but this one was
different…special. Where the other MacFarlands shared his creamy pale skin and
plump rosy lips, instead of the deep auburn hair the rest of the MacFarlands
sported, this one had been graced with a wild mane of black curls, cropped at
the shoulder. Ian's fingers itched to bury themselves in those curls, to test
their silky appearance with his fingertips.

"Agnes wanted Kerr. From the
time their paths crossed in Aberdeen last fall, he's all the foolish lass
talked of…every letter Laird Kerr this, Andrew that. 'Twas for the best that
she go with him. Her father wanted another match, 'tis true enough, but bride
theft is an honored tradition."

And that explained how the lass
had been so far from home with so few warriors about. Aye. Andrew Kerr was a
shrewd man. Pity he hadn't shared with his brother the full extent of the plot.
It would have been nice to know that the bride and her brother were in on the
abduction. "How long?" How long had he lain here, unable to fend for
himself? How long had this stripling doctor-to-be tended his wound? He shook
the fuzziness from his head. Had the man drugged him?

"Your clansmen left ye on
the road to die." The youth's voice was troubled. "'Twas a good six
nights ago that Agnes was taken. None have come looking."

Damn. Six nights
? "Aye. They wouldna. They know I can do for
meself." He watched Brodick eat, spooning occasional bites of pottage between
tempting lips. "I'll leave when the storm lets up." Watching Brodick,
he fully understood his brother's fascination with Agnes.

Shaking his head, Brodick
cautioned, "Nay. You canna go so far until ye've healed further."

"I dinna ken what the MacFarlands
are made of, lad, but a Kerr is a hardy man. If it werena for yer drugs, I'd
have been away long since." Under lowered lids he admired the fluid grace
of the physician's movements as he scraped his bowl back into the pot and
covered it.

"Ye had the fever. I gave ye
a draught, is all." Brodick stared at the wall over Ian's head for a few
minutes. Ian waited. His senses were on high alert…and not because he felt
threatened. A sensual current between him and his caretaker sent prickles of
awareness sparking through his body. The fine red gold hair on his arms stood
upright.

"No more of yer draughts. I
canna spend the whole of the season holed up in a bothy in the
countryside."

"I've to get back to Aberdeen, to the college."

"Then, in the morning, we
leave." Aye. The lad would make a fine doctor and a poor specimen of a
warrior at that. Not that his body wasn't fine in its own way. Ian admired
again the smooth chest with its tight pink nipples, the sculpted lean muscles.
He dragged his gaze back to Brodick's face and noted his quickened breath. The
lad was interested, even if he didn't know what lured him. "Ye go alone to
the city?"

Were the MacFarland family
crazed? To send one so young and fair alone?

A faint smile twisted sensual
lips. "I cross only the lands of those my family is allied with. I'll come
to no harm."

"I'll escort ye." He
saw the other's lips part as though to protest and barreled on. "Ye cared
for me when I needed it. I'll see ye to yer destination, I canna be indebted to
a MacFarland while our clans are at war." Ian nodded resolutely, shutting
his eyes to block out any further discussion.

The MacFarland didn't take the
hint though and continued to chatter endlessly about his city, his school, the
books he'd read, and wonders he'd like to see, until Ian thought the sound of
the man's voice alone would drive him mad.

"Sleep," he ordered
gruffly. His rod lay thick and hard against his belly, and if he were anywhere
else, with anyone else, he wouldn't have hesitated to take himself in hand and
relieve his frustration. Maybe when the lad slept and the temptation to show
him that Scotland held plenty of marvels to wonder at faded, he'd be able to
find relief from his aching need.

He slouched down, crossing his
arms over his chest and ignoring the tug of the stitching, the ache of his
wound. With closed eyes, he listened to the other man rustling around,
preparing for his own rest.

When he was certain from the even
breathing across the fire that Brodick slept, Ian loosened the folds of his
tartan and palmed his cock. Imagining steely blue eyes and ruby lips, he
stroked himself a few times, losing himself in the building fire until a smooth
hand stroked down his chest.

His eyes flew open in surprise.
"Brodick?"

"Ian…" The whisper
brushed over his lips. "I want…"

Disregarding his injury, Ian
caught Brodick by the waist and rolled them so that the younger man gazed up at
him with dazed eyes from a thick swath of green and purple and red MacFarland tartan.
"Aye," he muttered, capturing in a hot kiss the plump lips that had
teased him. Brodick met each thrust of his tongue with eagerness, his mouth
parted willingly. However youthful he might appear, Brodick clearly was no
stranger to the wonders of Scotland, as his knowing touch and melting eyes
proclaimed.

Hands too smooth to wield a sword
slid over Ian's shoulders, his chest, down the furry path of his belly to his
straining cock. Ian shuddered, pushing into Brodick's caress. They shifted,
tartan shoved aside, until Ian could rut against Brodick's thickened cock, each
slow, rough glide drawing moans. The gasping conclusion snuck up on him all too
quickly when Brodick spilled his seed between them with a cry.

***

"That must be a helluva
dream, Ian." Johnnie's gruff voice dragged Ian from his memories back to
the thin sliver of trees above the MacFarland farm where they waited.

"Unforgettable," he concurred
with his younger brother. His head fell back against the thick rough trunk of
the mountain oak. Five years of unforgettable dreams while Brodick finished his
studies, grew to be the man he was meant to be. Five years of furtive trips to Aberdeen, meetings in pubs and quiet out of the way places. Five years of planning that
led to this night.

The night he claimed the man that
was meant to be his, the future that they would have together.

It Was More Than He Wanted

Ian traced the scar on his chest
absently. The pale marking seemed to gleam in the dim light, a white crescent
directly over his heart. The mark was more than he wanted, less than he needed
to keep his love close to mind. Brodick was fascinated by the mark when they
were together. He considered it a badge of ownership, a seal of his place in
Ian's life.