Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
JAMIE
My shift at the snug is over and the hotel has settled into its nightly hush—just the occasional creak of old wood and the faint hum of the boiler keeping me company as I climb upstairs. Once in my room, I kick off my shoes, ready to unwind.
My head has been spinning with ideas to wow Lewis and Emily. I’ve had a few decent ones, but none of them feels like the one —the idea that will turn around the snug’s fortunes. On the bright side, the ache in my thigh has finally eased up. Small mercies and all that.
I check my phone but there’s still nothing from Sass. I’ve not heard from her since she abruptly logged off before we’d even made it into the keep. I fired off a message to her a few hours back to suggest we give the quest another go tonight, but... no reply. Nada.
It was kind of odd that one moment there was something she really wanted to tell me, then the next her big news suddenly wasn’t important anymore. What was that about?
I don’t want to hound her but I shoot her one more message in case she missed the first one. Just a quick note to say I’m up for gaming tonight, if she fancies it. This might sound a bit tragic to anyone whose idea of “gaming” starts with Scrabble and ends with Monopoly, but trust me, you really do feel like something is off when your favourite teammate goes AWOL.
Staring at my phone and willing it to light up with a response is a pointless exercise, obviously. But when I manage to tear my attention away from it, my gaze instead lands on the Highland Legacy figurine perched on my shelf. The red-haired woman’s staff is raised high, ready to cast a spell on anyone who calls her an action figure instead of a collectible. Of course, her uncanny resemblance to SassyLassie’s in-game character had nothing to do with why I bought her... honest. Okay, okay, I couldn’t believe my luck when I spotted her in a Highland Legacy merch drop, and I knew I had to have her. I’ve never actually admitted to Sass that I own a physical representation of her, and I never will. I mean, it’s possible she’d find it endearing—but it’s also possible she’d find it creepy. Better not to take that risk.
I force my eyes away from the figurine, but there’s sod all else in my room to distract me. My other shelves groan under rows of sci-fi and fantasy books, while a weathered paperback copy of Dune sits on my desk beside what might be the world’s most chaotic tangle of charging cables. But I don’t feel like reading right now, and there’s no point gaming without Sass because I’d just spend the whole time wishing she were there beside me.
But... there is something else I could do.
I grab my laptop then settle on my bed. If Sass isn’t around for some virtual adventuring, maybe it’s time I finally dipped into the Highland Legacy TV series. Everyone’s been raving about it for years but somehow I’ve never got around to watching it. Probably because no adaptation could ever live up to the game. Still, Sass said if I wanted to understand her secret kink, I should watch season two, episode seven, so that’s what I’m going to do.
Sure, I could start at the very beginning—season one, episode one—and work my way up to that particular episode, but I’m nowhere near patient enough for that.
I find the episode online and click play, settling back against my pillows as brooding choral music swells through my tinny speakers. The opening shot pans over a mist-shrouded battlefield strewn with broken spears and shattered shields, corpses lying in grotesque disarray—some human, others twisted remnants of reanimated flesh. A lone wolf howls in the distance—because of course it does.
The scene shifts to a dimly lit castle chamber, where a towering Highland warrior (yes, shirtless already—classic) is deep in conversation with a woman whose auburn hair looks like it could ignite wet wood. They’re discussing their next move: gathering forces for another clash at dawn. Apparently, the earlier bloodbath wasn’t enough.
I’ve no idea who these two are. In the game, players design their own unique avatars for the adventure, so there are no set “heroes”. It seems the show’s creators have come up with an original cast of characters to drive the narrative, though I have heard that a few NPCs from the game make an appearance.
I watch about ten minutes, in which various other characters are introduced, but since I’ve no idea who’s who, it’s a tad confusing. I give up trying to follow the story and scrub through the episode instead. And then... bingo. This has to be it.
The Highland warrior and flame-haired woman are back, this time in a smaller chamber. Swords and axes hang on stone walls alongside banners embroidered with Celtic designs. Torches flicker, their light glinting off steel and painting the room in a warm amber glow.
The warrior is still shirtless, his breeches riding dangerously low on his hips. His companion, meanwhile, has traded her earlier leather coat for something far thinner: a gauzy chemise that clings to her curves in a way only a TV wardrobe department could pull off.
“Let me mark you for battle,” the man says, dipping his fingers into a bowl of thick blue pigment. His voice is low and rough—like he gargles gravel every morning—and his muscles shift under skin so bronzed, it’s as if Scotland suddenly relocated to the Mediterranean.
I snort softly as I settle further into my pillows. Body painting before battle? Pretty sure they’re off by a few centuries with that. Mind you, given they’re preparing to fight an army of the undead, I suppose I shouldn’t worry too much about historical accuracy. And there’s something about the way he leans closer to her that draws me in despite myself.
His hand moves slowly across her cheekbone, leaving trails of cobalt over pale freckled skin as she watches him with wide green eyes—a mixture of barely concealed nerves and something hotter simmering below the surface. His movements are practised but reverent. Every stroke feels deliberate, like he’s not just painting her face but committing it to memory in case fate isn’t kind when the sun rises. And given the way they occasionally glance towards the weapons that lie ready nearby, perhaps they know it won’t be.
The camera lingers as his hands shift lower—from her jawline to her neck, tracing swirls across her collarbone where firelight makes her skin glow molten gold beneath streaks of blue. Her breathing hitches when he slows over her shoulder. Neither of them speaks, but Christ almighty, you don’t need dialogue when the tension between them is thick enough to choke on.
Without a word she takes the bowl from him, dipping her fingers into its depths before gliding them over his chest, drawing slow spirals across taut muscle. Her hand trails lower until it hovers just above the point where those breeches rest so precariously on his hips.
The music swells, a tempest of strings and mournful harmonies that seem to carry every ounce of their longing, as though the sound itself aches for release. Clothes come off piece by piece: first his breeches slide past powerful thighs dusted with dark hair until he’s stark-bollock naked. Jesus Christ, that’s a whole lot more Highland warrior than I needed to see. Then her chemise slips free until bare breasts gleam under firelight. Fuck, her tits are absolutely gorgeous.
The warrior takes the bowl back and paints her breasts like they’re part of some ancient masterpiece. His fingers move slowly over her skin, leaving strokes of azure across the gentle swell of one breast before circling her nipple. Wow, he definitely lingers there too long for it to pass as innocent artistry. When she lets out a shaky breath, he stills for a moment, as if trying to rein himself in.
She then takes charge again, decorating the rest of his body like she’s conjuring some ancient spell to seduce a god. By the time she reaches his thighs—and yes, she gets scandalously close to brushing his cock—I’m watching in stunned disbelief because somehow this man’s penis remains soft through all of this. How? HOW? Meanwhile, my jeans are starting to feel dangerously tight, and I’m just watching this unfold on my laptop screen. Honestly, if this actor doesn’t win a BAFTA for restraint alone, there’s no justice in the world.
The firelight flickers, casting shadows that move almost as sensuously as the characters do. It’s ridiculous how much chemistry these two have. Somehow their connection feels... real.
The warrior pins the woman against a wall, her painted body arching towards his as though they’ve forgotten everything except each other. His hand slides down her thigh, his strong fingers lifting her leg, then he presses himself even closer to her. Her head falls back, exposing the delicate curve of her throat, which he descends upon with his mouth—biting softly first, then suckling hard. The guttural sound she makes when his hips roll against hers is so raw and feral it sends a shiver down my spine.
Fuck me if this isn’t hot as hell. I can’t believe I put off watching this for so long.
I unbutton my jeans and tug them down past my hips then let out a breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding. Sweet relief. My cock wastes no time expressing its gratitude—it twitches in my boxers like it’s giving me an approving nod for finally using my brain. Not that my brain has much to say right now.
The woman’s hands claw at the warrior’s shoulders, her desperate movements urging him closer, deeper into the molten pull of their shared need. He growls low in his throat then loops an arm around her waist and lifts her effortlessly—as though she weighs nothing at all—and strides to an ancient wooden table nearby. With one sweep of his free arm, scrolls, goblets, and more crash to the floor, then he’s laying her down, her hair spilling out like molten copper against the dark wood.
He descends upon her again, his hands mapping her curves while his hips press insistently between her thighs. The firelight catches their every movement: muscles flexing, limbs tangling, breaths quickening until they sound less human and more animal—raw and unrestrained.
Finally she shudders violently against him with a gasp so sharp it could slice through steel, dragging him right over the edge with her. His roar crashes against the stone walls like a thunderclap rolling through the hills. Afterwards, as he struggles to catch his breath, his chest rising and falling, he gazes down at her like she’s some rare treasure he can’t quite believe is real. “You’re... everything,” he murmurs, the words slipping out like they’ve been waiting a lifetime to escape.
Cut to: an exterior shot of the lone wolf howling again. Because subtlety is clearly not in this show’s vocabulary.
I pause the episode and run a hand over my face, willing myself to get a grip. What is wrong with me? The whole show is ludicrous—essentially a soft porn disguised as historical fantasy. And yet my cock’s standing to attention like it’s just heard the first bars of “Scotland the Brave.” I kick my jeans off entirely, yank my polo shirt over my head, then flop back onto my bed in nothing but my boxers—although my dick is quite clearly straining to be free of them too. Phew, I reckon I need to cool down a bit.
My eyes snag on the Highland Legacy figurine—the one that looks so much like SassyLassie—and I swear to God, her tiny painted face is smirking at me. My gaze then drifts to my phone. Hmm. I probably shouldn’t send her another message. But sod it.
LochNLoad
Bloody hell, Sass. Just watched THAT scene. You weren’t kidding—it’s hot as fuck. Couldn’t resist skipping straight ahead either.
I’m not expecting a response anytime soon—not after she ghosted my last couple of messages. But then— bam! —out of nowhere a reply comes in.
SassyLassie
Patience really ISN’T your virtue, is it?
My stomach does this weird little swoop thing that’s equal parts relief and adrenaline. Maybe I’m overreacting—it hasn’t been that long since we last spoke—but still, it’s like... someone turned on the sun after a drizzly day in the hills.
LochNLoad
Sorry! But just to clarify, are you talking about my relentless messaging or the fact I skipped ahead to S2E7?
SassyLassie
Both
LochNLoad
Fair enough! But I have to ask... body painting? That’s your secret kink? Want to, er, discuss it in more detail?
SassyLassie
Nope! Not going there. Let’s talk about literally anything else.
I frown at my phone. That’s not the response I was hoping for. Where’s the fun in that?
LochNLoad
Okay, although... with her auburn hair, that actor didn’t look a million miles away from your avatar. Just saying!
SassyLassie
Lochie! Let’s change the subject
Interesting. I’ve never known Sass to get flustered before. It’s kind of cute.
LochNLoad
Okay, sure. How about instead you tell me the big news you were going to tell me earlier?
SassyLassie
Nope, let’s not talk about that either. That’s... not relevant anymore.
LochNLoad
Mysterious, but NP. I won’t ask you about that ever again... so long as you tell me one SPECIFIC thing you liked about the body-painting scene. What is it about it that gets you going? The intimacy? The build-up of sexual tension? The mess?
SassyLassie
OMG, stop! This is embarrassing.
LochNLoad
Ah, I get it. *strokes imaginary beard* You want someone to paint YOUR boobs like that. Well... *heroically grabs nearest jar of paint*
SassyLassie
Oi, watch it! I am THIS closing to blocking you. You have been warned!
LochNLoad
Okay, backing off now, promise!
But seriously, everything good? You logged off pretty suddenly earlier. Not trying to pry, BTW—just looking out for my favourite quest partner.
SassyLassie
All fine here. Just... been a funny day, you know?
LochNLoad
Aye, I have them too. Think everyone does. Fancy a game?
SassyLassie
Not tonight. I’m tired but I wanted to check in before bed. Talking of which... I’m off to hit the hay.
LochNLoad
Night, Sass. Sweet dreams... preferably involving blue paint.
SassyLassie
You just can’t help yourself, can you? Night, Lochie.
I toss my phone onto the bedside table. I’m glad Sass broke her silence, even if that conversation wasn’t quite as fun as it could have been.
All right, I’m too wired to sleep so... what to do with myself?
My gaze slides to my laptop, which is still open on my bed, the paused video glowing faintly in the dim light of my room. I reach for the trackpad, hesitate a moment, then... aye, I rewind it.
Back to that scene because apparently one viewing wasn’t enough to properly appreciate its “artistic value.” You know, purely for research purposes. For science. Definitely not because it was hot enough to melt the snow on Ben Nevis.
I hit play then glance at my hand, which is resting oh-so-innocently on my thigh.
“Looks like it’s just us again, mate. No offence but you’re not exactly my first choice. But beggars can’t be choosers, eh?”