Bride

This is a non-consensual gay erotic story, all characters are 18 or over.

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Jonathan Edward Dalton was an auspicious man-- according to some-- a man of great pedigree, great reputation, a man whose favour was worth more in weight than gold...

According to others though, Jon could be described as something else entirely... and those very people were the kind to find themselves belly up on the end of Jon's own ruby crested dagger. A family heirloom, no less.

Jon scowled as he moved his way through the open doorway, his nose crinkling at the smell of the decrepit swine that frequented the whorehouse and filled it with their sweltering stench. He inched forward, ignoring the wayward leer of the young blonde with the toothless smile and turning his nose up at the obscene gesture she made with her mouth to try and tempt him to spend a coin or two.

That explained the gums, then.

He was stopped quickly, this time by a shapely redhead with soft eyes and a shining emerald gown that pulled in tight at her waist and flared out like a rushing waterfall of liquid green.

She was tall. He liked tall.

Liked redheads too, but hers was wrong--the red too close to the hue of freshly shed blood-- and much too straight, hanging heavy just below the curve of her creamy breasts.

She would do, he supposed, as long as he fucked her from behind it was all the same in the end.

Jon stilled then, the sight of the girl dissolving from his vision at the first whisper of that voice-- the soft lilt of a Scottish brogue that shouldn't have cut its way through the rest but did-- the very sound of it shooting a jolt of pure pleasure up his spine as his eyes grazed across the crowded brothel in search for the man who beheld it.

Jon found him, eyes gliding over the rebel's broad body as he leaned heavily against a splintering wooden pillar and smiled almost bashfully down at a growing gaggle of swarming whores.

A boiling pit of irritation bubbled quickly in his gut at the sight-- but he held back, cooling himself to watch the young Scotsman's interactions with the horde.

It proved fruitful in the end, and it was with a growing smile that he slunk his way through the sweaty throng of milling bodies and sidled up behind the unwary man.

Adair.

A name that had long ago bled into his mind and branded itself across his brain... he couldn't allow that, couldn't allow another man that kind of power.

Come morning, Jon would carve his own name into the flesh of the one who had haunted him.

Adair Argyll.

Jon greeted him with a smile and the hidden tip of his blade, the feel of the entrapped jewels digging into his palm deliciously as he pressed it in just far enough to split the younger man's skin.

Jon spoke before Adair could even form his shock, and he did so with a blistering glee.

"Ah, I can scarcely believe my eyes-- if it isn't the young Mr Argyll, what a pleasant surprise."

Jon finished the sugared words with a hearty bellow and clapped Adair on the back hard, making the Scotsman flinch back into the pressing blade and suck in a pained breath.

Trapped.

Jon wasn't lying, it had been a lovely surprise. He had dragged himself into this godforsaken whorehouse just to rid of his pent up frustrations-- too tired to terrorises some unawares lone lady he had caught on his way, and too long overdue to wait for a finer establishment-- and now in his arms, and on his dagger, was the young lad who had fled his advances and plagued his every waking sodden dream.

Jon had first met Adair during a search along a long stretch of road in Aberdeen, he and a few of his fellow soldiers had stopped Adair and his companions for a bit of harmless fun. Usually Jon and his men enjoyed roughing up the local Scots... but this day had been different.

Adair had been different.

He was a fighter, and he had fought tooth and nail. Jon had been enamoured, watching the bloody broken young man shakily pull himself to his feet every time he was knocked off them, swaying on the spot as he tried to defend his friends. Jon had punished him in the end, of course, had enjoyed commanding his men to hold the feisty Scot down as he whipped the skin from his back, lash after lash.

He had happened upon him twice more after that, and every time he saw his pretty face, that feeling from the very first time he had saw him came rushing back. Jon had offered Adair the world in exchange for a tase of his body, had offered to shower him in jewels and finery if he would just let him fuck him once and let this obsession finally leave him.

Not only did the young Scot decline, but he had left Jon with a jagged scar in the middle of his left cheek before escaping him for the last time.

And now he was here... it was like fate had served him Jon's fantasy on a silver platter. And it was marvellous.

The women surrounding Adair seemed in two minds about Jon's arrival, some too jittery to meet his eyes at the sight of his gleaming redcoat, and others too horrendously over-anxious to turn their attentions to him in the chance of a coin purse as gilded as his fine ensemble...

Alas, Jon would be taking none of them with him to the rooms at the top of the stairs. Not now. Not with the one he sought pressed hard to the length of his body.

Jon let his free hand wind around Adair's waist, pulling him closer to his side-- in what could be assumed as a friendly gesture to any passing eyes-- and shared a jovial smile with the girls.

"There's a pretty penny for the lovely young lady who can fetch the Madam of the house and bring her to me."

Most of them scampered off before he could finish his sentence and he quickly turned his smile to his captured foe. He leaned forward, his lips brushing over the rebel's earlobe as he spoke in a hushed whisper.

"Keep being a good lad for me and I won't have to gut those darling girls where they stand, understood?"

Adair nodded brusquely, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he clenched it tight, as if halting the rise of a budding reply.

Smart boy.

Jon let his hand graze up the Scot's tense back, chuckling softly in his ear when he felt the ridges of scared flesh under his fingertips through the rough fabric of his shirt.

Yes, that would need to come off.

He moved his hand back into position when the Madam finally made her way over to them, a twitch of a smile on her thin lips that didn't meet her eyes. She nodded graciously and dipped her head in a polite, yet brief, greeting.

"Good evening, gentlemen... my girls have told me that my presence was requested?"

It was stated as a question but the way her eyes scanned over them both needed no translation. She was a Madam of a brothel, after all.

"We won't keep you long, dear woman, but my travelling companion and I need a room to stay for the night, we have buisness to attend to and such, you understand."

She raised a thin eyebrow, that same quirk of a smile firmly in place as she glanced between the two.

"Would you be needing... anything else to make your stay more comfortable, sir?"

Jon grinned at her meaning.

"We'll take whatever you can offer, Madam, and for a good price too."

She nodded her head swiftly and turned to murmur a few words to her girls, who then promptly grew flushed and scuttled off to fetch whatever their mistress had asked of them.

Jon went to turn-- with his captive in toe-- only to halt suddenly and address the lady one last time.

"Ah, we'll need oil too."

***

It wasn't until they had made it up the small flight of rickety stairs and entered the room that Adair then attempted to fight back-- his hard body flinging around in a surprise attack with strong arms surging back to disarm Jon of his dagger-- and it probably would have worked too, if Jon didn't know Adair, if he wasn't ready for him. Because he was... ready for him.

The pistol Jon had tucked into the back of his breaches was pulled out fast and aimed true at the rebel's face, the sight of it bleeding out the rest of Adair's resistance.

"I think it's safe to say that that won't be your last rebellion over the course of the night, so let me just save you the trouble. That young girl that I pulled to the side at the bottom of the stairs before-- I paid her handsomely to deliver a message to my waiting men. If I shall not meet them by morning come, they are to ride swiftly north to Aberdeen and slaughter your sister and anyone else daft enough to get in their way."

The sight of the shudder that ran down the younger man's body was enough to make Jon hard right then, but there was still plenty of time to play...

"Yes, I know of your pretty sister, dear boy-- though I must admit, she's not half as pretty as you... So, you're going to be a good lad for me, aren't you? For the sake of your lovely Caitlin?"

Adair's jaw tightened but his head bowed quickly in answer, the ashen tone to his pallid skin the only sign of how deep the threat had cut.

Good.

"If you understand, I want you on your knees, hands behind your back."

The command was followed, though not quick enough for Jon's taste and he cocked the gun in warning.

"If orders are too difficult for you to follow, I may just have to find someone else who can... perhaps another young lass who wouldn't protest to getting her knees dirty--"

A snarling roar ripped from Adair's mouth before he could seem to stop it, his nostrils flaring as he glared up at Jon with fire in his eyes.

Beautiful.

"Ye will no' touch my sister!"

He spat, the muscles in his forearms twisting as he fought to stay in position despite the rage flaring through his body. Jon smiled, stepping forward the short distance to glide the mouth of the pistol across the lad's cheek.

"Then you will be a good boy and behave."

It was then that a soft knock rattled the door and Jon strode over to open it, the tall redhead from before standing before him with a small basket of assorted goodies. And oil.

Jon pulled out a pouch and handed it to the girl as he took the basket, smirking at the way her eyes lit up at the hefty weight in her hands.

"You will make sure your dear Madam receives that in full, won't you? No skimming off the top."

At the girls quick and nervous nod, Jon grinned and pulled out a shiny coin from his coat pocket, slipping it into her hands before he patted her on the cheek.

"She doesn't have to know about that one, though. Off you go now."

When he turned back, Adair was still in position, some of the earlier rage simpering away with the coming fear brought on by the sight of the basket.

Jon could hardly wait.

He moved forward slowly, like a lion stalking his prey, knowing there would be no need for a chase.

Adair flinched-- if that's what you could call that immeasurable twitch of his jaw-- and Jon hushed him softly with a finger, letting the digit drag across the seam of the Scot's hard pressed lips.

"These are dangerous lips, boy."

Jon murmured, before gripping Adair's chin and angling it up to look at him.

"A face as sweet as sin, will pull you further from the lord. My father used to say that to me... I never understood what he meant at the time."

Adair's jaw clenched.

"On the bed. I'll need to tie your hands to the frame."

Adair was quicker to follow the command this time but there was no spring in his step as he strode to the bed and jerkily laid himself upon it, his chin held achingly high as he stared at the ceiling.

Jon didn't hurry his step as he pulled the silk ties from the basket and went to Adair, letting the material glide over his frame with a slow breath before he finally fastened the younger man's hands to the frame with a brisk tug.

When he stepped back to study his work, he smiled, just a small creeping of his lips as his eyes gazed down his new lover's form.

Better then he had even imagined...

The rising flush that crept up the rebel's exposed collar and tinged his cheeks a vicious pink was a delectable surprise he had never dared to expect.

"My darling, you're blushing so prettily... like a virgin bride on her wedding night."

That flush burned brilliantly up Adair's cheeks at those words, a choking sound escaping his clenched lips and he squirmed.

Jon's cock hardened at the sight, his pulse thrumming at the shock of excitement racing through his blood.

"That's what you are, aren't you? My loving bride, anxiously awaiting the touch of your husband."

Jon grinned at the trapped Scotsman, his eyes then flicking to his own hand as he brushed his knuckle over the golden band adorning his index finger. He slipped it off quickly, then moved forward to seat himself on the bed beside his bride.

Despite Adair's sudden surge to struggle, Jon managed to slide the ring neatly on his finger.

"A perfect fit."

Adair released a strained breath of air, something close enough to a hiss that Jon tutted down at him in mock disappointment and moved his hand to gently trail his fingers through the soft honey-red curls. This was the colour he so coveted-- the warmth of it, the almost innocent hue of rouge-- not like that ember-locked whore of before. This was the colour of his Adair.

The rebel wrenched his head away with another huff of air, his flared nostrils and clenched jaw reminding Jon of a bull; angry, cornered... ready to be broken in and ridden hard.

When Jon's fingers moved to sink into his pretty curls once more, Adair pulled away again-- but Jon was ready for him, forming a tight fist and capturing those locks in a painful grip.

"I know you're shy, my love, but this is our wedding night. You must be good for me."

The words were saccharined and soft, spoken hot against his bride's ear, followed next by his hot tongue trailing down the shell of it and ending at his lobe, where he sucked it into his mouth and nibbled playfully.

Adair was breathing hard now, his chest rising fast under his mounting trepidation.

Jon was excited too.

He took it slow though, his fingers gentle and easy as he slowly disrobed the younger man, often pausing to press gentle kisses over each inch of newly exposed skin. He was so sweet on his lips, so warm and alive. So... Adair..

When they were both finally naked, Jon laid beside him, kissing across his collarbone before he moved lower to capture a lovely hardened nipple-- which was all the more sweet when the action caused Adair's lips to escape a startlingly high pitched gasp.

"Mm, are you sensitive here, sweetling? Are you enjoying your husband's tongue?"

That was what seemed to tip the lad over the edge, and he swiftly twisted his body to the side in an effort to escape the searing tongue.

"Dinna' play wih' me, ye redcoat bastard! Just take ye pleasure and go!"

He snarled out, finally writhing in his restraints under the amused eye of his captor.

He shushed him with a crawling smile before his body shifted easily, quickly lifting himself to straddle the struggling man.

"Have I teased you too much, darling? Are you anxious for what's next to come?"

Adair went to bite out another heated response, only for Jon to press his body over his and capture his lips. There was a moment in the shock of it, a small measure of time where Adair was caught off guard long enough for Jon to take his pleasure in the kiss, his tongue plunging into the man's open mouth.

Then he got bit.

The slap was quick, deafening-- but necessary-- and Adair let out a choked wheeze at the suddenness of it. Jon quickly moved to caress the reddening cheek, his thumb gently tracing the angry lines of his handprint.

"I will warn you once, and once only. There will be no more fighting, you will give in to me, gift yourself to me-- body and soul-- and you will enjoy doing it... or I will find someone else."

The threat was clear exactly who else that would be and all at once the fight left Adair in a single exhale, his strong arms sagging listlessly in the restraints as he screwed his eyes closed in defeat.

"Good lad."

The kisses began again, and this time Adair didn't flinch from him, just held taut and rigid under the assault of lips and teeth.

"You've never been kissed here, have you?"

Jon asked slowly, his hand clasping firmly around the Scot's flaccid cock, earning a muffled grunt when his fingers wrapped around the thick shaft before giving it an experimental tug. He moved down with a grin, butterfling kissed as he went until his mouth found the soft length and took it quick and deep, his tongue flicking expertly over the sensitive head before massaging the underside.

Adair let out a moan and a shudder, something so guttural and strained it made Jon speed up, bobbing his head quickly over the growing cock, feeling it fill in his mouth.

He was delicious, thick and heavy on his tongue, and hot... so hot. Alive. Real. Not another pointless dream.

This was Adair, his Adair, hot and alive and real.

It was surprisingly easy to bring the man to his edge and he swallowed his spend greedily, almost groaning at the feel of it on his tongue. The taste of the man that was his.

When Adair's body didn't halt its shuddering after his orgasm subsided, Jon looked up, a small sigh leaving his lips at the sight of silent tears gathering at the corner of his lover's eyes. He moved up quickly, lavishing in the feel of the rebel beneath him, their skin sliding hot together as they came face to face.

The tears were easy to kiss away and he did so with a whisper.

"These are so lovely, my darling."

He murmured, before he took Adair into another kiss, a soft one, a tender one.

"I wonder how Caitlin's lips would taste? Surely she'd do a much better job of it then you."

It was a lie, but it was a needed one, because below him Adair came alive.

"What do ye' want?"

He hissed out, the heat of his words smothered somewhat by the angry tears threatening to spill again.

"What more will ye' ask of me to keep her name from ye' lips?"

The note of desperation hidden in his words made Jon smile, a hand coming up to clasp at his jaw, fingers grazing over his lips.

"Are you jealous, my bride? You need not be... just show me how much you want me."

Adair's face twisted, his breath still coming fast like a captured stallion still chomping at the bit.

Jon gave him a moment to settle before he pressed his lips against his once more, the hand he still held on his jaw tightening in warning.

Jon could scarcely hold himself back when he felt the first twitch of movement from the Scot, and he groaned when those lips started to move clumsily against his own.

Jon was grinding against him, his cock leaking between their bellies, sticky and wet, and it was a suffocatingly long time before Jon finally wrenched himself away with a groan and got off the bed.

Adair wasn't even watching him as he rustled through the basket, instead his eyes were closed as he lay rigid on the bed.

Swollen lips and wet cheeks.

Jon was back quickly after that, sliding onto the bed and straddling his bride once more, heavy cock bouncing as he did.

Adair didn't open his eyes and Jon didn't bother to command him to, instead, he unclasped the tube he had found and set about to his task.

That got the rebels attention.

"My pretty bride... all trussed up with the colour of a whore on your mouth."

Jon grinned, smudging the rich red lipstick he had just applied when he forced a finger inside and watched Adair's lips part in horror.

When it was evident that Adair was too stunned to speak a word on it, Jon moved lower, gripping the tube with a mischievous smile and angling down to his nipples, painting them red and smudging it once more so that it tainted the pretty nubs a rich blush.

"There... they look like little cherries, don't they? Ripe for the picking."