New Culture, New Year, New Love

New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise

TRENT Rose shivered again as he sat huddled in his chair even though the heating was turned up and he was wearing a thick sweater. He didn’t know what he’d done to piss someone in the company he worked for off, but it must have been pretty bad to be sent to this godawful place. He’d started working for a large, globe-spanning bank straight out of college and had worked his way to an international management position. It meant he got to travel and had seen some amazing places, probably more than others saw in their whole lives. But it seemed that it also had its downside. He’d been in Hong Kong for just over three years, working as a Regional Relationship Manager, when he’d been told that he was to be uprooted again to help oversee a “merger with” – by which they meant “takeover of” – another smaller bank. In Edinburgh, Scotland, of all places. And so here he was, and had been for a couple of months now. He’d had to leave in early November, so he’d missed the Thanksgiving celebrations usually held by him and the other American expatriates, and of course, they didn’t know about the holiday in Scotland. There had been a celebration at the end of November, Saint Andrew’s Day, but it hadn’t been the same and had only made him feel like more of a foreigner, not being immersed in this new culture yet. He missed the people he’d known in Hong Kong and 2

New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise especially missed the warmth. He was a Florida boy by birth with Hispanic roots, for crying out loud! It was glacial here. And it started getting dark at four o’clock. Four in the afternoon! What kind of country got dark that early? The sun didn’t start rising until later, either. There was nothing worse than having to get up and go to work in such freezing darkness. He’d never travelled to such a cold climate before. And it seemed to rain constantly, so it was cold, dark, and wet. It had rained in Hong Kong too, but at least the rain there was fairly warm. But if he had survived black rainstorms and typhoon warnings, he could survive this. He could hope only that this placement wouldn’t last too long and he would be moved somewhere else, preferably to a location below the equator. He was debating fixing another hot drink, which meant moving from his comfortable chair, when the phone rang. He picked it up, wondering who would call him this late, when he realized it was only 5:40. He muttered curses at the early setting sun again. As if his body clock hadn’t been thrown off enough by the travelling; although by now, he’d learned to adjust fairly quickly. “Hello, Trent, how are you doing?” His boss’s rich, genteel Scots voice came through the earpiece. “Fine, thank you sir.” “Och, I told you, there’s no need to call me sir,” Norman Vere said. “Listen, when you had said you’d been

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New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise alone for Christmas I wondered if you had any plans for Hogmanay?” “I’m sorry, Hogma-what?” The older man gave a hearty laugh. “Hogmanay, lad. New Year’s Eve. Have you not been told about how we celebrate here?” “Um, not really no.” He’d heard a few people talking about Hogmanay, but hadn’t realised what it actually was. He’d assumed it was some obscure Scottish thing. “And I didn’t exactly have any plans, but –” 31st;

“Wonderful. My wife’s family’s holding a ceilidh on the you’re welcome to come along.”

They were holding someone called Kaylee? No, that couldn’t be right. “Well thank you sir, but um, uh....” He didn’t want to seem like an idiot asking what the hell his boss was talking about, but, well, he had no idea what his boss was talking about. His uncertainty seemed to come through anyway. “Oh, a ceilidh’s like a sort of party,” Mr. Vere explained. “There’ll be food and drink, traditional Scottish dancing; it’s good fun.” “Right, okay,” Trent replied, relieved he hadn’t had to confess his ignorance. “Well, thank you very much for thinking of me, but I don’t want to intrude on your time with your family.” 4

New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise “Don’t be daft! I’m inviting you, it’s no trouble. And I had more than enough time with them already over Christmas. Annie has a big family, and there will be others there, friends and so on. And don’t worry; it won’t be full of old folks. A lot of my nieces and nephews are about your age.” “I – but – I don’t know any Scottish dances.” Mr. Vere laughed again. “We won’t be asking you to do a Highland Fling, don’t worry! The band calls the dances, takes everyone through the steps and makes sure they can follow along; it’s easy. So can I say you’ll be coming?” Trent considered it a moment longer. He had spent a quiet Christmas alone, catching up with friends and calling his family. He hadn’t really settled in enough to meet anyone besides those he worked with, never mind getting a social life yet. He’d spent Christmas alone; spending New Year’s alone as well would be really shameful. At least this would be something, even if it was his boss giving the invite. “I won’t have to wear a kilt, will I?” He heard the man’s throaty chuckle. “Only if you think you’ve got the legs for it, son. I’ll e-mail you the information and see you there. Oh, and don’t forget to try and get to the torchlight parade going through the town on the 29th. It’s quite a sight.” “Got it, I’ll remember. Thanks again.”

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New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise HE stood with others on Princes Street, the main street in the capital city of Edinburgh, waiting for the procession. It was dark, of course, and bitterly cold, but everyone seemed in a festive, expectant mood, wrapped up warm. He stood facing the shops with the vista of the Gardens, draped in shadows, at his back. Edinburgh Castle crouched on its steep incline in the distance behind him, ablaze with lights, and the screams from the carnival rides not too far away reached his ears. There came another sound, as he stood shivering and stamping his feet, the high, bracing wail of the bagpipe music, and he could see the multitude of lights heading towards them. At times like these Trent was always happy to be tall, getting a good view of any spectacle in a crowd. First there was a Viking ship being dragged along, about the length of two small cars, its sides decked in colourful shields, flanked by men dressed as Viking warriors, some carrying flaming torches or even axes. A few shouts and cheers sounded in the air, with the pipe and drum music, growing to deafening volume as it followed the boat. It stirred something in Trent’s blood, making his breath catch. Hundreds of torch bearers came after the players, bearing their lights aloft; they looked a bit like round wooden swords with the tip in flames. The many points of light formed a glowing river that streamed past him, the sea of faces smiling and looking happy, though a few were beginning to look tired by this 6

New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise point. There seemed to be all number of races and nationalities, all wanting to take part in this unusual celebration. A few cries of “Happy New Year!” were being shouted out already. It had an ancient, mystical feel to it, this burning flow of many fires striking back against the gloom of winter. At the end of it all the black sky above was blazing with booming multi-colored fireworks streaming and sparkling in the air. It was indeed a dramatic sight. Trent only wished, as he tore his eyes away from the show to glance at the crowd around him – couples cuddling close, parents with excited kids – that he had someone to share this experience with him. He sighed. That was always the problem, wasn’t it? His constant travelling made relationships difficult. He was starting to get tired of casual dating and quick fucks; he was starting to want something more meaningful. Maybe he was getting too old for this sort of thing. He was in his early thirties, but he was starting to feel old. Maybe he was just feeling lonely, still unsettled after his move, still not really knowing anyone yet. The people he worked with had been friendly and welcoming, but they all had their own plans over the holidays. He still hadn’t been here long enough to find the kinds of places he wanted to go to, either. Did Edinburgh even have a gay culture? Well, of course it must, practically every country in the civilized world did, whether they would admit it, but it wasn’t like he could go up to someone and ask, “Excuse me. Could you tell me where a good gay bar is, 7

New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise please?” And anyway, that could lead back to unwanted short flings and one-night stands. He started to move through the other revellers, wanting to find a place to eat once the procession ended. Edinburgh was indeed a beautiful city, with its ancient history, its cobbled streets, its castle, and the Scott Monument, which looked like some sort of Gothic space rocket. Even the modern day shops were in old, elegant buildings. He would have felt strange trying to find a gay nightclub in such a setting, though he knew Edinburgh’s night life was vibrant, and he was sure they existed. But he thought it would be out of place, like finding out a proper, elderly matron wore scarlet silk knickers and black fishnets under her ankle length tweed skirt and white petticoats. Maybe his New Year’s resolution could be to find a good man, though he still wasn’t sure how to go about it if the nightclubs and so on were out. It wasn’t like one would just turn up out of the blue.

WELL, Edinburgh certainly knew how to bring in the New Year. He had gone out with some others from work to a “Night Afore” party, again held in the city center, somewhere called the “Grassmarket” in the Old Town. And now he was getting ready for this Scottish dancing night with his boss and his family. He could only hope he didn’t make a complete fool of himself. He fussed again with his curly black hair, his deep brown eyes squinting in frustration as 8

New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise he tried to get it just right. He’d settled for a smart outfit, deciding against full Scottish regalia. He hadn’t been there long enough to go so fully native yet. Instead, he wore an evergreen shirt, top button undone, with comfortable black trousers in case he was roped into dancing. He took a deep breath and made sure to wrap up warmly for the short trip from his door to the taxi, remembering at the last minute the narrow, long bag he needed to take along. He’d been told to arrive between six thirty and seven, which was when the dancing would start. He got to the sports hall where the dance was being held in good time and saw as he entered that it was already quite busy. The hall was brightly lit with some colored lights around the edges. There was a table covered in various buffet foods, and circular tables with chairs spaced out close to the walls, allowing a large area in the middle for dancing. A small stage was at the far end, with musicians setting up instruments and other paraphernalia on it. He was relieved to see that, although there were quite a few kilts scattered around, he was not the only male in the room wearing pants. He also noticed several people in his age range, both male and female, standing around or sitting at the tables. There were those of an older generation as well, and a few kids running about. His boss spotted him as he lingered in the doorway and strode over, his already bulky form looking larger than life in a white shirt and a kilt of greyish blue and green plaid, which he’d been told by several people now to call tartan. He also had something that looked like a round

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New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise furry purse slung across the front that Trent didn’t want to ask about. “So you made it, excellent,” the man told him, shaking his hand. His blue eyes were sparkling merrily, his receding silver hair combed back away from his already florid face. “Come on, I’ll introduce you around.” “Thanks. I wasn’t sure whether to bring something or not, but brought this just in case.” He offered the bag he held, letting the other man take out the bottle of fine whisky that was inside. “Oh, that was very good of you, thanks very much. We’ll put it with the others.” It was then that Trent noticed the other table, which seemed to be groaning under the weight of enough alcohol to open a liquor store. There were bottles of various spirits and wines, and whole boxes of “alcopops,” beers and lagers, as well as juices and soft drinks. Rapidly depleting spires of plastic cups bravely defended one corner. He was told to help himself as his host poured a whisky. Trent had figured the bottle he’d brought would be a safe bet and was glad to see he’d been right.

TRENT collapsed into a seat, trying to get his breath back. These dances were definitely energetic. He’d just finished one called the “Dashing White Sergeants” with relief, with its spins, and circles, and a weird little foot movement, a kind of 10

New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise skipping kick, called a “pas de bas” that he just couldn’t get the hang of. At least he hadn’t been the only one. It was time for another drink. He approached the drinks table, hoping to get another vodka mixer. They didn’t have any beer left, and the lager he’d tried, in a tall yellow can, had been strong. It seemed there was a late arrival, a man also in his late twenties or early thirties, barrelling in his direction. He wore a black shirt with sleeves rolled up, helping his vibrant kilt of red and green stand out even more. He also had the pouch at the front, though his was leather, and the cream knee high socks with the little red tabs but for shoes he had on sturdy work boots instead of the flatter “Ghillie Brogues” or dress shoes other men were wearing. He had dark blond hair with lighter highlights that was starting to grow past his ears, bushy and wild, like a lion’s mane. He was an inch or so shorter than Trent and stockier, filling out the shirt and kilt nicely. As he got closer Trent could see he had green eyes and a dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He hovered by the table, not wanting to move away just yet. As the other man got closer an older woman intercepted him. He was able to hear the man’s rougher voice, the accent sending a thrill down his spine. “Yeah, I know I’m late; with things starting to kick off in town getting here was a hassle. Yes, I cleaned my flat mum, even the skirting boards. I did so! Can I get a drink now? I’m gasping. I’ll go say hi to everyone in a minute.”

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New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise They were both beside him now, with the man taking one of the yellow cans from the box under the table. Trent pretended to be intensely fascinated by his drink, not sure how to introduce himself. Luckily it was soon taken out of his hands. “Oh, Andrew, this is the American lad working with your uncle,” the woman was saying. Trent remembered her as one of Mrs. Vere’s sisters, though he couldn’t remember which one. There had seemed to be so many. “This is my son, Andrew.” “Trent Rose, nice to meet you,” Trent said, smiling and extending a hand. “You too. Just call me Andy. So you’re working with Uncle Norry then?” His handshake was firm, his hand fitting snugly against Trent’s. Andy. Norry. He’d also met an Ally, a Ronnie and a Roddie, as well as three Ians. With a name like Trent he was beginning to feel conspicuous. “Yeah, he invited me here when he learned I’d be spending New Year’s alone. He’s a great guy.” Andy nodded, taking a gulp of his drink. “Aye, that he is. You been enjoying the dancing?” he asked with a mischievous smirk. Trent grinned.

“It’s a hell of a workout, that’s for

sure.”

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New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise Andy laughed, when the band made the announcement for another dance. “‘Strip the Willow,’ that’s a great one! Come on!” He set his can down along with Trent’s glass and grabbed his hand, quickly finding them both a couple of partners as they took their places next to each other for the dance, the men in one line and the women in another, facing each other. “Now remember,” he said once the dance had been gone over slowly and was about to be done properly to the music, “when you’re up at the ends, lean back a bit when you’re spinning your partner and keep your arms stretched out, it makes you go faster. Oh – but make sure you’ve got a firm grip on their hands, trust me on that.” Trent enjoyed the dance but was feeling dizzy by the end of it, with all the spins and turning involved. He made it back to a chair, Andy laughing and clapping him on the back as he also sat down after retrieving their drinks. The blond had seemed almost too enthusiastic, practically throwing the females ’round with abandon until Trent had been sure they would crash into the others. He was now sitting with his legs slightly apart, and Trent had to keep resisting the urge to look down. “Are you supposed to swing the girls around like that?” he asked. “Oh, aye!” Andy grinned. “Flinging them round’s half the fun. “You should’ve seen us at school; we had to learn these dances, and one time the guy’s grip wasn’t right, his hands were too sweaty or something, I don’t know. But 13

New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise anyway, my mate went flying, made it all the way to the wall, crashed into it, and fell over.” “Ouch.” “Yep. He was fine though, we were all laughing our heads off. I went to an all boys’ school, so we’d go a bit mental.” “And you actually had to learn these dances?” “Oh, sure. During P.E., it was a good laugh. We’d have ceilidhs sometimes with a lassie’s school, and there was our Sixth Year Ball. I think that’s about the same as, what do Americans call it? Prom?” Trent nodded. “Prom, yeah. It was nothing like this though; if this is a typical ... ceilidh,” he said hesitantly, still not very confident at pronouncing the word. “It’s pretty cool, having all this tradition.” He saw Andy grin. “What?” “Nothing, sorry. Just, your accent’s magic.” “Uh, thanks, I think,” Trent replied with an embarrassed grin. “Yours is great too, though I don’t understand what you’re saying sometimes.” “Oh? So I can make fun of you, and you won’t know what I’m saying then?” “Probably, but do you want to make fun of me?” Trent asked, adding a hint of a smile to the question.

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New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise Andy shook his head, smiling in return. “Nah, I’m only kidding you on, don’t worry. And my accent’s not too bad, just be thankful I’m not speaking in Scots.” “I thought it was called Gaelic?” Andy shook his head again. “Gaelic’s the language, Scots is the dialect. Gaelic’s another thing, though. You look at the spelling of the words compared to how you say them, and it’s like two committees decided to make the language up out of a bowl of alphabet soup without reading the manual and barely talking to each other.” Trent couldn’t help laughing. “So, you know I have to ask now, can you say something in Scots?” “Well, I shouldn’t really talk in Scots, being from Edinburgh. Scots is more the province of ‘them Weegie basturds,’ which is a whole other story,” he said, grinning. “Uh, okay, I think I’ve got a lot to learn about this country,” Trent replied uncertainly. “I can say something in Gaelic, one of the few phrases I actually know,” Andy said after giving him a considering look. “An toir thu dhomh pòg?” He said very quickly, almost as though it was all one word, pronouncing it “Un TUH-r oo ghawnh pawk”. “And what does that mean?” Trent asked, confused. Andy gave him another grin, his eyes twinkling mischievously. 15

New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise “I’ll tell you later. Possibly.” Trent smiled, glancing down at the material spread between Andy’s thighs that only reached to his knees, unable to help it any longer. He realised Andy had noticed him looking and quickly pointed to the pouch. “I’ve been wondering, but I wasn’t sure whether to ask or not, what is that?” “You mean my sporran?” Andy asked, holding it up. “Kilts don’t have pockets, in case you hadn’t noticed. We need somewhere to keep our keys and spare change and what have you. They’re pretty handy; they can hold quite a bit.” “Sporran, cool name for it. So what have you got in yours?” “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Andy asked with a teasing grin. He laughed. “Only joking, nothing too exciting unfortunately, just a few necessities. Well it depends on your view of exciting, I suppose. You want another?” he asked, pointing to Trent’s drink. Trent wondered just what that meant, that last “view of exciting” bit. “No, thanks, I’m fine. I’m trying to pace myself.” “Ach, you’ll never last the night if this is you getting pished already. But all right, be right back.”

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New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise He went for another can, and Trent was unable to help following his progress, eyes trained on the swaying kilt. It was a garment he was certainly learning to appreciate, especially when it showed off such a fine pair of muscular legs. He was itching now to learn what Andy had said to him and hoped he’d be able to find out. He didn’t think it was anything too bad. At least he hoped not. Andy soon returned with another drink and some food, and both of them watched the dancers for a while. Trent nearly spat the remains of his drink back out as he heard the name of the next dance that would be done. “Did I hear that name right?” Andy nodded, grinning. “You actually have a dance called the ‘Gay Gordons?’” Andy laughed at his reaction. “Yep! I know. You can imagine the fun we had with that at school. They had no idea the word would take on its modern meaning, of course, but it’s still funny.” He leaned forward. “What do you think, want to dance the ‘Gay Gordons’ with me?” He was smirking mischievously again, and Trent could see the unspoken dare in his eyes. Trent chuckled, trying to hide his nervousness. The band was already going through the steps, and the music would start soon. He stood, downing the dregs of his drink. “Sure, why not? There’s a few female couples out there, right, so why not guys?” He really liked how pleased Andy looked.

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New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise “Great, come on then!” They quickly made it to the dance floor. “You can be the man, since you’re taller,” Andy told him, smiling. “Gee, thanks, appreciate it.” They’d managed to make it to the second walk through, Andy pushing Trent’s right arm up so he could slide underneath it, with it lying across his shoulders, and grabbing Trent’s hands in his, right with right and left with left. They went through the steps, Trent trying not to notice how close their bodies were or how good it felt, especially at the end when they had to “polka” for eight steps before starting again. The music started and they danced in earnest. Trent didn’t think he’d done too badly, only turning the wrong way once and stepping on Andy’s toes a few times, and his boots protected him anyway. Mostly he was trying not to get distracted by the way Andy’s kilt flared out during the dance. The music ended with Andy’s cheeks looking flushed, and his eyes were bright as they smiled at each other. “You dance the girl’s part really well,” Trent couldn’t help remarking. “Well, all boys’ school, like I said,” Andy replied, shrugging. “Now, I’m not saying it’s to blame, but it didn’t hurt either when it comes to dancing with men,” he added with a wink. Trent laughed lightly, hoping that meant what

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New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise he thought it meant. Andy checked his watch. “Ah, shite,” he muttered. “Do you have to go?” Trent asked, hoping that he didn’t. Andy looked at him a moment. “Well.... What would you think about cutting out of here a bit early?” “Uh – to do what?” “I’ve got a spare pass to the Street Party in town. I was supposed to go with a friend, but he couldn’t make it, and anyone else I’ve asked has had plans. You fancy going?” Standing out in the absolute freezing cold with Andy or staying in the nice, warm hall without him? No contest. “Sure, sounds great!” “Brilliant! I’ll see if we can get a lift off of someone.” He grabbed Trent’s hand, dragging him over to the cluster of older relatives at a table. “Uncle Norry, I’m gonna steal Trent for the rest of the night.” “That’s fine, depending on what you want with him,” the older man said good-naturedly. While Trent tried not to look as awkward as he felt Andy explained about the event in Princes Street and his friend. He also managed to arrange a lift there from a relative who was leaving soon and heading in that direction. They had time for a last drink before bundling into coats and being driven in the car. 19

New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise They were dropped off not too far from the street and told to be careful and have fun. Andy gave a cheerful reply about seeing everyone next year as his relatives drove away, and pulled a couple of bunched up things from his coat pockets, shoving one down over Trent’s head. “There we go! Wee present for you; it looks good, don’t worry.” Trent smiled, rolling his eyes when Andy put his own on, and he realised it was a woollen hat with the Saltire, the Scottish flag of a white “X” over a dark blue background, on it. “And I’ll give you this now as well,” he added, taking a pass on a cord out from his leather pouch – sporran – at his front. “Thanks,” Trent hung it around his neck. “Won’t you be cold, wearing that?” He had a zippered sweatshirt, a thick coat, gloves, a scarf, and now a hat on, whereas Andy only had his jacket, a sporty-style thing that looked warm and waterproof at least, and reached to his thighs, but that was about it. Apart from the hat, of course. Trent was sure Andy’s legs would freeze, even if he did have knee high socks on. And wouldn’t it get – drafty? Especially if what he’d heard about Scottish men was true. “Nah, I’ll be fine, it’s not that bad.” He laughed at Trent’s aghast expression. “Besides, there’ll be loads of people there, body heat, right?” He grabbed Trent’s hand again. “Come on, we’ve missed about an hour. It started earlier this year, at nine.”

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New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise They managed to get through the barrier, showing their tickets, and fought their way through the throngs of people to one of the stages. The main thoroughfare of the city had been taken over for the night. It felt like the biggest, loudest, most hectic concert Trent had ever been to as different styles of music from four stages drifted through the air, mingling with the noise of the crowd. Many huge lights shone out, creating an artificial daylight that seemed brighter than the real thing, especially at that time of year. He wasn’t even that cold, he realized, as the press of bodies all around him did help relieve the chill, and he was enjoying the proprietary grip Andy kept on his hand as they gradually struggled along. “Are you sure you don’t mind missing the rest of the party?” Trent asked as there was a lull in the music. Andy shrugged. “We didn’t miss much, trust me. There’ll be more drinking, more dancing, and my younger cousins will probably end up singing ‘Donald Where’s Your Troosers’ with my Uncle Kenny at some point.” Trent laughed as he heard the title. ask what that’s about?”

“Should I even

Andy grinned. “It’s a funny song. I’ll have to teach it to you. You didn’t mind leaving, did you?” “Nope,” Trent reassured him with certainty. “I’m really glad I’m here.” 21

New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise “Me too.” Andy smiled. “And besides, it’s good to get away from the relatives. I don’t have to behave myself so much.” “Oh? Are you planning on misbehaving now?” “We’ll see, we’ll see,” he replied, looking up at Trent while moving closer. Trent held his breath, leaning down ever so slightly. The band started playing a new song; Andy turned his head. “Oh, this song’s great! Come on!” He grabbed Trent’s hand again, trying to get nearer to the stage. Trent sighed, allowing himself to be pulled along. He probably really shouldn’t be having these thoughts about his boss’s nephew anyway, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to run his fingers through that wild hair, kiss those lips, now cherry red from the cold, and that accent, God, it was sending shivers down his spine every time the man spoke. He joined in with the singing even though he didn’t really know the words, feeling reckless and carefree; the infectious excitement of the crowd was getting to him. And Andy still hadn’t let go of his hand. Andy was still enjoying the music, but Trent had to ask the question about what he’d heard that had been bugging him ever since. “So, the whole thing about Scotsmen and their kilts,” he began, not sure how to continue. Andy turned to him, mischievous grin in place. “You’ve heard the saying about ‘true Scotsmen’ then, aye?”

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New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise “Yeah, something like that. So, is it true?” He laughed. “I’m tempted to tell you the line that goes ‘no, nothing is worn – everything is in perfect working order’.” “I was just wondering because wouldn’t it be, well you know, cold?” “It’s not that bad, it’s if it’s windy that you have to be careful. But your concern is appreciated,” he said with a smirk and a wink. “And as for whether I am or not....” “Maybe I can find out for myself later?” Trent asked, feeling bold. “Maybe, we’ll see how it goes,” Andy replied with a sly smile. “An toir thu dhomh pòg?” “Am I ever going to get to find out what that means?” “Oh, I think so, at midnight,” Andy replied teasingly. Trent checked his watch. “Hmmm, half an hour to go. How do I know you’re not just insulting me?” “It’s not an insult, promise.” “But why can’t you just tell me now?” “Impatient much?” Andy raised an eyebrow. “Besides, if I just told you now that would take all the fun out of it. Now wheesht and enjoy the music, you’ll find out at midnight, trust me.” 23

New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise Trent resisted the urge to protest and did as he was told, and the countdown was being sounded before he knew it. His and Andy’s voices joined the raucous chorus of numbers being shouted, getting louder and louder as the numbers got lower until they reached the final, all important, “ONE!” The exclamation was punctuated by the great boom of the mighty cannon at the castle echoing out towards everyone gathered within earshot. That was when the chorus broke into a cacophony of cries and cheers vaulting skyward with shouts of “Happy New Year!” accompanied by the sounds of various noisemakers. The ancient tune also started to be played until practically everyone, friends and strangers, were holding hands and joining in with the singing of “Auld Lang Syne.” The musicians on the stages led the way with guitar riffs and electric sound systems, but the voices of the people could still be clearly heard. Fireworks exploded and crackled overhead, firing off one after the other in rapid succession, filling the sky with light and smoke, shining brilliantly against the pitch black back drop of the heavens. “Happy New Year,” Trent said softly, turning to Andy. “Happy New Year!” he said back, his grin wide. Trent didn’t think he could wait much more and didn’t really care about who saw or might take offense. If you couldn’t kiss someone on New Year’s, when could you? He moved until their coats were brushing against each other. He could feel the wool of Andy’s kilt against his hand. He 24

New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise reached up hesitantly, still uncertain, until Andy’s arms were across his shoulders and around his neck, pulling at him until their lips were pressed together. It was quite a contrast, the chilly nose against his cheek and the only slightly less cold lips moving in counterpoint to his, but the tongue sliding into his mouth was warm, moving confidently, exploring inside him. He felt like he’d been waiting all night, all year, for this, and now that he had it he only wanted more. He let Andy move back eventually, but didn’t let go completely. “Huh, I know there’s supposed to be fireworks, but not literally,” Trent said, grinning and flicking his eyes skywards as the show reached its finale. Andy chuckled breathlessly. “Yeah, nice of them to go all out. I guess that answers my question.” “What question?” “An toir thu dhomh pòg?” he asked once more, with a smirk. Trent rolled his eyes. “Okay, it’s after midnight, you are really going to have to tell me what that means.” “See if you can guess.

I’ll give you a hint: you just

did.” Trent thought a moment, running the words through his head. “Something to do with kissing?”

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New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise “I suppose I can give you that,” Andy grinned. “‘Will you give me a kiss?’” he translated. Trent laughed. “That’s what you’ve been asking me? I think you definitely know the answer by now.” His lips sought Andy’s again.

THEY finally joined the crowds slowly heading away from the area as the festivities began winding down. Trent had his arm slung around Andy’s shoulders, noticing again how right the other man felt there, with Andy’s arm around his waist. “So, where now?” he asked. “I’ll bet getting a taxi will be next to impossible.” “Aye, probably. We could wait a few hours and take part in the Loony Dook.” “The what now?” “People take a quick dip in the Firth of Forth New Year’s morning, dressed in costumes and everything.” “Well, you got the loony part right,” Trent replied dryly. “I don’t think so.” “My place isn’t too far, we could head there,” Andy suggested with a smile. “You could be my first foot, first visitor in the New Year. You even fit the criteria: tall, dark, and handsome. You are supposed to bring coal and other 26

New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise things as a first foot, but you’re cute, so I think I can make an exception.” Trent grinned. “Thanks, you’re so generous. I have a feeling the handsome part is probably optional, but sure, that sounds like a plan. Will I get an answer to my other question then?” “I think something could be arranged.” Trent slid his hand down Andy’s back, reaching up under his jacket for a quick grope, making him jump. He removed his hand, placing it back over Andy’s shoulder again. He’d been tempted to try and get under the kilt as well, but had decided that would be a little too risky with so many people still around. He leaned in close to Andy’s ear. “Hmmm ... I don’t think I felt any underwear,” he murmured. “But that material’s pretty thick, it’s hard to be certain. I think I definitely need to make a closer inspection.” He felt Andy shiver under his arm. “You better watch yourself, or never mind waiting until we’re home, I’ll be dragging you into an alleyway,” Andy threatened – or perhaps promised – with a heated glance. “It’s still a little too cold for that for me,” Trent replied, though the idea was certainly tempting. “Don’t worry. I’d soon have you feeling hot.” Trent grinned, spotting a shadowed, quiet corner and dragging Andy into it for a few more scorching kisses, no 27

New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise matter how cold they both were. It looked like staying in Scotland wouldn’t be quite so bad after all, and the long winter nights still ahead were actually starting to look pretty good to him now. This was definitely shaping up to be the start of a very Happy New Year.

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New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise

S. BLAISE’S life has been split up like chapters in a book: born in Glasgow, spending her early years in the Middle East, her childhood in the Cayman Islands and then studying in a boarding school in Edinburgh, before eventually completing a BA in Media Studies at the University of Teesside in Middlesbrough. She has crossed the Atlantic more times than she cares to think about and is hoping to discover more of Europe and the Eastern half of the world in the future. She has loved reading and creating stories for as long as she can remember, but first got into the “male romance” genre through fanfiction. She found slash and yaoi quite by accident (honest!) and began voraciously reading stories online in many fandoms before finally getting up the courage to have a go at writing. This led to writing original stories, so she now has characters of her own, as well as those created by others, in her head, distracting her constantly. Her penname is a contraction of her username, or, as she calls it, her online persona name, Silverblaise. She finds it infinitely more interesting and a more suitable nom de plume than her real one. She loves sci-fi/fantasy, murder mysteries, comic books, anime and yaoi manga, which she spends far too much money on while still having so much more to get. She’s a creature of nocturnal habits but really wishes story ideas would stop jumping around in her mind at three in the morning when she is trying to sleep.

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New Culture, New Year, New Love S. Blaise

©Copyright S. Blaise, 2008 Published by Dreamspinner Press 4760 Preston Road Suite 244-149 Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover Art by Dan Skinner/Cerberus Inc. [email protected] Cover Design by Mara McKennen This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ Released in the United States of America December, 2008

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