DorkFish 3- Alls Fair in True Love and War

Ye'll Much Prefer the Weather in Rome

Thursday 10:45 A.M.

"That suitcase is bigger than you are, lad!"

Jared closed the trunk of his little rented Renault Clio to find Alan striding through his front door, arms folded across his chest against the morning's bitter cold.

"Yeah, well, it's bloody freezing here and I'm dressing for two!" he called back, his teeth already chattering even though he'd only left the toasty car twenty seconds ago.

"Ye leave that behemoth right there on the sidewalk and get yer wee arse in the house."

"Nah, I got it. Thank you, though."

Alan met him at the end of the walk and took the suitcase from him as if it weighted nothing more than a hatbox. "It ain't all chivalry, ken," he said with a wink. "I'll not have ye miscarryin' my grandchild, aye?"

Jared laughed even as the frigid air burned his lungs. "Oh, well in that case, let me run ahead and get the door for you."

Jared burst gratefully into the delectable warmth of his cozy home, Alan following close behind, and then he shut the door hard in the face of the muscle-clenching Highland chill.

"Here, I'll take yer coat. Tea water's ready; ye know how I take it."

Jared rushed for the kitchen, and not just because he was eager to get his cold hands on a cup of hot peppermint. He picked the correct cupboard on his first try, and after setting aside the two innocent coffee mugs they'd used yesterday, he was already beaming at the first of the naughty ones in Alan's trove.

A set of bag pipes with the words "Blow Me".

A plaid one with a public service announcement: "Warning: Objects Under Kilt May Be Larger Than They Appear."

Prickly purple flowers- "Kiss My Thistle"

"Baw Bag" in huge black letters.

"There Are Two Things a Highlander Likes Naked, and One of Them is Malt Whiskey."

And on the 8th Day, God Created The Scottish, and the Devil Stood to Attention."

A white one with dozens of Scottish words listed in fun different fonts, and Jared could only begin to imagine their colorful definitions.

"Glaikit?" he giggled. "Bawheid? Swick?"

A blue one with a simple, "Feck it!"

And the Jared gasped before laughing out loud.

"Oh My God, this is it," he smiled, pulling out the crown jewel of clever ribaldry from the very back of the cupboard. "This is totally it."

After giving the chosen mugs a quick rinse and pat dry, he prepared their tea using the bags and sugar Alan proactively set out on the counter - tittering the entire time. By the time Jared had their steaming mugs on the coffee table in the living room, Alan was coming down the stairs from the bedroom loft.

He came to a full stop at the bottom of the steps when he spied the tea cup on the table in front of his chair, and that room-filling laugh of his made Jared's face split in a grin so wide it hurt.

Jared had chosen the smattering of Scottish slang for himself, but Alan's was an ivory one with a giant black UNT printed on it, while the handle of the mug was painted black to look like a huge C.

"Tea's ready," he teased as he took a delightful sip of sweetened peppermint.

"Of all of 'em, ye picked that one?" he chortled.

"My favorite of the bunch," he said. "Then again, I'm looking forward to an education on the cup full of lovelies I'm holding, so that might change!"