Years later, when asked how they had met, Brian would laughingly reply, "I've always had the luck of the Irish."
The truth was, however, that he hadn't felt so lucky at the time.
September 5th, 1912
Brian arrived in New York from Ireland that September morning, stumbling bleary-eyed off the ship at day break. He had only a little money in his pocket – most of it had gone on his fare. But he considered it worth every penny to get away from his drunken brute of a father and his pitilessly pious mother and her poisonous priest.
The black-robed fucker had been only too eager to have Brian suck his cock when Brian had been a smooth-cheeked altar boy; but now Brian was grown the bastard took every opportunity to preach Hell and damnation against him for his "evil, perverted ways"; and to encourage his mother's endless bitching and moaning about what a disgrace he was, and how she was wearing out her knees praying for his blackened soul.
Not that Brian expected things to be all that much different here in America for a man with his tastes. But at least he wouldn't have his own mother telling him that he was going to Hell in a hand basket. And to be sure, everyone said that this country had plenty of opportunities if you had brains and balls and Brian knew that, whatever his other faults, those two qualities at least he had in abundance.
At twenty four he was also tall, slim and blessed with a beauty that went beyond "handsome"; his features were strong but, when studied, surprisingly delicate, his brown hair burnished with a sheen of copper and his hazel eyes astonishingly expressive – when Brian allowed them to be (although usually he fought to keep his feelings from displaying in his face or eyes). These good looks also were qualities that Brian was used to using to advantage. In fact, they'd already provided the funds which had saved him from the Hell of a steerage passage and the indignities of Ellis Island.
More than one person had been relieved to see him get on that ship. Brian knew some very … intimate facts about some of the men who were about to make history – presenting their petition against Home Rule to the government. These men trumpeted their hatred for the Catholic priests who, they declaimed, kept Ireland in a state of fear and ignorance; but these men also, from Brian's experience, shared many of the same tastes as those despised priests.
In any case, when Brian had suggested that it might be a good thing for everyone if he were no longer in Ireland when they stepped onto the stage of history, they'd been only too happy to "help an honest Irish lad seeking a better life for himself" by contributing towards his second class fare to America. There'd even been a few pounds left over to keep him while he found better work than a Catholic boy was likely to find in primarily Protestant Ulster.
But he hadn't counted on getting robbed almost before he'd left the dock area – bopped on the head from behind and left for dead in a dark area between two warehouses.
It was fortunate for him that young Justin Taylor, son of the man who owned most of the contents of one of those buildings had been "caught short" as the saying is, and had snuck down between the buildings to relieve himself away from anyone's sight.
Justin heard his soft moaning as he tried to pull himself to his feet and had come to his rescue. He'd taken Brian back into the warehouse, found him a shot of whiskey and had asked him where he was staying.
Brian felt unutterably foolish to have allowed himself to be robbed so easily and was too proud to admit that he was both penniless and homeless, especially to this astonishingly beautiful young blond with the fine blue jacket (that highlighted amazing crystal blue eyes) and the neatly tied grey neck cloth and fashionable striped trousers (covering, but not hiding a sinfully delicious arse). Instead of answering directly, he just said that he'd been at the docks looking for work.
Justin, for his part, was completely overwhelmed by the Irishman's sheer beauty and immediately suggested that Brian approach his father for work, offering him a ride back to the company's office in his own car.
If Brian had been in any way inclined to resist the temptation to get to know this delightful morsel better, it was obliterated by the mention of the car. It was the first time Brian had ever ridden in an automobile and he was fascinated and thrilled by the experience. This was something! He promised himself that one day he'd have an automobile of his own, just like this one, with shiny brass fittings and soft as butter leather seats.
And he'd have a fancy jacket just like the one the young blond was wearing. Well, no … his would be darker, and more severely cut – something that would emphasize his height and make him look serious and important; someone for whom the doors of all the finest establishments would open and offer a welcome.
But first he had to make the most of his luck in meeting young Mr. Taylor by impressing the elder Mr. Taylor.
He was a little surprised at the apparent hostility with which he was greeted by Taylor senior.
But once young Justin was gone, sent off by his father with a flea in his ear for wasting time down on the docks when he knew his mother expected him home for luncheon with one of her friends, the man seemed to calm down. He asked Brian what sort of work he'd done and what skills he had. He seemed surprised to hear that Brian could read and write - Brian guessed that the impression of the pig-ignorant Irish peasant was still a commonplace in this country - and handed him a sheet of figures.
"Add that up," Taylor demanded.
Brian reached a total easily enough, but handed back the sheet with a frown between his eyes.
Taylor nodded when he told him the total, but frowned himself when Brian said abruptly, "But it's f… it's wrong."
"What the Hell do you mean, 'it's wrong'?"
Brian pointed to a line on the page. "Two score at two dollars ten cents per score isn't eighty dollars and eighty cents, it's eighty eight dollars."
Taylor stood studying the page for a moment, then he nodded.
"Fine," he said. "You've got a job looking after these damned accounts. Can you start tomorrow?"
"I can start now if you're prepared to pay me today's wages at the end of the day."
Taylor studied him for a moment, then nodded. "You've just saved me seven dollars twenty cents," he said, thrusting the papers into his hand. "I'll give you ten per cent of that and of any other discrepancies you find in these, if you can get through them all this afternoon. I don't care if the mistakes are over or under, I won't have my customers accusing me of over-charging any more than I want to under-charge. I need the errors fixed; these invoices must go out tonight."
He handed Brian a sheaf of papers.
"You can have the money at the end of the day."
Brian stifled a grin. Even in New York, seventy cents should come close to buying him a bed for the night. A meal at least; he'd sleep rough if he had to. But he'd already seen at least one other error on the page, so he didn't think it was going to come to that.
He was right. By the end of the day Mr. Taylor was handing over more than seven silver dollars, and Brian felt almost like a millionaire.
It wasn't quite as much as he'd had stolen, but it was enough to make sure that he could afford decent lodgings, food and even some respectable city clothing.
"Don't think you'll earn this much in the future," Taylor warned. "I'll pay you five dollars a week."
"Ten," Brian responded. "Given how much I can be saving you."
Taylor growled and griped but eventually agreed to eight.
"From tomorrow onwards," he ordered, "You'll start at eight and finish at seven, every day but the Sabbath. You'll do the accounts – keep track of the payments and the money I need to pay my suppliers. I expect you to do the sums to put the invoice lists together and they'd damned well better be right the first time."
As he turned away, Brian heard him mumble something about, "Not like that idiot son of mine."
Brian felt a pang of sympathy for young Justin Taylor.
Meanwhile the younger Mr. Taylor had reluctantly headed for home and the ordeal which awaited him.
His mother had arranged yet another meeting with a "suitable" young woman. Of course, theoretically, Mrs. Taylor had invited her friend Mrs. Wright to share a luncheon, and the other woman had just happened to bring her daughter with her, but the pretense was a thin one. With his twentieth birthday coming up in a few weeks, Justin was an extremely eligible young man in their strata of society, and his mother had begun a crusade to find him the right wife.
Justin sighed deeply.
He didn't know what he was going to do.
He couldn't marry a woman he couldn't love; which meant that he couldn't marry at all, because he was never going to love any woman.
The lovely Irishman he'd rescued this morning, now, that was another matter.
Justin spent a few minutes mooning over his memories of the handsome man with the amazing hazel eyes and then sighed.
If the man even suspected that Justin was having those sorts of thoughts about him, he'd be appalled, disgusted.
Any decent man would, Justin was sure.
Money safely tucked away – some in his pockets, some in his boots – Brian left the offices of Taylor and Son that night with a spring in his step.
Now, all he needed to do was to find a room for the night and then he could set off and explore some of this town. It was bigger than any fucking city he'd ever been in in his life; bigger even than Belfast, of which he'd had only a glimpse before his parents had hustled him onto his ship. His mother had insisted on leaving their small town in the north and coming with him to wave farewell and surprisingly his father had agreed. Although his mother had wept copiously at the gangplank, and Jack had seen him off with a manly handshake as if they were any normal father and son, Brian was sure that the main reason that they'd escorted him was to make sure that he actually did make it on board. You'd think, Brian reflected cynically, that they'd been glad to get rid of him.
Well, bad luck to them.
He'd landed on his feet here. A good job he'd found, on his first day. And not a laboring job either – one in an office where he could put his hard won education to use. Old Jack had sneered at him for the hours he'd spent huddled over books and his old bit of slate. But Brian was going to make it pay off. He'd make sure that Taylor recognized his worth, and then … well … once he got a good reputation, he could seek promotion; or cast about him for other, better, jobs.
Meanwhile, he needed to look around discretely for something to satisfy his more immediate needs. He was sure there would be places in New York City where men with his tastes could meet and, once met, there weren't many who wouldn't be willing to at least suck his cock; mostly such men were eager to be fucked by it.
He just needed to be careful.
Justin managed to get through the afternoon without committing himself to anything more serious than a walk in the park on some yet to be specified fine afternoon.
He hoped the autumn weather took a rapid turn for the worse.
Meanwhile, on the plea that he had arranged to meet friends to dine, he escaped from the house before his father came home.
Craig would probably want to berate him for some real or imagined dereliction of duty.
He wondered exactly what he had to do to make his father happy. Craig supposedly wanted him involved in the business, but took every opportunity to belittle him in front of their staff, and continually sent him on pointless errands to keep him out of the office.
Justin had a number of ideas that he would have liked to have the opportunity to discuss with his father about how they could improve their business. Not least of which was to find better, more fashionable offices. In the expanding business environment of New York, image was everything, and a small office in a less than salubrious neighborhood was hardly going to create the right impression with the customers Craig was trying to attract.
He also thought he could improve their invoicing system by hiring someone who was actually good at accounts, and improve their advertising considerably which would enable them to reach a wider market.
Most of all he wanted to make sure that their workers had better, safer working conditions. Only last year there had been a real scandal when a fire in a similar building to the one that housed their workforce had caused the deaths of one hundred and forty-six people. His father only thought about what improvements would cost, but Justin believed that if you produced quality goods you could charge enough to ensure that they were made safely, by relatively well paid workers. That way you would always retain your skilled people and would be able to maintain your quality.
But of course, his father refused to listen to any of his ideas. As always, he was made to feel foolish for daring to assume that he could possibly have anything to contribute.
So Justin had taken to extracting subtle revenge. Since his father was hopeless at trying to add up a column of figures, and since Justin got no credit for doing that work himself, no matter how much care he gave to what was an incredibly boring task, he'd taken to deliberately making small errors. Not a great deal, and he never ever over-charged the clients, but he took delight in secretly "robbing" his father of small amounts of money in every set of invoices he prepared. In every list there would be a number of small errors which led to clients being slightly under-charged.
He'd been doing it for months now and so far his father had never found a single instance.
He knew that sooner or later his luck would run out, but he could always pretend it was a single mistake. And meanwhile knowing that he was extracting at least some payment from his father, no matter how indirectly, for the constant berating and belittlement was some balm to his spirit.
He wondered if his father suspected that his son was a nancy boy.
Well, even if he did, unless he was presented with direct evidence, he'd never do anything that would lead to those suspicions being confirmed. That was the last thing good old Craig would want.
Mind you, with Justin's luck …
As luck would have it, Brian found himself a lodging house not far from Taylor's office, and was welcomed with open arms by the old man who ran it; and by his "brother".
Brian strongly suspected that whatever kind of love was between the two of them, "brotherly" was the last word to use to describe it; but he guessed that two supposed brothers living together wasn't likely to raise questions in the same way that the living arrangements of two "confirmed bachelors" might.
His suspicions were further aroused by the way the two fussed over him; insisting on providing him with dinner; and they were confirmed when, after their comments on how a good looking man like him would find much to enjoy in New York were met with a knowing glint in his hazel eyes and a tongue in cheek smirk, they relaxed and openly ogled his lithe form and handsome face. Still, having such congenial landlords would definitely make his life easier, and the two were happy to give him some pointers on what establishments in the neighborhood might offer congenial entertainment opportunities; and to assure him that his room at the top of the house was far enough removed from theirs that he needn't fear to wake them when he returned, no matter how much noise he might make while getting ready for bed.
That assurance provoked knowing smiles all round.
Right after paying his first week's rent and putting his few clothes away, Brian headed out to try the first establishment on their list.
He was in more urgent need than usual of some kind of physical relief because all afternoon he'd been haunted by quite inappropriate images of the beautiful blond he'd found bending over him in the alley.
The boy was delicious. No question. But he was also unquestionably unattainable.
Or so Brian thought.
Until he walked into the small pub his landlords had recommended and saw the younger Taylor sitting at a table with a couple of other young men, both of whom gave him appreciative looks as he walked in and took a seat quietly at the bar.
Young Taylor on the other hand looked worried … perplexed; as if he didn't quite know what to do.
After a moment he got up and approached Brian.
He cleared his throat and said softly, "Brian, Mr. Kinney, I'm not sure that … this is the sort of place that you'd really care to have a drink."
Well, thought Brian, seems like he knows about this place, right enough. Which means he's not in here by accident. This might be an interesting evening.
He stuck his tongue in his cheek and gave Justin a slight smirk.
"Oh? And why would you be thinking that?"
Taylor went slightly pink, which Brian had to fight hard not to find endearing.
"It's … ah .. um … "
"Well, spit it out, boy." Deliberately, he let his little finger brush the back of Justin's hand.
Justin started and lifted his eyes to meet Brian's, his own dark with shock.
Looking into those suddenly knowing hazel eyes, the look in Justin's changed to something very like excitement.
His tongue slid out across his lower lip for a moment, and unconsciously Justin echoed the gesture.
"I think you're right," Brian said. "I'm thinking I should be leaving now."
Justin's eyes lost their glow until Brian continued, "Would you care to be showing me the way back to the main road. I'm new to this town and wouldn't want to be getting lost."
Justin's head was spinning. He knew he was inexperienced, but although the fleeting touch to his hand may have been accidental, surely there was no misreading the look in the Irishman's eyes. He fought the urge to loosen his neck cloth which suddenly seemed far too tight, and pretended he wasn't having a similar problem with his trousers.
It was possible of course that Kinney just planned to rob him. Or even to blackmail him, perhaps. After all, he knew who Justin was, knew his father, even. Justin was sure he should be proceeding with more caution.
Even if Kinney really was fey … well, Justin felt his face flushing and his pants tightening even further. Well, if Kinney really was fey then …
He really wasn't experienced. He'd had a couple of fumbling hand jobs and one really embarrassing encounter with a street boy who'd clumsily sucked his cock for a few coins, but …
But Kinney … Brian … was beautiful.
God! If he really was …
Justin's breath caught in his throat.
Nodding, he somehow found his voice to say that he'd be happy to drive Mr. Kinney back to his lodgings.
Mr. Kinney smiled at him, and in the smile Justin glimpsed the wolf-gleam of a true predator.
He hardly knew how he managed to get his legs to carry him out to the car, parked just down the street. He was trembling all over, suddenly knowing beyond doubt that this night he was about to lose his virginity.
Vaguely he wondered if it would be painful. He'd tried fingering his own ass a couple of times, and even that had hurt a little. He could hardly imagine what it would take to get his ass to open to take something as large as even a small penis, and he had the feeling somehow that Kinney's would not be all that small. He wondered if the man would be in any way gentle with him, and inwardly scoffed at himself for the thought. Of course he wouldn't. All Kinney would want would be to climax. But perhaps he'd be satisfied with masturbation. Or … Justin had never had a cock in his mouth, but … how difficult could it be to satisfy someone that way?
But even while he was considering these alternatives, his body was already treacherously demanding more. Some part of him was already lying face down on a bed, while a man's cock forced its way into his body for the first time. And although he was frightened of the pain, and of the possible consequences, he knew that, whatever Kinney had in mind, he himself wasn't going to be satisfied with anything less, no matter how much it might hurt, or what might come after.
Once in the car, he fumbled at the self-starter – the incredible new device which truly made his new car Justin's pride and joy, not least because it meant that he didn't have to make a fool of himself struggling to wind a damned crank that just wouldn't start. He was particularly grateful for that this evening.
For his own part, Brian was wondering what the fuck he thought he was doing.
No matter how attractive he found the blond – and he was attractive, with his oh-so-blue eyes, enticing arse and brilliant smile – taking him home was like madness. The boy was wealthy, protected; he was his boss' son, for Christ's own sake. What was he thinking of to be even in the fucking car with him?
Well, he knew was he was thinking of … it was the organ doing the thinking that was the problem.
Brian wondered if the boy had any experience at all. His presence in that particular pub argued that he well might, but somehow Brian didn't think so. Popping cherries had never been his favorite pass-time, but …
He thought back to the first time someone had buggered him. It had fucking hurt. He'd thought he was going to faint away like a woman from the pain. Later he'd learned that it didn't have to be like that … but that first time he'd been just a kid, and the man had been intent only on his own gratification, careless of how Brian had felt. As well as the physical pain, he'd been left feeling used and humiliated at being treated like some cheap whore.
He experienced a sudden surge of … something like thankfulness … that it wasn't going to be that way for young Taylor.
He had no idea why he felt that way, but as he directed the boy through the streets to his lodgings, he was conscious of a strong desire to make this night one that Mr. Justin Taylor would always remember with pleasure … affection, even, maybe. He might be just a poor Irish immigrant while the blond was a rich man's son, but he was sure that he could teach the boy a thing or two worth knowing, at any rate.
And without destroying his pride, without leaving him devastated and ashamed, the way his own feelings had been harrowed by his first experiences.
He might be a pervert, as the priests said, but at least he was an honest one. He didn't pretend to be something he was not, covering up his "unnatural lusts", and in denying them, denying any feelings for the young men and boys who aroused them.
He wasn't sure that it was possible for two men to "love" each other, the way a man would love a wife. But until today he would have said that it was impossible for two men to share a life together, but the two old geezers who'd taken him in showed him maybe … just maybe …
Well, it was certain he wasn't going to be sharing a life with young Mr. Taylor; they came from very different worlds. One night of fucking was the most he could expect from this encounter.
But he was determined to make it a night they would both remember.
By the time the car rattled to a stop in front of the building, he was ready.
He walked up the steps and opened the door with the key he'd been given. The downstairs lights were all out, and in silence he ushered the blond young man ahead of him up the two flights of stairs to his own room.
Once they were inside, with the door safely locked behind them, Brian slipped off his jacket, silently cursing himself for not having the foresight to purchase some liquor on the way home to make this moment a little easier for them both. He lit the small bedside lamp.
"I'm afraid the chair's not being very comfortable," he said, his soft brogue suddenly noticeable in the quiet room. It was a somewhat mendacious statement, since he'd never tried sitting in the small captain's chair. "You might be after feeling more relaxed if you sit on the bed."
Justin felt his pants tighten once again, and now his neck cloth was nearly choking him, but he sat down.
He wasn't exactly surprised when Kinney … Brian … sat next to him, but he wasn't prepared for the shock he got when the man's fingers gently brushed his face on the way to loosening that choking garment from his throat.
He was surprised when he found himself reaching out and untying the scarf that was knotted round his companion's neck. How had he gotten the courage to do that?
But as one of Brian's hands moved back to tangle in his hair, and the other firmly clasped his jaw, tilting it to just the right angle, he stopped thinking completely.
For the first time in his life, a man's lips closed over his in a kiss, and then all he could do was feel.
His cock was truly swelling now and his heart was pounding, pumping even more blood to the appendage that was demanding it so fiercely.
His own arm slid up round Brian's neck, pulling him closer and his mouth opened, allowing Brian's tongue to slide across his. He gasped, and then gasped again louder when the hand that had been holding his jaw moved down to cup his cock. Unconsciously, his mouth opened wider, and now Brian's tongue was thrusting deeper, and more demandingly. He didn't resist when Brian pushed him down onto the bed and moved on top of him, still kissing him. He felt his fly being opened and then the hand was actually on his cock, stroking and lightly caressing. His hips bucked up, trying to encourage more pressure, but instead Brian laughed softly and sat up.
Justin stared at him.
"Relax, young one, I'm just getting what we need."
Brian reached into the drawer beside the bed and pulled out a small vial of oil. Then he got up and fetched the towel that was draped across the back of the chair, indicating that Justin should move aside so he could spread it across the bed. He placed a face washer next to the vial of oil on the bedside table; then he sat down again and began to unlace his boots.
Swallowing hard, Justin sat up and shrugged off his own jacket. Then he reached for his boots. Brian's hands forestalled him.
"You be taking off your shirt," the man commanded, starting to unlace the boots himself.
Justin felt himself flushing as he obeyed.
The flush deepened dramatically when, once his boots were off, Brian pushed him onto his back once more and firmly grasped his trousers, dragging them down and off his feet. Justin lay there, wearing only his undergarments as Brian stood and methodically hung Justin's clothes alongside his own in the small closet.
Then he stripped off his own shirt and began undoing his own pants.
Justin wanted to stop him. Not to prevent him from taking his pants off, but because he wanted to be the one who did it for him, but instead he lay waiting, trying to still the beating of his heart and desperately conscious of his erection and the growing wet spot that was spreading from the head.
Partly to hide those and to try to preserve some modesty, but also to indicate his willingness for what he knew was coming next, he rolled onto his stomach.
Brian's voice held a touch of laughter when he said, "Don't hide that pretty face. I want to be watching you when I push my cock into your arse."
Even the back of Justin's neck burned red at the words, and it was only Brian's insistent hand on his hip that gave him the courage to turn back and face him.
When he did his embarrassment was swept away in a tide of desire like he'd never felt in his life before. Brian had stripped completely naked, and was kneeling beside him on the bed, his own cock standing proudly erect, the head dark and swollen. Justin gave a strange keening moan that he could hardly believe came from his own throat, and twisted so that he could clasp his hands around Brian's waist and dip his head to touch his mouth to that lovely, lovely cock.
Brian gave a deep hum of enjoyment as Justin explored his cock with mouth and tongue.
But before things could go too far, he placed his hands on the boy's shoulders and pushed him back. "Take off your vest," he said, his voice moving over Justin like a caress. Justin struggled to pull the garment over his head, and as he did so he felt Brian removing his underpants.
Once they were off, he firmly spread Justin's legs and moved to kneel between them. Justin, intensely conscious of his own nakedness and of Brian's, stared up at him, at this bronzed, beautiful being who was about to initiate him into mysteries he'd been far too scared to explore with anyone else.
Brian smiled at him and pushed at his knees, forcing them to bend, move upwards, and spread wider.
Justin gulped, feeling himself spread and displayed so wantonly, and at the same time so vividly conscious of the man's cock, equally on display as he knelt over him.
Surely men didn't even behave this way with their wives. Surely they did what needed to be done under the bedclothes and in darkness, not like this, with the light shining so brightly on parts of bodies that were always hidden, always covered up, never revealed, even in the most intimate moments.
He watched mesmerized as Brian picked up the vial of oil and let a little drip onto his first two fingers.
Then he hooked Justin's knees over his shoulders and stared down at the boy for a moment.
Justin knew what that meant, what was coming next, but Brian surprised him, leaning forward to capture his mouth in a kiss once again, then moving down, lips brushing across his throat and then suckling at his nipples – first one, then the other.
Justin was overwhelmed with sensation, and the first touch of the man's finger at his hole almost made him come at once. Brian didn't attempt to force it in; just rubbed gentle circles on the sensitive bud till it seemed to open of its own accord for him. Only then did Justin feel it sliding inside. It burned a little, but the oil eased the way, and as it moved in him gently he found himself instinctively pushing down, wanting more. He got it. A second finger joined the first, while Brian's tongue once more took his mouth.
There was more pain now, but as Brian's skillful fingers moved within him suddenly there was pleasure – a stab of pleasure so intense it jagged across his senses like a bolt of lightning.
He arched up and even as he did, he felt himself being penetrated slowly but irresistibly by Brian's cock. He gave a little cry of protest, and the man stilled, rubbing soothing circles on his stomach till the pain eased a little. Then he pushed forward again.
Justin was never sure exactly when it was that the pain turned to pleasure, when his own desire suddenly became this flaming force that drowned the world in its heat and need. All he could remember later was that at some point he'd ceased to lie passively as Brian ploughed him and had begun to buck and writhe demanding more, and harder, and clawing and scratching at Brian's body to gain what he wanted so desperately.
His orgasm, when it blasted through him, left him feeling boneless and enervated.
Brian seemed to be in much the same state, having to fight to summon the energy to withdraw and roll onto the bed beside him.
Wordlessly the man handed him the face washer and, embarrassed, he did his best to wipe up the worst of the dampness that spread across his belly and spilled from his ass.
When he'd finished he handed it back to Brian who gave his own cock a cursory swipe and then, relaxing back, turned his head to look at his young companion.
"You, Mr. Justin Taylor, are a very fine fuck."
Justin gave a startled little laugh, that sounded much like a giggle. Brian felt he should have found it annoying, but actually he liked it.
"That being your first time, was it not?" Brian probed gently, needing to know for some reason.
Justin nodded, not trusting himself to speak right then. He had no idea what came next. Should he get up now and leave? Or would that be rude? As if he'd gotten what he came for and had no more time for the Irishman?
That was the last impression he wanted to create.
But he didn't want to outstay his welcome either.
"Your car's parked outside the house," Brian said, his voice calm, considered. "You shouldn't be staying too long."
"Oh ... oh, yes. You're right."
The last thing either of them needed was to be starting any gossip.
Brian rolled onto his side to face him, and Justin turned towards him … not knowing what he wanted, exactly, but not willing to leave without it.
For a moment he looked into those amazing hazel eyes and something in them gave him the courage to lean forward and press his lips to Brian's.
The man drew back for a moment, and he felt those eyes looking deep into his own, seeming to peer into the deepest recesses of his heart, then, with a slight smile, Brian kissed him back.
"When can I see you again," he heard himself ask.
Brian shrugged a little, but at the same time moved so that his arm slid under Justin, drawing him closer. Justin allowed his head to rest on Brian's shoulder.
"We have to be careful. You'll be knowing that without my telling."
Justin sighed. "I know, but …"
"Mr. Taylor …"
Justin snorted. "Oh, for Heaven's sake … I think after what we've done you can use my name. At least when we're lying here naked in bed together."
"Justin, then … " Brian paused, trying to find the right words. "I work for your father. You were after getting me the job, remember?"
Justin giggled again. "Well, since it was only this morning, I'm not likely to forget," he responded.
"Well, it's a good job. One I'm not wanting to be losing. And since I'm guessing that you're in and out of the office every day, we'll be seeing all too much of each other. "
Justin frowned, the hurt clear in the crystal blue eyes.
Brian tried to clarify what he meant. "I'm saying there will be people watching, and wondering if we're too familiar. It has to be 'Kinney' and 'Mr. Taylor' or there'll be those who will be asking questions."
Justin sighed. "I know. I know. You're right, of course. But … surely we can … sometimes …"
It was Brian's turn to sigh.
God knows he'd never had any intention of tonight being more than a single fuck.
But there was something about Justin Taylor …
He fought off the urge to tell the boy he'd see him in his dreams, and said instead, "We'll find a way … sometimes. But it can't be every night. And it can't always be here. And you can't be driving your car right up to my door."
Justin fought back the tears which ridiculously threatened to spill from sheer relief that Brian wasn't just ending it here and now. He moved even closer into Brian's arms, winding his own awkwardly around his … lover.
He had a lover.
A beautiful Irish lover.
He could hardly believe it, but the gentle caress of Brian's lips across his forehead assured him it was true, even as they signaled 'goodbye', for now at least.
Reluctantly he climbed out of the bed and began pulling on his discarded clothing. To his surprise, Brian got up and dressed also. Seeing the look on his face, Brian grinned at him. "I can hardly be showing you to the door and out of the house in all my glory, can I now?"
Justin smiled and shook his head.
Brian forced him to stop his fumblings with his neck cloth and took over, doing his best to arrange it neatly for him. It was never going to look as it should, but by the time Brian's deft fingers were finished it would pass muster if the servants were still up when he got home.
When they were both respectable, they walked down the stairs together in silence. As Justin reached to pull open the door, Brian stopped him, drawing him once more into his arms and kissing him soundly. "Sweet dreams, Sunshine," he breathed as he let Justin out of the house.
So it began.
At the time, if they were honest, both men would probably have admitted that whatever it was that had started between them that night had felt wonderful, but fragile and uncertain, something that was likely to be beautiful but heart-breakingly brief, like the first delicate flush of Spring.
But they would have been wrong.
There would be trials and tears and even terrors; but these would be balanced by joy and passion and laughter through all the years of their lifelong love.
Neither of them could ever explain it, how against all the odds the poor young man from Ireland had come across the world and managed somehow to find the rich young son of a wealthy New York businessman.
Justin would just smile and say that it must have been fate, while Brian, of course, would insist it was the luck of the Irish.
Author's note: This is Justin's car. Cadillac released the first self-starter model in April 1912.
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