Date: Tue, 26 Nov 2002 20:59:45 -0800 (PST)
From: Corrinne S <mdaigle@prodigy.net>
Subject: Sean and Jamie Part Five

Sean and Jamie - Part Five: 1959

By M.C. Gordon

Part five in a series about two fictional lovers, Sean
O'Leary and James Gordon.  All of the Sean and Jamie
stories are about men loving men.  Many of them
include scenes of sexual gratification.   Unless this
is legal in you jurisdiction you must leave now.  To
my knowledge, Sean and Jamie bear no actual
resemblance to any other fictional characters.

The story.

"We won't stay long, love, I promise," Sean said to
Jamie as they were escorted from the Rolls Royce to
the front door of the old Tudor home belonging to
Rupert E. Morris.

The house was located on thirty acres north of London.
 Rupert Morris was the owner and chief executive
officer of Bestthereis Publishing, a small business he
had inherited from his grandfather and developed into
a very successful company.

Morris had been the only publisher willing to take a
chance with Sean O'Leary's novel 'The Laird', the
story of a homosexual clan lord of the 14th century.
Preliminary sales had been encouraging and Morris had
brought Sean to London to be introduced.  Sean had
insisted that his lover, Jamie Gordon, be included in
the invitation since Jamie had done all of the
illustrations for the novel.

Jamie wasn't particularly interested in the publicity.
 He had gained his own measure of success as an artist
in their home in Dublin and preferred a quiet
lifestyle, content to stay out of the limelight.  He
hadn't even expected to be given credit for the
illustrations for Sean's novel.  He had done the work
out of love for Sean.

They had been introduced to the members of the board
earlier in the afternoon at Morris's office on the top
floor of Bestthereis Publishing.  The party they were
attending at Morris's house included bookstore owners
and newspaper critics, all of whom were critical if
'The Laird' was to become the best seller that Morris
anticipated.

Sean and Jamie mingled among the guests, Sean greatly
enjoying the event.  He had an outgoing personality
and easily impressed everyone with his charm and wit.

Jamie felt out of place after a while and wandered out
through open French doors to the flagstone courtyard
behind the house.  Finding a secluded spot, he sat and
sipped at a glass of champagne.

"Hello, James," a voice whispered in his ear, and the
glass slipped through Jamie's fingers to fall crashing
on the flagstone floor.  Only one person had ever
called him 'James'.  Jamie turned slightly and found
himself looking at a man he hadn't seen in years ... a
man he thought he'd never see again.  Before he could
speak, warm lips pressed against his own and memories
flooded his mind.

 . . . . .

He sat in a small park in Edinburgh, knees raised and
sketch pad propped against his thighs.  A stranger
approached him peripherally.

"Hello," the man had said.  The sound of that voice
caused a catch in Jamie's breath and he looked up.
The man was beautiful.  A shock of unruly hair, as
black as Jamie's own, fell across the man's brow.
Eyebrows, arched like the wings of a bird taking
flight, hovered over amber eyes.

He sat next to Jamie on the grass.  "Nice day, isn't
it?" he asked, placing a hand on Jamie's knee.

"Aye," Jamie managed to say.  The stranger smiled at
him again.  "My name's Ewan."

 . . . . .

Jamie pulled away from the kiss.  "Hello," he said as
he looked into the eyes of the man he had given up for
Sean.  "It's been a while."

Ewan MacGregor smiled.  "It's been ten years, James."
The eyebrows lifted and lowered as he looked Jamie up
and down.  "Ye look good, lad," he said.  Then he
leaned close again and whispered, "I searched for
years, but ye vanished wi'out a trace."  He smiled at
Jamie again and asked, "Where did ye go?" before
stealing another kiss.

For a brief few moments Jamie allowed himself to enjoy
the kiss and the memories.  Ewan had been the first
man to touch him, the first man he loved.

 . . . . .Kisses and gentle caresses flowed across
Jamie's mind and body as if he were a plain violin
brought to life by the touch of a master's hand.  For
the first time in his life, Jamie felt alive.  Over
the days and nights that followed, Ewan introduced him
to love with great patience and tenderness.

Under Ewan's guidance Jamie found he enjoyed the feel
of a masculine body touching him - brushing against
him in tenderness or straining forcefully in the grip
of passion.  And Jamie touched back.  He learned to
run his fingers across strong muscles and sensitive
nipples, bringing a reaction of pleasure and passion.
He discovered the ecstasy his slender hands could
bring another with a touch here or a caress there
across the angular planes of another man's body.

With his awakening also came the realization of why he
had always felt like an outcast.  With Ewan he knew
who he was and who he could become.  And James Gordon
fell in love.
 . . . . .

They sat on the top of a brick wall that circled the
formal flowerbeds of the old English garden.  "What
are ye doing in London, James?" Ewan asked.

"I did some illustrations for a novel that's just been
published.  Did ye give up brewing whisky for a life
in London, Ewan?"

MacGregor laughed, a low husky laugh full of pleasure
and sensuality.  "No, James.  Rupert is my cousin
Emma's husband.  I happen to be in London for a
brewer's convention and was invited to this party.  I
never thought to see you here."  Ewan took one of
Jamie's slender hands in his own.  "What happened to
ye, James?  Ye were supposed to wait for me."

Jamie's reply was barely audible.  "I saw ye so
little, Ewan, maybe three or four times a year.  How
long was I to wait?"

Ewan took Jamie's chin in his free hand and forced
Jamie to look at him.  "Ah, lad.  Ye knew I couldn't
take ye with me until ye came of age."

"I turned eighteen and waited.  I didn't hear from ye.
 And then, well, then I met someone and fell in love."
 Jamie had tears in his eyes.  "Even then I still
waited for months.  And when ye never came for me, and
he asked me to go away with him . . . what was I to
do, Ewan?"

Ewan took Jamie in his arms and held him.  "I still
love ye, James," he said.

Jamie's voice broke as he confessed, "God help me,
Ewan, I still love ye, too.  But I also love Sean.
And it's Sean I'm committed to."  Jamie wrapped his
arms around Ewan's neck and started to cry.

The name 'Sean' niggled at the back of Ewan's memory
but he filed it away to think about another time.

Sean had grown weary of the crush of people and
wandered the around the room looking for Jamie.  His
lover had been missing for nearly an hour and Sean was
becoming concerned.  Jamie was a quiet, withdrawn man
and hadn't wanted to go to the party.  Sean assumed
that he'd gone to find a quiet corner to wait until it
was time to leave.  But Sean couldn't find him
anyplace.  He finally wandered out into the garden,
knowing how much Jamie loved roses, hoping that his
love was admiring their host's rose garden.

He stood in stunned silence when he saw Jamie sitting
in the shadows with another man.  They seemed in
earnest conversation, their voices low.  He couldn't
hear what they were saying, but it was obvious that
this was an intimate conversation.  He could tell that
Jamie was crying and watched in dismay as Jamie rested
his head on the stranger's shoulder.

After a few moments Jamie kissed Ewan and pulled away.
 He wiped his tears away with the handkerchief Ewan
handed him.  Reaching out with one slender hand, he
touched Ewan's face, stood, and walked away.

Sean realized that Jamie was heading in his direction
and moved deeper into the shadows, not sure he wanted
Jamie to know that he had happened upon this moment.
As Jamie walked past him, Sean could see the sorrow on
his lover's face.  He started to follow Jamie but
noticed the other man heading in the same direction.
As the man approached, his worst fear was realized.
The man was the master brewer of the distillery on the
Isle of Skye, Ewan MacGregor.

With a heavy heart Sean knew that his Jamie was indeed
the Jamie that Ewan had spoken of that day during his
visit to the Isle.  The intimacy he had just seen was
unmistakable and Sean began to wonder just how much
Jamie might still feel for Ewan and how deep was
Jamie's commitment to

He stood quietly for several moments, his mind reeling
over what he had just seen.  He didn't know why Jamie
had been so upset at meeting an old lover.  He didn't
want to lose the handsome Scot, but he didn't want to
hold Jamie to him if he loved someone else.  And Sean
was certain that Jamie must have loved Ewan at one
time, perhaps still did.  Uncertain of what he was
going to do, Sean slowly left the shadows and returned
to the party.

He circulated a little longer before going to his
host.  " 'Tis a grand introduction ye've done for
Jamie and meself, Mr. Morris," he said, "but 'tis late
and we must be leaving."

He located Jamie standing quietly in one of the long
hallways of the house, studying a painting by Renoir.
"Best to say goodbye now, Jamie.  'Tis time for us to
go."

"I've already said all of my good-byes, Sean," he
replied, his expression one of accepted resignation.

They were quiet as the chauffeur drove them back to
the Royal Hotel.  Sean took Jamie's hand and held it
in silence.  Once or twice he lifted Jamie's hand to
his lips and kissed it tenderly.

With Jamie sinking into one of his depressed moods,
Sean made no attempt at conversation once they reached
their hotel room.  They exchanged few words before
going to bed.

Jamie rolled onto his left side facing away from Sean,
a movement that distressed Sean greatly.  They hadn't
spent a night together in ten years that Jamie didn't
sleep with his head on Sean's shoulder.

Sean lay quietly, staring at shadows on the ceiling.
Beside him, Jamie was absolutely still.  The silence
was oppressive.  Sean was about to say something -
anything - when he felt Jamie's shoulders begin to
shake.  He reached out and tentatively touched a
quivering shoulder.

The gentle touch was all that was needed for Jamie to
let go of the emotions that had been building within
him all evening and he began to cry uncontrollably.

Sean gathered his love into his arms and held him with
gentle strength.  Placing Jamie's head on his shoulder
he clumsily patted the sobbing man, trying to provide
some measure of comfort.  Jamie had cried himself to
sleep in the past but it was usually because of Sean's
own behavior.  Sean had no idea how to truly comfort
the man he loved when the tears weren't of his own
doing.  Sean was quite aware that Jamie's current
turmoil had something to do with Ewan MacGregor's
appearance at the party.

Holding Jamie to his heart Sean whispered, "Are ye
regretting being with me, Jamie?"

The question took Jamie by surprise.  "What are ye
asking, Sean?"

"Do ye ever regret coming to live with me, giving up
your home and friends in Scotland?

In tears Jamie answered, "Oh, no, Sean.  I love you.
Ye've given me great happiness."

Sean rolled his lover to his back and leaned over him.
 He brushed the tears away with one hand and gently
brushed his lips against Jamie's.  Jamie's arms were
around him instantly, holding him tightly.  The lad
returned the kiss with a depth of emotion that
surprised Sean.

No more words were spoken between them.  Sean eased
Jamie's body against his own, cradling the dark head
in its familiar spot on his shoulder.  The tears
slowly subsided and Jamie eventually slept.

Sean lay awake thinking.  The last thing he wanted was
to lose Jamie, the gentle soul who had become his
reason for living.  But nothing was worth the pain his
love was suffering.  Just before dawn sent her fingers
of light filtering through the curtains of the hotel
windows, Sean reached a decision.  The path that
Jamie's life would take had to be one that Jamie chose
for himself.  And though it meant he might lose him
forever, Sean knew that he had to free Jamie to make
that choice.

He eased himself free of Jamie's arms and legs and
crossed the room.  Lifting the receiver on the
telephone, Sean dialed the number for Rupert Morris'
residence.

Minutes later he dressed quickly and quietly slipped
out of the hotel room.  Jamie was sleeping as only a
man exhausted by emotion can.  Sean knew from
experience that he wouldn't waken any time soon.

He sat in the small café waiting for Ewan MacGregor.
He didn't want what he was about to do but having
chosen this path, he would go where it led.  His
breath caught in his throat when Ewan entered the
café.  Sean had almost forgotten how stunning he was.

Ewan was close to thirty-five years of age and looked
in his mid-twenties.  He wasn't a large man, being
shorter than Sean or Jamie, but he was more muscular
than either of them.  Ewan had become a master brewer
the hard way, starting at the bottom as he learned the
family business.  His arms, chest, and back still
betrayed his apprenticeship of hard labor in the
distillery.  His lips were full and sensuous, offering
a promise of delightful possibilities.  His eyes were
his most expressive quality.  The deep amber glowed
like hidden fire and thick black eyelashes only served
to heighten that illusion.  Ewan was the most
exotically beautiful man Sean had ever seen.

Sean watched Ewan as he crossed the café toward him.
Every step the man took acted as an invitation and
Sean was hard pressed to keep his mind on the reason
for this meeting.  He rose from his chair and offered
his hand at Ewan's approach.

"Hello, Irish," Ewan said.  "Are ye here without
promises?"

Sean had no difficulty interpreting the question and
was greatly tempted to find a secluded spot where he
could satisfy the sudden surge of lust that ran
through his veins.  The unbidden memory of Jamie's
self-inflicted torment the night before quickly put an
end to that train of thought.

"It's about Jamie Gordon."  Sean watched as Ewan
raised one eyebrow.

"Of course," Ewan said.  "Ye'd be young James' Sean.
I knew the name was a familiar one when he mentioned
you."

They ordered tea and crumpets.  When the waiter left
to fill their orders Sean cleared his throat and said,
"I saw the two of ye together last night.  'Twas not
intentional.  I was looking for Jamie and thought I
might find him among the roses."  He paused,
uncomfortable.  "He still loves ye, I think."

Ewan sensed that Sean was struggling with his thoughts
and emotions.  He watched the play of Sean's love for
Jamie in the eyes and body language of the younger
man.  "What is it ye want, Sean?"

"I want Jamie to be happy and I don't care the cost."

Ewan thought hard in the silence that ensued.  "Do ye
ken what ye're saying, Sean?" he asked.  "Are ye
willing to lose him?  Because, given even a thought of
a chance, I'll try to take James away from you.  Ye do
ken that?"

Quietly, painfully, Sean replied, "Aye.  I love him
so, and if loving him means losing him then I will.
'Tis a decision that Jamie must make."

They parted with a gentleman's understanding.  Sean
would stand aside and give Ewan the opportunity to
state his case to Jamie.  They arranged to meet for
dinner that evening at a small café that Ewan
recommended.

Sean and Jamie spent the rest of the day at the Royal
Botanical Gardens.  Sean had no particular interest in
flowers and foliage but Jamie was delighted.  He both
amused and fascinated Sean, dragging him from one
section of the gardens to another with an almost
childlike wonder at each new discovery.

At the pre-arranged time, Sean suggested that it was
time to eat.  He had no trouble finding the quiet
establishment Ewan had chosen.  It wasn't located on
one of London's main roads but was down a narrow
cobbled street. The lighting was very subdued with
candles flickering on the tables.  The waiters were
all male and wore kilts.  An unremarkable looking man
was playing an ancient piano in one corner of the
dining room while a pleasant tenor voice sang:

'Willie's gaen ta Melville Castle
Boots an' spurs an' a'
An' bed the laddies
Oft' he wi', afore he gaes ta war.
Willie's young, an' blithe, an' bonny
Lo'ed by one an' a'.
Oh, what wi' all the laddies dae
When Willie gaes ta war?'

The voice belonged to Ewan Mac Gregor.

Sean wasn't overjoyed at the prospect of what this
evening might bring, and being in an overwhelmingly
Scottish setting didn't improve his attitude.  Ewan
was indeed going to do everything possible to remind
Jamie of his heritage and Sean considered it unfair to
say the least.  Still, he had promised himself that
this had to be done for his love's peace of mind.

Hiding his chagrin, he smiled at Jamie and declared
what a lovely place it was.  Sean steered Jamie in
Ewan's direction.

"Here's one of yer own countrymen, Jamie," Sean said.
"I met him this morning and thought 'twould be
pleasant to spend an evening with him."  Sean and Ewan
had decided it would be best if Jamie didn't know that
Sean had seen them together the night before.  Jamie
wasn't even to know that the two men knew about each
other's relationship with him.

Sean continued, "This is Ewan MacGregor, Jamie.  I met
him when I went to the Isle of Skye.  'Twas he who
sold me the Glenmorangie and the barrels for the
roses.  He told me he was at Mr. Morris' party last
night."

"We've met," Ewan replied, standing and clasping each
man's hand in turn.  "I knew young James before he
went to University."  Ewan's appearance displeased
Sean even more.  He was wearing dark brown slacks and
a golden knit sweater that made his eyes gleam like
gold.  The sweater enhanced the tone of his skin,
making him more beautiful than Sean could have
imagined.

Sean glanced at Jamie and knew that he had already
lost.  Jamie had eyes only for Ewan, his love for the
older man obvious in every inch of his bearing.

Ewan rescued the moment by bidding them sit.  He
called for their waiter and placed the orders for
their meal.

The meal passed pleasantly, even for Sean.  They
discussed whisky and roses, literature and music.
Sean became uncomfortable when Jamie and Ewan started
talking about Edinburgh and their memories.  Touching
Jamie's shoulder for his attention Sean said, "I'll
leave ye in Ewan's company, laddie.  I think I'll see
what London has to offer for entertainment."

Before Jamie could protest, Sean had left the table.
He watched sadly as Sean made his way across the room
smiling and flirting with the waiters on his way.  For
all his promiscuity, Sean had never before been so
brazen in Jamie's presence.  He couldn't know that
Sean's actions were deliberately planned.

Ewan was amazed at how Sean could so coldly show an
interest in other men in front of Jamie's face.  The
look of injured devotion Jamie showed wasn't lost on
Ewan and he set about to place a stronger claim on
this gentle soul.

The jaunty air and flirtatious manner vanished as soon
as Sean left the café.  His meal lay heavy in his
stomach and he found it more and more difficult to
breathe.  He knew that he would lose Jamie to the
handsome older Scot and it was a painful acceptance.
It had been difficult for him to leave his love with
Ewan and all but slap Jamie's face with his cruel
behavior.  But it was had been necessary.  He didn't
want Jamie to cling to him if he truly loved Ewan
more.  He stopped at a small bookstand he had noticed
on the way to the café and bought a book.  He didn't
look to see the title, just picked up the first book
at hand.

Sean had no interest in the men London had to offer
for his pleasure.  He wanted none of the hurried
groping and fast release that came from fucking a
well-built but anonymous body or handsome face.  All
he loved, all he wanted in the world was slipping from
his fingers - enticed by memories of first love and
released by his own actions.

He entered the hotel room and silently locked the door
behind him.  Removing his shoes, he sat in one of the
chairs in the room and opened the book.  He thought he
might be able to stop thinking about Jamie alone with
Ewan if he could read.  The words of Elizabeth Barrett
Browning seemed to jump from the page:

'Grow old along with me.
 The best is yet to be,
 The end of life for which
 The first was made.'

The book slipped from Sean's fingers as he realized
that he would never know that with Jamie.  He wished
that he could go back and take away all the hurt he
had caused the only man he truly loved.  But he knew
himself well and knew that he was as life had made him
and he could not change.  He buried his face in his
hands and cried.  When his eyes were as empty of tears
as his heart was of hope, he leaned against the back
of the chair and slipped into a fitful sleep.

Across town, two naked men lay wrapped in the throes
of passion.  Their bodies glistened with sweat in the
light from a marble fireplace.

"Oh, James, I've missed ye," Ewan whispered.  "I love
ye lad, and I'll not lose you again."

"Never," Jamie whispered back.  "I'll never leave ye
again."  His back arched at the strength of the orgasm
that shook his body.

 . . .

"Sean?  Sean, wake up!  Sean!" Jamie said, shaking him
by one shoulder.

Jamie had bid goodbye to Ewan at the café.  He'd had
two great loves in his life, and Ewan had been the
first.  He would always love Ewan and, if he'd never
met Sean, would have been happy to spend his life with
the amber-eyed man who had introduced him to love and
acceptance of himself.

Ewan had spent two hours trying to convince Jamie to
leave Sean and return with him to Scotland.  He had
offered everything Jamie could have dreamed of - a
stable life, a secure home, and undying love.

But Jamie's love for Sean was greater than memories
and gratitude.  He knew every one of Sean's faults and
accepted them.  Sean may hurt him at times, but that
was only a small part of the Irishman's personality;
and the happiness they had found together was a
greater part of their lives than a few lonely nights.
Their partnership on Sean's novel had been a labor of
love, a thing that was part of both of them.  He knew
that Sean hadn't been interested in the botanical
garden yet had suggested spending the day there
himself.  He had promised as many days as Jamie wanted
to visit the art galleries and museums in London even
though he would find them boring.

Jamie knew that Sean had a powerful libido and enjoyed
having sex as much as possible.  From his own life
before Sean had claimed him, he knew that Sean wasn't
unique among homosexuals.  Yet, at the end of each
day, Sean went home to him and no one else.  He might
not be Sean's only sexual partner, but he was his only
soulmate.

"Wake up," he said, shaking Sean by the shoulder. "I
want to go home."

Jamie's words woke Sean instantly.  He rose slowly
from the chair, shaking in every limb.  "Of course,
laddie.  I'll help pack yer things.  Is Ewan waiting
for you in the lobby?"

Jamie was confused.  "Ewan?  No, Sean.  Why should he
be waiting for me?"

Sean looked at him, unsure of what was happening.  "To
take ye home to Scotland," was his reply.  "Surely
that's where ye plan to go after spending the night
with him."

Jamie was still perplexed, but slowly began to
understand what Sean was trying to say.  A small
chuckle escaped him as he said, "Sean, what's come
over ye?  I've not spent the night with Ewan.  It's
been barely an hour or two since ye left us at the
café.  I'll confess to loving him.  I always will.
But I've no desire to go with him to Scotland.  My
home, our home, is in Dublin.  And I've had enough of
London.  I want to go back to our wee house and the
roses, and our life, Sean.  'Our' life, yours and
mine."

Sean stared at him, unable to accept what he was
hearing.  "But ... he didn't ...?  Ye didn't ...?"

"If we did, Sean, 'twas only in your dreams for Ewan
never laid a hand on me when I explained to him that
my body and my soul belong to ye alone."

Sean was so overwhelmed with emotion that his knees
began to collapse and he would have fallen to the
floor had Jamie not caught him.  His mind and body
were numb and he barely noticed that Jamie was
undressing him until he was led to the bed.

Jamie settled Sean under the crisp, clean sheets and
quickly slid to his own place.  He pressed his body
against his lover, his left thigh resting gently
across Sean's own.  He kissed his red-haired love and
rested his head against that place on Sean's shoulder
that was molded to the shape of his own head after ten
years.  The slender fingers of his left hand caressed
the side of Sean's face before finding their own home
on his chest.

Sean turned his head and kissed the unruly mop of
black hair and reached up to entwine his own fingers
with Jamie's.  He released a deep sigh of relief that
Jamie had chosen him after all.  Content having the
man he loved in his arms, he drifted toward sleep.  He
was silently promising himself that he would never be
tempted to touch another man for the rest of his life
when he heard Jamie softly whisper, "I love ye both,
Sean.  I wouldn't mind if ye took a wee liking to
Ewan."

Grateful appreciation to the memory of Elizabeth
Barrett Browning for the lines from her haunting poem.

I have altered the words to the chorus of 'Melville
Castle' to fit the context of the story.

Written in 2001

Comments to:

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