Sean and Jamie

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

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