wre_kt7oz (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wren_kt7oz) wrote2012-03-18 11:49 am
wren_kt7oz) wrote2012-03-18 11:49 am
The Luck of the Irish - taster
Hi everyone
Looks like this fic is going to be a little longer than I'd planned. (Well, I'd planned on around 2-3 pages and it's already twice that LOL.)
So I'm going to post a little taster.
The rest will hopefully be up in a few days.
As always it's for Adults Only and by clicking on the links, you are asserting that you fall into that category.
The Luck of the Irish
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 didn't feel so lucky at the time.
He'd only arrived in New York that morning, stumbling blear-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, at least those two qualities he had in abundance.
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. These good looks also were qualities that Brian was used to using to advantage.
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 (not to mention the delicious arse that the stripes covered but did not hide). Instead of answering directly, he just said that he'd been at the docks looking for work.
Justin, completely overwhelmed by the Irishman's sheer beauty, immediately suggested that Brian approach his father and offered him a ride back to the company's office in his own car.
If Brian had been in anyway 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.
Taster ends
*g* That's all for now. Will try to get the rest up in the next couple of days.
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And, ok, I like the slur against Catholic priests.
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I've known some very good men who were priests.
Sadly, they're not all that way, and this abuse has proved to be all too common.
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But the next bit at least is well under way.
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Love-ya:)
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I was planning on a nice little quick fic - triggered by listening to Tommy Fleming's beautiful version of "Isle of Hope, Isle of Tears", instead of which ...
I have a dreadful feeling that I've accidentally started on another longish fic.
Quite aside from anything else - I want to have a chance to see Craig get his comeuppance LOL.
Tommy's song is here - if you're interested.
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Experiment was meant to be single stand alone.
So was Homecoming.
And Reverberations was meant to be around five chapters.
But the real problem is that, having set this in 1912, I'll have to do research for this one, dammit.
Single story, I tell you. Two chapters at the most.
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*hug*
Amy
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Many thanks and I'm looking forward to more!
Hugs, Rena :)
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Too small a taste, left me hungry for more. Looking forward, very much, to seeing where you take us with this.
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Hopefully I can keep it to a manageable size. I hope to post the rest this weekend. *g*
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