Seeds of Tyrone Box Set

by Debbie McGowan

  Patrick hadn’t invited too many others along: just a few of Seamus’s old school friends, who were already in attendance and gave a nod of acknowledgement to Patrick before Seamus descended on them with a great deal of loud, emotional swearing. Max was working until nine and joining them later. The only other guest was Bryan, whom Jill had invited at Patrick’s request, and said he would “try and swing by.” Otherwise, the crowd was the Brannigan’s regulars, many of them older men, some Irish, some not.

  “What’ll you have?” Patrick asked Aidan, startling him slightly, as he was completely enthralled with the atmosphere, so much so that he hadn’t even noticed Jill and Lily until that point.

  “I don’t know. Just a beer? Do you think I’d like Guinness?”

  “You might that. Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll get you just a glass, and a couple of bottles of Bud or something. What d’you think?”

  “Sure,” Aidan agreed.

  Patrick moved across to the bar with Aidan in tow, squeezing between Arthur and Jill to reach the counter.

  “Ah! There y’are, young Paddy,” Arthur greeted him. “Will ye have a drink?”

  “I’ll get these, thanks, Arthur. Will ye have one yerself?”

  “Why not?” Arthur slurped down the rest of his pint and set his empty glass firmly on the bar. He turned to Aidan. “Paddy tells me it’s your birthday.” Aidan nodded to confirm it. “There’s no better place to spend it than here.”

  “Are they payin’ you, Arthur?” Patrick joked.

  “Aye, if only. In whiskey would do me just fine. I’ll be needin’ it soon too. What about this terrible weather?” Arthur shook his head, dismayed. Patrick chortled; it wasn’t so bad yet, but he’d a pair of long johns on standby for when it turned really cold.

  While their drinks were being prepared, Lily and Jill chatted with Aidan, who seemed to be less stressed now and even managed a laugh at the birthday card Jill gave him. On the front it had a shirtless guy with well-defined muscles and the joke inside was about the birthday boy deserving a six-pack. Aidan turned to Patrick and grinned.

  “Is that competition I see on that there card?” Patrick asked.

  “Nuh-uh,” Aidan replied shaking his head. He cupped his hand around Patrick’s ear and whispered, “It’s my first gay birthday card.” He stepped away again, still grinning in delight. Patrick laughed and handed him his glass of Guinness, which Aidan sipped and shuddered, making Patrick laugh all the more. Not to be thwarted, Aidan took a huge mouthful and attempted to swallow, his cheeks ballooning. He looked ready to spurt the whole lot out again, but somehow he got it down. He nodded.

  “I think I like it.”

  The old guy with the accordion reached the end of his current number and rose to his feet. A couple of younger men were straight up to take his place, settling themselves quickly into playing gentle guitar duets. It made for great background music, during which Max arrived, and soon after Bryan, accompanied by a young woman, both of them dressed in the same kind of loose t-shirts and low-slung baggy jeans. Bryan went straight over to Aidan to wish him a happy birthday and buy him a drink. To Patrick’s surprise he opted for another Guinness—a pint this time—but he took it slowly and was still drinking it when the two guitarists came to the end of their set.

  “Paddy!” Seamus called, jerking his head toward the stage. Patrick’s heart quickened. He hadn’t played in public for six years, but this was his idea. He wanted to play, for Aidan, and because that last time when he and Seamus played together was for their mam’s wake. It would be good to celebrate a more joyous occasion, and God only knew how long it would be before they could do it again.

  He followed his brother to the stage and opened his flute case, the cool metal slipping against his sweating hands. Seamus held his fiddle close to his ear and plucked each of the strings in turn, making minor adjustments to the tuning pegs until he was satisfied. He bowed the strings a couple of times; Patrick blew into his flute to warm it up, watching his brother for a cue. They’d not discussed what they were going to play, though they had their set pieces that they’d always jammed together. Most were standard reels—fast-paced and fun for player and listener alike—but Patrick was fretting about having forgotten, until Seamus said, “Billy Brocken’s?” followed by a quick, “One, two, one, two,” and Patrick just started playing, somehow knowing exactly which notes came next.

  People began to clap along and his nervousness evaporated, though he had to fight the urge to smile—not easy playing flute with a smile—when he saw Aidan clapping along too, with that same dreamy expression he’d had when Patrick played for him in private. With only the briefest pause for Seamus to suggest their next number, the Williams boys went straight into “McFadden’s” and from that into “Molly Ban.”

  “Have ye still got that bodhran behind there?” Arthur asked the bartender. She handed it over and Arthur started banging along on the drum. Patrick and Seamus exchanged a glance, enjoying their reception immensely.

  They kept the reels going for a good while longer, with people clapping and even starting to jig a little, but it was exhausting work when both musicians were quite out of practice, and at the end of their next piece, Patrick puffed and panted in an exaggerated fashion.

  “Ah, ye big nancy,” Seamus teased, shaking the ache from his fingers. Patrick laughed and gave his jaw a good stretch, turning as he did and catching Aidan’s gaze. He was…enchanted. Patrick nudged his brother.

  “Can we do, er…” He coughed nervously. “Londonderry Air,” he said quickly.

  “Londonderry—are you havin’ a laugh, Paddy? I mean, it’s a beautiful tune, an’ all, but they’re after dancin’ and singin’.”

  “And if they do sing along, so be it, but I’d like to play it, for Aidan.”

  Seamus raised his thick eyebrows and nodded. “All right then. You lead, my man.”

  Patrick gave his brother a grateful smile, then set his flute against his lip, taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it into those first three notes, long, low, haunting. Seamus picked up on the beat and offered a bowed accompaniment, following the tempo set by his brother. They played as one, the flute soaring into the chorus, raised up on high by the steady, melodious strings. Patrick played from the heart, the music flowing around him, embodying the love and support of his big brother that would be there however many miles separated them. He would miss Seamus, for sure, but it was only an ocean between them, not so far really.

  As the final notes played out, Patrick once again locked eyes with Aidan, his beautifully bewitched man, listening with tears brimming. Patrick moved his flute away, attempting a smile, but it was just too much, and Seamus grabbed him, giving him a bone-crushing hug.

  “I’m going to miss you,” Patrick mumbled against his brother’s chest.

  “Yer soppy eejit, I’ll be no further away than I was in Kansas, but I’ll miss you too.” Seamus released him and sneakily swiped a tear from his own cheek. Patrick laughed through his crying. Seamus nodded and said, “Your man’s coming to tell ye how marvelous y’are.”

  He beckoned Aidan up onto the stage. Aidan stepped up nervously, catching his toe and tumbling into Patrick’s arms. They just stared at each other for a moment, and then Aidan kissed Patrick’s cheek, whispering into his ear, “Thank you. It was beautiful.”

  “Can I just have one moment of your time?” Seamus said loudly, addressing the rest of the room. Patrick groaned inwardly as the bar fell silent. Seamus continued, “I want to thank you all for being here tonight to send me on my way back to the Emerald Isle. I was expectin’ to have a wee drink with my baby brother here, but he’s full of surprises, so he is. And if you’re wonderin’ about the fine young man standin’ beside him…well, let me introduce you to Aidan. Forgive me, Paddy, if I’m speaking out of line, but I for one feel better about leaving you, knowing you’re in Aidan’s capable hands. Now,” Seamus paused to pick up his fiddle, “it’s young Aidan’s birthday, and I’m sure he’d be delighted if yo
u all joined me in wishing him a happy birthday…”

  Aidan buried his face in Patrick’s shirt while the entire bar sang along to a fairly raucous rendition of “Happy Birthday,” at the end of which everyone cheered loudly. Seamus beamed at Patrick and Aidan. “One more for the road?” he suggested. Patrick grinned back.

  “Aye,” he said, picking up his flute. “Why not, Seamus? Why not?”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven:

  Finally, His Turn to Comfort

  Aidan watched as Patrick laid his keys down on the countertop. For a moment he just stood in his quiet apartment, straight-backed, and staring ahead. Then all at once, his shoulders slumped as if someone had pulled out the plug and deflated him.

  “Paddy?”

  Aidan moved around to the front of Patrick and was startled to see the tears shimmering in his beautiful green eyes. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Patrick and hugged him tightly. “It’s okay,” Aidan soothed. He hoped he was doing it right—soothing. It had been so long since he’d soothed anyone, and never like this. “Come here.”

  Lacing his fingers with Patrick’s, he guided the man over to the couch, sitting down first and then pulling Patrick down with him. It gave Aidan the greatest thrill to have Patrick lay his head down in his lap, and he gently stroked Patrick’s cheek much the same way Patrick had stroked his.

  “You want to talk about it?” Aidan asked quietly. Patrick let out a long, slow sigh. He wasn’t crying, but the tears glistened at the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall. Maybe if he was drunk…

  “Hadn’t seen him in years,” Patrick said. “I mean, it’s not as if it’s so different now. Him bein’ out west or him bein’ back home in Ireland. But…”

  “Do you wish you were there?”

  Very lightly, Aidan traced a pattern down the side of Patrick’s face and watched in pleasure as Patrick shivered just a little. He’d discovered Patrick was ticklish—the bottoms of his feet at least—the last time they were in bed together and Aidan went to pull off his socks. Patrick had yanked his feet away but then wasn’t quick enough to play it off. Discovering these sorts of delicious secrets was Aidan’s new favorite pastime.

  “I do miss it a lot sometimes,” Patrick said. “But this has been home since I was fourteen. I tell you though, my love, if I were really rich, I’d spend half my time there and half my time here.”

  “I’d miss you,” Aidan said quietly.

  “You sound none too sure of that.”

  He was feeling uncertain, but definitely not for the reasons Patrick thought.

  Aidan had begun to play with the deep red strands of his boyfriend’s fiery hair; fingering them, twisting them gently, drawing patterns along his scalp. Patrick shifted and Aidan noted, to his delight, that a mound had grown in Patrick’s jeans.

  Is that all it takes? a wickeder Aidan would have asked. But they were talking about Seamus, about Ireland, and about Aidan missing Patrick while he disappeared on his imaginary vacation. Patrick’s tears had dried, but Aidan knew he should at least try to stay focused. He definitely shouldn’t let his hand wander over Patrick’s chest.

  “I’d miss you,” Aidan murmured lowly. With all of my heart. “So much that I don’t even want to say. I’m afraid I’ll embarrass myself.”

  “Well, what makes you think you wouldn’t be there too?”

  “You’d want me?”

  “I wouldn’t go if you didn’t go.”

  Aidan had twisted his hand in the soft material of Patrick’s t-shirt, tugging it to expose hard abs. He wanted to kiss Patrick’s stomach; run his tongue around the delightfully taut oval of his belly button. He wanted to follow that trail of dark red hair. He wanted to find every ticklish spot on Patrick’s body, kiss every freckle.

  “Erm, I don’t mean to be a pervert,” Patrick said, looking up at Aidan, “but you might want to give me one of those pillows to rest my head on, or I’m afraid you’re going to roll me off your lap.”

  Aidan bit his lip, grabbing one of the decorative pillows that had fallen to the floor. He tucked it behind Patrick’s head.

  “That was supposed to be me making a move,” Patrick smiled, looking up at him.

  “And I’m supposed to be comforting you. Let me try to do that, okay? You keep talking.”

  Patrick sucked in a sharp breath as Aidan’s roving hand found—and tweaked—one nipple. He groaned and bucked up on the couch just a bit. The mound was now a mountain.

  “I think you’re doing a pretty good job, my love. Comforting me.”

  “You always hold me and wipe my tears and you’re so…so…patient,” Aidan whispered, his mouth going dry. “And I can’t even think to ask you more about Ireland because I want you to take me to bed.”

  “We could get up and play cards,” Patrick suggested. “Distract ourselves.”

  That only gave Aidan thoughts of playing strip poker with Patrick—something they hadn’t tried yet. He imagined his boyfriend pulling off each layer of clothing. Even stripping his socks would have been sexy. This only brought Aidan back to wanting to find Patrick’s ticklish spots.

  With all his piddly willpower, Aidan let go of Patrick’s nipple and pushed his shirt down. Patrick made a low, disappointed noise. He was flushing so red that his mess of freckles was highlighted.

  “I love my life,” Patrick said slowly. “My job, my gym, my best friend, my apartment and you, Aidan Degas. I love my brother too, but if it makes that great big lug happy to return home, then I won’t ask him to stay.”

  “But he’s all the family you’ve got left.”

  “Aye, blood-related, yes,” Patrick agreed. He reached up and took Aidan’s hand, holding it tightly on his chest. “But it isn’t as if I don’t have my friends. It isn’t as if I don’t have my lover.” He raised Aidan’s hand and began to kiss each fingertip in turn. “Have I said enough yet?”

  “I don’t know—have you told me everything?”

  “Surely not,” Patrick said. “But Seamus Williams isn’t a man to be mourned. He’s a man to be celebrated and I’ll share all my best stories with you over a lifetime.”

  “You really want to get to the bedroom, don’t you?”

  “Are you saying you don’t?”

  “Maybe,” Aidan shrugged, pretending he embodied the word “casual.” Oh, what a farce! “I just thought you might be interested in those cards.”

  Patrick snorted and laughed, rolling over on Aidan’s lap and pushing himself up on his arms. His normally vibrant green eyes were now dark and hungry.

  “Are you sure?”

  “When you hear the game I have in mind,” Aidan said, kissing Patrick’s forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and then hesitated right at his lips, “I’m pretty sure you’ll be interested too.”

  <<< >>>

  Patrick stumbled back against the wall, rattling the picture frames, and Aidan had to cling tighter not to fall. He was hanging from Patrick’s front like a monkey, legs tight around Patrick’s bare waist, arms around his strong neck. Patrick braced with his legs, pushing hard on the wall to steady them. He dug his fingers into Aidan’s behind—a feeling that made Aidan’s cock jerk in his boxers—and hoisted him higher.

  “Make love to me against the wall?” Aidan begged between sucking kisses, which he trailed along the soft hollow of Patrick’s neck.

  The noise Patrick made was hot, desperate, and wild as he claimed Aidan’s lips. For a long moment there was only the intimate dance of their tongues, the sweet mix of saliva, and their painful arousal. Then Patrick broke and said, “I think trying to do it like this would test my thighs to their limit, but—God, you’re worth trying for.”

  “Well, I don’t want to hurt you,” Aidan grinned wickedly, loosening his grip and sliding slowly, sensually, down Patrick’s completely naked front. One of them had been much better at poker than the other and they’d cranked up the heating in the apartment to sweeten Patrick’s defeat. When Aidan’s knees met carpet, and he was face level with Patrick�
�s glorious erection, he placed the most gentle of kisses against the red, wanton head. “Do you like this?”

  He already knew the answer, knew the gentle, teasing pattern he was drawing with his tongue was sending flames of pleasure lapping up his boyfriend’s body because he’d had his own nerve endings set on fire in much the same way. Patrick groaned his agreement, working his fingers into Aidan’s hair and coaxing his mouth further down.

  For long, lost moments, Aidan caressed and sucked on Patrick who—impossibly—grew even harder in his mouth. He wanted to make sure his boyfriend was good and slick because Aidan did not want to stop to get lube from the bedroom, which seemed a million miles away. He wanted to be pressed against the wall and loved, right there in the hallway.

  “Darlin’,” Patrick’s voice was strained, edged with desperation. “If you don’t stop that I’m not going to be able to control myself.”

  Aidan grinned around Patrick’s cock, pulling off with a dramatic, slurping noise. He was pleased Paddy wanted the wall as much as he did. Slowly, Aidan stood, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and working them down, teasing Patrick with a show he hoped the other man liked.

  When Patrick reached for him—pushing himself up off the wall—Aidan casually danced out of the way. He smiled. When he was with Patrick, he always had a reason to smile.

  “Yer a wee divil, so y’are,” Patrick grinned. “Wonder if I could lure y’closer if I thickened the accent?”

  Truth be told, it did send a shiver up Aidan’s spine and he moved a little nearer.

  “Are you feeling a bit better about Seamus?”