July 1916

The morning of the day that celebrated both Gael’s birthday and his passing the bar to become an actual lawyer opened with clear skies and a whisper of not being too hot that day in New York.

Jack sat up a bit in bed, shoving Gael’s pillow behind him, but as quietly as possible. A small smile on his face, he shifted just a bit more, one knee bent under the soft cotton sheet. He had the best position to watch his beloved dance like no one was watching.

Gael always seemed to have music in his head, that only he could hear. Shirt off, worn slacks hung low on his waist, Gael moved like he’d never had a bad day. Blond curls shivered as he danced, arms casually by his side. Those bare feet moved so fast, silent taps on the smooth polished barrel top he’d put on top of an auto tire to keep from annoying the landlady. This Irish dancing was familiar to Jack now, which didn’t mean he could do more than fall over his own feet when he tried.

The movement in Gael’s body was song, giving proof of the soul. There was no way such movement did not embody all the good that God had meant when he created the world. Drawn to his lover, Jack crawled forward, laying on his belly, all thoughts of stroking his morning erection lost in the dizzy footwork, those bare feet moving in a language that Jack had never imagined before Gael. “You’re beautiful.”