WARNING; Rated M for future m/m and adult themes, this is not going to be a CG/Ana fic. It will be a CG/Taylor

Chapter; 14.

"Nice house."

Christian looked up from his iPad and stared at Taylor's murky coloured eyes in the rear view window. It was the first thing the man had said since they left Escala, leaving behind the three meth heads who thought they'd be able to rob Christian and Taylor to fund their habit. Staring out the window, Christian realised that they'd arrived at his parent's home, the security gates opening to let them in.

"They have security," Christian explained, watching Taylor checking out the angles of the gate's CCTV cameras, "Dad's a lawyer, though I suppose you already knew that? He takes on some pretty intense cases. Humanitarian cases."

"He worked on a recent Nazi case, didn't he?" Taylor said knowingly, which wasn't a surprise to Christian. He knew his bodyguard had done extensive research about his parents.

"Werner Muller; he was an enforcer at a concentration camp. He maybe wasn't a big player but he was part of it and Dad was desperate to be on the team getting him a sentence," Christian said, leaning forward to the window so that he could speak through the intercom, "Michael, it's Christian and guest."

"Very good, Master Grey," Good ol' Michael said, the gates opening with a rickety creak. Taylor continued to drive forward, Christian catching the man's smug and obnoxiously irritating lopsided smirk.

"What are you smiling at?" Christian questioned.

"He calls you Master Grey," Taylor chortled lowly, "I just think it's coincidental considering your fetishisms."

"I don't have a fetish," Christian stated bluntly, shaking his head at Taylor who was still chuckling and smirking as he pulled up into a parking space beside Mia's pink m ini, "It's a lifestyle."

"No judgement here, Master Grey," Taylor joked, those muddy blue eyes staring directly at Christian as he turned in his seat. He was itching for a beating, Christian thought; desperate to smack that arrogant glint out of his eye. For a Marine, he was cheeky and challenging; a free thinker. Christian had imagined that hiring a marine for a bodyguard would have been more like having…well, someone with the ability to take orders. Taylor came across as a dog who needed castrated; he was definitely an alpha male but he was trying to challenge Christian's dominance and that was grating to Christian.

"You can just call me 'Master', Mr Taylor," Christian chimed back as he stepped out of the car and began walking on the white gravel path to his parent's front door.

Michael was waiting for both he and Taylor, smiling politely. He was nowhere near as impressive as Taylor looked, but he understood the family and had been working with Carrick for years. A retired FBI agent, Michael knew his stuff and had kept Carrick and Grace safe for years, even during more intense legal cases. With a weathered face and a floppy crop of thinning grey hair, he felt more like an uncle than a trained bodyguard.

"Master Grey," Michael greeted warmly before looking up at Taylor with curiosity, "And this must be your guest?"

"Taylor," Taylor said, offering his hand to shake Michael's.

"Have you got ID?" Michael asked, "I'm sure you appreciate that I need copies of identification before letting guests into the premises."

"I understand," Taylor replied, opening his wallet and handing over some form of ID. Christian looked on, trying to see if he could learn anything knew about Taylor. Michael took it before Christian could catch a quick glance and scanned the picture critically before taking a photo on his mobile phone. Satisfied, it was handed back to Taylor who tucked it away quickly in his back pocket.

"Sorry we're late," Christian said to Michael as they were led through his childhood home, "There was an issue with GEH."

"Not a problem, Master Grey," Michael responded and walked ahead, Christian holding back and watching Taylor taking in every fine detail of the grand entrance. The house was perhaps not as sleek or as modern like Escala. It was a lot more cluttered and busy but everything was family orientated. From the warm colours of the woodwork to the burnt orange walls which supported family portraits of grandparents and great grandparents; family was at the heart of everything Carrick and Grace did.

Christian caught Taylor studying a few framed photos of the foster children who Grace and Carrick had cared for before they'd made the decision to adopt Elliot and begin their permanent little family.

"That's Tommy," Christian explained when he walked back to Taylor's side and nodded at the picture of Carrick and seventeen year old Tommy driving the family car.

"Tommy?" Taylor frowned, looking at him with a risen eyebrow.

"They fostered him," Christian explained, "Actually, I think he was the last kid they fostered before Elliot. His parents were drug users but his dad managed to get himself on a Subutex script and keep clean long enough to get Tommy back. He's a Drug Worker in Detroit now, three kids and a wife. Lovely guy but apparently he was an absolute cunt the first few years he lived with Carrick and mom."

"How many kids have your parents cared for?" Taylor asked, looking down at another photo of Grace and Angelica, another foster child who'd kept in touch with the Greys, "Who was the youngest?"

"I'm not sure," Christian shrugged, "They never really tell us. Sometimes they'd just have children for a weekend as emergency housing, sometimes they had kids like Tommy from the ages of nine till adulthood. Mom would always say they never fostered enough. Elliot was the youngest they ever received; his mom was in a car crash with him and no other guardian stepped forward. He was in the back of the car, completely fine, but she was mangled. Critical in hospital for a few weeks but died of infection. By that point mom and Carrick had bonded with Elliot."

"Geez," Taylor whistled through his teeth, looking at Christian curiously, "Why do you rarely call Carrick your 'dad'?"

Taylor's question caught Christian off guard completely and he felt his walls going up. Who did Taylor think he was asking such an incredibly personal question? Christian felt his temper about to erupt and had to bite his tongue hard to prevent him from giving Taylor a verbal dressing down for asking such an insensitively probing question.

But when he looked into Taylor's eyes, he saw nothing but kindness. His question wasn't for his own knowledge, for some stupid security reason that he wouldn't ever reveal to Christian. Instead he was looking at Christian with warmth and concern, like he was genuinely interested in something important about Christian's life. In this light, those muddy eyes looked charmingly green, his lips a thin line as he awaited the response.

"Because I don't know if my dad's dead or not," Christian admitted after a hesitating breath, fighting the violent need shove Taylor and run, "I suppose it's a childish thing. I just worry my dad would walk through that door," he pointed to the grand entrance, "to see me and overhear me calling Carrick 'dad'. Even now, I still wonder if one day my dad will come looking for me."

"You've no idea where your father is?" Taylor asked, "At all?"

"Nope, nothing. That information died with my whore mother," Christian insisted, staring at the picture of Tommy and Carrick again wistfully as he admitted to Taylor thoughts he was shy to even discuss with Flynn, "My real mother was a prostitute so my father could be anyone really. If he was a punter, he could even have a family and maybe he has his own business too. I like to think my dad's out there, with a wife and kids. My biological brothers and sisters."

Taylor said nothing but Christian could feel his eyes studying his face. It felt so strange to be this open with someone, particularly a recent stranger, but Christian couldn't help himself. Something about Taylor got under his skin, made his stomach churn with a warm nervousness that he'd never experienced before.

He didn't even flinch when Taylor gave his shoulder a manful squeeze, comforting Christian with the soft caress of his thumb through the material of his dinner jacket. Christian looked up at him then, feeling a sudden pulse of electricity between them. There was nothing but understanding in those muddy eyes which was perhaps what attracted Christian so much to this man. He knew hardship, he knew pain and hunger; he could understand Christian's emotions or lack of.

Christian studied his concerned eyes and then lowered his gaze to Taylor's lips which were shaped in a soft, full smile, not the annoying arrogant half smirk he usually gave Christian.

"Christian!" mom called, her voice echoing through the hall. He heard the sound of her heels clip-clopping towards them and felt the moment between both Taylor and himself evaporate as though it were never there.

Taylor's hand dropped to his side and he assumed an all-male stance, murky eyes narrowing as he looked towards the source of the voice.

"Mom," Christian smiled as Grace rounded the corner, "Sorry, we're just coming," he explained, taking in the sight of his beautiful mother, dressed in a teal skirt and blouse combo. She noticeably startled when her eyes landed on the massive Taylor, confused.

"This is my guest, mom. Taylor?" Christian explained, nodding up at Taylor, "My PA?"

"Forgive me, Mr Taylor, but you're not what I envisioned when Christian said he was bringing a work friend with him to Dinner," Grace explained, a smile spreading across her face.

"Taylor, please," Taylor said politely, bowing his head, "I'm Mr Grey's PA."

"You're his personal assistant?" Grace questioned then laughed weakly.

"It's a veteran scheme, mom," Christian mumbled, "Come on; I'm starving."