Maeve hadn’t understood. Brian had been able to tell that just by glancing her way at the courthouse. She’d gaped at the judge and his verdict just as Debbie Novotny had done after Chris Hobbs had been sentenced to community service. Debbie hadn’t understood how such an injustice could exist in her little world, and neither had Maeve. The evil Lord Kilkenny had prevailed after all, and now it seemed, he would surge ahead with his wicked plans. But where Debbie would have marched, Maeve gathered.

There were only a few times in his life when Brian Kinney had ever truly been made to feel ashamed of himself. Being a twelve year old in a bowling alley, called a ‘fairy’ by his father had been one. Being called out by Lindsay for not being a good parent to Gus had been another. And now, standing stock still in the back of an old Irish church, Brian was having another such moment.

He was hiding back by the bulletin boards and the holy water font, staring owlishly outwards at the church with an anxious stirring in his gut. Meanwhile, a sizeable group of townspeople filled the pews up ahead. They’d all gathered for a meeting about Brian’s recent legal victory, come together to ostensibly vent their anguish over this unfortunate turn of events. Brian’s eyes scanned the assembled crowd to see if anyone he knew was present. A painful swallow went down his throat when he realized that there were many faces that he recognized.

Maeve was there, of course. But so was the old man Finbar and his wife Coleen. Their son Colin was there, and so were his friends Rhys and Silas. Carrick was sitting in the freaking front row right next to the town grocer, and Brian even picked the ancient little lady—Mrs. Mahoney—out of the crowd. Indeed, it seemed that nearly every familiar face that could have shown up for the ‘We Hate Brian Kinney Meeting’, had.

Brian clenched his eyes shut in dismay. Just his fucking luck. It was only going to make what he’d planned to do, that much harder. Up ahead, Maeve had taken a stance before the crowd and made the announcement of what had happened in court that day. Now she was trying to quiet everybody’s concerned, and even panicked, mumbles.

“What do you mean he won? I thought we had a good case against him!”

“You said you were going to prove that he wasn’t the legal owner of the castle!”

“Yeah! How do we even know he’s the real heir to the Kilkenny estate anyways?”

“What are we supposed to do now? Just sit by and watch while he turns this town upside down?”

Maeve waved her hands, trying to calm them. “Please everybody,” she said, “I know how upsetting this is. We all tried to keep this from happening, but let’s just calm down.”

“Calm down?” This time it was Finbar talking. Brian could see him shifting in the second row of pews. “We all know what this means for Kilkenny. That man is going to sell his property to the cruise line and come next year, we won’t even be able to recognize this town anymore.”

“We did our best,” Maeve said, looking about as angry as she did sad. “That’s the most important thing; that we tried to stop it. He can’t take that away from us. It doesn’t make it right, but we have to face the facts now. According to the courts, we don’t have any other legal options to stop the developers.”

“Well what do you propose we do then?!” This from Colin, who’d nearly shouted his question. He turned to address the crowd. “Let me tell you lot something: I know this bloke, okay? I’ve spent time with him, gotten to see how he is. And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that he’s not some bleeding heart like we’d hoped. He doesn’t care about Kilkenny and he won’t be persuaded to stop what he’s doing.” Colin gave an acerbic laugh. “In fact, I’m sure if the bastard were here, he’d look us all right in the face and mock us for how stupid we were to ever even give him a chance. Because he never, ever intended to give us one.”

Everyone in the crowd murmured in agreement, and from his spot, Brian frowned. Character assassination had never bothered him too very much, but when it was done behind his back… well that did bother him. He glanced warily at the holy water font, before hastily dunking four fingers into it and blessing himself. He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and asked, “You don’t think they’d murder me in a church, right?” Brian might not have been religious, but he still felt the question was warranted. Abandoning caution to the wind, he pushed out of the corner of shadow that had, until then, afforded him anonymity. Without quite thinking what he would say, Brian stalked right up the center aisle of the church.

Heads turned to look at him in sequence, like a wave gaining momentum before it crested. At first people were mostly quiet, as if they hadn’t yet processed the sight of the strange man sweeping past them, but by the time Brian had reached the steps of the altar they had figured it out, and the outraged murmurs returned in full force.

“What are YOU doing here?” Maeve said at once.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Colin spurred. “He’s come to shove it all in our faces.” Speaking directly to Brian, he said, “Well? Have at it: gloat away.”

“I thought you were Justin’s friend,” Brian hissed.

“I am Justin’s friend. Not hard to miss that he’s not here with you. Guess he can’t stomach your callousness any better than we can.”

“Brian?” Maeve had an eyebrow raised sky high at him, and she nodded for him to step up to the altar. “If you’ve got something to say, go on and say it. I think these people deserve an explanation.”

Brian cautiously ascended the two steps and turned to look upon the crowded church. His next swallow went down with difficulty, and he imagined that the whole room could hear his heart beating. These people, a collection of every size and shape there was to offer in Kilkenny, all had eyes fixed firmly on him. And they all looked at him with hatred. Brian had long joked about being the devil of Kilkenny, but now he knew that he didn’t really want to be that person. He didn’t want all of these people to hate him.

He licked his lips nervously and tried to smirk in his usual tactic of nonchalance. “Well Collin’s right,” he said. “You people really are pathetic.”

“Oy!”

“Feck you!”

“Why’d you let him up there Maeve?!”

“—Because,” Brian forcefully continued, tamping down their angry shouts, “you gave me a chance. Without even knowing me! I mean if that’s not pathetic, than I don’t know what is. And Colin’s also right that I never intended to give you a chance.”

“You see!”

“Told you.”

“Predictable. Arse.”

“I’m not finished!” Brian inserted yet again, knowing that this next silence from the crowd might be the last he’d get, for how upset he was making them. “I said you were stupid to think you could win with me, because you were. And I didn’t ever intend to give you a chance. Kilkenny doesn’t mean anything to me. It isn’t my home.” Brian stared out at them, seeing his words deaden their eyes. He took a deep breath for what he would say next. “But it is your home, and it means everything to you. If being trapped here by your stupid lawsuit has shown me anything, it’s that you love this town. From the most loud-mouthed ring-leaders,” Brian looked pointedly to Maeve, “to the most humble of you,” he glanced to old little Mrs. Mahoney. “You all have your ways of protecting what you love. I just couldn’t see that until very recently.”

“What are you saying sonny?” Maeve asked with her arms crossed. “Are you making fun of us still?”

“I’m not making fun of you. I’m being completely serious.” Brian tried not to outwardly grimace when he next announced, “I’m saying that even though you’re stupid, naive, and legally out of luck when it comes to me and my inheritance; you’re also not in the wrong. Despite how disgustingly clichéd this is… what you have here is worth a thousand of what anyone else could build.” They all stared at him, blinking rapidly like confused little bugs, until Brian groaned in exasperation and shot out, “I’m not selling the castle. I’m not selling any of it.”

“What?”

Brian shrugged, “I changed my mind. You can keep your stupid town.”

The addition of ‘stupid’ may not have been necessary, but it made Brian feel better about being such a softy. He’d given up four point two million euros, a lifetime of dream vacations, and multiple luxury condos; and though it wasn’t nearly worth the paltry tradeoff for Maeve’s disbelieving look of joy, Brian still felt a little bit wonderful when the room erupted into excited claps and cheers and ‘thank yous’. No one was scowling at him anymore. And… goddamn it Carrick had started to cry yet again.

Brian hurried back down the church aisle before any single person could approach him for conversation or—god forbid—a hug. They tried, but he evaded. Brian had never been good with gratitude, and that had him rushing away. But the fact of the matter remained that he had just announced that he wouldn’t sell, and he was happy as he walked out of the church.

While it had been somewhat amusing to play the villain for a while, being the hero felt a hell of a lot better.

---

After the debacle at the church, it was hard for Brian to figure out what to do with himself. What did you do when you’d just cemented your decision to sacrifice your chance at happiness, for everyone else’s? Because that was exactly what he’d done. Brian didn’t bother trying to delude himself that he wouldn’t have loved every minute of the rest of his life as a jet-setting millionaire. It would have been great.

But it would have been awful, too. Brian remembered the time that the closeted, over-the-hill, family man Marvin Telson had propositioned him for sex in exchange for his business. Brian had seriously considered it, even come close to going through with it. But much like having sex with Telson for his career-bolstering account would have done, selling off Kilkenny would have cost him a piece of himself that he would never get back. Brian didn’t want to lose any more pieces. It was time to start gaining things. He’d started with Justin, and he was continuing the trend with Kilkenny.

By nine o’clock that evening the plane tickets had been printed out and laid on a table. Brian had figured out how to light a huge fire in the downstairs fireplace, made friends with the one hundred year old scotch, and lost track of time in a high back leather chair. The hours ticked by and it was still and dark in the castle as Brian stared at the tickets and nursed a glass that was not his first. He’d been so ensconced in his thoughts about the past twenty four hours that he didn’t hear as footsteps approached…

Justin had come in through the front door and noticed the weak light emanating from the usually unused first floor living space. He stepped into the room and saw the fire and the hand holding the lowball glass over the chair’s arm. That was all he could see of Brian until he’d set his bag down and walked around to the other side of the chair. Brian’s hazel eyes rose lazily to meet his, which was how Justin knew that the drink in his hand hadn’t been his first. “Are you drunk?” he asked.

Brian chuckled as if the question had been funny. “Not yet, but it’s a distinct possibility.”

“Ah. So it’s that kind of night.”

“It’s that kind of night.”

Justin went over and sat on the fireplace’s marble hearth. What with the fire and the chair and Brian there with the scotch, Justin thought that he really did look like the picturesque lord of the manner. All he needed was a hound at his feet. He watched perceptively as Brian sipped from his drink, his brow just as pinched as it had been before Justin’s arrival. “Contemplating the mysteries of life?” Justin asked.

A barely there twitch of a smirk pulled at the corner of Brian’s mouth, and he murmured, “…Something like that.” If forfeiting four point two million euros is a mystery of life… Hazel eyes tracked more accurately as Justin stood and sauntered over to crouch next to the chair. “Shouldn’t you be hard at work on your commissions?” Brian asked when Justin trailed his hand up and down his resting arm. He knew that was what Justin had been working on all day. “You don’t want to let your many fans down.”

It’d come out somewhat snarkily, but as usual Justin was more than fluent in the convoluted communication patterns of Brian Kinney. The plane tickets on the table hadn’t gone unnoticed, but they didn’t shake his confidence. He shook his head and hummed thoughtfully, “Huh-uh. I’m not so sure I’ll need to complete them after all. Not all of them, anyways.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’ve heard a rumor.”

Brian took another sip of his drink. “Tricky things those are.”

“Don’t you want to know what it is?”

Brian already knew what he would say. Justin was brimming with eagerness to ask the question. The kid never had been any good at hiding what he was thinking. “Not particularly, but I’m betting you’ll tell me anyway.”

“I heard that you decided not to go through with it.” Brian made a face and hurriedly finished the glass. “It’s true, isn’t it?” Justin didn’t seem to need confirmation. Whoever had told him, had clearly relayed some version of that afternoon’s events at the church. “Brian,” he finally added, when he could tell that the other man was in a strange mood. “Why? I thought you had your mind made up after winning. After all they offered you… the money…” He bit his lip, catching Brian’s gaze in the firelight and reaching to grasp his free hand. “Why?”

“…I finally thought of one good reason to do it,” Brian croaked, eyes boring into Justin’s own.

Justin was flabbergasted. His lips hung open as he wondered what it was that could have changed the mind of a man who was so damned unchangeable. “And?” he prompted, “What was that one good reason?”

Brian simply sucked his lips inwards in that secretive smile that Justin equally loved and hated, and shrugged. That was all he gave in lieu of an answer. Justin seemed so happy that he hadn’t sold, that he didn’t even press for more of an explanation. A log broke lower in the fire and Brian poured and drank another sip’s worth of scotch before Justin moved to crawl into his lap. They didn’t both exactly fit in the chair, but that was alright because the carpet was right below and seemed a fine second option.

Sprawled across the floor, Brian pulled Justin against his body and held him close enough to feel the rise and fall of his chest. Brian was tipsy. He could taste the alcohol on his breath and he was sure Justin could smell it. Its slight burn gave him the nerve to run his hands over Justin and murmur, “I gave up all of that money, and the condos. And anything else it could have bought. Do you know what my one consolation is?”

Justin shook his head, looking so naïve that it melted Brian’s heart. “No. What?”

“That I didn’t have to give this up,” he admitted quietly as he ran his hands up Justin’s back, dragging his tee shirt with them. He put his lips to Justin’s ear so that he wouldn’t have to look him in the eye when he said, “I still don’t understand how, but I know that I have never been happier than when I have been getting shit on my shoes, getting lost in the country, falling off horses, making a fool of myself, or being insulted by fucking overbearing Irish bartenders… with you right next to me.”

Justin melted. Brian could feel it happen right underneath his hands. He’d said the right thing, even though romance was probably the least of his bedroom skills. The alcohol had loosened his tongue and Justin had liked what he’d had to say. Justin’s lips parted to utter something that was sure to sound a hell of a lot like: I love you. And like a butterfly stopped with a net, Brian caught whatever he would have said in a kiss.

Justin’s lips, as always, were incredibly accommodating. The soft yield of his mouth made Brian want to kiss him forever, delve into him forever; into that delicious, perfect kiss. He could feel the heat emanating from the fire only feet away, warming the sides of their faces. Brian slid his tongue along the seam of his lips and thrilled when he was allowed in to taste how hot Justin was, how needy. A gratified sound escaped him. He wound his fingers through Justin’s hair. Justin’s leg bent up over his hip, and it became obvious that whatever they started right there on the carpet before the fire would be finished there as well. Brian tried hard to kiss Justin exactly the way he wanted, to make sure he heard all of the things he wouldn’t say. He wanted to make Justin know how much he cherished this. He wanted to make Justin understand that he was the impetus for everything good in his life. He wanted to make sure that Justin knew how much he was loved.

And as they slowly shed their clothes and came together in front of the fire, making love on their last night in Kilkenny; Justin did know that he was loved.

Upstairs, on a windowsill nearly forgotten by the two impassioned men, the first, red blossom had already appeared in Justin’s little clay pot.

---

The two o’clock sun filtered through the loft’s floor-to-ceiling drapes, keeping the houseplants alive. Brian had kept orchids in the loft before, but now an unassuming terra cotta pot joined them on the sill, its soil crowded by the rare sight of a red shamrock plant. Brian glanced at it briefly as he fussed worriedly with their boarding passes and carry-on luggage by his desk. By then Justin had admitted to him what the meaning of the unassuming little plant was. He’d kind of had to, to justify carrying the item through customs. Brian triple checked the hour on the plane tickets. Of course the thing had fucking bloomed red shamrocks. “Why on earth do we have such a bizarre flight time?” he complained.

“Because even you can’t be late for a two pm flight,” Justin called from the bedroom. He folded the very last pair of boxer briefs atop his already packed-to-the-brim suitcase, smiling pleasantly at the tidy job he’d done. This was the first business trip that Brian had ever offered to bring him along on and he was excited to be going as a couple. Even it was only to Atlanta. His smile only widened as a pair of strong arms gripped him by surprise from behind.

“You made fast work of that,” Brian observed, peering over at the suitcase’s contents. Justin couldn’t see the Cheshire grin that was forming on his face. “What… are THESE?” With thumb and forefinger he reached around to pick up the just-folded briefs.

“Hey! Put those back!” Justin spun around in his hold to chase the underwear that Brian now dangled gleefully in the air. “Brian!”

“Did Rhys give you these as a thank you present?” Brian teased, referring to their Irish trick. “You know I thought he might be into leather, but, leprechauns?” He tutted, dangling the underwear even higher as Justin rose onto his tiptoes and leant against his chest to try and reach them.

“I just found them and thought they were funny. Now give. them. back!” He tried a jump, and was able to wrestle the garment from Brian’s hold.

Brian grabbed another corner and used it to pull Justin into him. “Not until I get you, wearing them. I want to see your hot little ass in these, right now!” Brian cackled. He kind of did though. He had a thing for Justin in underwear.

“No!” Their tug-of-war with the novelty underpants went on until they went flying across the living room, slingshot over to the nearest corner to land beside the loft’s windowsill and the potted plants. Brian laughed and Justin started a slapfight that toppled them to the bed.

The underwear incident of course led to Justin receiving a blowjob, Brian masturbating onto Justin’s chest, and Justin using the leprechaun briefs to clean it up. Brian sighed as he watched the sad display, realizing that not only would he have to wait until he could launder the things before he could make Justin wear them, but also: that their romp had made them a little later for their flight. His eyes shot to the tickets, and to the other item that he’d stashed on the desk. “Hey!” he went over and grabbed the things from the desk, sticking them in his back pocket. “We’ve got to get a move on boyo. Grab your shite and get your arse in gear. We don’t have all bloody day!”

Justin stood up straighter from where he’d been tying his sneakers, allowing his bag to fall to the floor as he made a face. “Ugh, don’t use that accent. It sounds…”

“What? Exotic? Ruffian? Sexy?”

“Weird. Wrong. Maybe a little creepy. Try talking in that southern accent you do. We are going to Atlanta and I actually think that one’s kind of hot.”

Brian sauntered closer until they were standing toe to toe and Justin was within his arms once again. “I am an Irish Lord you know. With a castle and a steed and everything. They write smutty novels about guys like me.”

Justin poked him on the chest and wrinkled his nose. “Yeah well you took me away from Ireland, remember? And you’re a far cry from a swarthy highland warrior.”

Brian turned Justin in his hold so that they were front to back, and murmured, “I am so swarthy you don’t even know.”

“Mmhm. Are we still rushing for that flight, your swarthiness?”

Brian made a sound of consideration, before saying, “I suppose, but before we leave I wanted to give you something.”

“If it’s another blowjob, I’d love it but I don’t think we have time for…”

His hand appeared in Justin’s sight line, and it held something: a small ring. Heart and hands and crown, hammered into a band of gold. Justin’s eyes widened as he realized what it was. “Oh my god. Brian that’s a claddagh ring,” he uttered, lifting a hand to pick it up off of Brian’s palm. Unlike the boxers, Brian didn’t try to stop him. Justin wanted to turn around and look Brian in the eyes, but he was held tightly against the other man’s chest, and he realized that this was probably one of those times when Brian didn’t want to have to look him in the eyes. “Did you buy this?” he nearly whispered, his breath somehow missing.

“No, I found it in my cereal box. Yes I bought it.”

“But… why?” Justin was already grinning like an idiot as he asked. He turned the ring over in his fingers, admiring it. “I can’t believe you would give me this Brian. I mean it is a ring…”

Brian’s fingers tugged warningly against his sides. “Don’t get excited. It’s not a proposal or anything. But if I go back there—”

“If?” Justin asked, looking meaningfully back over his shoulder.

“When I go back there, I want it to be with you.” And again he was sucking his lips inwards in that impish look that made Justin love him so, so much.

Justin turned back around in Brian’s arms, holding the ring up to scrutinize it. “You know, this is really small.” In fact, the band was downright child-size. Justin wondered if it would even slide all the way down his pinky finger… nope. He looked up to Brian, a question in his eyes.

“I know,” Brian said confidently. “Do you think I want you traipsing around with that thing on your hand like we’re married or something?”

Justin raised an eyebrow at the offhand remark. “Uh…”

“I’d never get laid, and neither would you!” Brian snorted and nodded decisively, as if he’d just made the most logical statement ever, and kissed Justin firmly on the lips before trotting off to grab their bags.

Brian urged him to hurry yet again, and Justin pocketed the ring carefully before following after him. It might not have been the most romantic ending to a romantic gesture, but it made him smirk fondly anyways: ordering a ring sized down so that the person in question couldn’t even wear it! It was unbelievable, and it was typical Brian Kinney. That was the man that Justin knew so well, the one whom he’d chased after, fallen in love with, and even eventually won. But Brian’s quirks couldn’t derail him now. Some things just never changed. But other things—the important things—sometimes did.

That was the Kilkenny inheritance, and Justin Taylor was counting on it.