Midnight Whispers
QAF Brian and Justin Fanfiction
Author's Chapter Notes:

The boys find their way to the village of Kilkenny. They meet some townspeople and don't exactly get a warm welcome. The purpose of this trip is revealed.

 

 

“Who the fuck rents an Aston Martin to tour the Irish countryside?”

Justin was seated next to Brian, marveling at his lover’s outrageous sense of self entitlement as they zipped along the Irish highway. Well… at least he thought it counted as a highway. The car that transported them moved with perilous speed, dislodging small stones and dust from the edges of the two-lane roadway. It almost seemed as if Brian couldn’t wait to escape the pastoral settings, though the luxurious interior of their vehicle should have moderated his discomfort somewhat. The seats around them were buttery leather, the dash gleaming, burnished wood. The exorbitant machine was an alien blot that stuck out like a sore thumb as they sped along the provincial road that would take them to their destination. Justin glanced over at Brian, waiting for his answer about the car. “It’s ridiculous,” he reiterated.

“I’ll have you know that this is a 1965 DB5 Vantage. It’s a piece of automotive artistry.” Justin’s blank stare had him gaping. “James Bond drove it, for Christ’s sake! Besides, I’m not about to travel out to Bumfuck, nowhere without maintaining the bare essential creature comforts that I can,” Brian finished lazily. He’d taken quite well to driving the reversely-fashioned car, his body poised elegantly in the right side driver’s seat. “Now just sit back and at least try to enjoy the scenery.”

“Fine.” Justin tried to do as told, eventually ceding, “…It’s so beautiful. Just like Hinde’s thematic landscapes always portrayed.” Pale blue eyes gazed back out at the countryside they were passing. Endless hills and fields, robed majestically in the emerald green that was the island’s namesake, went on for as far as he could see. “I can’t wait to paint it.”

Brian failed to repress a fond smile at his lover’s nerding-out to art academia. The kid would be a stunning success once he began at PIFA. “Painting, as in old-school, with a brush and paint-painting? With your injury?” He raised his eyebrows at the road, “Your hand has the attention span of a lengthy whack off these days.”

“Thanks for reminding me.”

“Just telling it for how it is.”

Justin frowned. “Of course.” One could always count on Brian Kinney for a cold, harsh dose of reality. For just a second, he’d been able to imagine they were a typical couple on a picturesque getaway. Then Brian had to go and open his acerbic mouth, ruining the illusion. “Ever the realist,” he drawled. “Thank you, Mr. Practicality. Can’t you ever just be kind for the sake of being kind?”

“Sweet lies are a waste of everybody’s time. And stop whining. You sound like such a teenager.”

“I am a teenager.” Justin sighed, deciding to let the conversation drop. There was no use to it anyways. Brian had already made it perfectly clear what they could be to each other. And he’d lived with that truth for months. No need to upset the balance now, of all times.

He’d gotten as far as Ireland with the older man, better not to push it. Soon they’d be arriving at their destination anyways, and despite Brian’s endless emphatic promises that this was a trip solely for business means, the young blonde was still hoping to get his companion in a good enough mood to go out and see the sights before nightfall. Sometimes Justin wished that Brian was like other people’s boyfriends, or that he’d at least make the slightest attempt at imitation. But he wasn’t, and he wouldn’t. Ireland wouldn’t change that, he was quite sure.

So instead of maintaining false hope for romance or anything of that ilk, the young man simply sat back and watched the scenery whip by. They’d be there in no time.

---

Ramshackle buildings squished together by the centuries lined the streets, their wooden shutters and window baskets brightening the shop fronts and houses as if on a postcard. A few people could be seen milling about here and there, and there was even a woman herding several bleating sheep down a side-lane. The town of Kilkenny, Ireland was small, quaint, and downright picturesque.

Brian wrinkled his nose in distaste as they parked along the street. “Great,” he drawled. “So this is what we came over here for. This… hamlet.” A flick of the wrist had his Gucci sunglasses off of his scowling face. “It’s so tiny, so rundown, so…”

“Perfect!”

Brian’s eyes slid over to where his companion was unbuckling his own seatbelt in haste. The young teenager had an excited grin splayed across his features, eyes tracking the unimpressive cobblestone street as if it were paved with gold.

“Oh my god! Brian look at that! Did you see that over there? This is so cute!”

Something unexpected warmed in Brian’s chest as he watched Justin get excited over the town they’d arrived in. The kid was always so happy, he thought to himself. Even after all that’d happened to him with the bashing, his hand, his father’s abandonment, all of it; he still walked about life with the fucking rosiest rose-colored glasses that Brian had ever seen. The older man didn’t know how Justin managed. All he knew was that Debbie had certainly been apt in nicknaming him Sunshine. Brian would have been loath to admit it, but despite the inconsistency of their relationship and even of their respective motivations, the truth was that Justin Taylor had made him happier than he’d felt in a long time.

And that might have been the main reason why the teenager had been invited along on the trip. Brian had told himself, and Justin, that the only reason this little adventure had become a two-man trip was because he didn’t trust the little twerp around his expensive stuff for so long, but in reality they both knew that wasn’t true. The truth was what Debbie had said to him so succinctly in Woody’s: Justin had simply… gotten in under the wire.

His attention was quickly drawn away from such utterly depressing contemplations as the sound of an eighteen year old, squawking in excitement, filled his ears yet again. Justin was climbing out of the car, backpack flung carelessly over his shoulder as he looked about. “Brian, come on!” he urged. “There are so many little shops! Can we go in a few?” Blue irises widened exponentially as he caught sight of something down the street. “Oh my god they have a little art store. I’m so going in.”

“Hang on to your bedazzled underpants, Picasso.” Brian climbed from the car, eyes dancing with mirth at the kid’s excitement. Look at him, he thought amusedly. He looks as giddy as a… Brian frowned. As a school boy. Sometimes the reminders of that were a little hard to take, so he mostly tried not to think about the age difference. A thin smirk graced his features. Oh, the impropriety of it all.

“Bedazzled?” Justin moped as Brian walked over to join him on the sidewalk.

“With the way you’re queening out to this little town?” Brian grabbed the smaller man to his side, starting them off down the street. “Come on boy wonder. This blip on the map apparently has a hotel somewhere. We need to find it sometime before my visa expires.”

“But what about our stuff?” the blonde worried as he was dragged along, eyes tracking sadly past the art shop as they went. “I’ve got like, toothpaste in my backpack.”

“Don’t you listen? I told you: it’s being delivered to the hotel.”

“We could have brought it ourselves if you hadn’t insisted on renting that joke of a car.”

Brian pinched the younger man’s shoulder where he held him. “Stop complaining you little brat, and just be glad your stuff—and you—are here at all.”

Justin had winced at the pinch to his arm, smirking only belatedly to mock his bossy lover with, “Yes, your highness.”

“DON’T start with that again.”

---

Walking through the village of Kilkenny, Ireland had been a hard and fast education for Brian, and by the time they’d reached the center square, he knew that he hadn’t been expecting too much from the little town; it really was a shitty hamlet.

How a group of no less than three thousand, three hundred and eighty seven people could collectively decide to remain in such an isolated location was beyond the worldly executive. Didn’t they want adventure? Didn’t they crave variety? Was there no desire for promiscuous gay sex—or any sort of promiscuous sex? And when the hell had anonymity gone out of fashion? It was like one, giant suburban nightmare, where everyone knew each other and greeted one another by name on the street. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to party, there wasn’t a nightclub to speak of, and Brian was pretty sure that no backrooms would be found within the town either. It seemed, in a word: awful.

At the hub of it all, he stood next to a still-enthusiastic Justin, and stared at what appeared to be the center of life in Kilkenny: the local church, and the local pub. “So this is it,” he mumbled, feeling Justin pull away from his side. “Shoot me now.” In his mind, Brian was already reviewing the length of his stay that he’d negotiated with the lawyers. Two weeks in this place was going to be a looong time. Perhaps they’d be able to settle things faster than anticipated?

“Hey Brian.” Justin’s voice drew the darker man out of his hopeful thoughts. “Come look at this.” Justin was standing at the base of what was, if it was to be compared to the relative size of the town, a rather large statue.

“What the fuck are we looking at?”

“It says here that it’s the twelfth Baron of Kilkenny, circa eighteen ninety,” Justin informed, referencing the bronze plaque at the base of the statue. A snort came from his lips, “Remind you of anyone you know?”

Brian stared up at the thing, flabbergasted. “Yeah,” he uttered. “Me.”

The statue was of a man, sitting proudly atop a horse. His unmistakable jaw and nose were sculpted out of a weathered bronze, looking for all the world as arrogant as a certain advertising executive. The subject’s clothes were out of date and far from Armani, but that small detail aside, it really could have been a rendering of Brian himself. The resemblance was uncanny. Both men continued to gaze at it until their strange fixation began to draw a few stares from the locals. Stepping away self-consciously, Justin commented, “It doesn’t look like much has changed in five generations.”

“I guess good looks run in the family.”

Justin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, good looks and conceitedness.” He nodded his head in the direction they’d been going before the statue. “Come on your lordship. I think the hotel is this way.” He sauntered off, Brian catching up with him to smack him smartly atop the head for the stupid remark.

---

 “The Fisherman’s Folly.” Justin recited the name of the establishment outside which he and Brian stood. “Are you sure this is it?” The gaze they both cast upon the building’s façade was dubious at best. It looked like a place that dirty sailors might have come to get pissed and laid… two centuries ago.

“What the fuck?”

Yeeeah. I don’t think we’re in Pittsburgh anymore, Toto.”

“And this certainly isn’t Woody’s, Dorothy.” Brian looked upwards to see the windows that stretched several stories over the main floor. If he’d inadvertently booked them a room in some slovenly whorehouse, he’d freaking kill Declan.

“Didn’t your friend say this was the only hotel in town?” Justin asked.

“He’s my attorney, not my friend. Besides, I thought you were so eager to experience Ireland in all of its ‘authentic glory’.” He flounced his hand towards the doorway in front of them. “Well take it from a true-born Irishman: here’s your chance. After you.” Justin scowled at him, but pushed bravely ahead anyways. Brian followed him in, surprised by the warm atmosphere that they found inside.

From the floors to the rafters, nearly everything in the establishment was old, burnished wood. Small tables and chairs littered the floor, many of them empty given the late afternoon hour. A few tired looking men sat by an open fire, and a woman wiped lazily at the large bar that predominated the far wall. Justin’s fingers swatted back to get Brian’s attention,

“It’s like a tavern from an old movie,” he whispered.

“Yeah, complete with bar wench.” Walking over with his charge in tow, Brian tried to get the attention of the woman who stood behind the bar. Much like Debbie, she had curly red hair and a bossy set to her face. But unlike the den mother of Liberty Avenue, she didn’t seem to pay them any mind as they approached. “Excuse me,” Brian uttered, forced to stand there like an idiot as the woman patently ignored him. “I said: excuse me?” His tone was colored by irritation at having to repeat the words. “We need to check in here. I believe we actually made reservations at this… place.”

“Hotel’s booked full.” The woman didn’t even bother to look up at him as she finished wiping, turning away to presumably find something else to clean.

Brian’s face clouded with a frown at the rude woman. “Hey! If you would just stop pretending to be blind for half a second and listen, then I’m sure you could check your system—whatever system that might be—and you’d see that we have booked one of your rooms. My name is—”

“I know who you are,” the woman snapped, finally turning to address them head-on. “Brian Kilkenny.”

“It’s Kinney.

“Maybe you haven’t heard of me: I’m Maeve.”

“Just Maeve? Like Madonna, Cher; no last name?”

The woman’s red lips curled up in short-tempered humor at her new guest. “You can call me Maeve, or God, whichever suits you best.” Her quip earned an eye roll from the peeved man, and her eyes slid over to regard the smaller man standing by his side. “And who might you be?” 

“I’m Justin.” The blonde glanced between the barkeep and his lover with anxious eyes, not sure what else to say about himself.

“Well aren’t you just now?” The woman seemed to be addressing the younger of the pair with a far greater degree of warmth. “Welcome to the town darlin’.  D’this man drag you all the way o’here with such a sour disposition?”

Justin grinned, and Brian rolled his eyes at how the woman’s accent seemed to have thickened exponentially since she’d begun talking to the younger man. “Justin,” he cut in, “you can sit here and charm her into telling us where our room is. In the meantime, I need the can.” He looked unblinkingly at Maeve. “That is, if you’ll at least let me know where that is?”

“Jacks is straight back there to the left,” she threw out blithely. Once Brian had wandered off in search of the restroom, the outspoken woman looked Justin up and down. “You’re a cute thing aren’t ye? Hmph.” Soon she’d gone back to polishing glasses.

“Thanks,” Justin murmured. He observed silently as she worked. “You don’t care for Brian, I guess?”

“You’ve come to town with a hell of a man—Justin, was it?” Maeve shook her head in disapproval. “There’s not a few here that’ll give a warm welcome to the man what’s about to sell our castle.”

Justin bit his lip. Oh. Well there was that little factor to remember, he supposed. “Um, well can I order some food?” Something told the blonde that service might actually be refused if Brian himself returned from the ‘jacks’ and tried to order. Moments later, Maeve had unceremoniously slapped a printed menu that’d seen better days down in front of him. And Justin swallowed as he tried to discern just exactly what the difference was between coddle, colcannon, and champ.

---

Brian stared down at his food as if the bowl that’d been delivered to him contained a written insult, rather than a steaming heap of stew. “This is so insulting,” he grumbled.

“What? That they gave us the shitty cuts of beef?” Justin asked, poking his own bowl of food as he stared wistfully to the next table over. “Because I think they did.”

“Fuck the soup. That, that woman won’t give us our room key!”

“Maybe the reservations got mixed up.”

“Mixed up my ass. She knows who I am, for Christ’s sake. She just doesn’t want us staying here.” He scoffed viscously, “She should covet any business she can get, with the looks of this place.”

Justin shrugged. “It’s a small town Brian. People are bound to be hostile. I’m sure that once we introduce ourselves to a few people—“

“Like we’d need to.” Brian glanced self-consciously over to the various groups of townspeople that’d formed as dinnertime approached. Seated in small clusters at tables nearby, none of them seemed to bother to hide their obvious—and somewhat scornful—stares as they muttered amongst themselves. Brian looked back to Justin as if to say: see? “They all know who we are,” he complained. “Who I am.”

“Maeve did mention the castle…”

Brian frowned. That was exactly why everyone present knew about them. Why everyone there was sending unfriendly stares their way. Because of the fucking castle. Abandoning his paltry bowl of stew, Brian sat back in his chair and tried to pull up his email account on his phone. The internet, however, didn’t seem to be working very well. “Fuck,” he groused. He’d just known this would happen. The browser on his phone was frozen to the last email he’d read, and the dark-haired man gazed down at the correspondence with a mix of interest and disdain. The message was from the Royal Caribbean Cruise line, forwarded from Brian’s current overseas lawyer, Declan MacGrath. It read:

               

From: Declan MacGrath dmacgrath@dublinlaw.net

Date: March 13, 2001 at 9:53 AM (51 days ago)

Subject: Fwd: Royal Caribbean Extends its Congratulations

To: Brian Kinney bkinney@vanguardagenciesllc.net

 

Brian,

I received this noxiously charming email from your friends at the cruise line. It would seem that they are still interested in purchasing your property rights in Kilkenny. I’d advise you to reconsider the offer, given both the retainer you’re paying me, and the substantial sum they are now offering.

 

Let me know how you’d like to proceed, you lucky bastard,

 

Declan.

 

Smiling wanly at his phone as he read, Brian thought to himself that Declan always had maintained a fairly unprofessional demeanor around him. But what else was to be expected of both a former college classmate and an Irishman? Brian continued reading, eyes scanning over the forwarded part of the message that the buyers had written.

 

Dear Mr. Kinney, it read,

 

We’d like to again extend our congratulations toward you and your family, on the recent rediscovery of your substantial Irish heritage. With such circumstances in mind, our correspondences will henceforth take the liberty of referring to you by your given title. As we are sure your attorney, Mr. MacGrath, has already explained to you, as the lord of Kilkenny castle you also claim property rights to many stunning vistas throughout the surrounding town and county, as well as limited water rights to the local bay.

 

Our company is dedicated to providing superior tours of Northern Europe to our clients. The prospect of an Irish destination can be made possible with the luxury accommodations of the imagined Kilkenny Resort and Spa. To obtain this property, as well as the deep waters of the bay needed for safe docking of our cruise ships, is our company’s utmost priority.

 

While we understand that you were not amenable to our previous offer, we are pleased to inform you that higher terms for our negotiation have been approved. We can now offer you more than twice the sum we previously discussed, with perpetual rights to VIP access for our luxurious tours. We do hope that this new proposal will be of interest.

 

We wait anxiously for your future visit with us here in Ireland,

 

Sincerely,

 

Mr. A. Radder

Director of International Purchasing Affairs for the Northern Atlantic

Royal Caribbean International Cruise Line

 

 

That was where the email ended, and Brian continued to stare at it pensively. They were offering three million euros at this point. Declan had told him they could get more of course. They just had to play hardball for a little while. Brian glanced up at the form of his young lover sitting across the table, perfectly content with his meager stew. He’d agreed readily when Brian had put forth the idea of them travelling overseas together. Justin knew about the money, of course, but it’d been clear from the very beginning that that wasn’t why he was so interested.

Indeed, this trip seemed to be the kid’s romantic fantasy come to life. Brian wasn’t a fool; he could see what Justin dreamed about when they’d packed their bags, when they’d Googled pictures of the island, when they’d looked at antiquated family genealogies on the plane ride over. The little twat was tickled pink about flying over the pond to see their very own castle, to inhabit it with his very own prince charming.

Brian snorted. Prince charming. Yeah right. Across the table from him, Justin was wearing a red hoodie he’d packed, looking for all the world like an enthralled, naïve tourist. More like the big bad wolf, Brian thought, aptly characterizing himself as the villain in that setup. He imagined Justin, exclaiming comically over what a big cock he had…

“What are you laughing at?” Justin looked quizzically over his soup, unaware of the random thoughts running through the other man’s head.

“Nothing. Are you almost done eating?” he asked, stowing his phone away to sit up straight once again. “If this woman isn’t going to give us a room, then we’re going to have to find alternate lodgings.”

“Uh, Brian, I’m not sure there are ‘alternate lodgings’. This is a pretty small town.” Pale blue eyes glanced over to where two local townspeople—an older gentleman and a younger man—sat drinking beer and staring at them. “Hello,” he cautiously greeted, pushing his chair out a bit from the table, despite Brian’s protestations. “Are you guys from around here? I’m Justin. This is Brian.”

The younger man looked to his tablemate, before replying gruffly, “I’m Colin. This is Finbar. And everybody is from around here. Everyone but you, that is.” The light brogue that colored his voice didn’t hide the displeasure it carried at the introduction.

“Ah, yeah well… we thought that we’d booked a room here while we’re visiting, but there’s been somewhat of a mix up I guess. Do you know of any other local hotels or even inns that might have rooms?”

The young man—Colin—snickered. “If there’s a mix up with your room, it’s probably called Maeve. She don’t like you, you don’t get a room. It’s as simple as that.” Surreptitiously, he let his eyes roam over Brian’s sullen form. “You lot probably aren’t welcome here.” He shrugged, “You won’t find anywhere else to put you up in town. Why don’t you sleep in that castle you’re so desperate to sell?”

The old man, Finbar, merely grunted in agreement, reaching into his coat pocket for a gnarled pipe. He lit it, and Justin turned back to Brian with an abashed twist of the lips. “Well, it was worth a shot,” he mumbled. To the side, another table of villagers could clearly be heard mumbling rude things about ‘nosy foreigners’ and ‘American greed.’

“This is ridiculous.” Wooden table legs squelched out their protest as Brian slid his chair to stand. He looked sharply down to Justin. “Come on, get up. We’re leaving.”

Justin looked down to his half-empty bowl, “But… I haven’t finished my stew…” Brian’s withering glare at the protestation was enough to have the young blonde shrugging on his coat and following his lover out the door. Outside, some of his courage returned to him and Justin once again complained, “What do you think you’re doing?”

We’re leaving. Those people were all assholes, and that so-called hotel sucked.”

“It’s the only hotel in town Brian. We have to go back. Maybe if you apologize to Maeve—”

“Apologize?!” Brian whirled around from his stalk towards the car, glaring at the overly-opinionated teen. “What exactly do I have to apologize for? Bringing in business to this shitty little town?”

Justin was unsure if his lover was referring to the business of their hotel reservation, or the business of Royal Caribbean’s proposed project. He settled on a shrug as his answer. “They obviously don’t see it that way. We’re going to have to make nice if we want to have a place to stay.”

“Oh, we’ll be doing no such thing.” Brian had arrived at the car, and opened the driver’s side door. “Get in,” he barked as he himself was seated.

“Brian…” Justin followed suit, unsure of whether his companion’s pride was actually severe enough to have them sleeping in a car, of all places. “What are we doing? What about the luggage?”

“The luggage can be easily redirected. We’re going where we should have planned on going all along. A place where these close-minded yokels won’t be able to shun us at every possible opportunity.”

“And where exactly, might I ask, is that?”

Brian started the car’s ignition, the purr of the machine coming to life around them. “The castle.”

 

 

 

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