By the time that Declan was able to drive down from Dublin, Brian and Justin had already figured out most of the details by themselves.

If their first source of town gossip in the pub wasn’t enough to cement the information, then the local internet café definitely was. Brian spent the rest of their time in town that night getting progressively drunk on a bottle of whiskey, while Justin sat beside him at the computer and read aloud from various sources on the internet. Research from newspaper articles and wiki files of Irish law all painted the same, inconvenient picture: Maeve and a group of other villagers had filed a petition with the county, protesting the sale of Kilkenny castle and its ancillary properties. A judge had approved the petition, and now an investigation into the legality of Brian’s ownership was going to have to take place before anybody could make a profit on the inheritance. In short: it was a real mess.

By the time it was all said and done, Justin had to drive the car home because Brian was too tanked to do anything other than stumble into bed and pass out.

---

The next morning—the very morning that was supposed to see the two residents of castle Kilkenny leaving—was just as picturesque an Irish morning as any other during their stay. Only this time the bright sun and chirping birds were less than appreciated. Especially by Brian.

He sat at the head of the castle’s ridiculously-sized dining room table, holding his coffee with one hand and pinching the spot between his eyes with the other. Justin could still be heard bidding Declan farewell at the front door, and Brian spent the intervening time wishing the twittering animals outside would die. When Justin returned to him, Brian accepted the light kiss that was placed on his forehead with squinched eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he groaned. “Do you think you could close the drapes or something?”

Brian didn’t see, but Justin shot a dubious glance over to the row of floor-to-ceilings that lined the dining hall. If there’d ever been drapes large enough to cover the windows, they’d long ago been stowed away. “Here,” he offered instead, holding out a glass of orange liquid. “Why don’t you drink this instead?”

Hazel eyes peeked at the drink that was being handed over. “Another one of your alcoholic grandmother’s cures?”

“Not quite. It’s an old Irish cure for hangovers, so you know it ought to work.”

Brian smirked, taking a first, hesitant sip. “Mmhmm. And they certainly put more effort into making it taste good.” The second sip went down with far less trepidation. “Is this orange juice?”

“I have a better question,” Justin said, moving to plop himself in the next dining chair. “What are we going to do about the castle?”

“ ‘We’?”

“Well we’re both here, so yeah: ‘we’. What’re we going to do? Declan said that the legal system’s way more socialist over here. That they’re actually going to look into the town’s claims of public property rights.”

“That’s bullshit. It was my great grandfather’s castle and now it’s mine. Just because they pretended it was some public entity for a century doesn’t make it true.”

Justin reached to slide Brian’s mug of coffee over for himself, wincing at the bitterness of it. Brian took his coffee black, but with a shit ton of sugar. “Ugh,” he winced. “Well like I said: socialist-minded. They’re going to evaluate the estate’s value to you versus to the community. And I’m pretty sure they’re going to do a lot of digging into your background. Declan said they might try and prove that you’re not Lord Kilkenny’s great grandson.”

Brian snarled into his orange juice concoction. “Well they’d better hope that their lawyers are as good as mine, and Royal Caribbean’s, because those two goons from the cruise line will eat any provincial socialists right up.”

“What are we going to do in the meantime?” Justin asked again. “Our flight’s in an hour. Are we even going to make it?”

From his slumped position at the table, Brian opened his eyes again to glance at Justin. The kid sat there, looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and Brian couldn’t help but to suspect that their sudden layover in Ireland had more than a little to do with it. “No, we’re not,” he groused. “But I can book you another flight.”

“Me?!” Justin didn’t look happy. “I don’t want to go if you’re not going!”

“Oh come on, let’s be real here: this was supposed to be a two week trip. Now it’s going to be a month long trip, if we move through all of this legal bullshit quickly. I’m going to have to telecommute as it is. You’ve got school starting at the end of the summer.”

“So? That’s in August. It’s April.”

“It’s May next week, and your mother is already expecting you back as of nine thirty eastern time tonight.” Brian gazed pointedly at Justin, imparting the seriousness of this fact. “Do you have any idea what it took just to get her to agree not to file federal kidnapping charges for bringing you on this trip in the first place?”

“Oh come on Brian. She doesn’t hate you that much. A month… or two or three… isn’t that long.”

“Your mother will have a conniption if I keep you here that long!”

“A conniption?”

“I think that’s what older people have. Conniptions.”

Justin smirked. “So have you had one?  –Ah!” he yipped in alarm, having to dodge the uncoordinated kick that was aimed his way for the comment. “What?” he sniggered, righting his chair a good foot farther away from his grumpy, hung-over boyfriend. “I was just asking.”

“You should go home. There won’t even be time to do anything fun, what with all the legal matters I’m going to have to sit through.”

Justin merely shrugged, sipping at the now tepid coffee. “That’s what you’ll be doing, Lord Kilkenny. As a plain old commoner, I can spend the time exploring all I want. And I can paint!”

“Again I’ll point out: your mother.”

Having had enough of what was clearly becoming a circular argument, Justin pushed away from the table, ready to go find some real food. “It’s the summer before college, Brian. She’s just thrilled I’m not going off to backpack through Europe for a year to ‘find myself.’”

Brian chuckled.

“Besides,” he shot airily over his shoulder. “I already ‘found’ myself. In the bed and arms of a thirty year old swarthy gay gentleman.”

The chuckle died right on Brian’s lips, his red rimmed eyes glancing over just in time to see Justin disappearing through the kitchen doors. “You could leave age out of it, you know!” The doors swung shut again, cutting off whatever retort Justin would have offered. Brian continued to sit at the dining room table for long minutes, still hurting from his hang over and quite grumpy for it. So Justin wasn’t going to be shipped back to America so easily after all. So he was going to be stubborn, and insist on squeezing every obnoxious ounce of togetherness out of this trip that he could.  A snort left Brian’s lips, causing a wince even as it did. God his head really hurt!

To the issue of Justin, however, Brian knew that he would probably be receiving a very interesting phone call from Jennifer come that evening. It was just more proof that Justin was, as he had always been, more trouble that he could possibly be worth. Yet they were both there, living in a castle in Ireland. Brian would never be able to figure out how he’d allowed his life to become so irrevocably tangled with another.

If there was one thing that kept him from creeping into the kitchen to look for a much-desired breakfast, it was the thought that it would once again be Justin who—like his very own little housewife—would be cooking it for him. It was a domestic intimacy that Brian didn’t want to face just then. He wouldn’t, he decided stubbornly. No more home cooked feasts. No more highland exploring. No more encouraging this foray into coupledom that the trip to Ireland had forced upon them. He’d just sit there and finish drinking his juice and not go into that kitchen. Yes, sir. That’s what he would do.

…And his is resolve to not follow Justin into the kitchen lasted for about the length of time that it took for the smell of sizzling bacon to reach the next room.

---

A week later, and it was Justin who was on tenterhooks around Brian. It was the seventh day of their third week in Ireland. That afternoon he stepped carefully into the room in the castle that Brian had been using as a sort of office space. Brian had spent most of the morning and early afternoon up in the office, tucked away behind his laptop, telecommuting. And more to the point: ignoring Justin. Because it was Justin who’d pissed him off so badly in the first place.

Lingering timidly near the doorway, Justin ventured, “Brian?”

“What?”

His tone did not go unnoticed, the snap to it making Justin wince. “I just came up to see if you’d changed your mind.” Brian steadily ignored him, fingers clacking meticulously across the keys of his laptop as he worked. “Brian?” Justin asked again.

“Does it look like I changed my mind?!” Brian finally made eye contact, angry though it was. “Thanks to you, I have to attend some community tribunal next month. Does it look like I want to go out and spend the day with you and your friends? The same friends, I might point out, who are trying to steal my own property from me?”

Justin’s shoulders hunched, his sweater giving the illusion that he’d actually diminished in size. Colin and his friends had invited Justin down to the local shore to fish and possibly sail if the winds picked up enough. “I thought going down to see the bay might help take your mind off things,” he offered.

“Take my mind off things? How is recreating in the bay—the water rights to which I OWN—going to take my mind off of things? Sorry. I’m not interested in watching the yokels frolic around the property that they’re actively trying to have taken away from me.”

“You know I wish you’d stop calling them that. ‘Yokels’. Colin hasn’t done anything to you. Go and bitch at Maeve and the others who spearheaded the petition, if you want to yell at somebody.”

From his chair, Brian guffawed, “Oh don’t worry: I’ll get my chance, thanks to you.”

“Right. Well that’s not my fault either, Brian and you know it. They were always going to have a meeting to decide on things.”

“But until you opened your big mouth, the entire town wasn’t invited!”

Well that part was true, Justin thought as he stood awkwardly at the edge of the room. He was the reason for the expanded guest list. During their recent foray with a local magistrate, he’d shot off his mouth about Maeve and her friends being present at the scheduled hearing; the very hearing where, all investigations considered, the judge would decide the fate of the inheritance. Well, it’d been a total joke to Justin; meant completely as an offhand comment to do more with Brian’s right to face his sneaky attackers. Justin hadn’t been serious because really, he didn’t want the busybody townspeople present for such an affair any more than Brian did. But the judge, forward-thinking as he was, had latched onto the idea. His praising of Justin for his ‘suggestion’ had secured the blonde’s number two place on Brian’s shit list, ranking just after Maeve. Now the dealing out of the Kilkenny estate was more a public spectacle than ever before.

Justin had apologized numerous times for the snafu, but to Brian Kinney, sorry was obviously still bullshit. At least in this case. Justin knew that he’d just have to give this particular squabble another day to mellow out. And he really hoped that it would, because the local Beltane festival was coming up in a few days and he desperately wanted to go with Brian. From the current looks of the man by the computer, Justin knew that it was dubious he’d be able to convince Brian to attend. “I’ll say it again: I’m sorry. I can’t say anything more than that. If you change your mind then come and join us.”

“Even if I didn’t have work to do,” at ‘work’, he gestured to the screen of his computer, “I still have other plans later.”

“What plans?”

Brian simpered. “What? You don’t think you’re the only one who can plan an entertaining Irish itinerary. Do you?” At Justin’s bland look, he elaborated, “I’m meeting someone later.”

“About the castle?”

The look Brian sent across the room was resolute, and quite telling. “No.”

Ah. Justin understood, nodding once and watching as Brian sat back in his chair. Brian looked satisfied to have announced his intention to trick. “It’s a small town,” Justin said. “Anyone I know?”

“A guy from Dublin. I’m not into culchies like you.”

Justin raised his eyebrows at the intentional use of Irish slang for ‘country bumpkins’, but said nothing. Somehow, it seemed wrong for a man in Brian’s position to be insulting the people from the very town he lorded over, so to speak. Brian looked at him, but he refused to offer any more details about his ‘plans’, so Justin took the opportunity to leave. He slipped out of the room nearly as quietly as he’d entered.

If Brian needed to be an ass for a few more days to blow off some steam, then that was fine. Justin knew he’d have to come around eventually. It wasn’t as if Brian had never coldly ditched him for other guys before. It was one of his many defense mechanisms. Luckily, Justin knew just what to do in such circumstances: become the hottest, most desirable thing that any man around had ever seen. It’d worked at the King of Babylon contest all that time ago. Justin smirked as he left the castle to go and make the most of his afternoon. He might just have to find a way to do something of a repeat performance.

For then though, he didn’t bother to worry about it. Brian was grumpy and Justin was off to have a fabulous afternoon with some friends. There’d be plenty of time for the rest, later. After all: it’d recently been announced that they’d have to stay another month if Brian wanted any chance at claiming his inheritance. So stay they would.

---

Brian stood on the lawn of Declan’s country estate just outside of Dublin. The long shotgun in his hand was lowered for the moment, muzzle resting against the ground. He watched as Declan fired his next shot out into the field, hitting the clay target that’d been shot into the air. “What?” Declan asked, bringing the barrel of his gun around for another shot. “Pull!—you mean he doesn’t know you’re here?—Pull!”

The clay target was smashed midair, pieces falling in the distance. Brian frowned, taking his turn. “I don’t have to tell him everything—Pull!—he’s not my wife.”

“Obviously. Aim a little higher. Have you ever even handled a gun before?”

“Does a squirt gun at studs n’ suds count? –Pull!—Shit!” he’d missed again.

“You’re turning too slowly. That’s why you’re not hitting it.”

“Well as far as Justin knows, that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“Huh?” Now Declan had ceased shooting as well. He walked back to where they had a table with lunch set up, seating himself next to Brian. “What do you mean? What’s he think you’re doing?”

Brian shrugged. “ ‘Hitting it’. I let him think I was coming up to Dublin to shag some hot piece of Gaelic ass.”

“I’m flattered mate, but we sorted this out in grad school. I’m not gay enough for you.”

“You don’t understand. He’s got it in his head that this is some romantic trip for us. He refuses to go back home, he’s always planning out things for us to do.” To stifle his complaints, Brian reached across the table’s spread and grabbed a hunk of soda bread, taking a frustrated bite. “He’s always trying to get me to ‘enjoy my homeland’.”

“Don’t you like Ireland?”

“Sure I do. But he can’t know that! I don’t want to encourage him. One way or another, this is all going to be over in a month. Goodbye Ireland, goodbye adventure. Hello Justin’s art school and my real life. I won’t have him to myself anymore and he certainly won’t have me. So I told him I was going out to trick, rather than the truth.”

“The truth being that you’re here in wellies and a jumper, trap shooting in my backyard?”

“Exactly. It’s just too typical.” Brian glanced around the yard again, taking in the expansive sight. “This is some place you have here. I had no idea you were so rich.”

Declan laughed, “Not yet but I’m working on it. I time share this place with two other blokes from the firm.”

“At least they’re sharing,” Brian grumbled.

“Hey, don’t think about it too much. Not today at least. They don’t have a good case and I’ll get you your inheritance. It’s just going to take a little longer than we thought.”

“Well in the meantime I’ve got to stay, living in medieval domestic bliss with a teenager. Do you know what he wants to do tomorrow?”

“Hm?”

“Go to this festival. Some Mayday type thing. I’m going to have to come up with another excuse for why I can’t do that.” Brian rolled his eyes, allowing his attention to be absorbed by his meal rather than thoughts of Justin. He’d come to Dublin for a little alone time, after all. The nearest bottle of Guinness was raised to his lips.

“Oh, you mean Beltane.” Declan was sniggering. “I’m surprised you don’t want to go. It’s a fun time. And it can often be a pretty… gay affair. At least later in the evening, and in the right crowd.”

Brian’s attention honed back in at Declan’s words, soda bread momentarily forgotten. “Excuse me?” He sat and finished his afternoon of leisure with the other man, listening as the upcoming festival was described in further detail. In the end, Brian thought that maybe he wouldn’t have to come up with a new excuse for Justin after all. Because he did generally enjoy events that could be described as ‘gay’.

---

“I hate this.” Brian declared it before they’d even approached the main hub of activity, and once they had, his conviction grew. He stared out at the commotion and bustle of bodies that had convened at the festival, Gucci sunglasses blacking out any glimpse of his eyes. He pushed them farther up the bridge of his nose, as if they’d protect him from other people. “This is nuts.”

“This is great!” Justin was standing beside him, drawing him further into the fray with enthusiasm. “Come on Brian, you said you wanted to go. You said we could—”

“—I know… what I said…” Brian had to sidestep as a gaggle of children rushed by. “So lead on. Just show me the first place you notice that’s selling alcohol.”

Justin gave a heaving sigh, throwing an arm around Brian as they continued through the crowd. “Fine. But it’s a cultural festival so please try and enjoy yourself? Maybe even learn something? Oh, and if I find something good at one of the art stalls, you are so buying it for me. Now come on!”

Brian allowed himself to be pulled along, sure that this particular adventure had only just begun.

---

A long while later they’d been at the festival for nearly two hours. Brian turned in a little circle where he stood, confused as to where Justin could have disappeared to in the few short minutes that it had taken him to stand in line for beer. Placing his sunglasses atop his head, Brian shrugged to himself and drank the beer. Oh well, he thought. At least this little festival was closer to the big city. Being on his own in this crowd hadn’t been too bad too far because nobody knew him. If it’d been in Kilkenny, things would have seemed a lot more awkward. Just then, Justin reemerged. Brian froze with his beer halfway to his lips.

“Hey stranger!”

“Oh my god.” Brian laughed. “What happened to you?”

“Just showing my Beltane pride. What do you think?” he did a little twirl to showcase himself. Somewhere along the line, Justin had had orange glitter thrown on him, and someone had taken the liberty of placing a crown of little yellow flowers around his head. “Well?” he laughed.

“At least you’re not painted red…” Some people actually were.

Justin winked, moving back to link arms with Brian. “That’s for later. I heard it gets a little crazy at night.”

“Night? This goes until night?” Brian asked distractedly, reaching to touch at one of the flowers. His hand was smacked away.

“Yeah. These two guys were telling me about it. They light fires and play music and it’s really wild. We should stay and go. There might be hot guys there.”

“Yeah we should go then.” Brian remembered how Declan had said that the festival could be a little ‘gay’. And so far, not much in Ireland had seemed very gay. Glancing to the side, Brian saw the maypole that’d been set up for people to twirl ribbons around. And not far from that, there were about two dozen twelve year old girls hopping up and down in brightly colored dresses. Yep, not very gay. At least not the sort he’d been hoping for. “We should definitely stay for the nighttime portion,” he reiterated. Hopefully things would pick up then.

Justin just laughed and took his hand to drag him along to an art booth.  

---

“Three hundred euros,” Brian bemoaned, entering the next tent full of wares to be sold. “Three. hundred.”

“Lindsay says it’s a crime against human expression to put a price on art,” Justin informed, picking through the knitted garments that this stall had to offer. “But it was worth every penny.”

“Well they don’t have pennies over here. With the conversion rate it actually costs even more. So I hope that piece of crap…”

“Folk art.”

“Fine. I hope that piece of ‘folk art’ is really going to bring you a lot of enjoyment.”

Justin grinned, unseen because Brian was still standing behind. “Oh it will. Do you think I should hand it in the dining room or the living room? Oh maybe the bedroom…”

“Of my loft?” Brian scoffed loudly. “I don’t think so. I have a strict minimalist motif at Chez Brian.”

“Fine then. I’ll just hang it in my dorm room.”

Justin’s nonchalant response earned exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for. Brian finally came up to stand beside him, asking carefully, “Dorm room?”

“Uh yeah. That’s generally where they put you when you go to college.”

Brian looked a bit deflated as he obviously tried to think of how to respond without sounding too invested. “You’re actually going to stay in campus housing?”

“What? Do you care or something?”

“Well it’s just that we hadn’t talked about it yet. Dorm rooms are so gross and if you stay in one…” you won’t be with me, “You’ll have to have a roommate, who could be very loud and possibly straight and—”

Blue eyes flicked up to regard Brian shrewdly. “And what?”

And I’ll never see you. “And it could be distracting. From your studies, that is.”

“Mmhmm.” Justin had to fight not to roll his eyes as he went back to perusing the merchandise. “If you want me to keep living with you in the loft, you can just say so.”

“That’s not why! I just don’t want you to flunk out the first semester because your roommate has an internet porn addiction and keeps you up all night.”

My god, the man had a vivid imagination. And he sure could come up with any lie under the sun to avoid admitting that he wanted him around. Those were Justin’s thoughts as he walked around the little tent. Deciding that he’d spare Brian the embarrassment of the truth and himself the annoyance of an argument, Justin ended it by holding up a tiny knitted sweater. “What do you think of this?” The front was emblazoned with the words: KISS ME I’M IRISH.

“I’ve been working upper body a lot lately. I don’t think it would fit.”

Justin swatted him with the sweater, before holding it up in contemplation again. “I meant for Gus,” he huffed.

Brian blinked in consideration at Justin, both admiring the other man’s glittery appearance that afternoon, but also appreciating the out for what it was. He could talk about souvenirs for Gus, rather than how he didn’t want Justin to move out. Justin really did know him too well by now, and Brian felt his chest warm at being treated so thoughtfully. Nodding after a long moment’s pause, he walked over and handed Justin a few paper notes. “It’s cute. And since it’s not three hundred euros, you can get it.”

---

A while later, he and Justin had found Colin and his two friends—Rhys and Silas—and they sat in the grass together, wasting time as easily as the liberty gang itself. Justin was telling the guys about their friends back home as Brian reclined behind him, drinking yet another beer. They all sat together on a large blanket that’d been provided. With the combination of pleasant weather, fun atmosphere, and Brian sitting behind holding him, Justin was in a very good mood. He had his phone out, showing pictures to the group. “And that’s Ted and that’s Emmett next to him.”

“Ooh, he looks fun!”

Justin grinned at Rhys, who by now had made it quite clear that he, too, was of the shirt-lifter persuasion. “I’ll let him know you thought so. –Oh, and these are our friends Melanie and Lindsay—they’re lesbians,” he added. “And… oh! Ha, I forgot that one was in there.”

“Cute photo. When was that one taken?” Colin was asking in interest and Justin blushed,

“Uh, I’m not sure. A long time ago when we’d just met.”

At his back, Brian could be felt straining to see, “What picture? Give me that.” He’d grabbed Justin’s wrist before he could wiggle away. “Oh, Christ. I was so tweaked that night.” He pushed the phone in Justin’s hand away again, the picture of him holding Justin playfully against his front, biting his ear in show for the camera, now ignored. “Why are we reminiscing about Liberty Avenue when there’s oh so much to see here?" His eyebrows rose as a group of men walked by in kilts and nothing else. “So, so very much…”

“Kilts are so cool,” Justin mused. “Like: did you know that they actually show what clan you’re from, depending on the pattern?”

“Plaid had its moment, and that moment was 1998.”

“Brian’s like, the fashion label expert,” Justin was explaining sarcastically to their friends. “He thinks all of this is dorky.”

“I didn’t say that. I’m just not into provincial revelry.”

“Provincial? We’re in Dublin, Brian.”

“There is a man playing the fiddle over there. He’s playing fiddle in a kilt, and I’m pretty sure it’s not because he did drugs. I just wanted you to notice that.”

Rhys and Silas laughed, and soon Colin struck up a heated conversation with them about the results of the local team’s latest Rugby match. Momentarily ignored, Justin leaned his head back onto Brian’s shoulder, slyly suggesting, “You know, maybe I should get you a kilt. They were selling them the next booth over from where we bought Gus’ sweater.”

“Hell no.”

“Oh, come on,” Justin cajoled privately in Brian’s ear, “I think you’d look hot. And I heard they really do wear nothing under them. Just think about ease of access…”

Brian had to pretend not to be choking on the next sip of beer that went down the wrong way. When Colin looked over questioningly, he just offered a watery smile while Justin moved on to asking about the rest of that day’s entertainment.

---

The sun eventually left the sky, many of the festival-goers and certainly all of the children leaving with it. But in its place came the moon, and an entirely new set of revelers emerged at the festival to celebrate Beltane. Brian looked about at all of it, a desirous stare directed at many of the men. “I love this,” he declared. And even though he thought he’d been talking to no one in particular, Justin’s voice responded,

“Well you’ve really changed your tune from earlier!”

For the second time that day, Brian was left gaping at Justin. But this time it wasn’t due to any silly flowers in his hair. Brian’s desirous stare was now all for the man standing before him. “What… what happened to your clothes?” was the question he settled on. There were so many possible questions. Like: Why are you dressed only in a loincloth? Why are you painted head to toe red? Or even: Why are you carrying a torch? Brian was confident that Justin would explain it all, so he simply trailed after him, enjoying the view while he was at it.

They ended up passing many other men—and regrettably women—who were equally as red and equally as naked as Justin himself. Brian had never known Justin to be so comfortable with public nudity, so he leant forward to hiss in the other man’s ear, “You didn’t take anything did you?”

Justin snickered. “No. I’ve had a few beers, like you.”

“Then why might I ask are you dressed as if you’ve joined a satanic cult?”

“Rhys did it to me!”

Brian failed to suppress his cheeky smirk. “Is that all he did to you?”

Justin swatted him on the arm, but still answered, “Yes! Although he said things can get pretty intense later. A lot of people hook up. Do you think he was dropping a hint that he wants a threesome?”

“I’d bet on it. What’s the purpose of the red paint?” Brian still didn’t understand.

“It’s the Beltane fire festival. Didn’t you at least Google it before we came?” At Brian’s shake of the head, Justin sighed. “At night they have huge parties and recreate the ancient pagan rituals that used to happen this time of year. That’s why they’ve stacked up all that wood. It’s for the bonfires.” He wiggled his torch demonstratively.

“Oh right. I was wondering about those.”

“Rhys comes and does this every year. He’s one of the dancers in this group. He said I could join in if I wanted.” The blinding white of Justin’s smile erupted in the middle of his face, looking strange when the rest of him was so red. “So we’re going to go perform and jump around like heathens. Sounds fun right?!”

Brian snorted. It certainly sounded like Justin thought it’d be fun. “By all means,” he said. “Go right ahead. I just hope that paint washes off.” Justin was walking off to join the other red people, but shot a look back at him just in time to utter,

“It will. But not before you fuck me tonight.”

Brian swallowed, that particular image left to turn over in his mind as the first, massive bonfire was lit.

---

A couple of hours later, and the Dublin Beltane festival had become an entirely different sort of party. Gone were the ribbons and the flowers and the maypoles with Kindergarteners prancing around; now turned into everything you probably didn’t ever want your kindergartener to see. Drums sounded in the air, creating a wild, addictive rhythm that filled everyone’s ears. The primitive drums mixed with the stereo sounds of the bands that’d taken up the stages for the night. And in the middle of it all, at the center of this massive party, were the fires.

Because of course just one humongous bonfire wouldn’t have been enough. Oh no.

They’d built ten foot tall pyres to burn through the night, illuminating the darkness in glowing slashes that would ensure no one slept and everyone danced. The red people jumped and cavorted around the pyres, looking practically primeval. And the flames reflected into Brian’s eyes as he gazed out at the throbbing mass of bodies, their flickering heat matched by the most recent burn of liquor down his throat. He’d started drinking when Justin had started dancing, and the mix of alcohol and lust had so far proven to be a heady combination. He couldn’t say he didn’t like it.

Brian glanced to the side of where he stood. The tree line that demarcated field from forest was apparently a popular spot for lovers. Rhys was mauling some guy not four feet away, and when he caught Brian’s eye, he offered a wink. “Let me know if you and Justin get lonely later,” he offered boldly, soon pulled back into distraction by his trick.

“Uh huh.” Brian mulled that possibility over in his mind as he returned closer to the fire. The red dancers numbered well into the dozens, and Brian had been a little surprised at how organized they turned out to be. It was a real show they put on for all the non-reds like him, and Brian was tantalized to note that Justin picked up their moves quite easily. He always had been a great dancer, Brian thought, remembering all their countless nights at Babylon, and even a few forays with a stripper pole. Who had taught him to dance like that?

The red mass that was the dancers of Beltane was moving with twisting hips and thrashing arms, the drums and the crackle of towering flames sounding out their beat. Somewhere in the background, electric guitars and synth keyboard managed to fit in as well, and Brian entertained the errant thought that this party was like ‘Babylon Goes to Camp’. And the most hilarious part was that it was all based off of some neo-pagan religious ritual. As Brian stood and watched the show, he thought that he’d be an easy convert, should the spirituality bug ever bite.

Yeah, right.

A moment later, and Justin was bopping over to him, still painted devil-red and wearing naught but a scrap of fabric. And his body gleamed from the barest sheen of sweat. If he could’ve looked any sexier… well he couldn’t have. Brian swallowed as his exhibitionist boyfriend approached. “This is a good look for you,” he said immediately.

“What’d you think?”

“I think that the Sapp didn’t hire you to be his go-go boy for nothing.” Justin wriggled closer into the space between their bodies, eliminating any chance Brian might have had at keeping his hands to himself. As it was, they settled on Justin’s waist, running covetously up and down. He was so... naked. “You want to dance?” he asked, taking Justin’s continuing movements as a hint.

“Yeah, come on.” Justin’s hands held on to Brian’s and he guided them back into the fray of bodies.

Then the heat of the flame was felt more intensely, its dangerous warmth running up the backs of Brian’s thighs as Justin danced with him. A look left and another look right showed more than a few other gay couples doing just about the same thing as the two of them, and Brian almost felt like he was back in Babylon—maybe on ‘wild things’ night—and that he’d grabbed one of the dancers down from his perch to tangle with him. The thought made Brian laugh, and when Justin asked him what was so funny, he answered with, “I finally found it.”

“Found what?”

“Something gay in Ireland.” Brian nodded out at the naked, dancing men—near the fires, near the stages where the bands played, and the ones who’d retreated closer to the tree line as well. All Justin had to do to understand his meaning, was follow his gaze.

“Ah,” he said in agreement. “I see. Where did all the naked women go, by the way?”

“Are you seriously asking me that question?” Brian shuddered. “Do we care? They’re probably all neo-pagan lesbians, off doing… lesbian things.”

“Well at least we wound up on the right side of the bonfire. Do you want to do shots?”

“Yes. But this first.” Brian produced their favors for the night, handing one to Justin. “I wasn’t exactly sure we’d get a chance to use these, but now this seems like the right kind of party so... bottoms up.” He snorted his, Justin snorted his, and pretty soon they were back to bopping and grinding to the beat of the drums.

---

Somewhere along the line Brian had lost his shirt. Several people had smeared red handprints across his face and chest, and if the narcissistic man could have seen it in a mirror, he surely would have approved. But then again, there were rarely times when Brian Kinney didn’t look like the intentional sex god that he was meant to be. This night was no exception.

Justin kept jumping back into the crowd with every chance he got, apparently eager to dance. And liquor only seemed to feed the desire. It certainly fed Brian’s desire to have Justin—preferably hard and fast and screaming out his name. So Brian did yet another shot as he watched the reds dance round and round the fire, and the next time Justin came round was the last, because he pulled Justin right out by his arm and started them off towards the woods without another word.

“Oh! Where are we—what are we… oh.” Inebriated as he was, Justin was still clever enough to figure out why he suddenly had a serious-looking Brian dragging him roughly towards the trees. He knew that determined set to Brian’s features. It was Brian Kinney’s ‘I am so going to fuck you so shut up you know you’ll love it’ look. Justin grinned drunkenly.

Justin rushed with him into the beginnings of the woods, dancing and spinning them ecstatically by their arms and pulling Brian hard enough to make the flex of his elbow ache. Brian panted and so did Justin, the branches of the trees scraping against their skin as they went. For a moment, Brian entertained the worry that they’d become lost in the woods or step on something gross, but that fear was soon quashed as they stopped moving, Justin shoving him up against the unyielding surface of a boulder. The fires could still be seen glowing in the distance, and if one looked carefully, all of the other men in the woods could be picked out as well. Brian grinned. “The backroom,” he chuckled.

Already on his knees before him, Justin glanced up. “What?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking howahhhhh ugh, fuck.” Brian never finished his explanation, as Justin had already undone his pants and was fisting his hardness. A hardness that had been present ever since they’d begun that mating dance out by the bonfires. And now he was about to be sucked off in the forest, in the midst of all this dark revelry. Brian glanced upwards to see the stars through the treetops, then down again to watch the wickedly talented man between his legs going to work at pleasuring him. Yup. Just like the backroom.

There were even other men, other couples having sex, to watch as he felt those warm lips wrap around his cock. “Perfect,” he murmured drunkenly, as he threaded fingers through Justin’s hair. “Fuck Justin, so good.” A glance over showed one of the reds thrusting into a guy against a tree. The man who was getting fucked so mercilessly against the bark wore a kilt—now bunched around his waist—and Brian smirked. Ease of access. That’s what Justin had said.

Justin. He looked back down at him and saw how passionately the kid was going to work at sucking his cock. The moans and grunts of the other men filled the woods, and Brian wasn’t able to keep his own moans from joining them as one of Justin’s hands slid up his naked stomach and scratched fingernails back down in an aggressive trail. “Ugh, god!” Brian panted at the pleasurable twinge of pain. “Justin…” He let his concentration slip away from the visual, eyes rolling back into his head as Justin did that twisty thing that he was so good at. The tactical pleasure of it was so great that Brian hardly noticed the slight chill of the night air, nor did he care about the way the rough rock at his back dug into his skin.

The next time that he did look down, Justin’s eyes were burning right back up at him, that red-stained face staring him down defiantly at the same time that it sucked him off. Brian felt his mind flood with lust at the sight, his passion incensed enough to have him drawing away from that mouth, instead pulling that body up to stand. “Come here,” he growled, a near animalistic urge overtaking him. The wicked grin that broke out on Justin’s face did nothing to quell the urge, either.

“Fuck me,” he nearly demanded, crashing his lips against Brian’s in the fiercest of kisses. His tongue made itself known immediately, swiping in where it wanted and taking what it wanted. Brian groaned at the urgency of it, at how bossy Justin was being. They were both more than a little drunk, and he knew that had a lot to do with it. The next sound to leave his lips was a hiss, as Justin had decided to rut against him and scratch the skin of his arms and shoulders. Brian grit his teeth and grappled Justin’s hands into a stern hold, flipping their bodies so that it was the smaller man, not he, who had his body pressed into the rock. “Claws down, kitty,” he warned.

Justin only moaned and tried to bite Brian’s neck. “I will when you fuck me,” he growled. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about since Rhys fucking painted me red! Now just hurry up and do it!”

Brian flipped him over against the boulder, not giving him a second to adjust before his hips were against Justin’s ass, pinning him to the rock. He bent and burrowed his face against the nape of Justin’s neck, smelling smoke and feeling the sweat where it collected at his hairline. “Do you know how bad it turns me on when you’re like this?” He licked the other man’s flushed skin, still hearing him pant in urgency. “Do you?”

Justin moaned, he couldn’t help it. Brian had pressed his hips harder against his backside, his erection obvious. A wince colored Justin’s face as he felt the grit of the stone in front digging into his hipbones. It hurt, but he didn’t care because he had Brian’s thick cock so close to where he wanted it. He ground back shamelessly, enjoying the teasing feel of Brian rubbing against his crack. The rock was still there, scraping him and he still didn’t care. Tomorrow he’d make Brian sooth any scratches. Tonight he wanted a fuck, and with the amount of alcohol and lust thrumming through his body just then, he’d be damned if he didn’t get it.

Justin incited Brian’s passion by saying crude things to him, growling at him to hurry up and fuck him already. And his heated provocations got him exactly what he wanted. His pulse beat frantically as Brian’s fingers could be felt digging into his hips, his cockhead finally pushing against his ass. What minimal clothing Justin wore had been roughly shoved out of the way, and somewhere along the line there had been lube, because he could feel it running down to his balls as Brian  invaded his body. He squeezed his eyes shut in concentration, lust momentarily broken by the pain of taking Brian in so hard and so fast. “Ah, Brian shit!” he cursed. “Oh nonono. Fuuuck…” His breath hitched at Brian’s answer, which was to bite punishingly against his shoulder,

“Shut up and take it,” he whispered, though with the mix of their heavy breathing it sounded more like a gasp. He continued to push into Justin, giving him long, perfectly-measured strokes with each sentence that he uttered into Justin’s skin. “You were fucking naked out there,” thrust, “Fucking dancing in the fire and displaying yourself for everyone,” thrust, “for ME to see,” thrust, “and you drag me back here and beg me to fuck you?” thrust. He stopped, holding their bodies pressed harshly against the boulder and listening eagerly to the way Justin panted out his desire. “Well now I’m going to. Ready?”

Justin groaned out a “Fuck yes,” and pushed his ass back against Brian’s hold, grateful that that was all the permission needed to start their bodies shoving together roughly again. Brian held him against the hard surface and thrust into him over and over, matching him in every utterance and every labored breath. Justin’s world consisted of the grit of stone against his front and the pleasurable force of Brian against his back. And it was all the world he needed.

It continued like that, them fucking for a stretch of time that nobody was measuring. And despite their scrambling pace, Brian eventually found a rhythm that would get both of them off. Their pleasure built between them as surely as the sweat and the desperation did. Brian’s hand snaked forward to jerk Justin’s erection, and he felt more than heard him draw closer to his climax. “Fuck, Brian,” Justin panted, losing his hold a little bit more as the other man worked him in both ways. Just when he thought he’d found enough control to hold on for a little longer, Justin caught sight of two men fucking against another boulder nearby. The sight of Rhys and his trick, staring right back at them as they mirrored positions, had Justin shooting his load into Brian’s hand.

Brian groaned behind him, the thought of just what an exhibitionist Justin could be once he’d had a few drinks driving his own need to finish. His hand, now somewhat covered in Justin’s release, was drawn back and used to hold Justin’s hips as he fucked him faster, harder. The wetness smeared against Justin’s skin and Brian relished the younger man’s groan at how messy they were. It was hot, and Justin had come and Brian went faster. Soon Justin wouldn’t want him inside but he had to finish. The burn of desperation grew, climbing hot and unbearable up the muscles of his thighs until that delicious pressure coalesced at his center and he was coming, coming, filling the condom and thrusting those last few times and muffling his sounds in Justin’s neck.

And when he pulled back he pulled them both back, stumbling away from the rock and tossing the condom to litter the forest floor, Justin was unsteady in his arms. They stood still where they were to recover, the fire and the music and the other men rutting against trees still going strong all around them. When he could finally manage to turn Justin around in his hold, Brian wasn’t surprised to find a sated expression on the other man’s face. “Oh,” was all Justin said. “Shit.” He laughed, still using Brian to steady himself. It was obvious that Brian was doing a little bit of the same. “That was… wow.”

“Yeah.” Brian helped him to fix what minimal clothing he’d started with, bending to pull his pants back up. “I guess my shirt is a lost cause.” Justin was against him in no time, leaning into his body and pressing a kiss against his lips. Brian let him slip into his mouth briefly, enjoying the intimate goodbye kiss to the sex they’d just had. Pulling back with a hum, he took Justin in stride. “Come on, firedancer. The music’s loud and the night is young.”

They left the woods and walked back to the party, hand in hand.