If there was one thing he did not miss from his childhood, it was the insanity which had surrounded St. Patrick's Day. You would have thought his tatty, felt shamrock was an Irish Get Out of Jail free card or something, the way the old man had celebrated. From the moment he pinned it on his shirt until the second he passed out that night by the bed, Jack Kinney had partied like it was 1999 all day. Of course, in Pitts, they didn't celebrate St. Paddy's Day on St. Paddy's day, but the Saturday before the actual day, unless, of course, it fell on a Saturday. That way Irishmen all over the city could have the entire weekend to toast their patron saint and all of Sunday night to nurse a hangover before staggering off to work that Monday.
As kids, Brian and Claire had been dragged to every St. Patrick's Day parade from the time they left the womb to the day they fled the old homestead for good. That first year in college, Brian had awakened the Saturday before St. Patrick's Day in a sweat, imagining the torture that awaited him, only to remember that he was a free man. It had taken a few years for him to completely get over his holiday memories but eventually he was able to go out to the bars on St. Patrick's Day without seeing his old man in his mind. But he never drank the grassy beer or wore any green on his person. His hazel eyes and the Irish brogue he'd affect from time to time were enough for him or any would-be suitor. And so, St. Patrick's Day passed from year to year much the same.
Until this year.
Now that he was Irish by marriage, Justin wanted to celebrate his heritage. He started nagging Brian the week before the parade and wouldn't let up. "It's important for Gus to know where he came from," he told his recalcitrant husband.
"I'm sure Lindsay would be more than happy to open her legs and show him her twat if he wanted to know where he came from," mocked Brian.
Brian finished his coffee. "Now, that's a tradition I'd gladly pass down to him," he said before putting away his dishes and giving Justin a smooch. "Later." And he was out the door with his briefcase, St. Patrick's Day out of his mind.
Obviously, Justin didn't do the same thing.
When Friday rolled around, Brian was informed that Justin and Gus and Joanie would be attending the St. Patrick's Day parade on Saturday and that he was welcome to join them if he behaved himself. Snorting, Brian assured Justin that he'd rather be painted fluorescent green and tossed into a swimming pool full of poisonous snakes than to waste his Saturday at a dumb-ass parade. His husband was not amused.
Saturday morning, Brian slept in as he usually did but Justin got up bright and early and dressed, had breakfast, and took off.
Left to his own devices, Brian ran on the tread for thirty minutes, ate, and then started reading up on darkrooms. His hobby was turning into something he really enjoyed and was quite good at so the next logical step was to have his own darkroom. Luckily, the basement was large enough to accommodate one. He'd gone online and printed out some information and gotten a couple of books on darkrooms from Borders. Curled up in an overstuffed chair in the library, with a glass of Merlot on a side table, he took notes while the afternoon light shifted outside the window.
Around five, he started to wonder if Justin was going to return for dinner or not. Maybe he'd made plans with Joanie. Brian wanted to call him on his cell but he didn't. If Justin wanted to spend the day being Irish, let him. He could eat Joanie's almost inedible corned beef and cabbage and suffer the consequences: namely, indigestion like a bitch. Meanwhile, he had dinner plans of his own to make.
Even though Liberty Avenue paid lip service to St. Patrick's Day, it mostly consisted of putting up a few shamrocks and serving green beer at the bars. Which Brian could handle. Calling up Mikey and the guys, they met down at the diner and had dinner. If they were curious as to Justin's whereabouts, no one said anything. They'd learned a long time ago not to come between them when they were having issues. Eventually they'd make up and everything would be back to normal. Which for those two meant they'd be arguing like cats and dogs one minute and making love the next. That's just who they were.
After dinner, they hit Woody's and had a few drinks before Brian called it a night. It wouldn't do for him to stagger home drunk after having opted out of all the other St. Patrick Day festivities. Justin would have a cow. So, like a good spouse, Brian went back to the house and waited for his spouse to return to the fold.
He was watching Reign of Fire featuring a very buff and very hot Christian Bale when he heard Justin's key in the lock. Saying a silent prayer that Justin would have forgiven him for not participating, Brian tried to focus on the film.
Justin put down his stuff and walked around back of the sofa, wrapped his arms around Brian's neck and kissed him on the cheek. "Hey."
"Have a good day?"
"Gus loved the parade."
He sat down next to Brian. "And your mom told me why you don't celebrate St. Patrick's Day." Brian shrugged. "But I think instead of just writing off the entire holiday, we need to make our own traditions." The young man grinned at Brian's raised brow. Crooking his finger, he stood up and backed out of the room.
Shutting off the DVD player, Brian followed.
Upstairs, Justin pushed Brian up against one of the bedposts and began kissing him while removing his clothes. When he'd undressed his lover, he shoved Brian down onto the bed. Then shucked his own sweater and dropped his jeans. Turning his back to Brian, he slowly eased his briefs over his ass.
"Mmm…" moaned Brian in anticipation and then his eyes widened. "What the?" He pulled his giggling spouse towards him and bent him over. There, on Justin's right cheek, was a tattoo of a smiling shamrock and the words, "Kiss Me, I'm Irish!" Brian stared in disbelief. "Tell me this will come off."
"It's just temporary. Once a year, just for you," said Justin and Brian sighed in relief. Then Justin rummaged through his jeans' pocket and removed a piece of paper. Handed it to Brian and went to wet a cloth.
Brian looked at the paper. It was a tattoo. Same as Justin's. Oh, shit. He started to laugh.
Kneeling on the bed, Justin eased Brian back against his pillow and
reached for his cock to prep the surface. As his tongue flickered over the
head, he wondered how the tattoo would look in the round…