#marchweekevent

When Brock originally accepted the scholarship for the semester abroad program, he never thought about the drawbacks. Though going halfway across the world was a great way to try and shake up his mundane life, his personality hadn’t changed. While many of his classmates were exploring the wonders of Ireland between classes, Brock had only learned the inside of his dorm room. His introverted personality kept him studying, always with his nose in his book and his mind dreaming of being a little more impulsive. The first two weeks went by in a blink of an eye, and he was sure the rest of the semester would go by with nothing to write home about.

And then, his stomach grumbled.

“Oh, right.” Brown eyes glanced at the clock, realizing that it was 4pm and he hadn’t eaten. Food was always a second thought for the student, whose head was more focused on getting passing grades than making sure his stomach’s needs were met. One glance at the fridge made Brock sigh, knowing that he had neglected to go food shopping in order to finish his paper the night before. Now, his options for dinner were limited. His internal debate over what to do was short-lived, knowing that he’d have to order out. It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d done it; his short excitement of being in a new location had allowed him to go out with his classmates the first two nights to try out the local food. And there had been one place that really had caught his attention enough to snag a menu, the corner pub close enough for the student to walk to.

He ordered a simple meal, a bacon burger and fries, before he snagged his scarf off the back of his chair and headed down the stairs of his dorm. Though it was March, the chill of the winter hadn’t fully washed away yet, and Brock hoped that the small walk to the pub wouldn’t be too chilly. His lips were buried under the soft fabric of his scarf as he walked down the quiet road, his eyes glancing around to admire the small town he was residing in. It was humble and quaint, a quality that Brock was starting to fall in love with despite only getting to spend one semester there. The people that he passed on the street were always friendly, giving a greeting to him despite not knowing his name or who he was. It was different than America, leaving a warmth in his chest when he finally scurried up the cobblestone steps of the pub. The heat of the bar hit his face instantly, the sweet and savory smells bringing Brock’s nose out of his scarf to take in the delicious aroma. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the ambiance that he first felt when stepping into the establishment weeks ago.

“Good evening!” A cheerful redhead caught Brock’s attention when he opened his eyes again. The woman cleaning one of the glasses behind the bar gave a friendly wave, not seeming to mind her own loud voice as she continued to chatter. “What are we drinking today?”

“Oh no, I’m just-” Feeling self-conscious about talking across the room (despite it being nearly deserted), Brock took a few hurried steps across the old wooden floor in order to explain himself. “I placed an order earlier, for Brock? I’m just here to pick it up.”

“Oh, right. Give me a second, I’ll go see if it’s done.” She disappeared behind the doors behind the bar, and Bock let out a quiet sigh of relief before grabbing his phone from his pocket. He opened up his text messages to Craig, one of the only friends he had managed to keep throughout the years. The British man would probably be proud of his lack of anxiety over conversing with the bartender. He was never the best at interacting with strangers, and despite taking the chance of opening up when accepting the semester abroad trip, Brock still had his introverted ways. He wondered for a moment if he’d ever learn to branch out a little more-

“Dibs!” The new voice entering the air made Brock jerk his attention from his phone, nearly dropping the device in shock. It was a louder voice with a thick Irish accent, and it took one quick scan of the room to locate where the noise came from. The only table being occupied was in the corner of the pub, a group of four sitting around glasses of beer that were drained. A pair of blue eyes were honed in on Brock, the handsome man not seeing ashamed or awkward when being caught by the exchange student. And though he was sure that someone that looked that good would never find interest in him, Brock felt his cheeks start to heat up from the attention.

“Brian, you stupid fock!” Another man, who was taller and much lankier than the friend watching Brock, smacked his fellow Irishman’s arm, his deeper accent ricocheting through the quiet pub. “Ya can’t just claim a person, ya focking shite.”

“Shut up, Nogla. It doesn’t look like he minds.” And as if the two had known each other for years, the man (now named Brian) gave a wink to Brock, his grin bright and sure to make stronger men than the college student swoon. “And if I don’t call dibs, one of you pricks will try and steal him.”

“I...w-what?” Brock’s stuttered response got a set of laughs from the table, and his embarrassment was quick to intertwine with shame. Too nervous to keep the eye contact, Brock glanced back to the phone, quick to type out a message to his friend thousands of miles away.

Brock: Some Irish guy just called ‘dibs’ on me in a pub; what do I do?!

Craig: Well, is he hot?

He should have been concerned about how quick his friend responded to the text, but he had learned a while ago that Craig was practically married to his phone. He managed to sneak another small glance over to Brian, who looked like he was getting scolded by one of his friends at the table. Despite the friend’s obvious irritation with Brian’s actions, the Irish man didn’t seem ashamed, giving a heart laugh and a smile that Brock was sure got the man out of trouble more often than not. His dimples were cute, barely covered by the sparse brunet beard peppering his cheeks. The soft brown hair adoring the handsome man’s face was styled to curl just over his forehead, showing he took care in his appearance. And his eyes...they were such a unique color of blue, nothing like the mundane brown that Brock looked at each time he faced a mirror. Feeling another sense of confusion over being cat-called by someone as attractive as the native, Brock dropped his gaze back to his phone.

Brock: Yes. He’s very handsome.

Craig: Then what are you doing talking to me for? Go get that shamrock dick!

“Jesus,” Brock muttered under his breath, face bright red when he closed out of the message. Why had he thought it was a good idea to go to Craig for advice; he had used corny pick-up lines and sheer determination to wear down his moody American boyfriend enough to score a date. That was not Brock’s style. Not that he really had one; the man hadn’t been on a date for two years, after his boyfriend had ended the relationship in ‘search of some adventure’.

The bitter memory made Brock shake his head, stuffing his phone into his jeans pocket before he fidgeted with his scarf to distract himself from the pair of eyes he could feel watching him again. Sure that his face matched the maroon-colored fabric wrapped around his neck, Brock was more than relieved to see the bartender from before return with his food. Money was exchanged with a speed that the student felt was impolite, but his anxiety of having to walk past the table was making his hands shake. The woman didn’t seem put off by his actions, her eyes and smile only showing kindness as she wished the men practically buried in his scarf a good night. Brock gave a short nod before he rushed through the pub, eyes downcasted onto the wood beneath his feet when he moved by the table where Brian was sitting.

He let out a gasp he hadn’t known he was holding when he pushed through the pub’s door, Brock having to pause in his steps on the sidewalk to catch his breath. Hands on his knees, Brock sucked in the crisp air, letting the slight burn in his lungs ground him. If he was being honest, he was flattered by the words that the other had said to him. Brock wasn’t someone that could be labeled an ‘eye-catcher’ and he tended to get boyfriends who fell for his ‘nurturing personality’ than his looks. So to have someone that looked like they belonged on the cover of a playgirl magazine…

“Hey, hold up!” Brock nearly dropped the plastic bag with his food at the voice, the Americain quick to straighten up into a standing position. His first instinct was to ignore the call and keep walking (maybe even running) in order to avoid the awkwardness of what had just happened in the pub. The only thing that made him turn toward the man now jogging down the pub’s front stairs and toward him was his manners, Brock already cringing at how he had treated the bartender. Now he felt frozen in his spot as Brian stopped in front of him, flashing the side grin that made Brock’s stomach flip in sudden interest. “I thought I was gonna have to chase you much further than this.”

“I, um, I live right down the street right now so…” Brock didn’t know why he let his voice trail off, his fingers nervously gripping the bad of food tighter while he waited for the other man to speak.

“Oh, really? Me and Nogla inhabit that bar all the time and I’ve never seen ya there.”

“W-Well I only moved into the dorms a few weeks ago-”

“Oh, you’re a student?” Brian’s eyes lit up at the information, and Brock was caught off guard by the other’s interest in him. Eye contact continued to be a struggle as he gave a weak laugh, hoping his introverted nature didn’t shine like a beacon as he gave a slight nod. The Irish man seemed to pick up on it, though, and the smile that had painted over his lips dimmed a bit when he spoke again. “Well, I just wanted to come out here and apologize for what I said back there. Us Irishmen aren’t the most modest of our intentions, and now that I know you’re not from around here-sorry for being a bit of a prick.”

“That’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting it.” Brock tried to give a smile that proved he wasn’t put off by Brian’s comment, feeling the sincerity in the other man’s apology. “I mean, Americans are kind of blunt too, but I’m just not used to that kind of attention.”

“It’s kind of hard to believe that people didn’t hit on someone as cute as you.” Brian’s blunt comment had Brock’s cheeks flaring in color again, eyes widening from how easily the other man dropped the compliment. Seeming to recognize the positive reaction, Brian grinned, not hesitating to continue. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“My name? Oh, I’m Brock.” And like the polite person he was, the student held his hand out to be shaken by the native Irish man. The palm was smooth against his own, gentle in its shake despite the obvious strength the other man possessed. Brock tried not to be affected by the notion that the newcomer was treating him softly after their initial brash meeting.

“Alright, Brocky.” But it was more difficult when the other dropped the nickname, the mischievous smile teasing the edges of his lips setting Brock on high alert. “I don’t want you to leave with a bad taste in your mouth for us Irish folk, so why don’t you let me show you the best part of Ireland’s charm?”

“Like a date?”

“A date sounds pretty nice,” Brian said, Brock’s heart increasing from the answer.

“You don’t have to do that,” was Brock’s quick reply, knowing the tips of his ears were tickled pink when realizing that Brian had yet to let go of his hand.

“I want to. Come on, live a little with me.”

The statement was one that Brock had heard more than once in his life. Even as a child, he was the reserved one in his family. Sometimes his friends would tease him, calling him the ‘mom’ of the group because of his lack of taking chances or wanting to play it safe. He never skipped school in high school, keeping away from things that required auditions or putting himself out there for others to judge. He was supportive of Craig or Evan in their moments of the limelight, but he kept himself hidden. Even in college, where he had several changes to spread his wings and do something out of his comfort zone, Brock stayed in his shell. The trip to Ireland had been his riskiest adventure yet, even if he stayed holed up in his dorm when out of the classroom.

Until now.

“Brocky?” The soft call from Brian made the student shake his head, focusing back on the worried gaze peering down at him. “If you’re busy or-”

“No!” Quickly Brock grasped tighter onto the other man’s hand, too worried about letting the opportunity pass to feel embarrassed about the needy motion. “I finished my homework earlier, and I don’t have class tomorrow, so I have the whole night!”

“You know, you shouldn’t make such a tempting offer to a man; we do have needs.” It was a flirty comment followed by a wink, Brian seeming to laugh at the stunned look now rushing over Brock’s face.

He couldn’t help it; the forward style of the other man wasn’t something he was used to. Were all Irish men like this, or was it something that was specific to Brian and Brock? Not wanting to know the truth, Brock simply smacked the other’s arm, making the Irish native laugh louder. The connection of their hands was lost for a moment, but Brock’s arm barely had a chance to let gravity pull it back to his side before Brian was snatching the palm against his own again, lacing their fingers. The touch felt so natural between the two, and Brock dipped his chin down so his scarf could cover the wobbly smile he made at the revelation.

“You ready?” Brian’s question made Brock glance up to his face, the answer coming out faster than he ever thought possible.

“Yes.”

~**~

The fact that Brock allowed Brian, a man he barely knew, to pull him to his car, was crazy. He couldn’t get swept up by this man he had only known for a few minutes! And yet he could only mumble a ‘thank you’ when the Irish native opened the passenger door for him, his newly appointed ‘tour guide’  leading him to a ‘surprise location’. His mind wandered when brown eyes glanced back down to their hands, which were still linked over the middle console of the car. Throughout his life, the student had only thought to date men that he had known for long periods of time. He was never the one to use a dating app, and even if he found someone attractive, he wanted to learn as much as humanly possible before thinking of them romantically. Craig always blamed it on his introverted nature, and encouraged him to try falling in love while getting to know the other person. Brock always felt unsettled at the thought and tried to keep space between the two paths. But with Brian...

“Oh my god.” Brock’s eyes couldn’t understand the beauty of the place that Brian was now leading him to. The drop of temperature in the air and sunlight didn’t take away from the breathtaking cliffs they were standing on, the sound of the ocean crashing against the rocky shores below them. The pair were hundreds of feet over the water, the sky looking enormous above them. The sun was slowly sinking in the sky, the appearance of stars starting to pepper the black canvas like warnings of the encroaching night. It was a little scary for the student, being so high up, but the ethereal feel to the location made his awe overshadow his nerves. The plastic bag with his food swayed from the ocean breeze, Brock’s wide gaze full of wonder as Brian gave a smug chuckle.

“So I’m guessing nobody’s shown you the Cliffs of Moher, eh?” Casual as a cat, the Irish man stretched his hands over his head, letting out a yawn as if bored by the sight that was stealing Brock’s breath. “Yup, this was one of my favorite places to hang out when I was a kid. Pretty awesome, right?”

“I’ve heard of this place before, but I never knew it was so close,” Brock explained, casting his eyes back to Brian when the other gave a snort.

“Because most people go to the tourist part of the cliffs; this is where the Irish like to hang out. It may be restricted, but they stop patrolling when the sun sets.”

“Wh-what?!” Brock’s instant need to follow the law made him tense at the information. Not only was he breaking the law, but it was in another country. If he got arrested, would the send him back to America? Would they kick him out of college? What if-

“Relax, Brocky. I won’t let you get in trouble.” The way he dropped the line made Brock wonder if he had dealt with the cops before, but Brian continued before he could ask. “Come on, lemme show you the best part of this place.”

“There’s more?” Though he should have been more concerned with the mention of police, Brock’s interest were swayed when the Irish man held out his hand again. It felt natural to hold Brian’s now, a childish sort of excitement flowing through his fingertips when the other led him along a dirt path parallel to the cliff’s edge. It was a little scary to be so close to something he knew could kill him, but the steady grasp of Brian’s hand made him feel safe. The whimsical man ahead of him looked proud when he pulled him across a dip in the ground before finally stopping, Brock’s eyes taking in the final destination. The ground was covered with soft looking grass, contrasting the rough, rocky terrain surrounding it. And like coming from an old Irish fairy tale, glimmers of yellow fireflies started to speckle the air.

“This is amazing, Brian.” Brock allowed his tour guide to lead him to the soft patch, and Brock didn’t hesitate to sit down next to the grinning Irish man now leaning back in the grass. His brown eyes watched a flurry of fireflies scurry into the darkening sky above them, his giggle quiet at the beautiful sight.

“It’s even better with you here.” The charmed statement drew Brock’s attention back to Brian, the man’s eyes showing no regret over the compliment. The student felt his cheeks warm when the native leaned closer, the hint of a smile edging his lips when he peered up into the other’s face. It felt intimate, like the two were sharing a moment that nobody could touch. He wasn’t sure how many tourists Brian had used this same tactic to sway, but Brock couldn’t help but notice how quick his heartbeat was now that the blue gaze was focused on him.

“Stop it, I’m not that great.” His dismissal of the other’s observation made Brian scowl, but before his tour guide could protest, Brock turned his eyes to the bag of food still waiting for him to eat. The second he popped open the styrofoam container, his stomach roared with hunger. It was embarrassing how loud the noise was, and he knew that Brian had heard it loud and clear by his snort and how quick he pushed to sit upright next to Brock.

“Hungry?” There was a tease to the Irish accent that Brock pretended to ignore with his eye roll.

“I would have eaten earlier, but some jerk tried to call dibs on me in a pub, and I lost my appetite.” He took a chance by glancing over to Brian, who made sure to show his theatrics with a hand pressed to his chest.

“You wound me, Brocky.”

“I think you’ll survive, though I can’t say the same for my fries.” To prove his point, the American lifted the cold processed potato out of the container, watching the once crispy side flop over itself in defeat. It didn’t deter him from popping the cold food into his mouth, his stomach humming in excitement over the introduced treat. He’d never tell Brian that he preferred his french fries cold, enjoying the small glimmer of guilt that now sparked through Brian’s once cocky composure. He tried making his sigh of dissatisfaction believable when picking up the second fry, letting this one wobble in his grasp. The moment of silence allowed a night breeze to sneak between them, Brock’s skin quick to cover in goosebumps. His scarf provided little cover, and the long sleeved shirt didn’t keep in the heat that was needed by the ocean side. He glanced up when there was shifting next to him, and Brock was stunned when he saw Brian starting to shrug off his own jacket. “W-wait a second-”

“I promise, this ain’t me trying to make a move on ya. You just look really cold and I’m the one who dragged you out here, so I feel bad. And my ma always taught me to treat my dates like royalty.” And from the gentle way that Brian draped the grey jacket over Brock’s shoulders, he could feel it wasn’t given with ulterior motives. The cinnamon scent that lingered on the collar of the jacket was comforting, and seemed to warm Brock from the inside out. And for a split second, Brock wondered what it’d feel like to have the attractive man a little less polite. Lost in his thoughts, the student nearly knocked the container of food over when a soft voice tickled the side of his ear. “Warm enough?”

“Oh, um, yes. Thank you,” Brock replied, his concern quick to take over his voice. “But you’re going to get cold now.”

“Me? Don’t worry about it, I’m used to this kind of weather.” Brian’s grin was glowing, but Brock wasn’t sure if it was from the faded sunset, the fireflies, or simply the man’s charm. He knew that he was staring, but it was hard not to. Brian was just...ethereal. The lingering stare seemed to catch Brian’s interest, the man’s smile lowering into a look of caution. Knowing his tour guide would question the stare, Brock snagged another fry before holding it up to Brian, his words rushed.

“Want some?” He wasn’t sure if offering cold food was polite or not, but Brian didn’t look insulted by the soggy fry. Instead, the Irish native grinned before leaning forward, not hesitating to eat the food from Brock’s warm fingers. Gentle lips brushed over Brock’s fingertips, the sensation sending warm tingles coursing through his veins. He couldn’t remember the last time he had done something so intimate with another person, but any thought of pulling back from the action was tossed over the cliff when Brian hummed in delight before nudging the hesitant fingers with his nose. The motion lacked any real direction, but Brock found himself dipping back into the container to grab another limp fry. As soon as he lifted the lackluster treat, Brian was taking his second bite of the night.

Their conversation came easier than the student could have expected between two strangers. He shared stories of America between bites of his burger, while Brian tossed in tales of Ireland and demands for more food. The comfort between them was unexplainable. Brian had no problem teasing Brock for following him out to the cliffs (“what if I was a serial killer?” “You’re too dumb for that”) while the American made sure to remind his date of the cheesy way he had tried to get Brock’s attention to begin with. Questions about their lives came with little thought, the answers even easier. It felt like talking to an old friend, until their eyes lingered too long on the other to be deemed ‘friendly’. By the time the food was gone, Brock was leaning his head against Brian’s shoulder, letting the Irish tilt of the other’s voice break down every barrier he kept around his introverted heart.

“You know, there’s an old myth about this place.”

“Yeah?” Brock didn’t realize his eyes had closed, his voice lacking any real volume when responding to the other man. His heart thumped into his ribcage when a gentle hand shifted through his hair, fingernails scraping pleasantly along his scalp when Brian hummed his confirmation.  

“The fairies of Moher. Legend says that fairies, disguised as beautiful women or handsome men, will trick gullible Irish folk up to the cliffs and seduce them with their charms. Then, once the human is tricked into sleep, the fairies will run off with their money or precious jewels. But even after being robbed, the folk don’t mind, because they got to spend a night with beautiful creature.”

“Then should I worry?” His words felt pulled from him by the slender fingers still massaging his scalp, though they paused after Brock’s question.

“Worry about what?”

“That you’re a fairy trying to seduce me.” He didn’t think about the sentence, or that it implied just how breathtaking Brock found his counterpart. But when he ran the sentence back in his head, Brock’s head shot up from its place on Brian’s shoulder, face as dark as the scarf he now buried it in. The damage was obviously done, Brian’s look of shock looked almost cute on the man, especially with the small edge of pink dusting the paler man’s cheeks. But then the look changed, and a smug grin only increasing Brock’s mortification.

“Ah, you’ve got me. I’m a fairy of Moher, and that’s why I had to chase after you in the pub; it’s a terrible insult to turn down a fairy’s offer, and it brings the worst luck to the human who ignores him.” Brock wondered if tossing himself off the cliff’s edge would end his humiliation, but he was sure that it’d follow him into the next life. It didn’t help that Brian was now leaning closer, his fingers reaching to curl the protective fabric away from Brock’s face. “It’s a terrible curse for any human to bear, and I know of only one way to reverse it.”

“What’s that?” He kept his voice close to a whisper, as Brian’s forehead was close enough to brush his own. Blue eyes shined with amusement, but if Brock took a closer look, he could see the slight shadow of hesitation just outlining Brian’s stare.

“Legend says if you can steal a kiss from a fairy, you’ll get good luck in love for the rest of your life.” The implication was easy to figure out, even if Brock’s mind was distracted by the way Brian’s lips moved fluidly through the sentence. If it had been the student, stutters and stammers would have broken up the offer, but his Irish guide didn’t look shy in his request. The night sky looked vast above Brian, the stars framing his face and making his blue gaze pop in color. His face was pale, looking soft enough to break down the strongest of men. If Brock believed in magic, Brian really could pass as a fairy. And could the American really take the chance of having bad luck for the rest of his life?

His lips were shy when they brushed Brian’s, not demanding or intrusive in their request to kiss. Brian’s mouth felt as soft as the student had imagined, easily following Brock’s gentle lead of the tender kiss. Hands that had been idle by Brian’s side seemed tired of being left out of the action, Brock’s warm cheeks held with care by the Irish man while allowing the student to deepen the kiss. Brock’s nerves were washed away with the cold night wind sweeping around them, his spine relaxing at the fire that sparked between their lips. It was more than he had anticipated, but not enough for the Americain to pull away from the alluring taste of Brian. His tongue took a daring brush against the lower lip of his date’s, and Brock let out a gasp when his world was tilted without warning.

His backdropped onto the soft grass behind them, the sturdy body of Brian slipping between his legs as their lips slowly pulled back from the kiss. It took Brock a moment to allow his eyes to flutter open, instantly transfixed by the blue that nearly glowed from the backdrop of black sky above them. The jacket that had been protecting him from the cold dropped back onto the ground, reintroducing Brock to the crisp air around them. Brian seemed to notice the shiver of the other, and Brock’s gaze closed again when a pair of hot lips leaned down to skim the exposed neck now presented to him. The movement made Brock’s stomach twist in want, hands grasping at the shoulders over him with a gasp.  

“Brian-”

“Let me warm you up again.” The low rumble of Brian’s voice pressed just under his ear was mind-numbing, and the student’s protest was quick to die on his lips. Brian’s hips pressed closer to his own, and Brock’s world melted when the Irishman whispered. “Let me seduce you with my fairy charm.”

And Brock’s resistance crumbled on the cliffs of Moher.

~**~

The ride back to his dormitory was quiet, though Brock wasn’t sure if it was because of the late time or because of the hickey that still burned against his neck. Thankful for bringing a scarf, Brock made sure the fabric was secure before he stepped out of the car now parked in front of his gate. He was surprised by the second door shutting, glancing to see Brian moving around the front of the car.

“This place is pretty nice.” Brian gave a slow whistle as he checked out the building past the little fence Brock now rested his hand on, the student giving a casual nod to hide his nerves. He wasn’t sure how to handle their conversations after...shaking his head to get rid of the memory, Brock pushed the gate open, listening to the quiet squeak of the cast iron before he glanced back up to Irish man now leaning on the side of the gate.

“I, um...thank you for tonight. It was fun. And I don’t mean-not just the sex part! That was great, but the talking was nice too-and I’m just going to...shut up now.” Brock’s foot felt snug being shoved into his mouth, his words once again proving how bad he was at talking with other people. But Brian didn’t seem bothered by the statement, looking proud before he stepped forward into the other’s personal space. A chaste kiss was pressed to Brock’s lips, the student surprised at the sign of affection from the handsome man looking down at him with a nervous smile.

“If a fairy wanted to meet you again, should they linger around pubs or…?” Brock was caught off guard by the lack of confidence from the other man. Earlier, Brian was proud and sure of each of his flirty tactics. But here, after knowing that Brock was interested in him, the handsome man seemed off his game. Did that mean that he wasn’t used to finding actual interest in other people? It was almost cute, seeing the once smug man shifting between his feet and trying his best to look intrigued by the intricate work of the iron fence. Using the moment for a boost of confidence, Brock ignored his inner introvert to respond.

“Hold that thought!” And then Brock was running up the steps of his dorm room, looking back twice to make sure the other wasn’t moving before entering the dorm. He was quick to grab the first piece of paper he could find, his writing sloppier than normal with how fast he was writing before he raced out of the room again. He felt out of breath when he stopped in front of the confused native, Brock holding out the small piece of paper. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“It’s a spell.” He felt a little silly making the statement, but he refused to give up on the idea when seeing how interested the taller man was in the phone number he had written down. “When you wanna see me, just...use this spell to summon me. If I’m not in school, I’ll answer.”

“And here I thought I was the magical one.” Brian made the point to put the paper into his pocket, and they gave a quick goodbye (which may have involved more kissing) before Brock watched the other man drive away. His smile was wobbly as he touched his lips, only distracted when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He was quick to pull out the device, more than a little disappointed to see it wasn’t an unknown number.

Craig: Did you get the Shamrock dick or not?!

Brock: None of your business.

Craig: You did! I’m telling Tyler! We’re so proud of you. <3

“These are my friends.” Rolling his eyes, Brock shut off his phone, though he couldn’t feel the annoyance he wanted.

After all, he had just been blessed by a fairy.

Craig was ... kinda expecting it. After all, he had decked out his house in green, with shamrocks and pots of gold taped everywhere. Streamers hung from the ceiling with leprechaun hats and he had somehow found little rainbow toppers for the green frosted chocolate cupcakes. So if Brian didn’t do something equally outrageous then he was calling the FBI about the aliens that probably abducted his boyfriend.

But that wasn’t the case as Mini opened the door to reveal a decked out Brian in everything to do with the holiday. Big green top hat that was caving in on itself. Green light up clover necklace. Glasses in the shape of green beer mugs that didn’t quite sit right. Tiny Irish flags painted on each cheek.

“Happy St. Patrick’s Day!!” Brian shouted with a smile that stretched his whole face.

“Glad to see you again.” Craig stole a quick kiss on the cheek, adding a little red to Brian’s ensemble. “How’s Ireland doing? I assume not well, considering she threw up all over you.”

“Just shut up and let me inside.” Mini nodded, and slid to the side to allow his boyfriend to pass. Brian took one look inside, then slid his glasses. “Oh, that’s not just my glasses then making everything green.”

“You know I would do this.” Craig pointed out, wrapping his arm around Brian’s shoulder. The latter took the opportunity to take back that kiss from earlier with one of his own.

“Of course I did. Why do you think I look like this.” Craig laughed, letting go of Brian and heading toward the kitchen where the drinks and food were. “You put the corn beef in?”

“Yeah. Exactly when you said. Who knew that thing takes 10 hours to cook?” Brian raised his hand, and Craig shot a playful glare. “Correction: what non-Irishman knows that corn beef in a slow cooker takes 10 hours?”

“A man with a passion for meat. Also, good whiskey.” Brian added. “You got some?” Craig didn’t say anything, simply holding up two glasses and a bottle of Bushmills. “Best boyfriend ever.”

“I know I am.” Mini said as he popped the bottle open. The popping sound it made was always satisfying to him. “Ooh.”

“Dork.” Brian commented with an eye roll to accompany it.

“Least I’m your dork.” Craig smiled. He passed a glass to Brian, before raising his own. “To the Irish?”

He was an idiot as usual however. And now he was stuck wandering around a convention center looking for a tall lanky dark haired Irish man in a green shirt. But there was green everywhere: cosplayers and booths and random people all dawned the color. It didn’t help that that was the only thing Nogla had told him about him at the convention. It would be fun, he said. Yeah, fun left the building about 3 hours ago, going on 4.

A buzzing in his pocket distracted his search. Taking really any distraction at this point, he picked it up without even a glance at the caller ID. He had a feeling who it was though. “Hello?”

“Any luck?” Luke asked from the other end.

“None at all. I mean, what kind of guy only tells you the color of the shirt they are wearing?” Delirious wondered as he kept moving distractedly through the crowds.

“A clever one or a stupid one. And sometimes Daithi can be the latter of the two.”

“Can’t you just come find me and call this day a bust?” Jon whined.

“Nope. This was your idea, you have to go through with it.”

“No, but like, can’t we do this tomorrow with Evan or someone? Somebody who actually mi...” Delirious didn’t get to finish the thought as he ran into someone. The phone fell forwards as he did, but someone managed to grab his waist before falling face first into the ground.

“You okay?” The stranger asked, and Jonathan simply nodded, too embarrassed by the whole thing to say a word. The man’s words were laced in a heavy accent, and they seemed familiar to Delirious. But he was too focused on his phone to figure out why that was. “Alright man. What has you so distracted.” The stranger let Jon go, and he retrieved his phone a few feet away.

“I was talking to a friend.” He replied, looking down at the screen to see Luke had hung up on him. “Sorry for running ... into you.” His voice faltered as he looked up straight into Nogla’s eyes. This was the man he’d planned to meet up with. Now what?

“It’s fine, man. Hope you enjoy the rest of the convention!”

“Yeah, I will.” Delirious almost walked away, but turned at the last second. He had an idea. “Actually, can you help me find someone? I’m supposed to meet him here.”

“Sure. What do they look like?”

“Well, he’s really tall, and a guy. Feel like I should mention that. He’s got black hair including a slight stubble. Irish too. And he’s wearing a green shirt.”

“Ok. I’ll keep an eye out of for him.” Del wanted to slap himself right there. I’m talking about you you dense beanpole!!

“Thanks man.” He said instead, typing a quick message on his phone. “Another thing you should know. He’s really oblivious sometimes.” And with that, Jonathan disappeared into the crowd.

David wondered what the guy when a message came through on his phone. It was from Delirious, and it caused him to spew several profanities from his mouth over how idiotic he was.

That was me, you dumbass.

“DELIRIOUS!!” David yelled, not caring about all the people’s heads who turned in his direction.

Out of all the cryptids available in his family tree, how and why Brian wound up as a Dullahan is beyond him. He knows his great-grandfather was one, before the man just up and disappeared, and he doesn’t particularly care much for it. Dullahan are known to be omens of death; they’re only seen when someone is just about to kick the bucket, as they come to steal the victim’s soul. No one knows what they’re used for, but any onlookers loose their eyes to the human spine whips they carry.

(And yes, Brian is perfectly capable of removing his own head and walking around with it tucked under his own arm. It’s a trick he’s rather proud of, even if he can’t show anyone else. The first time he shows his mother, she screams in horror and faints. His father, on the other hand, finds it hysterical. Apparently his great-grandfather liked doing the same thing. It drove his great-grandmother nuts. She also didn’t really appreciate him leaving his whip around. Not that Brian can blame her, especially considering that a Dullahan traditionally makes their whip out of a human spine. Well, she knew what she was getting into when she married him, so Brian really doesn’t feel bad for her.)

Brian would also like to make it known that, despite being a Dullahan, he has never taken anyone’s soul.  He has, however, felt people die before. It’s disconcerting to feel someone’s lifeblood drain away, to feel their soul dissolve into nothing, and it’s even harder to fight the urge to go and collect said soul. When he was a child, he’d have to bury himself in his music to drown out the call. Now it’s easier to dismiss; less because the call is weaker, and more because he’s better at ignoring said urge.

(In the back of his mind, Brian has always been able to sense his friends and their well-being. He knows where they are, how they’re doing, and what their emotional status is. But he’s terrified of the idea that he might feel the echo of a soul he calls friend.)

((Once, he does feel the call. When Craig is hit by a truck, he feels the blow even though he isn’t anywhere nearby. It shakes him violently, squeezes his heart so hard he thinks it’ll pop right there in his chest, and Brian stumbles, dropping to his knees. He wheezes and presses his forehead against the ground, desperately attempting to steady his breathing. As soon as the tightness in his chest passes, he immediately texts Craig, growing even more frantic when the other doesn’t respond.

It’s only hours later that he finds out what happened and he’s incredibly relieved that Mini escaped with as few injuries as he did—he slid forty feet! Forty feet! And Jay went even further!—and Brian struggles with the urge to hunt down the truck driver and kill them.

For the first time ever, Brian desires to put his Dullahan heritage to use and whip someone to death.))

(He swears he’s the only cryptid in a group of mortals.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Ohm said quietly, turning his face away for the moment.

“Yeah, whatever. Your turn.”

“Truth or Dare, Brian.”

“Truth.” Ryan took a second to think of a good question. When he did, his eyes grew along with his smile.

“One thing you don’t tell anyone because they’ll laugh at you for it.”

“Easy.” Brian said without much hesitation. “My biggest fear is fairies.”

“Fairies?”

“Yeah I know.” Brian sighed, before getting all defensive. “But in all fairness, they are evil. Evil~”

“So you’re scared ... of something that doesn’t exist?”

“Look, I don’t know if they do or not. I just know that they are little shits.” Ohm tried to stifle a laugh. “See!! You think I’m crazy!!”

“I don’t. I think it’s irrational that the thing that gives you nightmares is the tooth fairy.”

“Not that kind of fairy, dude. The Irish kind.” Brian explained. “Back in the day, people would actually leave the cornerstones of their houses out overnight to make sure they weren’t in the way of any fairy paths. They were pranksters, being attributed to leading travelers astray and even kidnapping people and leaving a wooden corpse behind. Size is despicable, from being able to fit in the palm of your hand to being mistaken for a small child.”

“Wow.” Ryan said. Brian nodded.

“You understand now? How this is a logical fear to have?”

“Yeah, I understand. Still don’t think it’s a legitimate fear though.” Ryan smirked, and Brian simply blinked. He then rose from the table. “What did I say?”

“I’m just ... I’m done. You win.” He grabbed his bag, beginning the walk to class.

“Awe, but this was just getting fun.”

He scoffed. “Thanks Tyler, my flight was great. Some kid cried for three hours straight.” He tilted his head side-to-side as he spoke, grinning as he nudged him. He adopted a bounce in his step as he walked, unaffected by anything else.

The joy of getting off a long flight couldn’t be ruined and Tyler fought back his fond smile as they wound their way through crowds and escaped the airport’s mass.

“Yesterday.” He followed Tyler in the direction of his car as the American raised a brow curiously. Craig shrugged at the unasked question. “Felt like it,” his smile showed his honesty. “Haven’t gone green before, why not?”

Car unlocked, bags in the boot, both in the front. Tyler gave an inquisitive look to the clover-green hair, only the top dyed while the sides and back remained his natural soft brown.

“You like it?”

Keys in the ignition and the comfortable rev of the engine. He hummed. “You still look like a fuckboy.”

He was happy to hear the giggly laugh that put a fond smile on his lips. “Fuck you!”

-

The first time Tyler got the chance to touch Craig’s freshly dyed hair was when they’d finished putting all of his belongings in the spare bedroom. He was planning to spend the two weeks there with Tyler, easier access to the upcoming music festival they both were quite excited for.

They’d chosen to stay at Tyler’s when they heard of the event and for no particular reason Craig asked if he could stay for an extra week to chill out. Tyler couldn’t see why not. He didn’t often get to spend time with his friend without a computer screen and half a country between them.

As they retreated downstairs to the large living room, Craig flopped lazily on the couch and Tyler crossed behind him with the kitchen in focus, his tummy rumbling eagerly.

Thoughtlessly, he dropped his hand over the back of the couch, fingers landing atop Craig’s head. He buried them in the green and faltered in his step, mid-ruffle, as he realised just how soft it was under his touch. It took him a second to snatch his hand away in his surprise and continue to the kitchen, ignoring the confused pink that spread across his cheeks.

Craig didn’t bat an eye and Tyler frowned to himself. How was his hair that soft?

Since then he seemed to find every excuse possible to touch the shorter man’s hair and Craig was one hundred percent fine with it.

When it was messy in the morning, Tyler would thoughtlessly push it back as he walked past.

When it was particularly neat, he couldn’t help but take a spare moment to mess it up until the Brit complained.

When Craig yawned or collapsed with tire after a busy day of excited recording or exploring town, he’d pat his hair in a soft and weirdly intimate way. (Although Tyler refused to let the word ‘intimate’ enter his head at all while describing his actions, especially his actions towards Craig Thompson.)

When they got drunk after a lazy day, splayed out half on top of each other, half off the couch one night, chatting and giggling about memories neither could quite remember, memories that still made them smile. Or was it being with each other that tugged sweetly at their lips? Their minds were too fuzzy to care. But the feeling of Tyler’s fingers rubbing aimless patterns into Craig’s scalp was torturously enjoyable and having his fingers in that perfect hair left Tyler more content than ever as he dropped his empty beer bottle.

And the next morning Craig convinced himself and Tyler that his hangover had brought a headache along with it, just so he had a reason to sit between the man’s legs while they ate cereal and watched kid’s cartoons, fingers drawing focused circles across his scalp. Determined to chase away a headache that didn’t exist, they only encouraged the weightless feeling in Craig’s chest as he closed his eyes and almost fell asleep under the touch. Tyler loved that he was allowed to mess the flurry of green up only to comb it back with his fingers after.

Whether he had a reason or not, he couldn’t get enough of the feeling of Craig’s soft hair between his fingers.

He only really questioned it eight days into the trip, the night before the music festival. When Craig sat down on the couch beside him, leaning back in comfort, and his immediate reaction was to raise a hand to settle in the Brit’s hair.

The realisation had a jolt of surprise running through him. But with the pretty hair already tickling his fingertips he didn’t have the courage to drop his arm away and make the action any more weirdly obvious than normal.

Craig never noticed. He never complained. His eyes only closed with bliss like they always would and Tyler tried to fight off unwanted thoughts as he dragged his short nails back and forth through the brunette roots of the brit.

That night he couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t think of a single other thing as he tossed and turned in his mess of blankets. He craved the softness, he craved the scent of vanilla. Excitement filled his thoughts at knowing he would get the chance to give his temporary housemate a head massage the next day, or maybe just ruffle his hair whenever the opportunity arose.

He drifted off to sleep with dreams too inappropriate to think about the morning after, without rosy cheeks and a cold shower.

Time to think about it was scarce though as Craig ushered him into the car with their day’s belongings, the excitement jumping between them as they headed off to the festival.

And it had been better than they’d hoped. The artists were perfect, the constant resonation of the beat through them, bouncing around within their ribcages. Tyler could barely lift his smiling eyes away from his companion.

Green hair. Pale eyes. Wide smile. He looked young and fresh and pretty, dare he say.

His realisation seemed to be forgotten behind him, analysing thought no longer important for those moments as they laughed and sung and danced. A moment of breath, a pause in the craziness.

The two were panting and sweating, smiles refusing to go anywhere, and Craig’s hair was ruffled and crazy in his excitement.

Tyler reached up, ran his fingers through it and pushed it back out of his face, and Craig’s smile dropped, eyes wide. He acknowledged the casual tone of what Tyler had done, the casual tone of what he had been doing for days on end. He watched Tyler’s hand fall away, watched Tyler’s smile falter, licked his lips and blinked as he mulled something over.

After a second, the shortest moment of eye contact possible, he leaned in close and Tyler’s heart dropped at the very deliberate amount of space put between them.

“Going to the toilet. Find you later?”

Dry throat. He nodded, managing a smile that lacked any sort of enthusiasm. Craig walked away looking troubled and Tyler couldn’t enjoy the next song that rang through his bones.

But the volume of the event didn’t leave room for conversation. When Craig found him a while later, they put a thin wall between them and pretended nothing changed, pretended nothing had ever changed. Tyler practiced his fake smile as concern rose, as fear hovered in his chest. Had he pushed boundaries? Had he gone too far? Crossed the line between casual touches and intimacy?

Craig was practically asleep late evening, buzzing with the small amount of alcohol in their systems. He fell into the front seat, passing out almost instantly, and Tyler was left along with his thoughts for the twenty-minute drive.

“Mini,” he whispered, unbuckling his friend who remained in his peaceful sleep in the front seat of his car. Tyler pulled on his arm. “You gotta get inside and then you can get back to sleep, alright buddy?” Voice gentle, too gentle, too affectionate. “Come on, Craig.” Intimate.

A soft groan, a mumble that no one would be able to understand. Tyler moved carefully, pulling the Brit’s legs around until they hung out of the car instead.

“Mini,” he cooed, smiling at the sleepy face.

A groan of more enthusiasm. “Carry me.” The second time his mumble was actually coherent and Tyler scoffed.

“You wish. You’ve got legs, come on,” he urged, pulling the boy’s arm, hoping he would listen.

He just grunted. “No.” Bottom lip puckered in his childish sleepiness.

A huff and a roll of crystal blue eyes. “Fine, you lazy sack of shit.” A grumble lacking hostility. His voice and touch carried a tablespoon of care he didn’t think he was able to harbour for anyone else. Only Craig. Only ever Craig. “C’mere,” he murmured, leaning into the car to get his arm around Craig’s back, other one looping beneath his legs.

With a heave, he pulled him out of the car and up into his arms, Craig almost instantly burying his face in Tyler’s chest. The night respectfully hid the rosiness of the American’s cheeks.

Getting inside, getting upstairs; he laid Craig down on the bed and pulled the sheets out from beneath him. Feeling more like a mother than ever before, he pulled off his friend’s shoes, once again thinking of that look in such gentle eyes. That look of surprise, of confusion, of realisation. Tyler found the will to touch that green hair again but refused it, helping the other shimmy down beneath the covers.

His arm was snatched up before he could say goodnight and pretty eyes cracked open, glazed with exhaustion.

“Sleep with me?” A soft murmur, a whisper in the night that held its breath. A whisper that meant far more than it was aware of.

“What? Craig don’t be stupid, go to-“

A hard tug on his shirt, a more definite pout. “Stay here and sleep with me.” He couldn’t say ‘no’ a second time.

So he asked instead. “Why?” He couldn’t help himself, knowing the lack of thought Craig put into his words when he was tipsy. It didn’t mean anything, yet he had to know if it did. He wanted to prove himself wrong.

“I like you near me.” A simple enough answer that held so much more. “I missed you being near me. I want you near me now,” he rephrased and there were no words that allowed Tyler to refuse.

He just stared, Craig tugging gently on his arm and sleeve as he dozed.

“Please.” Almost asleep. Doused in exhaustion.

Tyler sighed. “Are you sure?” he whispered, fearful of who could hear them speak but at another tug he kicked off his shoes and pulled off his jacket. A sleepy nod. “Budge over then. If you hog the blankets I’ll kick you out.”

Craig didn’t argue, shuffling aside. Tyler imagined the happy smile on his lips as he pulled up the blankets and slid beneath them. He jumped in alarm as the Brit rolled back towards him and pressed right up against him, one leg resting between his and his head falling to rest in the crook of his neck.

“C-Craig…” He didn’t know what to say or how to ask if this was okay. He didn’t know how Craig would react in the morning, sober and awake. He knew he didn’t have the strength to push him away and leave.

“Morning,” was all he was allowed and the finality of the childish tone seemed to finish their conversation. Craig snuggled up against him, quite content to be up close and personal. Tyler couldn’t deny how comfortable it was and he allowed his hand to fall to rest in the middle of Craig’s back.

Comfortable. Close. Intimate.

Sleep had a hold of him too, and the last thing he remembered was Craig taking his hand and lifting it to the back of his head. Not needing any more encouragement, Tyler’s fingers sunk into the tangle of fluffy green hair, very lazily and slowly drawing little swirls and circles against his head.

He slept with a smile on his lips.

-

He awoke to movement, a body on top of him wriggling and shifting. One of his arms was curled around it, holding whoever it was tightly, and his other hand was buried in soft hair. He’d never felt just so content

“Tyler.” A sleepy mumble. “Tyler, let go of me, you heavy fuck.”

Like the asshole he lived up to be, he curled his arm tighter around his personal morning heater and turned his head to hide his face in that pretty, vanilla-scented hair.

“No.” The stubborn refute was accompanied by the soft press of a kiss he let fall to Craig’s head. “Too early.”

Annoyed groan. “It’s already nine, you prick, let me go.”

Careless grunt.

“I will piss right here, right now.”

Irritated grunt.

But the threat did its job as Tyler unwound his arms and turned away, allowing the Brit to make his escape. He felt cold in the absence, fingers tingling as they wished to bury within hair once again and the second Craig returned Tyler was reaching out to drag him back to his chest.

The Brit didn’t fight it too much, but also didn’t relax. “Tyler, let me go,” he said, smile on his lips as he slapped at the man’s chest. He continued hitting him lightly, wriggling and not allowing him to get comfortable so much that the older let him sit up with a pout on his lips.

“What do you want, Craig, can’t we just sleep until two? I’m fuckin’ tired.”

Tyler watched him roll his eyes, hands resting on his shoulders, and he froze as the Brit leaned down and pressed his lips against his, angled to fit them together.

He was not expecting that but didn’t even get the chance to think about it before both his hand was seeking out the fuzz at the back of Craig’s neck. The arm around his back pulled him down and he eased the shorter man’s mouth open, dipping his tongue into exciting territory. Craig’s fingers bunched up his shirt and he let out the whisper of a sigh before he pushed himself upright and broke the kiss.

Tyler followed, pushing himself forward and chasing the proximity. “No. More,” was all he managed, catching his jaw between his fingers and drawing him back in.

Craig’s smile felt gentle against his lips and they silently agreed that they’d need to talk about what it all meant later. But laying back with Craig above him, kissing him, loving him; he didn’t need anything else than those gentle lips and that soft green hair.

-

note: very short, very random, probably not very expected. sorry for mistakes, i did a quick edit but im exhausted so im gonna sleep now anyway. 

hope you guys enjoy though

<3 gi

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-- this is my only piece in the server event. i’m very sorry but i will be participating more in future events. my business has not let me focus much on this lately.