Homebound
A/N:
What can I say but thank you for the support, I hope I'm nearly making up for my absence!
Thank you to my wonderful beta TracesOfTrueLove who's really helped me with this.
About this fic:
It was originally for part of the "more than words series" the prompt: "I'll always come home to you" but apparently I really can't write one shots.
This is a plot fic – and before you say it I know what you're all thinking, but the good news is it's so nearly finished I have 4 out of 5 chapters written, the other good news is it's being betad so it will be finished – by pain of death. I completely get it if y'all want to wait till it's all up to read it though.
Also it's important to know that I'm using a little artistic license with this:
Firstly I'm not going to call him uncle Brendan when Daddy Brendan sounds so much better ('cept for that one "Uncle Bwwwendan won" moment) and if Doug gets the Daddy treatment than Brendan better!
Amy never left with the kids. I have issues with the whole Stamy thing anyway so I thought it was best to let you explain that to yourselves.
Most importantly, for those that follow spoilers (I don't), I've made up my own little Walker showdown.
Warning:
Smut but that's not a surprise is it really? And it's only relevant to the last couple of chapters (but very relevant to those!)
Also M for language.
I promise you from the bottom of my heart that this will be finished and shortly, however I still accept being screamed at if that's your cup of tea. You know I love you all so please let me know what you think.
Here's for the show:
11.45 pm 25/3/2013 Ste's bedroom
"So did you fuck Walker?" The question comes as though it's been trapped between his teeth, like the effort of keeping it in has stiffened his tongue and that it was nothing more than a muscle spasm.
It wasn't the question I was preparing myself for. The silence shared between our resting hearts had been filled with the possible things he might ask. I had been inventing questions in the dismissive joking tone that he would use so I wouldn't know my stupidity had bothered him.
There could have been the anger, "Four weeks Brendan - you left to get milk and you were gone for a fucking month! Bloody long queue in Priceslice that!"
Or fear, "So, just so I'm clear and I don't do anything proper stupid like book us into a hotel for your birthday again, how long you planning on sticking this time?"
Or shame and self-doubt, "It wasn't like I didn't expect you to, we spoke about change like we were talking about your clothes, but it was never like you proper told me what was going on with you was it?"
Or the anguish of the prolonged suffering, "you could have called just once, fuck it I would have been happy with a text, right just to know you were alright, the news gets a little boring when you're trailing it for dead bodies."
I had answers for all of those questions, but I hadn't prepared myself for the jealousy, the facing-it-straight-on honest brutality that he's actually presenting me with - I guess my boy grew up.
He's angry at the laugh from my lips.
"What?" He huffs, covering his body with the sheet despite the fact I can still taste all of him on my tongue, "It's not like you haven't done it before - twice. Right it's not a proper random question, actually."
It's a random question if you knew even a little of this last month Steven, if you knew that this evening, having you in my arms, was the first time I felt safe enough to close my eyes for a very long time - of course I don't say that out loud.
"Before you killed him did you fuck him?"
"Who says I killed him?" I ask - an automatic defence mechanism.
Turning his head to the side, Steven just gives me that look that only he can do, the one that knows everything I've ever done and somehow still accepts me, wants me, finds my naked skin next to his bearable.
"No, Steven I didn't fuck him."
"No? Have someone el-"
His words, the jealousy that's born out of fear and abandonment, are silenced because I'm propped up on my hand, my elbow bent into his bed, and I'm giving him that look, the one I know he can read - the 'I don't want anybody but you' look.
There's a moment of silence, the length of his heartbeat.
"A month, impressive stuff" he says in his mocking voice, but I can see that grin now, just faintly, around the edges. "That's pretty much a vow of celibacy for you aint it?"
"Not anymore, I don't just fuck anymore," my honest words make themselves into lover's whispers, and it's in his eyes now - that grin.
"And who said I was celibate?" I say, wiggling the fingers on my free hand, delighting in the unhindered laugh from his lips. And then just when I can see the merriment twinkle in his eyes I give him that look again so he knows – I need him to know he's my fantasy.