This is my first fic, so be gentle, but I've been wanting to crack the mind of a certain Mr Brady for a while now. One shot. (wasn't reeaaaalllly sure where it was going, thinking it probably shows up in the writing, cest la vie...)

The whisky burns as it hits the back of my throat, a pleasantly numbing burn that I've become accustomed to over the years. The glass in my hand is nearing emptiness, I swirl the remaining liquid twice clockwise, twice anti-clockwise, and then tip it down my throat, relishing again in the burn. I look down at the empty glass in my hand, wishing I had some more, but the bottle is downstairs, and I don't want to have to move from this position. The same position I've been in for the past... I don't even know how many hours, since he left. Since I made him leave. The burn is back, but it's no longer confined to just my throat, it spreads across my entire body, not numbing this time, but harsh, painful. The way I always feel when I think about him.

Steven. My beautiful Steven.

It sickens me to the core how much I miss his presence in the bed beside me, his hand on my chest, in other places. Terrifies me how much I wish I didn't have to tell him to go, to see the look on his face when I tell him the thing he already knows, and to watch his pert, amazing, arse rising from the bed, disappearing beneath jeans, and then t watch him, too, smile sadly at me, and then disappear.

When I think about what my da' would say, what any of them, would say, if they could see me like this, the way I was but a few hours ago. Naked, writhing, pleasuring and being pleasured by another man, letting out moans of lust directed at the scrawny, gorgeous, boy pinned beneath me, entering him, finding release within him. I shudder, though I am unsure why. I think of their faces, da', Chez, even Foxy. Danny. My blood boils. I can feel myself reddening, whether in shame or anger I'm not fully sure...

As always is the case, my thoughts return to him, to my Steven. I feel the ball of rage which arose within me at my previous musings begin to loosen, my urge to lash out at the nearest wall subsides slightly. I imagine his hand on my brow, soothing, telling me to stop, and it works, I feel much calmer. Though I hate the fact that it does.

Never has any boy had such an effect on me, I've had plenty of boys in the past (a fact I generally try not to remind myself of too often), but none of them have ever managed this. Before, I've found myself in the position of power, able to take whenever I wanted, and to let out my frustrations frequently. But it's different with Steven, though it started out that way, I manipulated the situation so he felt it was his will that started it, then I brought in my control, showed him who was boss, so to speak. It's strange though, somewhere down the line, the power's shifted slightly, and, without acknowledging it, hell, perhaps even without recognising it, Steven now has some kind of hold over me. I'd do anything for that boy. I'd kill for him. I smile grimly, without humour.

He wants us to be a proper couple. I don't think he understands that I just can't do that. I won't. I'm not that person. Whatever I am, I aint gonna be looked at as one of those queers. I imagine us together, strolling down a street much like the main street of Hollyoaks village, fingers intertwined, smiling, laughing. A knot forms in a completely different place. Because I know that can never happen, never be me, I need to be Brendan Brady. Crazy Brendan Brady, the hard man, the man I've worked so hard to create. As much as I wish I could let him go, that just can't happen. Not even for Steven.

I realise I'm still sitting in the same position, glass still empty, still in hand. I sigh, lift myself up off the bed, which creaks softly as I do. I'd best get another bottle, cause I know for sure, I'm not gonna be getting a lot of sleep tonight.

love to know what you think! :)